Disclaimer: Let's put it this way. If I were to ever write an internationally acclaimed bestseller, I wouldn't name my protagonist Harry Potter.
A/N: For the 5 to read ch. 54 on before Monday (6/21/2010) morning- After a few days, I always make tiny revisions on typos and word phrasings that annoy me... But this time, I also made a large edit to one of the passages (actually, I basically added an entire new one), for I had forgotten to include something that, well, I very much wanted to include. Thus, I'd like to call your attention to the addition (with the surrounding original text provided un-underlined for context)
"Selfishness is what Gryffindors call mere Self-Perseverance and Prioritizing. I only wished it could be a blanket-ban on sympathy, but I could not entirely help feeling uncomfortable. In form of distraction, I was slightly relieved of the horror- something inexplicable drew me to the Dark Lord's eyes, which had, in the light of the fire, become startlingly, familiarly green. I had met his eyes! Was that what they looked like as they sensed me deep sickness at the proceedings? Further terror washed over me. Why was I here, just listening to a man's screams and placing my family's secrets in danger? I stared at the carpet beyond the scene, and brought the chant back: It's not hurting me; I am safe. It's not hurting me; I am safe..." The Dark Lord began to speak once again, his wand lowering but not his rage. "More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?"
If you miss this notice, likely you will not be drastically out of the loop, but some sentiments that Draco will express in the future may not make as much sense without knowing...
Okay, back to the chapter we go!
August 2, 1997
Dear Journal,
The Dark Lord intends for these lessons to be daily until school begins.
What a strange thought, to be anticipating the end of summer!
Draco
August 3, 1997
Dear Journal,
There was another meeting, this time for all Death Eaters with Dark Marks.
Rowle was not present, a very obvious absence emphasized by the vacant seat situated in its normal setting around the table. The Dark Lord made to mention to this, instead saying quietly, "As we are all present, then we shall begin."
"First and foremost, I'd like to celebrate our virtually silent assimilation into the Ministry of Magic." There was a polite golf clap at this. "We have already begun to make good at this," he continued, shoving a Daily Prophet into the center of the table. Those nearest to it, including dearest Aunt Bella, let out great whoops of cheer and passed it around.
The Dark Lord continued his explanations as the fever spread. "The Ministry has really made it quite easy for us to take over. Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge will hardly take any convincing to aid our goals. She has all the faith in whoever holds the most power; and such a sentiment holds for most of the population- And with the might of the Ministry behind us- Azkaban was practically ours already, but now we can issue arrests formally, and really take control of the brunt of wizardkind- easily led sheep, one could say.
"Now, as you have noticed, the paper being passed around holds an instrumental part of our plan. Complete victory is at hand, and no muggle, squib, or mudblood will be able to turn the tide. This development divides our antagonists cleanly into thirds- those loyal to the late Ministry and the even later Dumbledore, and then those loyal to the wayward baby with a peculiar scar and luck." Didn't he call that the wrecker of all but the best-laid plans?
Father passed the paper to me, and I controlled my reaction to the huge photograph of my school rival. "WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE" the headline screamed from below a boy who looked not at all older than me, shying from the camera and face filled with anguish. With a jolt, I realized that this must have been taken at Dumbledore's funeral. There was no caption explaining the setting; I realized very well that it did certainly hurt the Dark Lord's, the Daily Prophet's, and the Ministry of Magic's credibility (though they really all come to the same now, don't they?) if anyone can recognize the scene.
But there wasn't a caption, of course.
Everything is now under the control of the Dark Lord. Everything.
So I guess we must have chosen the right side, then.
Draco
August 5, 1997
Dear Journal,
As Father's lessons are also daily, I recounted the Dark Lord's meetings to him. He seemed greatly disturbed.
"We must dispense with partial-Legilimency for now," he concluded after a moment's consideration. "It's time you learn more advanced Occlumency."
"Do you mean the slightly-open door method?" I didn't see the use of such a tactic at this point, and voiced my concern.
He frowned at my attitude. "No, we'll not be going there yet. Though I'd hope, Draco, that even if we were, you would not be so quick to discredit my experience." I glanced at the floor, slightly ashamed. If only I could shake off the lingering essence of Unforgivable! "This Occlumency prevents more than invasion. It's also addictive, in it's own way."
Ugh. Now that I'd pissed him off, he was going to take even longer to reveal it! Trying to be polite as possible, I glanced at the clock and suggested in form of innocent query, "Will it take a terribly long time to teach?"
"Not quite; this, you can practice on your own." He was, however, spurred to motion, and ordered me to sit on my bed cross-legged. Back straight, chin up, arms loose in their sockets- it was a though he were some kind of military monster, and despite myself and the indignation of the Crucio inside, I was intrigued.
"Your task is to lose sight of yourself and your own emotions."
Easier said than done? I was entirely bewildered by the command.
"Remember, it's only Occlumency. Nothing to worry about. Whatever method you go about blocking me coming in, use it." Recalling Aunt Bella's instruction, I hastened to lift my shields. "Now, test those shields. Play with them. Concentrate on only them. Lose the sound of my voice. Everything you need is inside your head. Don't listen to me anymore. In fact, these vibrations don't even exist..."
After that, I can't remember what he said. He went on with this consistent one-sided conversation for the entire twenty minutes remaining, until he saw himself enter and begin using the time turner. He shook me on the shoulder- this I hadn't been expecting, and was immediately jostled out of my trance. "I don't have much time. Practice this on your own, using different stimuli. Touch, taste, sight, smell... I want you to master them before your next meeting with the Dark Lord." That would be tomorrow, as He was out on business today. "If I can, I will meet with you again. If I cannot, I trust your intuition to tell you what you need to do with this knowledge. Goodbye, Draco. Persevere."
And with that, he left. And with this, I must practice- if it's really all as important as he says, I'd better listen.
Off to the art of ignorance,
Draco
August 6, 1997
Dear Journal,
Okay, so mastering this kind of thing is a lot harder than it seems. But apparently, Father knew this.
"The point is that you can at least partially suppress your own internal stimuli. And that is what you need when you go to these torture sessions. I do not want you in pain."
"Father, I'm not the one being Crucio'ed."
He sighed, as though I were a hopeless case. Wow, thanks, that's reassuring. "There are other forms of torture. The Dark Lord is deceptive in that manner; or, at least, unknowing. Whatever the case, you must use this to block off the influence that spell has on you."
"What?"
"It's the same theory as a Patronus, but far simpler. Perhaps it's not as painful as a Dementor's attack, but the effects are as lasting. Now, I didn't use the time-turner today, so I must go. Use your skill well. The Dark Lord will not anticipate it in you." And so he left me alone, fifteen minutes to prepare myself for the Dark Lord's next meeting.
Well, here I am! Preparing...
Draco
August 7, 1997
Dear Journal,
Well, it worked... I think. The person on the receiving end (I don't even bother remembering names anymore... Rowle? Dolohov? Thicknesse? Just people who need to be manipulated by the Dark Lord) seemed to hurt no less, though it was much easier to bear when I was compartmentalizing my emotions. And my little spirit friend, the one whom accompanies me after bouts of Dark Magic, was no where to be found. Rather than feeling that I have thrown it off, I more sense a kind of graduating past it's capabilities for corruption...
Eh. I'm not even talking in sentences any more. Send me back to school!
So my cognition can reboot,
Draco
August 17, 1997
Dear Journal,
In the past two weeks, I have tortured a dozen faces. I have misdirected the regular, or perhaps a bit larger than regular dosage of teenage angst and transformed it into pain. It no longer hurts me, when I use the spells. I believe that is what Father intended by teaching me the extended Occlumency. He visited me later to tell me that most wizards and Death Eaters do not bother to learn it that way, and that such self-control is very rare. I looked at Severus Snape when Father spoke, and Father responded to my gaze with a simple "rare, but not exclusive."
It no longer hurts me, but I am no longer helped from the guilt. I only shovel that guilt onto the next torture spell.
Whatever the guilt is, it is never enough to convince me to stop. My cowardice, my strength, the gray areas in between- it withstands everything.
Draco
August 22, 1997
Dear Journal,
I would really like to begin this entry in the same manner as the last. In the past two weeks... blah, blah, blah. A dozen faces. I have misdirected... It no longer hurts... Withstands.
And still, today the Dark Lord surprised me. Undermined me.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord said. I was shocked by the name; I've made a habit of keeping my head down, for it helps in not seeing them for who they really are when I torture them. The misdirection wouldn't be nearly as effective, and the whole purpose of the torture is to be effective- otherwise the Dark Lord would know. The Dark Lord knows everything, controls everything- and his wrath at incompetency is incomparable to anything.
"Lucius, I have been dissatisfied with the wand that you lent to me for use. First, I would like to inform you that it is gone." I struggled to keep my head down. My Father's wand- gone? How much lower can we be shoved? We are on the right side, the right place, the winners, I repeated to myself, but somehow, with the wand of our clan's patriarch snapped, it doesn't feel much like we're winners, does it? "Ollivander was wrong. I dealt with him personally for this failure two weeks ago." (the entire room thought, or rather, the Malfoy men: why have you waited two weeks for this meeting?) "Now, I must demand better service from you." Then the laundry list comes down, just as I have heard it for a dozen other nameless, faceless failure Death Eaters. "The Malfoys fail to bring me the Prophecy, and cause me to reveal myself, ruining my current plans of stealth. Then the Malfoys fail to murder Albus Dumbledore. And now the Malfoys have even failed to supply me with a wand that I can use well, as you seem so incapable of doing. And what of it? Are the Malfoys simply destined to utterly fail in all ways possible?"
"No, my Lord. Please, allow us another chance."
"I am. Draco Lucius Malfoy," the Dark Lord turns to me, a strange, curious glint in those red, pitiless slits. "You know what to do."
I raise my wand, but it's shaking, just as my hand is shaking. I stare straight into Father's eyes, and a simple message snakes back to me. Do it. "Crucio," I hiss, and force myself in an act of pure self-preservation and nothing else, blocking out everything else, to feel furious at the necessity of doing this. IS THIS WHAT WINNING FEELS LIKE? IS THIS WHAT WINNING FEELS LIKE?
It's over very quickly, but a quick glance at the Dark Lord reaps that I seem to have done it satisfactorily. For a moment, it is as though he contemplates handing me a lemon drop. I hate little favors like that; suggesting that I am a baby. They all think that still, despite what I am forced to do. But the Dark Lord decides not to antagonize me further, deposits the lemon drop in his mouth, and bades the Malfoys a good evening. "Leave me now."
Father leaves first, and then I, and I'm at a loss at what to do or say. I have just tortured my father. This is more than a measly muggle torture. Crucio needs intent- and somewhere along the line, I had enough resentment for him and his little secrets and his command of respect and his leaving us for Azkaban- to want him to hurt. To want him to writhe on the floor in pure agony and feel subservient to me.
That's about when I realize that I'd forgotten to dispel the darkness of the spell. I can't have done it, for it lingers with me even now.
Draco
A/N: And that wraps up the summer! Cheerful, right?
No philosophical stuff right now, I just want to deliver this chapter to you and call it a night.
To my dear reviewers:
mjmusiclover: I love you for the simple duty that you fulfill that more than 50% of those whose eyes graze this page do not have the energy to offer. And then, your consistent encouragement and compliments ever since you first joined for Chapter 13, 11 months and one week ago. You rock.
honourary weasley: Yeah, my friends are now completely positive that I'm weird. That's awesome! I hope that whoever reads/grades/peruses that essay has read Harry Potter, or discusses it with someone who has... Yes, I very much do feel very good. Compliments and reviews as you give me so kindly make me feel as glow-y inside. :) Emotions are a large part of the whole stir-fry, as that's what really drives Draco to run to his journal, and kind of hide behind the pages. This was a much shorter, more concise response- only for sleepiness and urgency. I will get this update to you... NOW!
Okay, peoples, love, hugs, smiles, homemade Dark Marks, and please review, thank you!
