Better Be Slytherin
XXXVIII
Hogwarts Divided
The clouds didn't have their usual white glow, now they were full and almost black. The whistling wind was louder and more significant than ever. The rain was forceful against the surface of the black lake. The castle was quiet. A storm was coming.
"Today we're practising one of the main spells... Very useful... one of my favourites, in fact," Amycus Carrow told them one morning. He was ahead of the class with a slight, unmistakable jeer. "Special just for you seventh years and the year below. The Cruciatus Curse."
He motioned towards the scuffling box on his desk and muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa," and a small brown mouse flew into the air, levitating at half a meter above the desk. "You can come and collect yours," he then added, as the class kept staring at their victim, mesmerised, some with their mouths open. They'd known this was coming, he supposed. Nobody spoke up, not even the Gryffindors.
Draco didn't feel incredulous or shocked. He was just glad they weren't practising Unforgivables on each other yet. Crabbe was the first to get up, and he walked through the classroom roughly, knocking aside a couple empty chairs on his way. Draco swallowed hard.
Vincent's mouse squeaked when he'd lowered his chubby hand into the box and lifted it up by the scruff. Amycus looked positively exhilarated. "Go on, Mr Crabbe," he breathed, his small eyes focused solely on the animal in his student's hand. Then he seemed to wake up from his hypnosis.
"Oi! Get to it, I said!" he snarled, voice suddenly loud. "Crack on!"
The class reluctantly got to their feet and hesitantly moved towards the table in front where the box of mice stood. Crabbe made his way back and Draco passed him when he followed Pansy and Zabini. He looked happier than Draco had ever seen him. It made him extremely uncomfortable. He grabbed a mouse at random after Lavender Brown had picked up hers. The task didn't frighten him – he'd performed all the Unforgivable Curses countless of times already, he'd mastered them quite well – no, the problem was how was he going to 'attempt' the Cruciatus Curse without being too good at it? He hardly wanted the whole class to realise he'd already done this before. He was surely the only one.
"Might come in handy sometime," mumbled Pansy to him and shrugged. "Don't you think?"
He nodded at her curtly before turning to walk back to the far end of the classroom. He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't tell her what he really thought. He needed to up his acting skills. Pansy wasn't the brightest girl to ever wave a wand, but he was sure even she would suspect him if he continued to be this off.
After settling back at the table between Pansy and Gregory, he looked around. Theodore Nott was looking surprisingly calmly at his own mouse, with an odd air of indifference. The Gryffindors were whispering and muttering amongst each other, clearly angry and upset. But they didn't dare say anything. Not after the rumours of what detention with the Carrows consisted of had leaked and spread through the school. Draco thought they were all afraid now, the rebels, the old D.A, the brave Gryffindors, and were biding their time until they knew how to tackle the Carrows and how to avoid the torturous detentions.
"Who wants to begin?" came the silky voice of Amycus Carrow who was smiling and pointing his wand slowly around the classroom.
They had no choice but to obey.
As the weeks progressed they realised they'd had it easy in the beginning of September when all they had to do was to read about which animals Muggles were. The Carrows, in charge of discipline, made Umbridge seem like a sweet little Pygmy Puff. It kept getting worse and worse. All the teachers were now forced to report their students to the Carrows as soon as somebody stepped out of line. Blaise noticed the other teachers were reluctant to do so, and pretended not to have seen when someone scribbled on a desk or didn't hand in their homework – when usually they would've taken points or set detentions. DADA class was now roughly Dark Arts lessons and the few willing (mostly Slytherins) were encouraged to practice the Cruciatus Curse on anyone who'd manage to get themselves into detention. Crabbe and Goyle enjoyed it – it was the first time they were the best at anything.
Pansy kept well out of it, he knew she reckoned it was a man's job, unknowingly reminding them all again of her sexism. Just like playing Quidditch or being a Death Eater – Pansy was raised to believe it was something for the boys, and she, naturally, had no interest in it for herself whatsoever; her part was on the sidelines, cheering her man on, in both situations...
Alecto kept telling them about the differences between Muggles and wizards; about how animalistic the Muggles were, dirty and stupid, about how wizards were forced to stay in hiding, but that the natural order was being restored by her 'Master'...
The bravest students walked around the corridors with bruises and swollen lips, unwillingly scaring anyone off standing up to the Carrows.
"If there were any Mudbloods here this year I'm sure the Carrows would give 'em the Killin' Curse," said Crabbe on the way to lunch one rainy and dark late September day. "But they don't wanna spill to much pure blood, do they?"
The other Slytherins murmured in agreement.
"I reckon those Dumbledore's Army lot could do with a bit of the Unforgivables…" he went on, his face screwed up in anger. Draco tried to think of the lamb chops with chips he was having for lunch... He was sick of the Unforgivable Curses.
"We're about to eat!" snarled Pansy at Crabbe. Draco glanced at her – she looked tiny next to Crabbe, but forceful, so that even the huge boy winced. "Have you no manners?"
Crabbe rolled his eyes and made a grunting noise that sounded like a rude swear word but Pansy didn't seem to have heard him. The news of Dumbledore's Army having sneaked out at night to write on the walls, showing their rebelliousness and opposition for the Carrows, had just reached them that morning. They hadn't been able to see any of it with their own eyes because the Carrows and Filch had been running around like mad that morning scrubbing it off using magic and manual-labour respectively.
"'Dumbledore's Army, still recruitin'" muttered Crabbe, "Bit late for that, innit? Dumbledore's long gone," he added with a malicious smile. Draco's stomach turned over, a jolt went through him as his heart skipped beat. He didn't want to think of that now... Those images of that night would surely make it impossible to eat anything for the rest of the day, let alone fall asleep in the evening...
All those rules Umbridge had invented were back now. Theodore felt as if he'd gone back to fifth year but ten times worse. Everyone except Slytherins were forbidden to speak in groups – there were to be no contact whatsoever between the houses or you could earn yourself a week's detention. The teachers were told to keep an extra eye on the Gryffindors – even lavatory visits had been time-limited to make sure the Dumbledore's Army didn't communicate with each other. Everyone had to be in bed by nine, although this rule seemed forgotten within Slytherin. Their Head of House was never around to check on them and with Malfoy and Pansy as Head boy and girl, the rules didn't need following, or at least not to the extent of the other houses.
Somehow, gradually, the rebellion began. At first they had all been frightened of the Carrows but now the defiance seemed to grow and grow. Theodore observed it. One morning they woke up to nasty messages about the Carrow spread across the school – in writing on old tapestries, magicked across a wall, and when they reached the Transfiguration classroom, the blackboard had a drawing of two figures, which was unmistakably Alecto Carrow with a big round belly and Amycus Carrow hovering over her shoulder, touching her obviously pregnant belly. A heart was drawn around it and the words "Pureblood breeding" written snidely underneath.
Some laughed loudly, mostly Gryffindors, Theodore noticed. Crabbe looked indignant, as if personally insulted; Goyle looked like he didn't understand. Greengrass, Wilkes and Davis sniggered, sending each other pointed looks and even Pansy, who had seemed to enjoy being taught by the Carrows, gave an amused smile. Professor McGonagall's lip curled slightly, but she looked stern as usual when she turned to the class after vanishing the drawing with her wand. "Silence!" she ordered. Professor McGonagall was one of those teachers who managed to keep a class silent by mere presence, but that day's lesson was one of the most unfocused ones yet – and he noticed she pretended not to hear all the mumbling about the Carrows and about who the possible culprits were, because she made no effort to silence them.
"Another example of Gryffindor favouritism," he muttered to Blaise as they hurried out of the classroom to head for lunch. "Professor Snape would never let us babble on like that during a lesson!"
"Right you are," said Zabini, rolling his eyes.
They turned a corner and walked down the corridor on the second floor, it was lined with tapestries instead of moving portraits, and parchments were shooting out of one of the tapestries, a small gathering of students who'd been walking past had stopped to pick a few up. Theodore glanced as he passed – with a jolt he recognised the Dark Lord's snakelike face drawn as a cartoon on them and the words "murderous hypocrite" written across his face. It made his inside boil, but he swallowed and moved on along with Zabini who looked as haughty as ever. He heard Pansy and her gang of girls reach the propaganda behind him. "What is this?" she demanded loudly. "Is it you who's done this, Creevey, Vane? I'm Head Girl! Five points each from Gryffindor!"
"No, no it wasn't us," came the voice of Romilda Vane, a younger Gryffindor girl, "we just found them here like this!"
"Well, clear off, then! Evanesco!" she shouted. Theodore and Blaise turned around, as the Gryffindors hurried away, and Pansy tried to vanish the parchments with her wand. She then tried several Cleaning spells, but the tapestry just shot out more of them.
"You could try Finite Incantatem," called Theodore at her, even though he wasn't particularly interested in helping her. Malfoy could do that.
"Whatever," said Pansy, sticking her wand back in her robe, "Filch can deal with it."
Ernie Macmillan shoved him hard as he passed and Theodore stumbled. Blaise caught his arm and steadied him. "Pompous prat," snarled Zabini quietly, looking after him.
"You're one to talk," sniggered Theodore, ignoring his anger for the Hufflepuff. He wasn't one to stand up for himself anyway.
They hurried down the last staircase, crossed the entrance hall and pushed open the heavy doors to the Great Hall. It smelled wonderful inside. Pansy and her gang of girls followed them down the Slytherin table, which was the most full and cheerful one of the tables. Malfoy was already eating with Crabbe and Goyle.
"...wish he would just get sacked. Look at that greasy head," they heard as they sat down, it came from a short black-haired girl walking between the tables, motioning at Snape for her friend.
"Can't even keep his own school in check," the other girl agreed.
"What's that I hear?" drawled Malfoy, turning around and holding up a hand stopping the girls, "you're not bad-mouthing our dear Headmaster are you?"
Both of their eyes widened at once. They looked like they hadn't been realised they walked past the part of the Slytherin table where the Head Boy and his seventh-year friends sat.
"That's ten points each from—" Malfoy sneered, "whatever house you're in..."
"Ravenclaw," muttered the first girl reluctantly. She bit her lip in pent-up anger, looking at Malfoy like she wished she could punch him.
"Twenty points from Ravenclaw then. And shall I hear another word, I'll Scourgify your mouths."
His pale pointed face gleamed with amusement as he turned back to finish his meal, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter and the two furious girls walked on.
Theodore rolled his eyes at Blaise but made sure Malfoy didn't see. He loaded his plate with fish and chips feeling slightly downcast.
The afternoon didn't turn out any better. The steam-filled dungeon classroom was warmer than usual; the class was in the midst of brewing the Calming Draught. Daphne Greengrass was complaining loudly (which was usually Pansy's role) of the heat, fanning herself and refusing to do any of the work, forcing Tracey Davis to do everything by herself.
"You're supposed to stir counter clockwise, Greg!" snapped Pansy loudly and Theodore's blade slipped in his hand as he was cutting up leeches – he cut himself on the finger, blood erupting at once. Sodding Pansy and her voice.
"This is counter clockwise!" grunted Goyle indignantly, Theodore glanced down at Goyle's cauldron, and he was fully stirring clockwise. How dumb could you be after six years of education?
Pansy sneered and opened her mouth to correct him, but suddenly the speakers in the ceiling, meant for important announcements started making crackling noises and a high whine erupted from it. Professor Slughorn jumped, and several students exclaimed and groaned in shock or covered their ears – the sound was piercing. And then, at the top volume, the speakers began broadcasting "Potterwatch".
"Well now wait just one moment!" said professor Slughorn confused and indignant at his lesson being interrupted. He scratched his head, his large belly sticking out in front of him. Some of the Gryffindors laughed and smirked.
"Silence!" bellowed Crabbe, pointing his wand at the speakers, and more students laughed under their breaths. "I mean Silencio!" The speakers quieted down with a faint crash.
"Oh, they better give it a rest..." sighed Theodore to the table. There were mutterings of agreement. They were all getting sick of these Dumbledore's Army lot. Malfoy was neutral and silent as usual and he kept his head down. It annoyed Theodore more than anything Malfoy had ever done before. He was such a coward.
Half an hour later, they scrambled to their feet, cleaned their cauldrons and vanished their old ingredients.
"Remember, next lesson, it's the Elixir to Induce Euphoria," said Slughorn gleefully, "I think you'll find that most amusing in these dark times!"
Nobody paid him any attention.
They were crossing the pumpkin patch later, on the way back to the castle from Herbology (another pointless subject, in Theodore's opinion, for anyone not wishing to become a Healer). The sky was a beautiful pale pink with streams of thin cloud scattered here and there. There was no wind in the tree tops of the forbidden forest, but small rings on the surface of the water of the black lake sparingly where, he supposed, a fish had jumped up or one of the tentacles of the giant squid had just slightly ascended.
Suddenly he heard his name mentioned in a whisper ahead and his head jerked up. Malfoy and Pansy was in the front of the gang of Slytherins, huddled together.
"—in the library!" Theodore could hear Pansy hiss at Malfoy. "You were arguing. What was it about?"
"—not important Pansy," Malfoy hissed back. His normally sleek hair was a bit more unkempt that unusual. Daphne Greengrass and Queenie Wilkes moved in front of him, blocking his view of Malfoy and Pansy, and muffling their voices. The girls were laughing loudly and menacingly, apparently over a couple Hufflepuffs who passed.
"—seem like it," he heard Pansy's voice, "what's your problem with each other anyway?"
Theodore rolled his eyes. He could write a list if she wanted – perhaps an entire roll of parchment's worth of essay on why he disliked Malfoy.
"He wants in with the Dark Lord," said Malfoy uninterestedly. "He's jealous because I beat him to it."
"—can't possibly be it?" he distantly heard Pansy's incredulous voice. He saw Malfoy shrugging. Oh, please, thought Theodore. Malfoy was dumber than he looked then, he supposed.
"What's it to you anyway?" Malfoy looked up at her. Theodore rolled his eyes. Malfoy was becoming more paranoid by the weeks. "Why are you so bothered about it?"
"I'm not that bothered about it," said Pansy hastily, "Curious, more like it. You know how I like to keep up with the gossip."
This month the theme of the passwords into the common room was old Slytherins. "Pollux Black," said Malfoy loudly and the passage in the wall appeared. "That was my great grandfather!"
Theodore and Blaise looked at each other, rolling their eyes, and then followed Malfoy, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest into the common room. Malfoy leaned back against the sofa with his arms spread out on the top. They occupied the seating area in front of the large fireplace as usual. And as usual, Theodore was unsure if he wanted to sit with them or not. Yet, when Blaise slung himself down next to Tracey Davis, Theodore felt he needed to follow. Blaise was his only friend, and he'd noticed him and Davis growing closer. He was not about to lose his only friend to one of Pansy's stupid girlfriends.
Crabbe and Goyle were eating crisps loudly. Pansy had bewitched her quill to write for her – it was bouncing up and down a roll of parchment.
"Maybe this year Gryffindor will actually have minus points in the house cup!" laughed Pansy maliciously. "If they keep up this obscene amount of rule-breaking."
"Let's hope so," cackled Millicent Bulstrode.
This year was certainly different. Theodore reckoned even the idiots Crabbe and Goyle had realised that. You had to be quite dull to miss that fact. The other houses seemed to be getting along fine, despite the fact that they currently weren't allowed to speak to each other – it was only Slytherin that everyone hated. Or was it the Slytherins that hated everyone else, Theodore pondered. What was the difference? The outcome was the same – Slytherins were excluded, by own will or not. They were distinctive, a lone warrior in the midst of the three other united houses. And better.
Theodore had no place in a world ruled by Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Slytherin was his home. The Dark Lord seemed to understand that.
He hoped he'd receive his Mark as soon as he finished school.
Tracey Davis had always been a confident girl, luckily enough – because it was vital for her, being a Half-Blood and all. Had she been less self-assured, her Pureblood girlfriends would've ostracised her and taunted her, like they did other non-Purebloods. Still, it was tough surviving in Slytherin when a bunch of your housemates had Death Eaters as fathers. Half-Bloods were rarely an issue for the Dark force, nor were they usually the object of Pansy and the rest's taunts. That privilege was commonly reserved for Bloodtraitors and Muggleborns. Tracey was a step up from that, or rather a couple steps.
The other girls, mainly Pansy, had always bullied those she viewed below her, but it had become more intense as the school years went on. This year, Tracey felt it had gone too far. Now Pansy was openly discussing these things, and suddenly the two of them seemed miles apart, almost opposite each other.
Tracey reckoned she better keep her mouth shut for as long as she could stand it. She hardly wanted to lose all her friends just because she didn't agree with the Dark Lord's views and the Ministry's attempts at hunting Muggleborns. Half the Slytherins were openly supporting the Dark Lord – like Pansy, Millicent, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, even Daphne and Queenie (for lack of independence) – and Malfoy was already in there. The other half, including herself, Zabini and most of the girls from the year below to name a few, were afraid to speak their minds or else hadn't decided on camps yet.
It was just the way things were in Slytherin, and Tracey had accepted it years ago. She yawned and turned a page in her Arithmancy book to find a particular paragraph containing information she needed to get on with her essay for professor Vector, just as Vincent Crabbe shot through the passageway into the common room. Despite his large build, big head and way of walking, he was unrecognisable. His face was swollen to the point where it looked ready to burst; he had sprouted a black eye and was bleeding from the lip. He looked like a broken gargoyle.
"What in Merlin's beard happened to you?" exclaimed Malfoy in a high-pitched voice. Goyle was gaping at Crabbe and Tracey might've imagined it but she thought she saw drool by the left corner of his mouth. Pansy frowned, looking disgusted at Crabbe.
"Bitch fought back," he muttered sourly as he threw himself down on the sofa next to Malfoy who barely visibly recoiled. Tracey's jaw clenched, her heart beating quick at once. He'd been helping the Carrows punishing students again obviously.
Pansy actually laughed. "Who was it then? Brave little Gryffindor, I presume?"
Goyle guffawed stupidly. Tracey rolled her eyes but made sure her head was turned away so the others wouldn't see.
"Dunno, do I," snarled Crabbe, clearly very angry that the presumably younger girl had tried to defend herself. He was disgusting. He shook his head in an irate manner.
"Surprising how many people are still disobeying when they know what the punishment is..." said Queenie wisely.
"Yeah – I'm getting really good at those Unforgivables," said Crabbe with a jeer and a malevolent look in his eyes.
"I still can't get the hang of it," said Goyle sadly. Tracey stifled the urge to roll her eyes again.
"I'm sure you'll get there, Greg," said Pansy uncharacteristically sweetly. Malfoy seemed oddly uninterested in the conversation. Tracey did all she could to keep focusing on her essay.
"I wouldn't ever dare," piped Daphne in, looking at Crabbe with a mixture of fear and awe.
"It's what being a Slytherin is about, innit?" replied Crabbe smirking.
"Oh please," muttered Tracey before she could stop herself, for she couldn't agree with this any less. Pansy turned to her at once as if ready for this, and once more she was pierced with the iciest look of her friend's, the one she usually reserved for cheeky first years. Tracey didn't break the eye-contact however.
To her surprise, it was Malfoy who came to her rescue by groaning loudly. "Can't we ever speak about anything else!"
Pansy didn't take her eyes off Tracey, who felt she shrunk a bit in the intense power-battle of the eyes. She wasn't meant to win, she knew.
"Leave it, Pans," snapped Malfoy then. Pansy's jaw clenched but she tore her eyes off Tracey, leaned back in her armchair which she occupied like a throne and continued chewing her Droobles.
Crabbe and Goyle looked between Malfoy, Pansy and herself, as if not really understanding what had just happened. Queenie and Daphne looked unsure as usual. She wished that just once one of the girls would back her up, but she knew Daphne and Queenie were locked in some sort of battle of being Pansy's best friend. Their rivalry was clear for everyone to see, and neither of them would ever choose Tracey over Pansy.
She knew she was Half-Blood, she knew she didn't play in the same division. Millicent didn't have the looks nor confidence to play in the same division even though she was indeed Pureblood. She and Millicent were usually content hanging after the others. Yet Tracey found herself to be more alike Pansy, Daphne and Queenie than Millicent.
She had never particularly liked Malfoy; she'd never understood whatever Pansy saw in him – immature and cocky as he was. She'd always found the older boys more interesting. Zabini was all right as well. But she was thankful Malfoy got Pansy off her back.
"I heard Turpin and Boot split," drawled Pansy, changing the subject and seemingly enjoying the attention her gossip always got her.
"Why?" asked Daphne, giggling loudly. Daphne was one of the most cowardly people Tracey had ever met. As soon as a sensitive subject came up, her mouth closed up like a clam until someone started talking about something else. She always pretended nothing was wrong and was always falsely sweet to everyone. Blaise Zabini would never fancy her, thought Tracey smugly, he was too clever. And everyone knew Daphne had had a crush on Zabini for years. Objectively, Daphne was much more beautiful than Pansy and the other girls. With her long blonde hair and light-blue eyes, straight jaw-line and nose, she looked like she could be a dress robes or bathing wear model for Witch Weekly. Still, Pansy somehow always won, because it wasn't about looks in Slytherin. Pansy had power and charm, and she always wanted everything for herself. Daphne just had her looks, and no brains.
"Apparently she snogged his best mate or something," sneered Pansy. Daphne and Queenie laughed loudly. Tracey wasn't in the mood.
Suddenly Zabini towered behind Pansy and Millicent's armchairs. "Evening," he said coolly, his slanting eyes sweeping over the seven of them, and turned to Millicent. "Just bumped into your sister, Bulstrode," he sneered at her. "Mildred. She asked me to tell you to owl your parents, something about Christmas; she said you'd know..." he slid into an empty arm-chair, everyone's attention on him. "Didn't know you had a sister, Bulstrode," he said, still sneering. "Enlighten me – why did your parents insist on naming you both like old spinsters?"
Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Pansy, Daphne and Queenie laughed loudly. Even Tracey couldn't stop herself laughing despite her bad mood and irritation with the girls.
"Shove off, Zabini!" cried Millicent indignantly, her voice so powerful a few second-years who were walking past jumped. Crabbe and Goyle kept laughing dumbly, and Malfoy bent back over his Potions book, while Pansy, Daphne and Queenie continued gossiping.
Zabini moved closer to Tracey. "She had some fit friends, though," he said casually so only Tracey could hear. She gave a snort-laugh.
"Is that so?"
"Not that I mind looking at you," he said in a low voice.
"Don't let Daph catch you say that," sneered Tracey.
"Piss off..." he grinned slyly.
"Go back to your young slags," teased Tracey, still without looking up from her Arithmancy book.
"I'm fine right here."
Tracey couldn't help but to feel flushed, even though they always bantered like this and just had an intellectual bond, as friends. She could never get off with Zabini anyway – Daphne would murder her in her sleep. They shared a dormitory after all.
When she glanced up to make sure nobody had heard them flirt, she caught Daphne's eyes. Her friend was staring at her indignantly. Tracey's heart sank.
She decided she needed to be a better friend tomorrow. She would let Pansy talk about Mudbloods and she would try and help Daphne with Zabini. After all, that was what Slytherin was all about. Loyalty.
Those plans were shot to shit the next morning however.
Grant Cadwallader passed them in the corridor on the way to Charms. He was a big Hufflepuff Quidditch Player with sandy-blonde hair and large muscles... Pansy saw Tracey looking at him and pinched her nose ostentatiously.
Then she said loudly, while sneering, "I was wondering what that smell was."
The other girls collapsed into fits of giggles. Tracey thought they were being ridiculous – as if "dirty blood" smelled.
Pansy jabbed Tracey in the ribs. "Don't embarrass yourself, Trace," snarled Pansy so only she could hear. "Not only are you a Half-Blood but trying to betray your house as well? Cadwallader is practically a Mudblood!"
Tracey avoided Pansy's eyes and looked down onto the floor. She confessed herself defeated.
Draco clutched his left underarm impulsively. The Dark Mark seemed to burn now and then, more often than ever before. He didn't want to think of the reason behind this. He supposed war was coming, if it wasn't already upon them. Even Crabbe ad Goyle could figure out as much, and that was saying something.
Pansy hadn't missed his involuntary movement. She turned her head to look up at him, lying on his chest reading her History of Magic book in his dormitory. He avoided eye contact. "What's that?" she asked in her demanding tone.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and said tiredly, "It just burns sometimes, I'm not sure why."
Pansy pondered this for a moment. Then, as she spoke, he felt her throat vibrate against his chest. "Maybe the Dark Lord wants you to do something for him again."
A jolt went through his stomach. Merlin, he hoped not. "I think I'm finished proving myself," he said shortly. Because last time went so well, he thought sarcastically.
It wasn't like he had thought. He wanted out. It's not like he imagined it'd be. It was too much, to extreme. He was worn out, sick of it. But there was nobody to tell, nobody to help him – he'd made that perfectly clear; he'd seen to it himself, on the top of the Astronomy tower... Sometimes he wished he could tell Pansy – she had after all kept his secret the last time he'd doubted her reliability. But this was even bigger than last time – this was a lethal secret to keep, and even though he doubted she'd willingly betray him, accidents happened, especially when you were a loud-mouthed gossip-loving seventeen year old girl. And not just that – he didn't even know how she would react if he told her how he felt about the Dark Lord. She didn't exactly beam at the chance of using the Unforgivable Curses, like Crabbe and Goyle did, but she spent a lot of her time bullying those of lesser blood. And hadn't she fallen in love with him for who he was when he glorified the Dark Lord?
If it wasn't for his solidarity with Goyle and enmity with Nott, he might've actually switched friends and began hanging round the latter and Zabini. He was sick of seeing gleeful eyes at the sight of the Cruciatus curse.
He was relieved to be back at Hogwarts – anything to escape the Death Eater filled manor. He missed his parents terribly; all he wanted was to get out of all of this safely with them. His insides ached painfully at the thought of Bellatrix – however family; she scared him half to death. If the Dark Lord won this war soon, hopefully she'd move out with her loser husband.
He didn't really want to do the Carrows' bidding, but he knew he was supposed to, because he was in fact, the only Death Eater student at Hogwarts. He wondered if anyone had noticed how he was avoiding the Carrows so far. He had nightmares almost every night of being caught out by the Death Eaters for betraying them, or being caught out by the other side for being a Death Eater. He was trapped. He was in-between. It haunted him day and night.
He'd been boasting all of his life, at least as far back as he could remember, about the Dark Lord, and now that he was in fact a real Death Eater, he was terrified. Not that he would ever let Pansy in on that, not with the way she awed him for being in the Dark Lord's inner circle.
The superiority of Purebloods had been born into him. He knew that was the way it was – they were superior to Muggleborns; and Wizarding kind was definitely superior to Muggles. No question there. But not like this, he thought. Not with this must be some other way, without murder and torture. He'd seen enough of it now. It wasn't as he imagined it when he was younger, when all he'd wanted was to be like his father. He'd only seen the glory and the social standing and the riches – he hadn't imagined the blood and the screams.
How everything had changed. His first years at Hogwarts had been incredibly fun. There'd been Quidditch and Gobstones games; fist-fighting with Potter and Weasley; opening large parcels of sweets from home in front of the entire, envious, Slytherin table; teasing those of lesser value. There'd been the Inquisitorial Squad and he'd been Prefecting around the castle as if he was the best thing that ever happened to it. His biggest problems had been homework and beating the Gryffindors at Quidditch and the house cup. When he and Pansy had become Prefects they'd snuck out after curfew to scribble "Slytherin rules" on blackboards – it had been the most of fun. Now, quite contrary, it was Gryffindors sneaking out vandalising in the night. They had always been the rebellious ones – the school had always been against them, the Slytherins, and now tables had turned quite dramatically. It was ironic, really.
He remembered his argument with Nott in the library.
"So you've been boasting about the Dark Lord for six years, and when you finally got the chance to actually do something instead of just talking about it, you wimped out!" had Theodore accused. "You tried to get everyone liking the Dark Lord for years, and now as soon as you're in for real you realised it wasn't as fun as you'd thought," Theodore had spat. "You're the biggest coward I've ever met. You're all talk, Malfoy! Just talk!"
Draco, who had always loved himself very much, was beginning to resent parts of himself. Perhaps he was a coward after all.
The circular room gleamed in the moon light. "Miss Weasley, Mr Longbottom, Miss Lovegood… You've just bought yourselves a month's detention." His voice was cold; he needed to play his part perfectly. He'd caught them red-handed trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor after all.
They didn't look shameful, frightened nor downcast – merely defiant and angry.
Amycus Carrow burst through the door, and Severus' heart sank but he showed nothing on his obscure face. He'd hoped the Carrows wouldn't find out about this – he didn't want to punish them too much. But the sword mustn't be stolen, it was to be placed somewhere for Potter to find... He glanced at Dumbledore's portrait over his desk. It was sleeping. Amycus sneered spitefully. "Well, well, look what we have here, then! Knew you lot'd be trouble. Came as soon as I heard, Headmaster!"
"And how did you hear?"
"Filch told me, didn' he!" wheezed Amycus, "told me he brought them here after he caught 'em."
"Amycus," said Severus slowly, "I don't need your assistance. I was merely telling the students about their upcoming detent—"
The door burst open again, and Minerva entered, her authoritarian form towering over Amycus, with Horace trailing behind her looking out-of-place.
"Severus!" she called, those piercing eyes adept of intimidating almost anyone, "I'm here to escort my students back to their house—"
"I'm not quite finished with them yet, Minerva," he said, sneering slightly. "They were in fact caught trying to rob me..."
"Oh, come off it," said Minerva disdainfully. Longbottom grinned at Weasley.
"Your first session will begin with professor Hagrid on Saturday at nightfall, and then he will come up with the schedule for your next—"
"Hagrid?" suddenly Amycus angry voice burst out.
Severus raised an eyebrow in a chilly manner. "I certainly wish you wouldn't interrupt me Amycus."
"Why's their detention with him?! I'm in charge of punishment 'round 'ere! I'm perfectly capable of three little kids—"
Minerva huffed loudly.
"If I remember correctly, I appointed you and your sister..."
"You – appointed?" Amycus spat. "You know perfectly well who appointed us!"
Severus sent him a pointed look and then turned to the students. "You may leave."
"That half-giant will try and get them out of trouble! That stupid ruddy oaf won't give 'em what they deserve!"
"He's not an oaf!" exclaimed Ginny Weasley, her voice shaking but her eyes blazing furiously. Amycus reached out smacked her with the back of his hand. Longbottom screamed in anger and raised his wand. So did Minerva. Severus rose from behind his desk at once, simultaneously casting a Shield charm between the children and Amycus under his breath nonverbally.
"That's quite enough! I'm Headmaster of this school and you will obey me, you were set here to assist me, not to question me!"
Amycus looked shocked. "You're tryin' to help them! You traitor! I'll tell everyone! I'll tell him—!"
Minerva and Slughorn were hurrying to usher the children out of the office, with Minerva in command, Slughorn cowardly and frightened as usual, and they left Amycus in the office with Severus.
Before the door closed upon the room wherein Carrow was shouting at Snape, Minerva caught a glimpse of his eyes. He sent her an ambiguous look, and for a split second she thought he was apologising through eye contact; that he expected her to think well of him for giving the children detention with Hagrid instead of the Carrows... Minerva felt no such gratefulness. Severus knew what he was, a cowardly murderer, and he always would be.
She was disgusted to work under his command. The only reason she stayed at Hogwarts was for the children. They would have no chance if all the sane teachers left.
"You three!" she turned to them anger and shock in her voice. "How could you be so foolish?"
The three of them began speaking at the same time. Slughorn seemed to shrink away.
"Professor, we didn't mean to—"
"We needed to get the sword to Harry! He's using it for someth—"
"Be quiet! What on earth were you thinking? It was sheer luck that Severus didn't send you off to the Carrows for punishment!"
"It doesn't matter what they do to us!" said Longbottom, "we'll never stop trying to help Harry!"
She'd never been so impressed by him, nor fond of him. "That's very noble, Longbottom, but it's not wise to act rash..."
"I don't care what they do to me, they can put the Cruciatus on me all they want – I won't stop standing up to them."
"Me too, professor," said Ginny Weasley, "The war's not won yet. We've got to keep fighting for Harry and Ron and Hermione. They're doing their part out there. We've got to hold the fort in here."
"We all have our parts to play," said Lovegood in her dreamy voice, "We're Dumbledore's Army; this is what we do... And you, professor, keep watch over us..."
"I'm not sure for how long that is possible if you keep acting foolishly. What would Potter need a sword for anyway? He has all the help he needs if he just contacts anyone from the Order!"
"We're not sure, but..." began Longbottom.
"Dumbledore left it to him in his will!" said Weasley fiercely. As always, at the mention of the late Albus, something painful seemed to jab Minerva in the heart-area.
"It doesn't do you well to speculate in these manners! Focus on keeping yourself out of trouble and getting through school! No, I won't hear it," she added as the three of them began protesting. "Now off to your dormitories! I hope I can trust you to go straight there?"
They hurried away, scuffling, whispering amongst each other.
"Really, perhaps it's time for bed..." yawned Slughorn nervously, stroking his large belly absent-mindedly.
Amycus Carrow sprung out of the Headmaster's office so suddenly the stone gargoyle jumped and shrieked. Minerva sent him a disgusted look.
"Oh, what's the matter, ma'am?" he jeered, "When kids misbehave they should be punished, eh?"
"It's the matter of punishment that's the issue," she said coolly. Slughorn twisted nervously next to her.
"Oh, come now, professor, punishment is an old tradition in the boardin' schools, ain' it?"
"Yes, in the Muggle boarding schools, Mr Carrow!" she drew herself up to her full length."Somehow I had the impression Muggles are the sorts of people you and your sister did not want to mimic."
"Don't you dare!" he frowned furiously, seemingly disgusted, pointing a fat finger at her.
"Oh, I dare, Mr Carrow."
"Be careful," he growled threateningly, "or you'll be the first to go..."
He left. She let out a tensed breath and she and Horace began walking down the corridor towards the main staircase. "Don't you think the discipline is good for them?" pondered Horace. "There's a war coming up after all, and they could use the spells and hexes they're being taught..."
"But the curses? The Unforgivables? And trained by the enemy! You can't possibly be serious! I'd love to teach them protective spells and disarming charms, like Filius, but not Unforgivables! They're kids, Horace, they shouldn't be taught to kill!"
"Perhaps they have to."
