Better Be Slytherin
XXXIX
Cupcakes & Cruciatus Curses

Vincent performed his first Unforgivable Curse on another person on a Tuesday morning.

"Where is Macmillan, I might wonder? Need I remind you lot that this subject is strictly mandatory?"

The Dark Arts classroom on the first floor was darker than usual and lit with candles. At the front, the vicious-looking Amycus stood, watching over them like a hawk. Vincent noticed some of the Hufflepuffs looked clueless and unaware, but some looked nervous and secretive. There was a silence for a while; three of the Hufflepuffs glanced at each other, looking like they all wanted one of the others to speak.

"Err, Hospital Wing, sir," said Finch-Fletchley avoidingly. Amycus' small eyes narrowed.

"What for?"

"Err," the boy hesitated one moment too long, averting his eyes, then adding,"Quidditch injury."

Amycus eyes narrowed. "What position?"

"He doesn't play for our house; it was, er, for fun, last night..."

"Liar," breathed Amycus. Finch-Fletchley swallowed hard.

"I'm not lying, sir," he began in a nervous but defiant tone. "He's at the hospital wing…"

"So if I ask let's say Mr Malfoy to go and check, he'll find Mr Macmillan in a hospital bed?"

The boy opened his mouth but said nothing, and that was evidence enough for the professor.

Amycus walked around slowly, waving his wand around, pointing it at each of them in turn. "All right then! Where is he? Anyone willing to spill? No?"

He approached the Hufflepuff table and banged his fist hard onto the surface. They jumped, and so did Daphne Greengrass. "WHERE IS HE?!" he bellowed.

"He didn't want to come all right!" Finch-Fletchley exclaimed. "He doesn't like the subject!"

Amycus wheezed and looked malevolently satisfied. "Is that so? So he decided not to turn up, then. Thought he'd make a point of it, did he?"

"Something like that, I suppose..."

"Well, then," he jeered, "Why don't we make a point ourselves...?" His malicious eyes fixed on the Hufflepuff, he suddenly barked: "Crabbe!"

"Yes sir?" Vincent stood up at once, eager to show his loyalty. The table shook violently as his belly made contact and Davis' pencil-box fell down into her lap. Pansy sniggered.

"Since Macmillan isn't here to take his punishment, I suggest his little friend do it for him."

Vincent frowned. He didn't quite get what the professor meant. The Hufflepuffs looked dead worried now.

"Sorry, sir, I, erm, don't know what—"

"The Cruciatus Curse, I think, will do!"

A gasp went through the room. Even a few of the Slytherins looked shocked and disliking – the half-blood Davis the most of all. The Hufflepuffs began shouting their protests at once. The other Slytherins looked between themselves unsurely. Greg gave him a small encouraging smile through the chaos, however.

"Silence!" Amycus bellowed at them and with a flick of his wand, the Hufflepuffs were silenced. "Mr Crabbe?"

"All right, I'll give it a go!" he beamed, he'd been longing to try this, it was the ultimate test of strength.

"You can't do that!" exclaimed Hannah Abbott in a weak attempt at changing the professor's mind. "It's illegal to use on any witch or wizard!"

"Quiet, girl!" he barked. "Finchley, or whatever you're called—"

"It's Finch-Fletchley," growled the Hufflepuff student reluctantly. Hatred was oozing from his eyes.

"Get up!" shouted Amycus, making Zacharias Smith jump. He seemed to be just as cowardly as Daphne.

Abbott and Susan Bones began loudly protesting once more – Abbott clung to Finch-Fletchley's arm as he rose bravely, as if to hold him back. Vincent grinned.

"Come here," said Amycus, motioning for Vincent to join him at the front. He pushed his chair away and moved to his professor quickly, as Fletchley stared emptily at him. "You too!" barked Amycus at Finch-Fletchley who moved around the desk and up the aisle between tables, to the sound of Abbott's wimpering.

They came face to face and Finch-Fletchley's bright green eyes met his own. He didn't look pleading nor frightened, there was merely a subtle look of defiance on his face. Vincent didn't like that; he felt it reduced his power. He would be frightened soon; Vincent would make sure of it.

"Well, go on, do it!" Amycus snarled at Vincent, "We haven't got all day!" Finch-Fletchley took a deep breath and closed his eyes as Vincent briefly hoped his practising on the mice would suffice for the real thing. This was his chance. He'd been longing for it. He raised his arm.

"Crucio!"

There was no doubt it had worked. The scream that filled the classroom was ear-piercing. Finch-Fletchley stumbled off his feet and crashed into a desk, slumping down onto the floor writhing and twitching in magical pain, unable to control his movements, Vince was sure. And he was filled with a sense of success – he'd done it! He'd actually done it!

"Excellent, Crabbe! Twenty points to Slytherin!"

He gaped. He'd never even received more than five points, if even that.

He glanced at the Slytherin table to catch his best friend's eye. Greg did a thumbs-up at him, which made him feel proud. Had it been a year earlier, he might've, or rather certainly would've, felt disappointed that Malfoy looked neither happy nor displeased, but now he didn't care what Malfoy thought anymore. Abbott had tears in her eyes and Davis the halfblood was frowning with great dislike. Ruddy blood-traitor, he thought.

Nobody spoke. Abbott kept crying – he really didn't like the sound of female crying, he wished she would stop. His jaw clenched, and he was close to raising his wand to silence the stupid girl but then Finch-Fletchley gave a last scream and rolled over as the curse wore off and Abbott's wimpering subsided; she seemed to be holding her breath. He lay perfectly still for a few seconds and then came to his feet groaning slightly. He looked at Vincent and Amycus soundlessly for a moment, his jaw twitching slightly. Vincent looked back and felt slightly intimidated. Why wasn't the Hufflepuff more frightened of him? It annoyed him greatly – he had to see to that in the future.

Amycus was grinning.

Then, through gritted teeth, Finch-Fletchley said, "Was that all?"

Amycus smile wore off at once and his lip curled in suppressed anger. "Tell your pal Macmillan we'll do one of the girls next time."

Finch-Fletchley looked like he wanted to argue and shout and fight, but he held it in. Finally he swallowed harshly and turned around to go back to his seat. Amycus turned to him and raised his eyebrows.

"Sit down," Amycus hissed at him when Vincent just stood there motionless. Right, he'd forgot. He hurried back to his seat.

"Thank you for that demonstration, Mr Crabbe," grinned Amycus.

"'S all right," he smiled widely. He pulled out his chair roughly from the table, making that sissy Nott jump, and sat down again. The chair's back dug into his backside, the ruddy thing was too small – he spilled out on both sides.

"And let that serve as a reminder for the rest of you who're thinking of skiving off in the future," the professor went on, his dark eyes moving across the classroom, lingering mere seconds on each of them. "Now if you'll open your books and find the chapter on Necromancy..."

"Was it difficult?" mumbled Greg on his left as the others at the table – Draco, Millicent, Zabini, Nott, Pansy, Greengrass, Davis and Wilkes – began turning the pages in "Secrets of the Darkest Art".

"Nope," he grinned at his friend. He glanced down at his own hand, still holding his short blackthorn wand. He could hardly believe he'd actually performed such powerful magic, as he'd always struggled to perform even the easiest spells.

"I want a thousand words on the benefits of raising Inferi, you have until Friday." A collective groan went through the class, as always when homework or revision was mentioned – at least when they didn't share the lesson with those sodding Ravenclaws. "And you can begin now."

That was only the beginning. He felt like a new world had opened.


The following day, a notice was pinned to their notice-board in the common room.

"Any absence from lessons will result in detention, or worse."

"Why're they putting it in our house?" growled Vincent to his company of Greg and Malfoy. "We're not the ones skiving off!"

"They've obviously put it in every House, Vince," snapped Malfoy. He was in a ruddy bad mood or so it seemed to Vincent.

An irritation gnawed at him – Malfoy should be a bit more careful about how he treated them. Hadn't they, in fact, spent six years obeying his every command? He should be a bit more greateful, or else it could be dangerous for him.

Malfoy was too dumb to realise this.

When they were little, Vincent and Gregory had gone to the establishment for pre-Hogwarts witches and witches, along with loads of Half-bloods like the Patils, Anthony Goldstein, Mandy Brocklehurst and Tracey Davis, and a few Purebloods who didn't own House-Elfs like that good-for-nothing Longbottom and the Greengrasses. Even Nott and Zabini had been there and they'd had no friends, just like now, Vincent thought and sneered to himself. Most of the Purebloods were taught by their House-Elfs at home, like Malfoy and Pansy, but one day Malfoy had been there.

Vincent remembered how the other kids, mostly older ones, had bullied Malfoy for having a Death Eater father. He and Greg had stepped in and fist-fought their way through the others, landing themselves with a companionship with Malfoy from that point on. Both of their fathers were in fact Death Eaters too so they knew how it felt. It was probably the last time he showed sympathy to anybody, he reckoned.

He was beginning to regret showing Malfoy that sympathy however. What good had it done him, after all – being loyal to Malfoy? He'd helped Malfoy get to the point where they all wanted to be, without a single thanks or share of the glory.

The frustration had begun roughly a year earlier, when everything started getting out of hand. Malfoy was given a job to do and relied on himself and Gregory to do it. Yet they would get none of the credit. He didn't even think Malfoy realised how unfair it was. The frustration had built and built and now Vincent felt like it was up to his neck. The breaking point was near.

He'd never before valued independence or had an ambition to do anything but stay in Malfoy's shadow, but things were changing. As he was getting older he'd begun to realise it would take him nowhere being Malfoy's bodyguard. Malfoy seemed hesitant about helping the Carrows, which Vincent found disloyal and unfaithful. He was the loyal one. Malfoy was just a hypocrite. He would show them, he would become a faithful servant as soon as the Dark Lord wanted him.

On their way to lunch later that day, some Blood-traitor passing them in the corridor muttered "Death Eater scum," at Draco. Vincent and Gregory clenched their fists threatheningly at them, but much to Vincent's surprise and distaste, Malfoy didn't retort. He just walked away. Vincent felt confused all the way to the Great Hall. He was so unlike his old self. He might've been wrong but he was starting to think perhaps Malfoy was becoming too soft. They seated themselves by the gleeful Slytherin table but Vincent kept thinking about Malfoy.

"Garden peas?" said Greg, holding up a silver bowl, interrupting Vincent's thoughts. He frowned and emphasised "No..." and grabbed the side of gravy instead.

Suddenly a wheezing sound came closer, and they turned around to see Amycus Carrow hurrying up to them, quickly approaching. Vincent frowned.

"Boys," he panted, "we've got a problem..."

Vincent stood up at once, accidentally knocking Malfoy's goblet of pumpkin juice over.

"I've just been informed by Mr Filch that the half-giant's having a 'Support Harry Potter' party tonight. He's invited a whole bunch of students, those D.A lot..."

"What about it?" frowned Vincent. Amycus sighed impatiently.

"Any gathering to promote the opposition is illegal, Crabbe!"

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" exclaimed Vincent. "Let's go get 'em! Greg, come on!"

"Malfoy, you too, if you please," said Amycus. Malfoy looked annoyed but threw his napkin aside.


Saturday next was the first Hogsmeade trip. He'd been looking forward to it, because it was always a pleasure visiting Honeydukes, but he hadn't longed as much this year as the previous ones, simply because he enjoyed his time at school more now and didn't wish to escape as much. He was now part of something that reminded him of the Inquisitorial Squad that they'd joined in fifth year, but more serious and advanced. They had crashed the Potter party and chaos had erupted; they'd captured anyone who hadn't fled instantly. All that was left behind were smashed bottles, a few broken chairs and punctured balloons with Harry Potter's face on them. Vincent hadn't been able to resist however pinching a bite of the large cake they'd been feasting on at the party, but instantly regret it as he figured the oaf himself had probably baked it and it tasted horribly. They'd been out on nightly patrols around the castle corridors to catch wrong-doers and rebels, and even conducted a few raids of the seventh year Gryffindors' dormitories in search of forbidden objects. And they had kept practising Crucio on those who deserved it.

He'd never felt so powerful nor proud of himself. He rewarded himself now by, with Gregory by his side, stuffing rucksack-sized bags full of sweets. Pumpkin fizz – a sherbert that tickled your mouth like fizzy drinks when you sucked on it – caramel cobwebs, Sugar Quills, Coconut Ice, taffies and wrapped caramels, Droobles, Bertie Bott's, Chocoballs...

He didn't know where to begin. Honeydukes always gave him the sensation of overwhelvement. There were large colourful lollies and big glass containers of hard bonbons in different shapes and colours. Massive bowls of wrapped sweets which you could shovel into a bag. A vast variety of cakes, pastries and cupcakes just by the counter. He eyed the chocolate cake, meringue cake and mille-feuilles longingly but when he heard Pansy, Greengrass and Wilkes laughing at him behind his back he aborted the thought and felt sour again.

"Get us a Licorice Wand, will you?" simpered Pansy at him. He rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Finally he reached for a candy floss in different colours, and paid the dumpy witch behind the large old till.

The weather was dull and grey, chilly and windy but luckily it wasn't raining. That always dampened their spirits. They walked along the cobbled street, witches and wizards hurrying past them. They passed the Wizarding Wireless Network Headquartes and took a right onto a smaller side-street.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere further in the shop as they entered Gladrag's Wizardwear. Vincent had no idea why he and Greg was there as they only sold witches' robes – Pansy and her friends had wanted to go, and thus Pansy had persuaded Malfoy to join, and he had brought the two of them along.

"What do you think?" came Pansy's voice, aloof, from a corner of the small shop where she was changing behind a tall velvet curtain. She stepped out wearing plum-coloured robes that billowed around her. Greg's face mirrored his own confusion, his mouth dangling open.

"They're so pretty!" squealed Greengrass, and the other girls giggled agreeingly.

"Too big, ain't they?" grumbled Vincent at her.

Pansy rolled her eyes impatiently. "They're supposed to be that way, Crabbe! It's fashion!"

Vincent frowned, very disbelieving of this. How was she supposed to walk without stumbling in those? If that was witches' fashion, he didn't understand it.

"What do you think, Draco?" demanded Pansy, turning away from Vincent. Malfoy, who had been looking at the silver watch on his arm looked up, and said distractedly, "Hm? Yes, very nice."

Vincent knew Pansy would scold him for not paying attention later when she thought nobody could hear them.

"Thought we might go and meet Zabini and Nott in the Broomsticks," said Draco then, probably to explain to Pansy why he hadn't been listening.

"I'm in!" said Greengrass, suddenly excited. The colour-changing socks she'd examined were carelessly tossed aside at once.

Pansy's dark green eyes narrowed at once, focused on Malfoy. "Why would you want that?"

"I fancy a Butterbeer," said Malfoy in a would-be off-hand manner. Vincent didn't believe him either – Malfoy and Nott didn't get on anymore, did they?

"Fine," said Pansy, still not convinced, "but I want to visit the Menagerie first."

"Why can't we go to the Quidditch place?" whinged Greg. "I don't want to go to the Menagerie!"

"You can do whatever you like, Greg," snarled Pansy. "We've not even invited you to come here!"

"We'll go then," said Malfoy desicively, "Meet you in the Broomsticks later. Crabbe, Goyle, come on."

Reluctantly, Vincent followed. He hardly wanted to stay with Pansy and her ditzy girlfriends, and Greg was going with Malfoy anyway. They went for the Quidditch supply shop and looked at new gloves, admired this year's broom additions and browsed through a few sports magazines. Vincent avoided speaking to Malfoy as much as he could, and Malfoy only spoke to Greg.

Finally, they stepped out onto the chilly street again and headed towards Three Broomsticks. The strong scent of Butterbeer and mead hit them, watering Vincent's mouth at once. They made their way through the crowded, warm room to the bar.

Malfoy drew a finger on the counter and held it up for them to see – it was grey, a thick layer of dust. "Look at the state of the place," he muttered to them so that the bar maid wouldn't hear. "Have they no shame at all?"

"Pint of lager please – draught. And a Cauldron Cake!" said Greg when they came to the front. "Might as well right?" he added to his friends. "Now we've been working like house-elves for weeks revising."

"What will you have?" Madam Rosmerta looked at Greg and Malfoy with badly hidden dislike. She probably knew they were all sons of Death Eaters, since a group of them had been around Hogsmeade a lot in the evenings keeping a look out, or so they had been told in the letters from their fathers.

"Mead," grunted Vincent.

Malfoy, who had been looking around disdainfully, said shortly, "I'll have a Butterbeer, thanks."

With a bustle of sound, the girls appeared, Pansy in front, with a fluffy little ball in vivid pink on her shoulder.

"A Pygmy Puff," she squealed. "I couldn't resist. Cute, isn't it?"

He choked on his drink. It was the ugliest thing Vincent had ever seen, except for the dress-robes she'd worn to the Yule Ball.

Malfoy was again looking around for Nott and Zabini. Vincent found it most curious.


Despite his annoyance with his friend, he felt a slight discomfort at the possibilitiy of losing him to Nott and Zabini. Why would Malfoy want to hang around with those two anyway? He had him and Greg! And Nott wouldn't want to be friends with Malfoy anyway. No, he probably shouldn't bother about it. He needed Malfoy to grow up and stop using them, but he wasn't sure where they would be if he altogether left them. Besides, Greg would be saddened by it. No, they would have to find another way to change the dynamics. He remembered the first time they had met. They had been eight, and he and Greg had saved Malfoy from the bullies.

"Did you see the look on their stupid faces?" Malfoy had laughed cruelly, as if he hadn't been crying just moments earlier.

"Why were they shoutin' at you? 'Death Eater filth' they said."

"They think my father's a Death Eater," Malfoy had said grumpily, his light grey eyes seemed somehow dark. "He's not! Anyway the Dark Lord's gone, it doesn't matter nowadays, or it shouldn't. Besides, he was bewitched when he did those things! The Ministry let him off!"

"I was only asking," had Greg said quickly. "Because our fathers weren't. Bewitched that is."

"Really?" his eyes had widened in shock or something else. He licked his lips and suddenly reached out his hand. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."


As they ate supper, the magical sky in the Great Hall was pink and the last of the soon-setting soon was beaming from behind the clouds, making them look golden. Seemed to be a part of England left that the Dementors hadn't touched.

"Tom Riddle," muttered Malfoy and the passage in the wall showed itself at once at the password. The theme of old meaningful Slytherins were still in use. They climbed through and made their way across the dimly lit, cold room to the sitting area around the hearth.

"I'm shattered," sighed Greg sadly and put his feet up on the table, stretching. "Got a T on my Transfiguration essay, didn't I?"

Malfoy sneered behind his copy of this month's Quidditch of the Ages. He was so pale that he melted into his white shirt. The collar made his face look even pointier.

"T for Transfiguration?" grunted Vincent.

"T for Troll!" explained Greg.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? Did the pair of you leave your brains at breakfast this morning or what?"

Vincent wanted to slam him down or punch him in the face, but held himself back, and incoherent grumbling came out instead.

"No," said Greg quickly, "I tried really hard on that! If I ever did leave my brain behind it wasn't today!"

Malfoy sniggered. "Explain the T, then, Greg."

When they were little, Malfoy had found himself in a fist fight about every other week. First at the academy they attended before school, and then at Hogwarts mainly with Potter or Weasley. Vincent hadn't a clue how Malfoy would've coped if he and Greg hadn't been there.

He really thought Malfoy ought to be a bit more greateful.

"It's a miracle you keep passing the exams," he drawled then at Greg, "You've actually managed to stay on for this long. I'd thought you'd be expelled years ago."

"You thought who was going to be expelled?"

Oh, here we go. Pansy had arrived with her gang of nasty girls, they were all equally tall (which probably came in handy as they spent their time whispering together while walking down the corridors) all except for Millicent. The only one he liked.

"Me," said Greg gloomily. The girls tittered.

"But you've managed to stay until now," Malfoy repeated, a malicious gleam in his eye that he always had when making fun of someone, "You might even finish school! Never thought I'd live to see the day. Perhaps Prefect Pansy is helping you behind our back," he said sarcastically, earning himself a glare from Pansy who in fact wasn't stupid enough to not understand when she was being made fun of.

Malfoy then laughed loudly at his own joke, as if he was the funniest person in the universe. Greg gave a guffawing laugh despite himself. Vincent himself rolled his eyes – he certainly wasn't laughing at Malfoy's bad jokes anymore, especially not when they were about either of them. A slight annoyance filled him at the fact that Greg had laughed.

Pansy laughed coquettishly, her shoulder-lenght brown hair in a ponytail which swished around when she moved.

"Stassy!" he barked suddenly and a small, squat House-Elf wearing what seemed to be several wash-clots tied together, appeared with a pop.

Greengrass schreeched and the others jerked, surprised at the sight of the small creature. Ah, his favourite House-Elf.

"Yes sir?" she squeaked, very used to his late-evening orders of different baked goods.

"In the mood for a chocolate éclair today," he muttered.

"S-so sorry sir, we is out of éclairs!"

That was that evening spoiled then.

"Bit of treacle tart then? Or a few cupcakes?"

"Cupcakes, cupcakes, sir, Stassy will bring them to Mr Crabbe soon as she can—"

Pansy looked gobsmacked when she disappeared again to the kitchens. "Can you do that? Call on them outside regular meal times?"

"Obviously?" he sniggered.

Pansys mouth was still ajar – it wasn't pretty. "Well noted. Definitely have to try it out soon, calling them..."

Vincent suddenly wished he hadn't done it in front of her. Perhaps now everyone would start doing it and the House-Elfs wouldn't have time for him and Greg.

But then he could just use the Cruciatus curse on them. Nobody could refuse him anything anymore.


Note: The reason Crabbe managed the Cruciatus Curse at first try was because a) he'd been practising so much, more than any of the others, at the mice and b) because he saw pleasure in inducing pain, which I believe would make him more prone to succeed with the curse. He had the will. Like how Harry could defy the curse at first try because he had so much good in him, it's the opposite with Crabbe. It's not because he's really talented magically, after all Draco had to practice for months before learning the Unforgivables. Also, I gave Crabbe a Hawthorn wand because I thought it fit his personality best, wandlore-wise. Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think!