Black Glass III - Persuasion
- me, myself and Taylor
A/N: Third installment... Hermione has got to recover, right? And Draco has got to be visited by Voldemort, right? What, wrong? Grrr! ::ahem:: Ah well, as I am so fond of saying, please review after you read. It really makes my day. And motivates me to finish the story. Did you know that Lucius means light? ::snort:: They're trying to win him over to the Dark Side... my poor Draco... ::sniff:: The allusion to 'sinister hand' applies to the left hand in general, not the fact that Draco was sinister! : ) The left hand is said to be the sinister hand...
Disclaimer: If I had them all on a desert island with me and J.K. Rowling came along to take them away, I wouldn't be able to do anything...
Lucius Malfoy sat in the Dark Arts room at a faded mahogany desk, thinking. It was dingy and dark, but it served its purpose. There were portraits of Dark Wizards on the walls, and numerous apparatus on the shelves. He had concentrated all his power in helping one of the Dark Wizards - a wizard who happened to be in hiding.
With a sigh, Lucius got up and faced a certain portrait. A young boy, black-haired, with a malevolent expression on his face. This was Tom Riddle, the soon-to-be greatest Dark Lord of all time. Lucius clapped his hands twice and muttered a stream of strange-sounding words, pointing at the picture. The spell took almost no time for him, a practiced Dark Wizard.
The portrait's edges became blurred and it seemed as though drops of water were running down it. Then a carbon copy of the picture stepped out of the frame and into the dusty room. It was Tom Riddle himself. Only part of Voldemort, and yet so powerful. Lucius had summoned him from the portrait to ask a question. Although he wouldn't have admitted it aloud, he preferred Tom to Voldemort, because Tom was more of a friend than a master, whereas Voldemort was a master in all ways.
'Morning, Lucius,' the boy drawled lazily.
'Good morning, Tom,' Lucius returned, sitting down again. 'How is the boy?'
Tom Riddle straightened up, a gleam of interest in his eye. 'You should have told him about it during the vacation,' he chided Lucius. 'I shall have to do some hard... er, persuading.' His grin was almost manic. 'I have always enjoyed the fine art of persuasion. You do realise that the boy will eventually have to join us. If he isn't for us, he's against us.'
Lucius let out a sigh, folding his hands together. He looked very much like his son, with the same pale hair and features, although he was more filled out than the slender boy. 'Yes, I did realise that... but he is different, Tom. He has this strange gene... compassion.'
The tall boy wrinkled his nose rather crossly. 'Ah yes, that gene. It exists in many of us, but not you and me, eh, Lucius? We'll just have to win him over. I tried to kill the Granger Mudblood - the one he is always complaining about - through him, but it was difficult, as something in him was holding him back. Most probably he is only weak, like you were at first. There is a bond now, between them - their marks.' He scowled. 'I'm sure he can feel it, being your son. I find him very promising. He shows this steely strength at times that can be very useful... I have great plans for him, and am therefore prepared to be patient...' He gave a small chuckle. 'Now we must try harder than ever to win him over. Maybe it will take no more than a personal appearance by me... I can be very - frightening, you know.' He grinned devilishly. 'Did you ever wonder why he has never seen me before?'
Lucius stretched out his fingers, flexing them, picked up a pen and began to twirl it. 'I am guessing that you thought he wasn't up to it,' he replied, returning the grin. 'You need to win him over at the right time.'
'Precisely. Actually, you should have tried to teach him from birth... never sent him to that wreck of a school. It has really gone downhill, has it not?'
'Indeed.' Lucius screwed up a ball of paper. 'That old fool of a Dumbledore... and Snape. We had him for a while, didn't we?'
'He broke away. Needed to do what is right.' Tom laughed. 'Two old crackpots. Personally I've always admired the McGonagall woman - very spunky. The Granger girl seems to be a favourite of hers.' He frowned. 'It could be a drawback, because I intend to dispose of her very soon. She is becoming too close to Draco. The woman could get very protective. Ah well, anyone know any good chat-up lines?'
Lucius gave a short laugh. 'Just don't go too quickly, Tom,' he advised the boy. 'Draco is very sensitive. He won't listen if you push him too hard. I did try to teach him when he was younger, but he began to scream in his sleep – a bad sign. He wouldn't listen to me.'
'Oh, people always listen to me,' Tom said.
'You need your rest, dear. You were hit by Dark Magic! You need to lie back.' Madam Pomfrey dabbed the lightning mark on Hermione's temple with a wet cloth. Hermione moved restlessly, her hand inching under her pillow towards the book she had hidden there, a book that Ron had brought down for her with many complaints. Her burn hurt badly.
'I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey,' Hermione groaned. 'I'll be fine. May I please return to class?'
'You have visitors, dear,' Madam Pomfrey told her. 'Three today.' Hermione sat up in bed, and was pushed back down by the stern matron. 'Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and... Draco Malfoy.' Her face darkened at the mention of Draco. 'Isn't Malfoy the one who hit you, dear?'
'Yes, but -'
Hermione was cut short by the appearance of three boys in the doorway. Ron was shooting glares at Draco, who was completely expressionless, and Harry looked very concerned. Hermione's face lit up at the sight of her two friends. 'Harry! Ron!' she called. The three of them ran to her and stood by her bed, while Madam Pomfrey finished up and watched them with a disapproving cluck.
'Are you all right, Hermione?' Harry asked, staring at the lightning scar that resembled his own and shooting a look at Draco, who held up his palm without saying anything at all. Ron grinned worriedly at her, and reached out to touch the mark gingerly. They had brought her some sweets, supplied by Fred and George.
'We came as soon as we could,' Ron explained. 'Professor McGonagall gave us permission.' Harry handed her another book, which Hermione took gratefully and stowed under her pillow for safekeeping. Draco smiled at her dispassionately. She smiled at all three of them, while Harry and Ron shot angry glances at Draco and examined her burn mark worriedly.
'You'll take care, won't you, Hermione?' Harry asked, and Ron fiercely stated that he'd make sure she did. Hermione hugged both of them with the assurance that she would be back in class very soon. Draco said nothing at all, except that he hoped she would recover soon, and Ron glared at him with narrow eyes.
'You had better watch your back, Malfoy,' Ron hissed.
Suddenly Hermione said, 'Draco.'
'What?'
'Draco. His name's Draco.' She earned herself peculiar glances from Harry and Ron. Draco's eyes flashed, although Hermione could never tell whether he was pleased or angry.
'Thank you ever so much,' she amended. 'I'll see you later.' Harry and Ron waved goodbye to her, lingering, then shot out of the infirmary at a yell from Madam Pomfrey.
To Hermione's surprise, Draco stayed. 'What do you want?' she asked him, not unkindly. He drew a breath, opened his mouth, and then closed it.
'I can't remember,' he said smoothly, his face showing no expression at all. 'Thank you, Hermione. I hope you recover soon.' He turned towards the door, and then came back. Hermione stared at him wonderingly as he lifted the hand with the burn mark and placed it on her left temple, so the two lightning bolts were in line. And then she felt a current of electricity as the marks joined, and she gasped despite herself. Draco was shaking as well, but he kept the signs in line, and just as suddenly the current stopped. Madam Pomfrey was hurrying over towards them.
'Draco Malfoy,' she yelled, 'this patient NEEDS - HER - REST. Visiting time is over!'
Ignoring her, Draco lifted his left hand - his sinister hand - and showed her the mark on the palm. Hermione realised with a start that her mark had ceased to hurt. And Draco's mark was no longer dark and jagged, but smooth and pale. She put a hand up to touch hers, wonderingly. 'How did you do that?' she whispered.
'I - I saw my mother doing that once,' Draco whispered in return. 'I - I don't really know what happened. Goodbye, Hermione,' he whispered, and went out quietly.
Hermione felt her mark, wondering.
That night as Draco lay in his bed in the Slytherin dorm, he couldn't sleep. Confused images floated before his eyes. His mother, whom he hardly ever saw. His father, who was half cruel and half kind. Hermione, for whom he was beginning to have mixed feelings... 'No...' he groaned. 'Stop it.'
'Do you really want that to happen, Draco?
The pale-haired boy sat up in bed suddenly. 'Who's there?' he called, his voice shaky. And a form began to materialise at the foot of the bed. It was a dark-haired boy, a boy with sharp, malevolent eyes and handsome features. Draco frowned, recognising it vaguely.
'Draco, I am Tom Riddle,' the apparition said, becoming solid and real and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
'Tom - Riddle,' Draco gasped, and then, regaining composure, said, 'I should have thought that Tom Riddle would have better things to do than to skulk around the foot of my bed in the middle of the night.' He twisted his slender fingers together. 'What do you want with me? Father often talked of you.'
Tom Riddle laughed devilishly. Draco shuddered, raising an eyebrow with a snide expression. 'I want you to join me, Draco,' the boy said. He was not much older than Draco himself, and resembled Harry Potter in a way - Draco smirked, then straightened out his face reluctantly. 'I want you to join us. Your father and myself. You will be the next Dark Lord, Draco. I have no descendants.'
'Ha, ha,' said Draco composedly, although inside he was shaking. 'Me, the next Dark Lord? Think again.'
'It is true,' said Riddle, coming up closer to Draco and speaking in his ear. 'You could be great, you could have power. You could rule the world - finally get one over on the Potter boy.' At the mention of that name, Riddle's lip curled. 'All you have to do is do what I tell you to. Your father and I will instruct you.'
Draco was tempted. It sounded good. He had been brought up in a very Dark environment, which showed in his outward cruelty. 'I might,' he replied.
'Good,' Tom replied. 'You will. Come with me.' He took Draco's hand, and at the touch of his hand a sharp pain burned in the mark on Draco's hand. Draco pulled his hand back and ran his fingers over the mark on the palm.
'Did you have anything to do with Hermione?' he asked abruptly. 'With that spell I cast at her? Was it you?'
Tom rubbed his hands together delightedly. 'You are intelligent; I'll give you that. Yes, of course I did. I want you to kill her now, yourself. Come.' And Draco found himself in the infirmary, next to a sleeping Hermione. Tom clapped him on the shoulder, and Draco raised his wand as though in a trance.
'No, I can't,' he muttered, dropping his arm.
'You can,' Riddle said, smiling at him evilly. 'You can. You can and you will. This is a first step, Draco. A first step to the many Mudbloods you could kill. A first step to the many you will overcome. First her, then "Potty and the Weasel",' Draco laughed uncertainly, 'and then Hogwarts. Then, my dear boy, we will have the world.' He raised Draco's arm once again in his firm grip, and Draco was poised over Hermione, ready to strike.
'I - I don't know the spell,' he said, his thoughts confused. He did want to rule the world - he did want to get rid of Potter - but could he kill? Kill someone?
'Your father taught it to you over vacation,' Riddle said. Draco remembered. His father had drilled him endlessly, and he had learnt a few spells by heart. 'Now will you do it?' The force of the question struck Draco like a bullet to the heart.
'Yes,' Draco said. 'Yes, I will.'
He raised his arm for the third time, determined. He looked at Hermione, lying helpless on the bed. Her white face, her long lashes, her brown hair that spread across the pillow. One arm was thrown up over the covers. She looked so innocent that a pang struck Draco through the heart. Could he actually be such a beast as to kill this girl? Hermione? She could be anyone's child. She could be anyone's daughter. She could be anyone's sister. His mind reeled. Tom saw it, and hissed in his ear.
'Do it!'
And Draco, desperate, began to mumble the words of the deadly incantation.
A/N: Ooh, a cliffhanger... a lousy one... Hope you didn't hate that too much... Keep reading please, I will be putting the next part up pretty soon... even I don't know what will happen next. Maybe Hermione will be the first to die. Please, please, I beg of you, review. I'm beginning to live off reviews. This morning I reread my reviews and skipped breakfast. I am getting too absorbed in this tale...