AN: Ayeee hope you brought crackers, cause I bought the cheese. Chessy cheesy all around. In all seriousness, it's one of those chapters, filled with heart, deepened emotion. I understand how some of you might not like that, which is fine, it's not for everyone. I happen to be one of those people. Those who are willing to stick it out for this chapter, thanks! Special thanks to RyuuFuyuScarlet for the idea. To be honest I was sort of lost for a while until I read the comment and I was like 'Not a bad idea' So, thanks really! Guest, or Raise? Not sure which one you prefer - I started watching Monster and Oh SNAP! I'm currently on episode eleven and so far, I can't stop watching. Real life is keeping me from binging the heck out of it... But I have to say, I totally see the similarities. I wanted to make the character try and stand out but seeing how it's been done before. Ehhhh, not sure how to overcome that. But still, thanks for the recommendation it certainly is an eye opener. I'm a fan of psychology so this fits really well. Patrick Schuster, yeah, I can agree on some parts, and I see where you are coming from, it's still process and hopefully with enough criticism and advise I can become a better writer. I'm no Stephen King or Charles Dickens, but I would like to give it try. ANYWAYS! Thank you everyone for reading, taking a little gander here and there. Constructive Criticism is always, always, ALWAYS, welcomed. I hope everyone has a good week, stay safe, and keep reading. Don't forget - if you haven't already - Follow/Fav/Review.
Gripping his wand, his brows furrowed in concentration. Sitting on his knees, he stares down at the apple that rested on the dark wooded floor. A long deep breath. Closing his eyes and waving his hand, he chants in a soft whisper. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Opening them, he looks down to see the apple. Untouched by air, he failed.
His throat vibrates, snarling at the lack of progress. Refusing to back down, Mortimer closes his eyes again, focusing and clearing his head. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Nothing.
His nostrils flared, tightening his fists.
Another attempt.
Same results.
He tries again, only this time, yells out in a fit of disgruntlement.
It was futile.
His whole body quickly tenses, pointing sharply and staring he tries one more time. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Staring fiercely, there was no sign. Roaring out loud and in a fit of anger, threw his wand across the room.
Overcome by failure, Mortimer sits there, peering beyond the abandoned classroom. Wrapping his arms legs, hiding in shame.
For only the sound of his rapid heartbeat, he lets out a soft whimper. He felt like a complete and utter failure, he was useless. The constant feeling of emptiness as he sat back. A giant hole resting inside his chest, he was lacking that missing part of himself he so desperately needed. This couldn't be real. He was bloody wizard! How can he not cast a beginner's spell? He's done it a million time before! What's changed? It couldn't be him that was the problem. He was perfectly fine. Maybe if he asks Aunt Cissy, surely, she'd just buy him a new wand. His magic should return and perhaps things will go back to normal.
Why was this happening to him? Why did the world seem to go out of its way just to screw him over.
Alone in this abandoned classroom, this had been the fourth time this week he's been in the same room, repeating the same spell, over and over and over again. It was always the same. He was exhausted. The faint beginnings of a headache pulses in his temples, made worse by the reoccurring hollowness deep inside his gut. Covering his face with his hands, he uses his fingers to press them in their eye sockets.
He doesn't know how long he could keep this up, how far he'll be able to hide this part. With the holidays drawing near, and Aunt Cissy wanting him to return home, she'll surely suspect. Aunt Cissy was very observant, very calculating. And she was the closest thing to a Mother Mortimer had. She may be stern, and can sometimes appear cold, but she always insisted that everything she did was for him. Narcissa did care about him, when pushed too far, she was always there to comfort him through the tough times. It wasn't the same as her being affectionate with Draco, but she made always made an effort to ensure she hasn't forgotten him.
Mortimer didn't want to let her down.
A groan. Not only was he a bad wizard, but he was now a bad nephew. Since the start of the new year, he hasn't written to her. The only reason she hasn't sent for him was due to Draco, covering his tracks, they haven't suspected a thing. Mortimer shifted uncomfortably, his head resting on the back of the stone wall, the silent void made him feel incredibly small.
As Mortimer's face grew pale and his eyes fell shut, he felt something inside himself break, a sharp stinging entering his heart as he began to panic. His wand laid motionlessly in front of Mortimer's own two feet. For a while he only stared and watched as if he expected something to happen. When it didn't, it there that Mortimer knew it wasn't a dream. He was really here, dealing with this horrible nightmare. He couldn't bear think what Draco will say, what he might do.
In spite of his ongoing support there is a certain line that should never be crossed. And there is only so much Draco can tolerate before going ballistic. Mortimer believes this is what will drive Malfoy away. He can deal with the fact he'd been raised in a non-magical world, and yes, he didn't mind knowing Mortimer was dealing with some personal inner demon, this was all something that can be worked out - But being a squib? That was simply asking for too much. It wasn't even a question, no sense in discussing further because by then, Draco's mind had already been made up.
Nothing seemed fair. He can feel himself getting weaker and weaker. All his friends will know, he'd be a reject, discards from the prestigious purebloods that only exist to torment those who don't fit in. He can already hear their harsh words, mocking and denounce, strip him from his name, forget he ever drew breath. To them he was nothing. All the work he's put forth would mean nothing if he couldn't even perform the most basic of spells. Mortimer couldn't remember the last time he was able to pick up a wand and simply feel the magic coursing through his body, it felt like so long ago. All he could feel now was an immense unfulfilled hole that was constantly growing every day. Stretching until it was able enough to swallow him whole.
Studying and practicing was equally as useless. He can read all day and research at night, but in the end, it meant nothing if he wasn't able to carry out the real thing. His desperate attempts to fix things on his own was getting him nowhere.
Might as well take up as the new caretaker...
Guilty for doing so, he starts comparing himself to Flich.
He groans at the very image.
Mortimer sniffed and instantly regretted his decisions.
Perhaps he shouldn't have closed Dumbledore off... Maybe if he been more honest about his losses, the old man could've found some way to help - It doesn't matter. Mortimer had already told the old man he didn't need any help, that he'd solve it in his own way. And that's how it'll stay. He'll figure it out. . . Who was he kidding?
Lifting his hand, he studies the palm of his non-magical hand. In isolation, there was meaning to continue on and wonder where it all went wrong. Asking stupid questions, it didn't chipper away the pain in his heart. Gripping it shut, he draws a deep breath. Reminding himself that he was born for this, to veer his emotions aside so that they wouldn't draw any sort of suspicion. He buries them under countless feet of the earth. It's worked in the past, except now, it felt like it was no longer appropriate to do so.
He needed to get back, he couldn't keep hiding.
Mortimer stumbled as he got up, while being led away from his thoughts, he barely caught himself in the wall before hitting the ground again. His legs felt like jelly, they could no longer hold him as he tries to stand up. Instead pulled his body into a tight ball. Calling out all sorts of foul names, dismissing his entire being and insulting himself in every possible way, there was nothing for him here. He was a fool to think coming here would change anything. The family behind the prestigious House of Malfoy was wrecked. The loss of magic disqualified him to ever be a part of. He'd have been better off shoved inside a well confined room, stored away alongside the other loonies. What made him think he could fit in here? Why did he want to?
His body was slow to follow what his mind was thinking. Something was trembling, numb and aching slowness. Where am I? Why am I here?
Who was making those childish sobbing noises? Crying like their heart was broken? Out here in public where anyone could hear them?
It was shock to know that it was him making those very sounds. But for a moment, Mortimer felt no need to leave, he was past being able to speak. The empty classroom suddenly felt very cold causing him to paralyze in a dreaded panorama. Anyone could see and witness his emotional display in doing so, found a reason to stay. Without a plan, he's failed in trying to find a cure and in turn chasing a fool's errand. And what a fool he was to think he could ever fix this.
Marking a giant X on the board, Mortimer casually translates it as GEBO.
"Mmhmm." Professor Babbling watched from behind. Her hand gently rubbing on her chin. "Now, what does that signify?"
"Gifts... Relationships, exchanges, partnerships..."
"And?" Studying the boy, she paces a few inches.
Digging inside his brain, he tries to recall. "Sacrifice."
"Good!" Lofting her arms in the air, she turned to face the rest of the classroom. "As you can see class, Gebo is just one of the many runes which carry well preserved lore and wisdom throughout the years. Any examples?"
Granger raising her hand.
"Yes Miss. Granger?"
"The holidays." Clearing her throat, Hermione began, ignoring the ravenclaw girl, Mandy Brocklehurst as she rolled her eyes muttering, 'here we go...' "When we say Merry Christmas we often write in X-mas. X-mas, which uses the rune at the very beginning. It's where the meaning of gift giving emerges. We exchange not only gifts but freely give in to our generosity, hospitality and social equilibrium."
"And sex." Shouted Theo in a very sly manner.
The class almost instantly erupts. Turning faces to severe blushing, coming from the girls. It then followed by laughter and hoots from the boys.
Granger stammered and her voice faltered. "Whaaa..."
"Alright class!" Professor Babbling claps her hands in the air, trying to calm the class. "There's nothing funny or embarrassing about that thing..." Shaking her head. "But yes, Theo, you are correct. Runes can be adapted to our magic. We use runes through rituals. Tying ourselves to certain energies, as you said, bounding rituals. It would require two agreeable parties and physical magic..." She starts but quickly corrects. "It is used for mystical union and is only used in scared marriages!"
Laughter again ensues. Another ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin begins to fan herself, her face flush head to toe. Roger Malone, laughing harder than ever before. Terry Boot and a few of his friends, adding more fuel, wiggled their eyebrows at the blushful girls. Hermione couldn't even look at anyone as she covered her face using her textbook as a shield, mortified. Mortimer had to admit the subject had him loosening his tie as he was having trouble breathing.
"Mortimer!" Bathsheda turns around again, calling in hopes to salvage the lesson. "Can you give another example?"
Getting pinker by the second, he says. "Ehwaz, trust and teamwork - Loyalty and dependence that is built by emotional and spiritual connections. Sparks when we're attracted to -"
"No!" Babbling waves her hands back and forth. The class twitters in giggling voices. "What I mean is - In giving, there is also sacrifice. Another rune that surrounds said meaning?"
Rubbing his cropped hair, Mortimer contorts in consideration. Going to the chalkboard, draws a small diamond shape. "Inguz, the rune of isolation. A seed to plant for the future."
Nodding in approval. "How does sacrifice come to play?"
Quietly, he talks without even knowing. "We plant a seed and in self-sacrifice. We bring in a new form of life, inherited from the transformation. Old nature calls for our death in order for new life to begin. In all aspects our magic can be passed on to our children but can't be done if the operator refuses the desired form." He finishes. "It's about letting go."
Smiling and eyeing the boy, she was pleased. "Wonderful." She says softly. "Eight points to Slytherin."
Bells ringing and chairs slide around the class, everyone packs their stuff and heads towards the exit. Hearty laughs, still recovering at the heatful previous conversational lesson. Hermione was pink and kept her eyes low. Theo, however, was still chuckling by the time he reaches the door.
"Remember class, just because you don't have any assignments doesn't mean you won't be tested! I expect everyone to know the symbols and meanings!"
Securing his own things, Mortimer leaves. He is then unexpectedly shoved by a shoulder, a swift glance and realizes it was Terry Boot and a few of his pals. "Watch it, Black." he snarls.
Glaring, Mortimer doesn't reply and departs with Theo. "Well, I haven't laughed this hard since Longbottom dropped Chizpurfle Fangs in his Wiggenweld Potion. I might've busted my gut!"
"Did you really need say that out loud?" Mortimer lifted his chin and smiled, waving at Davis and Greengrass as they passed by. "Make the class harder than it needs to be, why don't cha?"
"Oh, come on!" Theo laughs. "It was fun. Besides, we're at the stage in life where bodies start developing -"
"Don't finish that sentence." Using his hand to cover his face, his voice turns rigid.
Trailing on, Theo smirks and speaks. "And before you know it, girls will start finding us attractive."
"I don't see how that's relevant." Shaking his head, Mortimer shivered. "I just want to get the school year over with and become a world-renowned drifter..."
Chuckling, the pair make it the moving staircase. Walking down from the sixth floor, Theo snickers. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it... Have you?"
Straightaway, Mortimer doesn't hesitate. "No."
"Well, I heard from a group of girls that -"
"I don't care or have any interest in perusing any kind of relationship with annoying adolescent girls who only care to boost their confidence and popularity."
"That's rather harsh don't you think?" Out of nowhere, the two boys turn to find Hermione walking down the staircase behind them.
Unfazed by her presence, Mortimer rolls his eyes, swirling his head and starts declining to the fourth floor. Not wanting to be left behind, Theo catches up. The messy thickly know-it-girl showed a lack of care and insisted on following them.
When Mortimer noticed, he tries buzzing her off using his arms. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
Normally any other slytherin would take offense if a muggleborn even dared speak to them. However, with Theo knowing Mortimer's uncaring nature towards witches and wizards alike, kept his comments to himself and simply watched.
"We all have places to be." Granger responds casually. "An-And your right. We should be focusing on our studies more than socializing and worrying about looks."
Suppressing his retort, he makes it to the second floor. "Then you understand when I tell you..." Mortimer looks over slightly. "shove off."
Scowling, Hermione gripped her books. "Rude! I thought you'd be interested to know that you aren't alone. And just before any of you two can blink, our final exams will be right on our doorstep. Then," Her tone becomes wildly worrisome. "O.W.L's. . ." A sudden gasp. "N.E.W.T.s Oh no! I can't believe I've yet to revision our first-year lessons!"
Once Mortimer and Theo make it towards the first floor, the first thing they did was run away to avoid Granger's slight panic attack she was having in the middle of stairway.
"Can you believe her?" Theo said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Agreeing, Mortimer scans the back to confirm they weren't followed by the gryffindor. "Be glad she's friends with Potter and Weasley. Or else it'd be us she talks to instead. She could certainly talk our ears off."
Instinctively, Theo rubs both ears to make sure they were still there.
Forgetting the little irritation caused by Granger's nosy trait, Mortimer wheels his head back.
He can't wait until the school years over with.
"Want to play wizard's chess?"
Nicely perched on the dark and leathery couch, Mortimer tore his eyes from the page of the book he was currently reading. Trying to learn more about the boggart, he looked inside The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts, hoping to find some way to regain his magic back.
Peering to the side of his shoulder, he replies. "I thought you'd be with the others, with it being the last and whatnot."
Yes, it would be their last hogsmeade trip before going home the holidays. Shrugging, Draco paces and sits towards the end of couch, almost sitting on Mortimer's feet as he speaks in a hush voice. "I was planning on it, but decided I wanted to stay"
Closing his book soundly, he lays there. "What for? It'll be a lot less boring there than here."
"I know that!" His nose flares when Draco responds. "I...I want to stay, that's all.
A moment to reflect, Mortimer sighed, "If this about the dementors. . ."
"It's not just those things..." Gazing around the slytherin common room, he adjusts his position so that he is facing him. "It's everything else that's been going on. Especially with Black, coming after you..."
Ah... of course. Mortimer suddenly remembers telling Draco not long ago about what transpired back at the dungeons. In his quest to be more open, more trusting around those around him, he thought telling Draco was the best choice. He's proven to be quite faithful about everything else, so perhaps it wasn't a mistake that he'd continue being his confident. He was more surprised to know Draco hadn't immediately run off and tell his parents that the older Black essentially tried to snatch him off the face of the earth. Granted, the young Malfoy doesn't know about Mortimer's sudden loss of magic, believing that some things should be kept inside, he's told him enough to keep Draco content with everything else that's been going on.
On top of it all, his dependable cousin was caught up with Mortimer's own suspicion against the old man, Dumbledore. There was a sense of alertness whenever he was in room. Mortimer was positive he was more interested in probing inside his mind than having useless conversations about his 'feelings' and why it's important to 'trust' one another. Mortimer didn't buy it, not completely. Maybe the old man really did want to help but was going about it the wrong way.
Regardless, with Draco now aware of the situation, he's been acting like some sort of look out. Frankly, it was getting on his nerves. More so than Tobey, who hasn't left the comfort of his warm fuzzy jumper, or only clothing since this whole thing began.
"I doubt he'd make another run for it. Now that everyone knows and the dementors are just outside the school, he wouldn't risk it."
"How do you know?" Draco asks, not very satisfied with the response. "The man has been locked up in Azkaban for years, you can't imagine how maddening it is. What it does do to someone if stuck there for so long. For all you know, Black is simply acting on insanity."
From where he laid, Mortimer could see Draco shivering at the thought. He might have point, maybe Sirius Black is crazy enough to try again. But would he make another attempt for him? His skin crawled at the thought of being touched again.
"You're probably right." Shifting, Mortimer rises from the couch and goes to a sitting position. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have any fun. I'll be fine really, and it'll only be a couple hours. What could happen?"
Draco gave him a certain expression, skepticism. It causes Mortimer to rethink his answer. "Right, don't answer that." Shaking his head. "I know you're just trying to help, but you shouldn't let me drag you down. If you really want to go then just go. I'll be fine." Carefully eyeing his dark arts book, an idea develops. "In fact, I don't even plan on leaving the common room."
"You don't?"
"Nuh uh."
"Then what are you going to do? Sit here all day?"
"Right to the very spot." Folding his arms, Mortimer gave a single nod.
Yeah... Draco didn't believe him for a second. And simply, challenged. "Then I guess you wouldn't mind if I join you as well."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to bore you with my snooze fest and dull nature."
A playful smile lurks in the corner of his lips. "If you can do it, I most certainly can."
Mortimer barks out. "Fine!"
Draco coolly states. "Fine"
Looking away, Mortimer purses his lips before turning them back on Draco. "Let's take a walk."
Wandering in the Clock Tower Courtyard the winter had finally hit the highlands of Scotland. Wearing a dark wool coat, Draco wore matching earmuffs, going against putting on a hat, he didn't dare risk ruining his hair. In contrast Mortimer, wore a rather large grey puffer jacket and an earflap hat. Wanting to stay warm as possible, he wore the thickest gear he could find. Had his magic not been so weak, he would've made a heating charm, but it wasn't possible, not at the moment.
"What are we doing out here?" Draco asked. "What happened to never leaving the common room?"
"I've changed my mind." Softly, he sets his sights towards the grayish sky. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
Snowflakes begin to drop and melt on his pale face. There was a moment of reflection and clarity. He was very much tired of having to hide and pretend he was alright. When in reality, he wasn't fine at all. To make matters worse he could practically feel his body weakening by the hour, the small fact alone was frightening. He didn't want to think what would happen.
"Are you ok?"
Coughing, he becomes puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, Draco avoids his stare before replying. "I didn't want to say anything, but lately, you've gone ghastly pale, sickly almost. You don't sleep as much either... I thought perhaps it was because of Black, but it goes deeper than that, doesn't it?"
Out of curiousity, he blurs im the open air. "Can a Boggart take someone's magic?"
Stunned by the sudden question, he blinks a few times. "What?"
"A Boggart... is it possible for them to somehow steal someone's magic for their own?"
Draco was rather hesitant when responding, not certain where the question was coming from. "A Boggart taking magic? No, it's impossible. They're merely shapeshifters, nothing more."
Gripping his hands underneath his warm mittens. "I see."
Becoming quiet, Draco observes his cousin closely, was that a smile dimming across his face?
It had started out harmlessly and reasonably enough. Yet, after weeks had passed, Draco found that Mortimer continued to keep his distance. There was that same rift of foreign length between them at school. For some time, the old wound never healed after Mortimer had decided to run away. Choosing to go against his family, and for a while Draco, hated him putting his family through that. It was a lot to process. It was where a spiral of things started going wrong.
Now that Mortimer has presented him with an open window, Draco was determined to know more about his astray cousin. "You can tell me anything..." Sounding nervous. "You know that right?"
Despite the good intentions, Mortimer didn't think he could. Becoming a squib is one of the worst things to that could happen to a wizard, a dirty stain that will be scrubbed down from the very center. They might as well disown him and save themselves from tarnishing their precious family name.
A sad smile appears, Mortimer said in a low voice as he gazes away. "I know."
Draco was still looking at him, his words unbroken since he seemed completely absorbed in the conversation.
Mortimer kept that little wryly smile and then breaks open. "I fear that I may very well have lost my magic."
Draco's reaction was enough of a shock, but the look of fury on his face was not expected. The blonde had showed a vary of expression in front of him throughout the short years. But not to the strong degree of rage. He stopped just before colliding with Mortimer. He was so close that Mortimer leaned back to avoid hitting his head against Draco. Finding themselves on the soft blanket of fresh piled snow, Draco grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. "What do you mean you've lost your magic?" he shouts in confusion.
The question brought Mortimer out his perpetual daze and was easily raised to an eye level, which hardly made things any better. "I-I... I d-don't -" He stutters.
"Answer me!" Shaking him harshly, Mortimer breathes in deeply.
"My wand doesn't work. I'm having trouble casting any spells." He shouts in a fit panic. "I haven't been able to perform since the start of term!"
Many previous unnecessary notes about Mortimer made themselves unfeasible to ignore. The fact that Mortimer's eyes were beginning to water as he blinked, made Draco regret his actions.
The cold winter prickled along their skins. Black tried not to shiver at the thorn puncture wind since Draco kept him to the floor. His head swarming with simultaneous terror and anger, which Mortimer did not understand. No, it couldn't be. It just wasn't possible, he thought. Black was part of a prominent, well-respected family, the next in line... He couldn't be squib! He just couldn't.
Sharp-silvered eyes raked Mortimer head to toe, the shading of Mortimer's expression causes his anger to harden into cold distant contempt. The eerie sumptuous judgment found the boy on the ground lacking when Draco's very own pride wouldn't let him give a proper respond in the wake of the distraction. Failing to miss his cousin's unease look, the blond shook his head in denial.
It was wrong! Everything was wrong. It was like part of him had lost control. Draco's emotions had reflected from worry to anger and set a light a new form of incense.
Mortimer was talking and Draco had to stop himself from doing unspeakable things. "Please, don't be angry."
"H-How!?" Breathing heavily, repeating. "How can you be a bloody squib - You can't be... You just can't. . ."
The jarring statement brought the environment back into focus, and Draco had to remember to breath. Hands remaining where their tight gripped stood, his arm muscles shaking in a riot, it was tingling harshly. It wants to hit something, hit someone just to release the suppressed tension in his body.
"I'm sorry. . ."
A sudden detonation surfaces and a compulsion goes off in front him. His ears rang, watching Mortimer as he fell back, stunned. The initial shock kept Mortimer from feeling the pain right away. Instead, there was only room left for animus when he felt the aftereffects of warmth coming down his face.
Did he just lay his hand on him?
As whatever hold Draco had established over was instantly shattered.
Getting punched in face hurts, that little known fact, Mortimer knew he'd get over it. But what stopped him from doing so was simple certainty that his temporary weakness was a slap to the purebloods face, Draco was humiliated. Mortimer could practically feel his disgust through the swing of his arm.
Reacting carnally to Draco's haughtiness punch, Mortimer relaxes his body, sniffing as he tried to block the flow of blood draining from his nose.
"I hate you..." Draco whispered. The demeaning taunts that came out his mouth were probably things he's been holding back for a while. His pent-up emotions came tumbling down and Mortimer just happened to be there when it happened. Firing them in rapid speed, Mortimer sensed some truth in his words, it didn't hurt any less especially because he thought he deserved it, after keeping him blind for so long, there was no defending his actions.
Draco didn't have any more plans to deal with him. He failed him, one by one, in trying to be a better person for Mortimer while learning more about him proved to be an indomitable hindrance. A waste on someone who couldn't even cast a spell.
It was too much to take. Mortimer was already unbalanced and relating on an act of betrayal, laughs brutally.
"Mortimer!"
All that broke through the devastating silent of the wind. The drone noise ringing inside his ears shattered, so subtly meddlesome that he never noticed someone was helping him rise from the snowy ground. The voice grew louder the longer he stared at Draco's chagrined expression.
Thoughts of Draco hitting him, and their argument vanished, as if it never happened. Watched as they lifted his cousin, frantically inspecting his face.
It wasn't fair.
"What in the Merlin's name is wrong with you?" Finding himself shoved back, Draco snaps back to see that stupid little gryffindor girl. Ginny's confused cast yells out. "Both of you?"
Sharing a deep dark stare, Mortimer begins wiping his injured nostril, dirtying his jacket in the process. "Nothing.." He deflects. "Draco was just helping me with a little problem I was having."
His stomach lurched at how Mortimer warded off his guilt. Draco had many questions lurking, unfortunately his pride kept him from asking.
Ginny was obviously surprised, frozen at Black's calmness. After a moment, he pushed aside those feelings and turned to the Blond. "Is it true?"
Mortimer's maddening calm voice did nothing to sweeten the pangs of guilt Draco still felt. He was very much aware of the lack of response was drawing more suspicion. "Of course, why else would Draco punch me unprovoked? I-I was feeling rather tired, and I thought a good belt would wake me up." Coughing faintly, he breaths. "An-And as you can see - it worked! Maybe a little too much. Isn't that right Draco?"
"Ye-Yeah!" Draco snapped before Ginny could counter. "Mortimer hasn't been feeling well, so I thought I'd help him a bit." he felt the sudden urge to desire to smile. "I might've over did it."
"Over did it?" The Weasley girl said, baffled. Why couldn't she shut up? "You call breaking his nose, over doing it? Mortimer," Facing the bleeding boy. "Tell me you're not serious? Have you gone mad?"
"I'm getting there." Mortimer answered honestly. Though, for Ginny, it appeared more in jest. "It's not a big deal - It was an accident. Now," fixing his gaze on to Draco. "we'll be heading back inside. Let's go Draco."
With as much dignity as Mortimer could muster, lifts his chin, swirling his body and walks towards the entry way. Whether Draco followed or not, he didn't care. The main point was to avoid enhancing the scene even further.
By the sound of the footsteps coming from behind, it was safe to say Malfoy had listened. What was left for them to do? Mortimer puzzled over. Would he continue his childish fit by striking him once more? One thing did stick with Mortimer, they will never accept him now. Draco's reaction confirmed everything he feared about losing his touch. In this world he was nothing without his magic. And without it, he was condemned. It was a mistake to ever think differently. He didn't know why he thought Draco would understand. His injured nose solidified the broken bound that would remain there for as long as one cared to remember.
"Where are we going now?" Draco was faintly aware that moments prior he had raised his hand against another member.
Still within the first floor, Mortimer passes a vacant classroom. However, he wasn't interested in hiding inside the rooms. He was past running, past everything else that's happen the prior weeks. His breaking point was at its peak and with Draco here, maybe now was good as any.
He wanted to do something wreckful, more so than usual rabble-rousing.
Heading in the direction of school's staffroom. With most professor's leaving for Hogsmeade, Mortimer knew he wasn't in any trouble.
And just like that, they arrived. Empty, just like he believed it would be. "What are you doing?" Draco's, rough demanding voice asking. He watched in horror as his cousin opened the door and walked inside. "You're going to get us in deep trouble. If you think I'm going to risk my neck for you, you are so dead wrong. . ."
Ignoring his blether words, Mortimer moved his ample legs. The old wooden wardrobe hadn't been moved since their first lesson, it was in the same state as they had found it and from the looks of it, no one made the attempt to go near it. Shown by all the dust floating around it, small cobwebs of the residential spiders that decided to make their home here.
Gritting his teeth, he shouts. "Mortimer get away from that."
Looking the other way, Mortimer again brushes him off, his eyes landing on the little knobs of the wardrobe door, he instinctively takes out his wand. And as Draco proceeded to yell from across his room, all he could hear was the silencing anticipation running through his veins. He becomes tense to the point that they start to ache. Mortimer doesn't know what he was waiting for, a sign of some kind? A countdown? Currently facing a barrier between himself and the creature that would quickly turn his nightmare into a reality.
Was he prepared for that? He hesitates, just a smidge. Truth is, he wasn't. He didn't think anyone was really. Fear of course was subjective, but for him it wasn't the terrifying screeches of the old banshee that had him running scared. It was exposure, the exposure of everything that was wrong with him. Why he couldn't let go. Those who did try to help were met by his unwillingness to move on.
Focusing, his dark eyes never leave the low tawny handle of the wardrobe. A hand reaches out, while the other tightens its hold on the wand.
Panicked, Draco runs and yells out. "Mortimer!"
Without a second to lose, his shaking hand wraps it's damp fingers around the latch and swings it right open.
They're suddenly smacked with a ferocious draft of a heatwave. Large and traveling flames emerge out from the sides of the furniture. Growing larger and hazardous. A melting, burnt, long trembling hand rises to then bang down on the floor. An echoing sound spreads over the room, making Draco cover his ears. Mortimer does not, because it was an old song, on repeat as he underwent a moment of reminiscing.
Mortimer, glaring at the oozing, dripping limb of an arm, he briefly looks away. Little by the little pieces of flesh would expose in light where you could see nearly everything. Bone, skin and muscle stretching in agony. In its wake, screamed in rage. The face still hidden behind the brutal trap of the engulfing flame. But he knew who it was, who it use to be as the room is suddenly surrounded in a fence of smoke.
It took him a few seconds to fully understand what Mortimer was trying to do. What he wanted to show the young heir. His fear and his trust, Mortimer was laying it on the table for him see.
"Mortimer. . ." Draco shouts. "Remember the spell."
His back still turned, Mortimer nods, pointing his wand, he utters. "Riddikulus!"
Nothing happened.
What did was the final reveal of a decrepit woman, burned beyond repair. Pulling and dragging its charred blackened legs. "Stupid boy. . ." The figure gargled, trying to balance its head as it swerved from side to side. "You dare..." She rasped. "hurt your poor, helpless grandmother. . ."
It was hard to see, one of her eyes were melted while the other one stares, intensifying when Mortimer flinches. "They will never love you." The stiff blistered carcass laughed; she didn't sound feminine at all. "Not like your Nana."
"Riddikulus!" Mortimer begged, his manner getting weaker and weaker with every try.
He was losing and Draco watches as it was happening. His sunken shoulders and declining neck, he can hear the hopelessness in Mortimer's very own tone.
The borggart's roaring laugh, it limps closer as its backside ignites a powerful flame. "Wimpish, weedy, wobby. . . weak!" Trilling in excitement, a velvet seared hand twitched when it makes an attempt to reach out. "Unwanted, unwelcomed, unapproachable, unloved. They will all hate you when they find out."
At this point, he didn't think he could do it. Nana was right, he was weak. . .
"Don't listen!" Draco shouts from behind. "It's trying to tear you down, convince you're nothing. But it's not true. You're not weak, you're anything but - You were strong to have endured as much as you did. For leaving your world and starting anew. You were strong to accept the help that was offered. You didn't have to tell me , you could've continued on with lies but you didn't, you trusted me to keep your secrets... and that takes bravery." He flinches as the boggart began to shriek. "You don't have to be afraid anymore because you don't have to go through it alone. I'm here, mother is here, your friends - We all care about you, and we would never betray your trust. You can do it, Mortimer. I know you can. You just have to stop doubting yourself. You have to let go."
Let go? Was it really as simple? Just letting all those years of being trapped go down the drain. Forgetting that he was forced to spend hours upon hours living in fear. Scared that any given moment his life could've possibly ended. How could he ever forget that? Forget her? She was always there for him. Telling him what to do, what to say, how to say it, how to live, what to think and so on. Everything he did revolved on the approval of his Nana. Until now he never thought just how much of an impact one person could have on another being. He always thought those around him were the weak ones. For showing empathy and compassion, emotions that he believed would cause misery once the reality of this world hits them, what humans are able to accomplish devoid of moral comprehension.
Eyes glistening, Mortimer turned to face Draco, his heartfelt words cutting right through the fear and replaced by warm sincerity. Moments ago, Draco was about ready to kill him on the spot. Yet, resisted, understanding what Mortimer might've been through had the heir realize his mistake. It was feasible to register just how judgmental he really was when it came to Black. Mortimer didn't deserve that. It was a long running battle within the deepest vulnerable parts of his thoughts. Mortimer will never forget but he was willing to let it pass if it meant he didn't have to keep hiding. Holding it inside and let it sink in until it starts to fester into something fouler and more malevolent.
Moving his gaze back to the burning boggart, the ceaseless enflamed figure shriveling, maniacally snaps its neck up facing Mortimer. "Weak. . ." Croaking through her scarlet jaw. "Sinful boy. No one will love you, not like me. Not like your Na...na..."
Gripping his wand hand tightly, why couldn't he let go? Nana was the last connection he had towards his past, an aspect of himself and the frightened boy he once was. If he lets go, would he be admitting defeat? Did this make Nana right? Would that make him wrong? He didn't want to be wrong.
Suffering in familiarity was the only thing he knew because in reality it was the fear of the unknown that kept him from moving on. If it were really that easy, he would've done so in the beginning. He wouldn't be here making up stories about how much of a flaw he was.
Shaking his head, Nana's badly burned arm takes an agonizing drag in strive for the hesitant boy.
Draco was trying to help him see the blind spots. Reserved, he kept thinking on 'if Only's' and 'what should've been' coerces to fixate on the horrifying memories. As toxic as it sounded, Mortimer had somewhat found comfort in that. Facing the uncertainty means getting out of his usual comfort zone, something he didn't want to do. Why? It was easier to stay where he was and not take any risks.
He was resisting to change; he knew this well. It was the back part of his head telling him otherwise. Telling him not to do it, why change? There was no need to. It scared him ponder. Who would he be if let's go, would he lose a part of himself? His identity? Nana was a part of him, he was who he was because of her. Mortimer did everything she ever wanted, did his best to please her. To gain her approval in hopes that he'd get her to change and somehow become a better person, for him. All that hard work to appease a person that would never change and for what? Betrayal by strangulation.
It wasn't fair.
"Why couldn't you just have cared for me?" Mortimer cried out at the boggart.
Laughter was its only reaction, it wasn't listening but spewing more obscenities, vibrating as the fire continued to spread, more so when the injured figured hissed. "I care. . ." it choked out, suppressing a giggle when it slammed its head downwards onto the floor. "I've always cared. I was freeing you from sin. . . I love you."
The devious long conniving grin was what finally broke Mortimer into pointing his wand and yelling out in sheer powerful emotion. "Riddikulus!"
A spark of divine allure spreads throughout the course of his body. A pleasant warm passionate sensation ignites a fire inside his chest. Where was it coming from? Where did it come from?
Loud, high-pitched scream splits over the room. The boggart retreating in defeat was set a light, a very bright and shining light - almost like a twinkling star, turning into something far more beautiful than he could imagine. It became so intense that it blinds them for only a moment. Mortimer felt the heat subside and replaced a by nice cooling breeze of fresh air when the boggart vanishes completely, departing back into the tightly sealed wardrobe.
Staring back at his wand, Mortimer takes a gulp and whispers. "Lumos."
A very bright light flicks at the tip of his wand.
Laughter escapes his mouth before saying. "Nox."
The light extinguishes on command.
Distracted, Mortimer doesn't notice Draco creeping from behind.
"It's over." He said softly, watching him as he studied his wand closer.
Chuckling again, Mortimer shook his head. "No. I don't think it is. To be quite honest, I don't think i'll ever be 'over it' - BUT - I think I'll be able to make the first few steps. After all, you said, I don't have to do it alone."
Nodding, Draco placed a firm hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "You're right. You don't have to, not anymore. You've done it all your life. Now, it's our turn to help. You don't have to hide, not from me and not your family."
Family.
He didn't quite know what that actually meant. In all honesty, he was afraid to find out. It was journey he wasn't prepared for but if Draco said he would help, then he will just have to take his word on it.
"Alright."
Leaving the staff room, before they could get caught, ran up to the fourth floor. If he remembers correctly, they were in the same room where Mortimer had first come into contact with the Mirror of Erised.
Of course, without the mirror, both Draco and Mortimer settled nicely into the unused classroom. A small cozy spot on the side of a semi dusty floor. For the first hour they spoke about what the other person has been doing for the past few weeks. Draco, talking non-stop about quidditch practice, was eager to get back on the field and shove it in gryffindor's face when they win.
Joke and antics aside, the room becomes silent.
Ultimately, it was Draco who would address the elephant in the room. "So, you really did that to her?"
"I did." Nodding without thinking, he questions. "Does that bother you?"
For a while, Draco rummages through his thoughts and replies. "I won't lie to you. It does, in a way, not in the way you may think. No one should ever have to resort in doing the unthinkable. But it's sad to know that you had to, at very young age. . ." His forehead crinkles. "You were just a child, we all were. When you were out there living with her, living in fear... I was back home whining about a broomstick I couldn't have because I was too young to get on. It puts things into prospective." Scratching his chin lightly. "I know that I said I hate you - I can't deny it - I hate that you've never trusted me, hate that you could carelessly befriend anyone you want without worrying about reputation. Hate how much you would rather much hang around them and not me - Me! Your own family."
Listening carefully, Mortimer never thought of it that way. Draco proceeds with no interruptions. "I had to find out the hard way that my own cousin was foolishly letting his magic go to waste, you could've died you know."
No, he didn't know at all.
A sigh. "It doesn't matter. You got it back from the looks of it. That's beside the point, what I mean to say now is that I may hate you for the things you've done. But I can never hate you for being you and I'm sorry."
Mortimer didn't know what to say. An apology coming from the great and powerful Malfoy heir? What has he done? Has he opened pandora's box by having him say such things? Has he doomed this world by changing Draco?
Swallowing down his throat, he utters. "I accept your apology." It felt so weird to say!
"We still have a few hours before the others arrive from hogsmeade. What do you want to do?"
It was always what Mortimer wanted to do. To change it up a bit, he reverses the question back at him. "Me? Nothing. You, on the other hand, look as though you have an answer. So, I ask you, what do you want to do?"
Another break, Draco blurs out carefully as to not sound too demanding. "Tell more about your past - Only if you want too though!" He corrects swiftly. "What happened after... after that. Where did you go?"
There was a rather tense, yet comforting sound of silence. A sad smile, Mortimer took a deep breath, preparing himself for the fabulous tale and journey, compromised in mixtures of confinement and institutionalization.
The story was a rather long one. Long enough to take them towards dinner. Clearing his throat, he began. "I was sent to a healer," he translates in a way that Draco would understand. "After a few days I was sent to a new place. A wonderful, empty, quite beautiful place. Most people may know it more as a madhouse. . ."