Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate ideas created and/or owned by other third parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Draco made his way to his first lesson of the afternoon quickly and alone, trying to avoid any of his 'friends'. He was still feeling uneasy about Pansy's remark in Potions. Seen as their was no other logical reason for two students not to have turned up at Hogwarts other than missing the train and crashing into the Whomping Willow in a flying car, Draco had chosen to believe what Pansy had said and was now feeling rather ill. The fact that there were many other plausible explanations meant nothing to Draco, so he decided to panic instead. He considered going to the Hospital Wing to get something for the stomach churning feeling of nausea that was making him want to bring his lunch up, but decided against waltzing into the infirmary and telling Madame Pomfrey that he was scared that his Father had killed two of his housemates and asking if he could please have something, because he was feeling very ill, thank you very much.
Rather than do anything about his feeling ill, he decided just to go to class. After all, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts and he wanted to see what the new teacher was like. Secretly glad that this one probably wasn't going to turn him into a ferret, but secretly dismayed he had to take this class with Gryffindors, Draco came to a stop outside the door of the classroom. He was the first Slytherin there, although the Gryffindors were already lined up. He sighed and joined the end of the queue, making an effort to ignore Potter and his sidekicks.
Unfortunately, his few minutes alone (well, it wasn't like the Gryffindors were actually talking to him) gave him even more time and reason to think about Ophelia and Luke. He was quite surprised by his own reaction, actually. Draco was more than used to death, after living with Lucius Malfoy for so many years. His earliest memory of someone or something close to him dying was when he was five years old and his father had stood on his favourite puffskein, Cuddles, and cried out an exaggerated and all too obviously sarcastic "Oops!". 'Custard' and 'Fluffy' soon suffered the same fate, and Draco had never been the same again. Lucius had insisted puffskeins were for stupid Muggle lovers with no sense of adventure, and bought Draco a raven instead. Draco had thought long and hard to give it a name, stretching his imagination well beyond what he thought was it's limit. It ended up being called 'Raven', and didn't like Draco much. He spent the next five or so years being pecked by it, before bribing one of his father's friends to stupefy it so he could hide it in the garden under the biggest hedge he could find. Draco still didn't know whether or not it was still there, and Lucius was certainly none the wiser. He was led to believe it had flown away with Lucifer, one of the family's many owls. Truth be told, the same friend of Draco's father had accidently killed Lucifer with a badly aimed Unforgivable, but fortunately, that was one secret no-one had ever found out. Lucky Severus.
What with Draco being so used to his pets and wrinkly family members with skin like paper dying, he'd always assumed that if anyone else died, he wouldn't be that bothered. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of becoming a Death Eater, but he'd never even thought about it much. For most of his life, Death Eater activity was a list of people he didn't even know in the Memorium section of the newspaper, or the tally Lucius kept using notches on the side of his big oak desk. Reading about some wizard's wife being killed wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for any young witch or wizard, but being related to the wizard's wife, or even being the wizard was an entirely different matter. Because Draco had never been in such a situation, he'd grown up with an entirely different perspective. He was comfortable with killings and torturings because to him, all they were was another stranger without a face. But when it came to actually killing and torturing, Draco had absolutely no experience whatsoever. So it was when Ophelia Hayes and Luke Smith didn't turn up for school that his world view was twisted grotesquely so that it confused him no end. Was he feeling guilty? Draco had never experienced guilt before. Only ever dealing with grief for a day before his father beat it out of him, Draco was now feeling decidedly weird.
Draco was abruptly dragged from his trip down Memory Lane as the rest of the fifth year Slytherins arrived, followed closely by the stout form of Professor Allbright bustling down the corridor. She retrieved a massive iron loop adorned with about a hundred keys from her many-pocketed robes and after a few minutes of thumbing through them, unlocked the door and flung it open with great flourish.
"Welcome," she squeaked, eyes sparkling, "To the most interesting class you are ever going to take."
A quiet murmur spread through the assembled students, those at the front peering round the door and gasping. Professor Allbright walked in and everyone followed her inside, a few stopping abruptly to admire the room, causing a lot of bumping and shoving about.
Even Draco, who wasn't easily swayed, stopped to admire the room. The floor was covered in a lush green carpet instead of the usual cold stone, and the every single wall and every inch of the ceiling were made of glass. It wasn't mirror though, because no-one could see their reflections. Indistinct shadows moved from corner to corner and down the walls as Draco watched in amazement. Apparently, Potter, Granger and Weasley knew what it was because Hermione was squealing that she'd never seen so much Foe Glass in her life. Draco stopped looking at the 'Foe Glass' as something else across the room caught his attention. It was a massive tank, like a Muggle aquarium, that ran from one end of the room to the other against the wall. It was filled with different types of water plant, and Draco could just make out a few Grindylows darting back and forth, and he saw a little Kappa trying desperately to strangle one of them. Tearing his eyes away, he made his way to one of the seats and sat down. The seating arrangement was one that Draco had never seen before. Long desks, long enough to sit around six people with the next desk a little higher behind it. There was a little set of steps to get to the rows highest off the ground, and Draco had walked up the stairs and was presently sitting in the middle of the very back desk, which was no more than a metre off the ground. He sniggered as Potter tried to sit in the front row and the seat gave a growl and tried to rip itself from the floor to whack him with it's legs.
"Watch out dear." cried Professor Allbright, "That's the demon chair."
Harry was dismayed to find there were no more seats, only one in the back row beside Draco Malfoy. He trudged up the stairs and sat down, trying to ignore Draco. Draco wasn't exactly pleased either, having found the entire row filled within seconds, leaving him sitting between Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter. He tried to ignore both of them, opening his textbook to the page number written on the board. The words "Foe Glass" appeared at the top of the page, and large illustration of what looked like a mirror with the same floating shadows appeared in the middle. Lines of text appeared as well, as if an invisible hand was writing them. Draco left his book to it and turned to face Professor Allbright, who was now writing 'Foe Glass' on the board.
"Does anyone know what a Foe Glass is?" she asked. Hermione Granger's hand immediately shot into the air, as did Ron Weasley's, albeit a little less enthusiastically. Harry slowly raised his hand as well.
"Yes dear, what's your name?" she asked, pointing to Ron. Hermione looked absolutely murderous that she hadn't been picked, but Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he brought his hand down.
"Ron Weasley." replied Ron.
"So you know what a foe glass is?"
"Yeah," continued Ron, "It's a glass thing, a bit like a mirror, that shows your enemies. They're blurry to start with, but the closer they come to you, the clearer they get."
"Exactly!" exclaimed Professor Allbright, clapping her hands together in delight. Ron went pink as Allbright continued speaking.
"Now, you'll notice that on your desks you have a little foe glass, that will show only your enemies."
Professor Allbright waved her wand, and the glass on the walls and ceiling disappeared only to be replaced by the stone walls covered with tapestries that were in every room. Draco moved his textbook, and discovered his own little Foe Glass. He bit back a cry of surprise as he saw, very clearly, the face of the head from the forest clearing. This time though, it was attached to a body and was looking a lot more, well, alive. The man disappeared only to be replaced by his father, sneering at him, an image that was soon washed away and replaced by one he didn't recognise. It was a young man with jet black hair, the kind of color that looks like the night sky itself. He had startling blue eyes and pale skin, a straight nose and high cheekbones. He was quite obviously laughing at Draco, tracing his wand through the air. Draco could see the faint outline of words appearing, but his concentration was broken by a loud gasp from Potter. The image immediately cleared, leaving only the black shadows that had been there before.
Harry was sitting stiffly, staring at Draco's Foe Glass with an expression of utter shock on his face. Draco slammed his textbook down on top of it, and Harry ripped his eyes away.
"Don't look at my Foe Glass." snapped Draco. Harry turned away, and spent the rest of the lesson trying not to look at Draco as they copied out the text from the book. After noting down his homework of a two page essay on Foe Glasses, Harry hurriedly grabbed his stuff and jumped down the stairs, grabbing Hermione by the arm and giving Ron a look, whispering "We need to talk."
On their way down to the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry was frantically telling Hermione and Ron what happened with Draco's Foe Glass while trying to give the Whomping Willow a wide berth at the same time.
"So Draco's dad was in his Foe Glass, who cares?" remarked Ron.
"There was someone else as well." answered Harry, turning pale and gulping. He stopped walking and signalled Hermione and Ron to come close.
"The last person there was... Tom Riddle."
Hermione gave a gasp and clapped her hand to her mouth in shock, and even Ron looked surprised. After a few seconds of silence, they started walking again, Hermione deep in thought, Harry looking uneasy as he no doubt remembered his second year, and Ron looking very confused.
"But why would Tom Riddle be there?" Hermione muttered, more to herself than anyone. "Draco is too young to have known him, he hasn't been Tom Riddle since God knows when! And he hasn't even looked like Tom Riddle since, well, you know."
Harry nodded as Ron pushed open the greenhouse door. They filed in and sat down in three seats next to each other, staring off into space. Harry was the first to speak, whispering quietly as Professor Sprout rattled on about mooncalf dung.
"I was just thinking... you don't have to know someone for them to be your enemy. I mean, we know Malfoy has no idea what Tom Riddle looks like, right? But that doesn't matter. What if Voldemort wants to... to kill Malfoy?"
Ron's eyes lit up, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He glared at her, but she just ignored him.
"Harry." she said, "No offense or anything, but think about what you just said."
"Yeah." remarked Ron, "Why would Voldemort want to kill Draco? That's just stupid."
Harry shrugged and pulled on his gloves, scooping the mooncalf dung into the little trough filled with soil that was sitting on the bench in front of the three.
"I've got it!" cried Hermione a few minutes later, straightening up quickly, accidently flicking a trowel-full of dung into one of the greenhouse's glass panes. Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows, peering at the dung. Hermoine turned pink.
"Got what?" asked Professor Sprout.
"Er..." began Hermione, but Ron cut in.
"A twitch in her wrist." he said solemnly, nodding to the dung and shaking his head. A few people snickered and Hermione blushed even more. Professor Sprout shook her own head, cleaning up the dung with a flick of her wand and turning back to a Hufflepuff who had managed to get her hair caught in the venomous tentacula.
Hermione bent towards Harry and Ron, who were still sniggering.
"I know why Riddle was in Malfoy's Foe Glass."
"Why?" asked Ron curiously.
"Well, we're all agreed that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, right?"
"Duh." muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. Hermione glared him into submission and he squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.
"You know some about the Malfoy family, don't you Ron? Was Lucius' dad a Death Eater?"
"I think so."
"Probably was." grinned Hermione, getting all excited, "So it's obvious then, isn't it?"
"No, Mione, it's not." groaned Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Yeah, get to the point already." mumbled Ron.
"Oh shut up Ron." snapped Hermione. Ron's jaw dropped and he started rattling on about how unnecessary it was to snap when Hermione interrupted him.
"Okay, okay. Well, it's quite obvious that Draco's name has been down for Death Eaterdom since he was born. But what if he doesn't want to be a Death Eater? That makes Riddle, or Voldemort, his enemy! The Foe Glass is probably just showing Voldemort in his most human form."
"My God." breathed Harry, slapping his head. "We are so slow."
"Yeah, that was dead obvious." muttered Ron. "We are really stupid."
"Either that or we're just so used to almost dying each school year we expect the worst." pointed out Hermione.
"True."
"Everyone please collect a teacup." simpered Professor Trelawny. Draco groaned, trying not to breathe in the languid fumes that hung in the thick air of the Divination classroom. They'd been doing the teacup trick since third year, and every lesson, someone either predicted a nasty fall during a Quidditch game or a fatal fall during a more interesting Quidditch game. Draco wasn't in Harry's class, but all the same, he knew how often Potter's death was predicted in Divination. Fortunately, Draco's death had never been foretold. In their very first Divination lesson, Trelawny had made do with predicting Blaise Zabini would die a drawn out and horrible death, but when someone politely pointed out that Blaise had left the year before, the class realised that Trelawny was picking random names from the class register. She'd backed off then, having the register corrected and concentrating on Harry Potter, to the immense relief of the Slytherins.
About ten minutes into the present lesson, Draco was standing in the middle of the classroom, an expression of dismay marring his normally impassive features. Everyone had paired off, and he was left alone. Well, not completely... he had to pair with the teacher. That meant he'd have Trelawny reading his tea leaves. Stifling another groan, he gingerly took his seat as she peered at him with her big bug-like eyes and poured him some tea. Draco hated tea.
Staring down at the great mush of brown stuff at the bottom of the cup, Draco tried to concentrate. Unfortunately, it was still just brown mush.
"What do you see dear?" asked Trelawny, "Anything interesting about me?"
The whole class was watching earnestly, silently willing Draco to predict Trelawney's death. Draco couldn't make heads or tails of the tea leaves though.
"Uh..." he mumbled, setting the teacup down. "The tea laves told me that, er, your first name is Tetley."
A few people sniggered, and those who didn't have a clue about the brand names of teabags just stared. Trelawney shook her head and tutted, picking up Draco's teacup. She gave a loud gasp and turned deathly pale, clapping a hand to her mouth.
"The... Grim." she breathed dramatically.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Draco sarcastically, "Did I pick up Potter's teacup?"
A few people snickered, but Trelawney shook her head.
"This one is real." she whispered.
Draco rolled his eyes, but a few of his housemates looked rather interested. Too interested - whispered a little voice in the back of Draco's head. Pansy looked nothing short of terrified though, and was glancing around the room nervously. A few people were shifting uncomfortably.
"Give me that." muttered Draco, snatching the teacup. A lump rose in his throat as he saw the tea leaves. For once, it appeared Trelawny wasn't exaggerating. Right in the middle of the teacup was a perfectly shaped, brown and mushy Grim. He gave a gasp and dropped the teacup. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and the room fell into a shocked silence.
The silence was broken as Trelwaney jumped up from her seat with a clatter, and yanked Draco from his seat and dragged him over to her desk. Ignoring his protest, she pushed him into a seat and plopped her crystal ball down in front of him.
"What do you see?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest expectantly.
"A big marble, you dolt." snapped Draco, trying to stand up. She pushed him back down into his seat, and gestured to the crystal ball.
"Concentrate. And look into the crystal ball."
Draco, seeing no other way out of the situation, leaned forward and peered into the crystal ball, silently praying something would appear so that his classmates would stop staring. However, when something did happen, it was most certainly not the kind of thing that stopped people from staring. Quite the opposite really. Draco would be very glad later when he found out that no-one else saw it.
Draco stared into the glass of the ball, trying to concentrate as harsh sunlight reflected off the surface and shone into his eyes. Screwing them shut, he tried to ignore the dancing spots of color that flitted under his eyelids. A soft breeze blew his hair around his face, and he wondered vaguely whether or not someone had left the window open. The wind whispered in his ears, mournfully crying out to him, telling him to leave, to run. To run and never come back.
Draco's eyes shot open, his pale eyelashes framing his stormy eyes beautifully as a lump of fear rose in his throat. He half wondered if he was in a Foe Glass, as indistinct black shadows moved around the blank expanse of space before him. They writhed and twisted, rising like smoke from a candle flame, wrapping themselves around Draco as he stood rooted to the spot. He couldn't move as the tendrils of inky blackness swallowed him, till he was surrounded by darkness. When they finally receeded, he was left feeling clammy and ill, and suddenly, the comforting stability of solid ground beneath his feet was ripped away.
Curiously calm, he fell into darkness. No longer knowing which way was up, and which was down, Draco spun aimlessly, twisting and turning in slow motion. Straining his eyes, he saw flickering images before them, slowly coming into focus. The flickering images took shape, and Draco watched in eerie silence as scenes from his life were played out before his eyes. He saw himself as a young boy, alone in the cold, cruel and imposing Manor. He saw himself as a scrawny little first year, making snide remarks. He saw himself battered and bloodied at the hands of his father, he saw first hand the terror and pain in his own eyes, and the cold impassiveness of his father's. Not noticing he had come to a stop, floating in mid-air, Draco stared, mesmerized as his life flashed before his eyes. He saw the oh-so-famous Harry Potter, and saw himself doing anything within his power to bring the Golden Boy down. Running up to the Astronomy Tower with stories of dragons, bribing Anita Skeeter with false information. The shiny new Nimbus brooms his father had bought, and Potter's sleek Firebolt. Saw himself sneering as he heard his Father talk of how the Dark Lord would kill Potter, saw himself blundering through life hiding behind his family and a bad attitude.
"That's you, you know." sighed a female voice, a little too matter-of-factly.
Draco was about to turn round to see who had spoken, but in a flash, she was standing in front of him, staring down a straight nose at him disdainfully.
"Embarrassing, isn't it? I mean... look at you." she continued, leaning back to sit in a chair that wasn't there, and ending up looking just a little strange, reclining in thin air. She had warm brown eyes and shoulder-length chestnut hair, and was clad in floaty silk robes. She looked normal enough, but the fact she was inside a crystal ball was pretty alien to Draco, who was finding it hard to keep his eyes off her and even harder to keep from screaming "Where am I?!" at the top of his lungs. Instead, he mumbled something unintelligable.
"What was that?" yawned the woman lazily, reaching into her robes and producing an apple. She bit into it with a loud crunch as Draco blushed to the roots of his silver hair.
"I said, it's not that bad."
He could tell that the woman, whoever she was, was trying to suppress a snigger. He gave her an evil look, and with one fluid movement, her expression changed to one of indifference. She drew back her arm and threw the apple at Draco. It whizzed through the air faster than anything he'd seen, and he was reminded briefly of the Snitch before it silently screeched to a halt in front of his nose and exploded quietly, showering him with bits that instantly disappeared. He continued to stare, wide-eyed, as the woman rose from her invisible seat and walked over to the empty patch of space where the little scenes had been played out.
"This is a crystal ball, Draco." she said quietly, stroking the little patch of air as if there was something there. Draco remained silent, staring at her curiously.
"Crystal balls show the future." she whispered, more to herself than Draco. Tapping the air silently with her knuckles, she didn't flinch as a small black dot appeared and suddenly grew to the size of a cinema screen quicker than sparks flying from a flame. She turned to Draco and crossed her arms, staring at him, yet staring through him.
"Would you like to see your future Draco? Would you? Do you want to know what you are? How would you like a front row seat to the horror you are going to become?"
Draco gulped, his heart pounding wilder than ever before.
"You can show me that?"
"Yes, I can. I'll show you the way you will be if you continue down the road you have wandered onto. I will show you as your Father's son."
Draco froze. His Father's son? What would that be like? Silence pounded in his ears as the strange woman stared at him expectantly. He nodded meekly.
"Show me." he croaked through a parched throat.
"Very well."
She gestured to the blank screen, which began to fuzz and crackle lightly. Draco steadied himself and walked cautiously towards it. He reached it's obsidian surface and gently laid a hand on it, gasping at the smooth marble coldness. He'd expected it to be nothing more than a sheet of material, or a painted square on a wall. He ran his pale hand over the darkness, starting as it slid into it. Eventually his whole hand disappeared, followed by his arm. He took another step forward, and found himself on the other side. Looking back, he caught sight of the woman, but the Draco-shaped hole in the screen closed up suddenly, leaving him alone.
As he turned to face the direction he'd walked in, Draco had the urge to gasp again, but refrained. He'd been doing that a lot today.
He was now in his Father's study, standing on the lush rug that took up most of the floor. Bright sunlight shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the familiar oak desk. But, instead of having a few notches along the right hand edge, the whole structure was marred by little cracks, scratches and gashes. His Father couldn't possibly have killed that many people, could he?
Draco jumped as the door clicked open, and unsuccessfully tried to blend into the non-existent shadows. Fortunately, when two people walked into the room, they didn't notice him. Maybe no-one could see him at all. After all, this was the future.
The two figures, one tall and imposing with familiar silver-blonde hair, broad shoulders and impeccable robes; the other a small boy, aged about five or so, with refreshingly normal, brown colored hair, were standing in front of the windows. The tall man who Draco assumed was Lucius had his arms folded, and the little boy was trembling in fear. Draco wondered why his Father was with this strange little boy, but he was distracted as Lucius began to speak.
"Your Mother told me that you were rude to her at breakfast this morning, Thomas." he snarled, and the little boy whimpered. "You will have to be punished. Savour this view. It is the last time you will see it for many weeks."
Draco gritted his teeth and clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, an involutary reaction to the all too familiar phrase, spoken so often by his Father. He relaxed suddenly, though, when 'Lucius' grabbed Thomas roughly by the hair and turned to leave the room. Draco's jaw dropped as he caught sight of 'Lucius', who was quite obviously, not. It was, to his horror, an older, but unmistakable Draco Malfoy. Speechless and numb, he followed himself and his 'son' from the room.
Draco shuddered as he realised they were travelling the familiar route to the dungeons, and winced as he stopped every few corridors to give his son a sharp kick and berate him for sobbing and whimpering.
"No, Daddy, please!" Thomas cried, tears rolling down his pale cheeks, terror in his eyes. Draco had to look away, the memories of his own early childhood clawing at his soul. His adult self ignored the boy's pleas, kicking him to the ground were he lay crying as his Father opened the door leading to the cold and damp dungeons.
The door swung open with an all too familiar creak, and Draco watched in horror as adult Draco grasped his son by the hair and threw him down the concrete stairs, an insane fire dancing in his eyes, his smile growing wider with every sickening crack. Young Draco turned on his heel and fled the corridor, disgusted and terrified.
Draco ran, his heavy boots thumping on the hard floors, his heart pounding, his muscles burning. He was desperate to put as much distance as he could between himself and, well, himself. Throwing open the nearest door, he stumbled through and slammed it shut behind him, dismayed to find he'd left the Malfoy Manor altogether.
He was standing in the centre of a small, cosy little living room with flowery wallpaper and cheerful pictures of a Muggle family hanging on the walls. He saw a large, glass fronted box and more strange little instruments with buttons on, and heard a quiet hum of conversation coming from the hall. A feeling of absolute terror and nausea came to rest like a heavy weight in his gut, but he walked warily out into the hall anyway.
Draco tensed as he came face-to-face with the familiar sight of a group of robust men in standard grey Death Eater robes, eerie in the half darkness of the hallway. Grotesque masks peeked out from under the heavy hoods, all of the 'faces' twisted into a bizzare array of personalities: a crying clown, a vampire with bloodied fangs, a wolf, a face criss-crossed with angry red scars...
He heard a muffled cry, and peered into the shadows. There, in the very darkest corner of the hallway, was a Muggle man, dressed in a uniform that Draco suspected belonged to the Muggle police, bound with magical rope and gagged. He was desperately trying to escape, kicking frantically. One of the Death Eaters saw him, crying "Crucio!" as a polite knock sounded at the door. The door swung open and a tall figure dressed in the same grey robes with a horrifying mask depicting the mutilated face of Harry Potter, scarred and twisted horribly walked in calmly amid the shattering and desperate screams of the Muggle man.
"Hello Draco." sneered the clown. The man in the Harry mask merely nodded, stepping delicately over the writhing Muggle.
"The wife and daughter are bound and gagged upstairs. Have fun." said the vampire, giving the Muggle a kick to make sure he was still alive after the curse. He was now lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, weeping. They didn't want him dead yet. Draco knew, somehow, that they were going to make him suffer more than the Cruciatius curse.
Draco felt sick and light headed as his older self ascended the stairs calmly and slowly, his grey robes trailing on the forest green carpet. Thoughts and wonderings of what exactly 'fun' was, and a morbid curiosity joined and willed maskless Draco up the stairs slowly, trailing behind his future self and numbly following him into a cheerfully decorated children's bedroom.
By the time Draco caught sight of the little girl bound and gagged in the corner of the room and the terrified Muggle woman in a full Body Bind on the bed, he was frozen in shock and unable to move.
"No." he whispered, finally breaking free of the shock that had been holding him rooted to the spot, trying to pull his older self back, "Don't!"
His pale hand just grapsed at the air, sliding silently through the robes of his future self and right through to the other side. Screwing his eyes shut as the masked Draco descended on the sobbing Muggle woman, he fumbled his way out of the room and ran down the hallway, bursting into the nearest doorway, tripping over the edge of a large rug and cracking his head on something solid as the door creaked shut behind him.
He lay on the soft carpet for about a minute, wincing as a dark trail of crimson inched its way down his cheek. His eyes burned horribly, tears fighting desperately to escape. How could this be happening? It wasn't true, he was sure of it... why would he do such horrifying things? All for Lord Voldemort? Reality hit him like a ton of bricks as he realised his Father had been doing the exact same thing, ever since he'd graduated from Hogwarts... all this time, all fifteen years of Draco's life, his Father had been some sick, twisted monster.
Draco struggled to his feet, his head spinning and his stomach churning. He came face to face with the oak desk of his Father's study, now 'his' study... the desk with not a single inch of unmarked wood. Draco knew it would take hours, maybe even days, to count every little mark. Every dead person. Every name in the paper.
"You did this to me." whispered a voice, almost too quiet to hear.
A wave of fear washed over Draco, and he ripped his eyes from the desk and slowly turned round. Standing in front of him was the Muggle woman, dressed in a floaty white summer clothes, covered in blood from head-to-toe. Ghostly pale, she inched her way towards Draco with empty, lifeless eyes. He whimpered and backed away, tripping over the desk chair and falling to the carpet again, watching in wide-eyed horror as the whole room was suddenly filled with people. Dead people. All of them, lifeless and pale, with the same empty eyes and outstretched hands, all of them reaching for Draco, trying to grab him, to hurt him. They filed into the study through the now open door, numb, like zombies. A lump of fear rose in Draco's throat as he was confronted with the blind stares of almost a thousand pairs of eyes, each of them silently accusing him, hating him...
And he screamed.
"Mister Malfoy!" called a stern voice.
Draco's eyes shot open, only to stare into the big bug-like ones of Trelawney, wide and worried behind her ridiculous glasses.
"Are you all right, Mister Malfoy?" she asked uncertainly as Draco struggled to his feet from his resting place on the stone floor, every single student in the class staring at him like he was some kind of mutant, each of them absolutely terrified. Draco mumbled a reply and grabbed his bag, running from the classroom and fleeing the corridor, ignoring Trelawney's cries of "What did you see?!"
He pounded down the winding corridors, the portraits and tapestries flying by in a hazy blur, disgust and fear pumping through his veins. He came to a stop somewhere deep in the damp dungeons and slid to his knees. The world spun in front of him, dizzy, pale and sweating as his stomach churned and his lunch decided to make an entrance onto the cold stone floor.
Draco didn't go to classes for the rest of the day, and was no-where to be seen at dinner. Professor Trelawney told of her fifth year lesson that day with great relish at the dinner table, but most of the teachers just shruggged it off. If there was something she was well known for other than her ridiculous predictions, it was her fondness of exaggeration. Dumbledore, however, spent the rest of the meal staring over to the Slytherin table thoughtfully.
After dinner, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny made their way towards the Gryffindor Common Room, and flopped down into the comfy chairs for lack of anything else to do. For the first time in a while, they had done all their homework already. As Hermione expected, Ron and Harry broke out the wizard chess, and engaged in a furious battle, with their pieces taking the game a little too seriously. Ron's were well known for their tactics of 'whack, whack and whack again', while Harry's were soon catching up in the violence stakes.
Harry never saw Ginny staring at him fondly, but Hermione did, and her face broke out in a massive cheesy grin. Most un-Hermione-like. Ginny broke out in an equally, if not more, cheesy grin when Hermione asked her what was so interesting.
"Nothing." she lied.
"Yeah right." sniggered Hermione, "You are totally obssessing over Harry."
"I am not!" exclaimed Ginny, turning pink, "I don't know what you're talking about. You're the one who spends every minute with him!"
"Well, I'm not constantly monitoring his health, his moods, his blood pressure..." pointed out Hermione.
"130 over 80." blushed Ginny.
"You got it bad, girl!"
"I know." mumbled Ginny, burying her head in her hands. "What should I do?"
"You could ask him out." remarked Hermione. Ginny just looked at her like she was crazy.
"What?!" she cried, "I... well... when I'm with a boy I like it's hard for me to say anything cool, or witty, or at all. I - I can usually make a few vowel sounds. And then I have to go away..."
"Ginny, I think we have to go see Parvati and Lavender." replied Hermione solemnly, dragging a protesting Ginny up to the fifth year girl's dormitory.
Ten minutes later, Ginny was in the safe hands of Parvati and Lavender, who were both ecstatic to have someone to make-over and give little prep talks to. Hermione had had enough of their squeals of "Ooooh, Hermione, you and Ron would be so cute together!" and now that they had a new doll to play with, namely Ginny, she was feeling as if she could breathe properly for the first time since their first Hogwarts ball.
Hermione trotted downstairs to the Common Room, where Fred, George, Harry and Ron were having a little war with their chess pieces. Giving one of them a little kick as it threw a teeny little rock at her shin, Hermione told them all she'd see them later.
"I'm going to the library." she explained as Harry tried to piece together his now broken knight.
"You broke my knight!" he whined in a most Dudley like fashion, and she rolled her eyes.
"It hit me, what did you expect me to do? Hug it?"
Ron sniggered and Hermione made her way out of the portrait hole, glad to be out of the crowded and noisy Common Room. Some days, when people had nothing to do, it was just a little too much. She walked slowly down the corridor towards the library, savouring the silence. Hopefully she wouldn't bump into Peeves.
Hermione stopped and held her breath as she heard footsteps approaching, instinctively jumping behind a well-placed tapestry. Four years of sneaking around Hogwarts with Harry and Ron had make her a little jumpy, and even as she checked her watch and realised she had hours yet before she wasn't allowed out, she still felt a peculiar sense of guilt. Brushing the guilt and memories of midnight trips to the kitchens aside, Hermione watched in great interest as Draco Malfoy half stumbled down the corridor, the most part of him hidden in the shadows. Not wanting to emerge from behind the tapestry to a barrage of sarcastic remarks, she decided to wait till Draco passed.
Instead of sauntering as he usually did, Draco was, unfortunately for Hermione, making his way down the corridor painfully slowly. She sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. What was his problem? It was almost as if he knew she was there, doing this deliberately. Folding her arms across her chest and plastering her best haughty expression over her face, she boldly stepped out into the corridor and made to brush past Draco. She intended to make it one hundred percent clear that she didn't think he was worth looking at.
However, Hermione didn't get that far. She took one step into the corridor and walked straight into Draco, instead of past him. She gave a quiet 'Oof.', half stumbling backwards. Draco stopped completely, standing still in the middle of the corridor, staring straight ahead and hardly even noticing she was there. Hermione looked him up and down, and decided not to walk straight by. Draco's robes were all tangled and dusty, his pale face covered in a glistening layer of sweat, his normally immaculate hair mussed up and sticking out in all directions, much like Harry's. Thinking to herself that he'd been in a broom closet with some lucky -- wait, unlucky (what was she thinking...?) girl, she was just about to make some smarmy remark about not noticing Draco had become the school's resident slut when he looked her right in the eyes.
Hermione wasn't easily shocked, after four eventful years at Hogwarts being confronted with the likes of Fluffy, Norbert and Lord Voldemort himself, but even she was a little taken aback at the look in Draco's eyes. Well, hardly taken aback. More like chilled to the bone. They were eerily empty, yet filled with pain and fear, staring blankly ahead. Hermione had never seen such a blank look before, and was stunned into silence. For a few minutes, the both of them just stood in the corridor, Hermione looking surprised and rooted to the spot, Draco staring ahead at nothing.
A few minutes later, Draco blinked a few times, and peered at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time. Confused, he ran a nervous hand through his limp hair.
"Granger?" he croaked.
"Malfoy, what is with you?" asked Hermione, snapping back to reality. "Are you high or something?"
"Uh... no?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and ignoring the ick factor of touching her worst enemy, grabbed Draco's hand and proceeded to drag him to the Hospital Wing.
"Apparently, Professor Trelawney predicted his death today in Divination, and he had a little experience with her crystal ball." mused Professor Dumbledore, stroking his beard while Hermione tried to peek round the curtain erected around the bed Draco was now being forced to get into. She jumped back as Madam Pomfrey bustled out, pulling the curtains shut behind her.
"He's in shock, Albus." she tutted, reaching into the nearest cupboard and pulling out a massive bar of chocolate from a huge stack.
"Ahhh." replied Dumbledore absently, turning to Hermione. "Death predictions can do that."
"But Harry's death is predicted in Divination all the time!" protested Hermione, "I'm sure he must have been sniffing something..."
Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Granger." he answered as the choking sounds of Draco being force-fed chocolate emerged from behind the curtain. Hermione shrugged, willing herself to walk towards the door and leave Draco to it, but a strange curiosity told her to stay.
"Honestly, that woman..." fumed Madam Pomfrey, "Trying to scare the students to death, she is!"
"Yes..." replied Dumbledore, "I think I might go and have a word with Sybill. Thank you Poppy."
With that, he made his way out of the room, pausing to let a coughing and spluttering first year by.
"My my, the trouble Coughing Potions can cause..." Hermione heard him say before he disappeared from sight and Madam Pomfrey ushered the poor first year to a bed on the other side of the room.
Hermione was left standing alone in the middle of the unnervingly sterile Hospital Wing, biting nervously on her lip and wondering whether or not to pull back the curtains and ask Malfoy what the hell was going on. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered, but a little voice was nagging at her to do it. I mean, what if this had something to do with Voldemort? Was Harry in any danger? Convincing herself she was doing it for Harry's sake and not out of sheer nosiness, Hermione pulled open the curtain.
Draco was sitting on top of the plain white sheets, crouched over with his head in his hands. His hair fell over his eyes and through his long fingers, reaching to the starched cuffs of the scratchy cotton pyjamas Madam Pomfrey had forced him into. Hermione cleared her throat quietly, and Draco started, looking up quickly. Hermione was glad to see he looked a damn sight better than the Draco she'd bumped into forty minutes ago. No longer sweaty and, well, icky, he had a little more color in his cheeks and his eyes weren't to disconcertingly empty.
"Hi." she ventured.
"Hullo." he replied, a ghost of a smile playing over his lips. "I wasn't high, by the way."
"Uh... I didn't think you were." lied Hermione. "So how are you?"
"Well, I feel like shit and I'm wearing cardboard pyjamas. As well as could be expected, I suppose."
"Yeah." replied Hermione. A few minutes of silence followed, with Hermione counting each second free from insults in amazement, wondering whether or not Draco had bumped his head.
"So..." she said, breaking the silence, "What happened anyway?"
"Oh." replied Draco, shifting uncomfortably, "Nothing much. Trelawney saw a Grim in my teacup."
Hermione refrained from telling him that Harry got Grims all the time, and decided against crying "You people are still doing teacups?!", opting for a less insulting or sarcastic reply.
"Is that all?" she asked curiously.
"Uh-huh." answered Draco, fiddling with a corner at the bottom of his pyjama top. Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least it wasn't anything to do with Harry. Or Ron. Or Voldemort. Pondering the miraculous properties of magical chocolate and how it'd managed to turn an insufferable git into someone semi, if not more, normal, and resolving to look it up somewhere. Possibly in a book.
"Well, I suppose I better get back to the Common Room." replied Hermione, giving Draco a quick smile. He gave her a weak wave as she turned away and walked to the door. She was just at the door when he called her back.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?" she asked, turning round.
"Do you hate me?" he asked nervously.
"What?" laughed Hermione.
"No, seriously." answered Draco quickly, "Am I an evil person?"
"Evil?" sniggered Hermione, "You're annoying, sarcastic, and always find time to be nasty... but evil? Don't be stupid."
Hermione turned and walked from the Infirmary, but not missing the quiet 'Sorry.' from Draco. She left him with his no-doubt jumbled thoughts and made her way to the Common Room, hoping that Draco's apparent change of heart was for real and not just some chocolatey side-effect. She decided not to tell Harry and Ron about her little Draco encounter just in case. Draco didn't know it, but his quiet one word apology for four years of nastiness meant a hell of a lot to Hermione, and she was sure that it would mean even more to some people. And maybe, some day, it would mean a lot to the Light Side.
After a few minutes walk, Hermione was a lot closer to the Common Room, but no where near understanding Draco Malfoy. Deep in thought, she was shocked enough to give a quiet yelp as she walked straight into Professor Dumbledore.
"Sorry Professor." she bustled as he carefully slid his glasses back up his crooked nose and gave her a smile.
"Ah, Miss Granger, just the person I wanted to see."
"Really? Why?" asked Hermione curiously.
"It concerns Mister Malfoy."
"Oh."
"I trust you spoke to him in the Infirmary?" asked Dumbledore, stroking his snow white beard.
"Yeah. He called me Hermione."
"My goodness." chuckled Dumbledore, "That was certainly unexpected."
"I don't think he wants to be a Death Eater!" blurted Hermione, immediately regretting it and turning a bright red shade.
Dumbledore, however, didn't seem fazed by Hermoine's sudden outburst. He gave a solemn nod, deep in thought.
"Well, you see, it is not our choice. It is all down to Mister Malfoy." he smiled sadly, and Hermione nodded meekly. "Did he tell you what happened today?"
"He just told me he saw a Grim. Why? Was it something else?"
"I'm not sure." replied Dumbledore, "But if it was, I'm sure we'll find out eventually. We always do. And, it seems, when we do... everyone else does. Anyway... you'll have to get back to your Common Room, and I have an important chat with Professor Snape waiting. Goodbye for now, Miss Granger." he continued, his eyes twinkling as his mouth twisted into a friendly smile.
With that, he started walking again, in the direction of the dungeons. Hermione stood where she was, thinking frantically. Should she ask what she'd been dying to since first year? Now was the perfect chance, after all, it wasn't often she spoke to the Headmaster alone. And she'd already embarrassed herself once by blurting her thoughts about Draco, what harm would one more stupid thing said do?
"Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Granger?" replied Dumbledore, turning back to face her. The look in his eyes plainly told that he knew fine well she was going to call him back. She half suspected he knew what she was going to ask.
"Well, Professor... you said, uh, that you were going to Professor Snape's..."
"Yes?"
"And it, er, got me wondering..." stuttered Hermione, "Why is he so... angry? And why is he... on our side?"
Dumbledore, again, didn't look surprised.
"I'm afraid I can't answer that question, Hermione." he replied, "But I can tell you that Severus has every reason to be angry at the world, and that he is on our side because he chose to be. Something terrible, more terrible than you could ever imagine happened to him, but luckily he came back from the brink and has since been a valued member of our staff. Although there are many people who believe him to be something else. A Death Eater, maybe. But, as with Mister Malfoy, it is his choice. A choice, which may have been influenced very heavily by grief and guilt, but that is something else that we have no control over. We can't heal Severus, or anyone else for that matter. He would need someone who had been in a similar position, someone who would understand. Understanding Severus' anger is something only few people could do, and only someone who could, or could come a little closer than you or I could heal him."
"I know what you mean, Professor, it's just that... well, for a while now, I've thought that if only I could understand him a little better, I could stop being so angry at him. I feel myself getting angry at the way he treats Harry, the way he treats Neville, his predjudice against Gryffindors... I don't want to get angry, or hateful, sir. I don't want to go the same way."
"I understand you perfectly, Hermione. And I'd like to remind you that, unfortunately, Severus is acting the way many people expect him too. But if you truly feel you need to understand him better, for any reason that would benefit you or even he, I suggest you take a visit to the Restricted Section of the library. Maybe with permission, because I've heard that records from the Troubles get very cranky if people in Invisibility Cloaks handle them."
Hermione couldn't help smiling. Dumbledore had a way of knowing everything, and managing to keep his word, obviously, but help others at the same time. She felt very glad to see a sparkle in his eyes and felt honored to be trusted by him, Hogwarts headmaster, the most powerful wizard she'd ever known.
"Thank you very much sir." she answered, "I think, now maybe, I could be a little less obliged to feel bad towards Professor Snape."
"And for that, Hermione, I am very glad. There are too many people who feel the way other people's problems make them think they should. If only people felt the way they would have if not for unfortunate circumstances, then maybe there would be more happiness, or maybe even just a little more caring in the lives of the world's Professor Snapes."
The Headmaster gave Hermione a smile before turning to make his way down to the dungeons, calling back as he rounded a corner.
"I think it would be wise if only you knew of any information that happens to be uncovered, because I'm not entirely sure even you should be uncovering it. But I trust you Hermione, because you are a good person with an excellent mind. And if that mind has to know certain things to understand other things, then so be it. And also, I think it would be wise for you to help Mister Potter rebuild his knight."
Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was in his little bed in the Hospital Wing, hiding behind the curtains. Thoughts chased themselves around his head like Seekers and Snitches, he had a headache, and for the first time in his life, he had a choice to make. It wasn't like before, when his Mother chose his clothes, or his Father chose his broom. This time, he had to choose a side. And to make matters worse, one had already been chosen for him. He was disgusted at the things he'd seen, and deathly afraid of having to do them himself. He wished fervently that everything was the way it used to be. Then he wouldn't have to choose. He wouldn't even have to feel. Unlike right now, where Draco was alone and feeling like he'd never felt before. Feeling ashamed, afraid... and confused.