Behind a Curtain

Spoilers: Just GoF I guess

Rating: PG

Summary: A troubled Slytherin thinks over his life as it is

Disclaimer: HA! JK Rowling probably wouldn't let me own Harry Potter if I offered her my soul. Then again, there's not much left for me to try to trade with anyway…

Author's Notes: This is only the second vaguely introspective peace I've done, normally I'm all humor, so don't expect this to be award winning, just different.



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A solitary figure sat silently in the gloomy corner of his house common room. The sparse torches flickered almost reluctantly across the nearly deserted large room, drawing long shadows across the stone. Although charms were placed throughout the tower to keep it warm, the inhospitable design always seemed to create a heavy chill that leaked through to his very bones. Silently he tapped his feather quill against his knee, as a heavy book lay open but forgotten in his lap.

His two companions had already turned in for the night, sleeping contentedly in their cold, hard beds. For that he was more than a little glad, as their incessant whining seemed to be wearing more and more on his rapidly fraying nerves. Already in the time he had been alone he had managed to finish nearly a week's worth of homework, even double checked and reworked half of it. Yet now he was simply struggling to pull himself from the swampy thoughts that drew his mind from work.

When he was a young boy, his father had taken him to all of the 'parties' he attended to become better acquainted with his future fellow Death Eaters. He had ever been the good son, groveling when necessary and laughing at the foul jokes and rants on the destruction of the "despicable mudbloods and muggles". He personally had never had any difficulties with muggles, or those related to them. He had even once befriended a muggle- born boy he saw often at Snappers & Clappers Funstore in Diagon Alley. When his father found out, of course, he had been horrified and outraged. The scars from that particular association still lingered on his broad back.

When he came to Hogwarts he had nearly let the hat place him where it wanted to – where he felt he belonged – in Gryffindor. But his father's harsh threats rang clearly in his head and he demanded to be placed in Slytherin. His companions had congratulated him as though it were some kind of honor to be placed in such an evil house when all he wanted to do was throw up. Over the years he had been forced to hide his intelligence and natural abilities to prevent standing out too much and attracting unwanted attention.

He had once again questioned the words of his father on the unworthiness of mudbloods when he was confronted with Hermione Granger. An undoubtedly brilliant witch, surpassing even him, with a beauty and bravery that almost stole his breath. Her constant companions - no, friends, he added bitterly, companions were what he had – included the legendary Harry Potter and another of the dependable, fiery Weasley's, Ron. While Ron was often too quick to act and justifiably hateful towards Slytherins, Harry seemed surprisingly humble and fair. On more than one occasion, the Boy Who Lived had been the Boy Who Saved, for which he truly was thankful.

Though he tried to avoid conflict and the despicable Slytherin attitude, the boy admitted that he had done more than a few things he was not proud of in his five years at Hogwarts. Before leaving the train the year before, his fourth year, he had stupidly gone along to help insult Potter, knowing that it was one of the lowest things he could do. The hex's had been exceedingly kind as far as he was concerned.

Now, with Voldemort on the rise, he would be expected to play the evil Death Eater more than ever, when all he wanted to do was read by a quiet fire and laugh with true friends over something other than an insult. But, he concluded, gathering his things and turning to go to his room, Vincent Crabbe could play that part better than most. Acting seemed to be what he did best.