Chapter Three: The Mind
A/N: A note relevant to the previous chapter has been put at the bottom of this one.
5th of September, 1992
Certain things could only be delayed, not permanently dissuaded. Unless you had the proper leverage. Much like an eruption in a volcano long past its average time, the Weasley Twins' inaction against Draco was beginning to concern Cato to a distracting degree.
It was quite fortuitous then that he ran into them in an empty classroom in the first days of term, with an old piece of parchment in his pocket and his fingers wrapped around his wand. When he opened the door, they were lounging in chairs, chatting idly with their friend, the Lee boy.
They all leaped up as he pushed open the door, various looks of guilt on their faces as they tried to stand in front of the pile of mischief on the floor. But their faces morphed into dark looks of anger and hostility, jagged and uneven on their young faces, when they recognized him.
"Fred, George," said Cato with a wide smile. But his smile fell like water off glass when he turned to Lee Jordan. "Get out, Jordan."
"What the bloody hell do you want?" snapped one of the Twins. They were glaring, their wands now at their side. No one had ever proved who had snapped Fred's leg back in their first year, but after Cato's slip-up, the rumors had eventually escaped the Slytherin common room, and neither of them had taken too long to believe them.
"Right now, I want Jordan to leave."
"Like Hell!" said their friend, squaring his shoulders.
Cato gave him a flat look. "Please, if I wanted to hurt them, I would be more subtle about it."
"Yeah, we know," said one of them. It was rather irritating just how difficult it was to distinguish them.
"Perfect, because I only wish to talk."
The trio hesitated, before one of them finally nodded and nudged Lee. "It's fine, go ahead."
"But-"
"Lee, go," and that must have been Fred, for he was always the one with a quiet air of command to his words.
Silence settled over them after Lee left, the sort of silence that sits on a precipice, waiting for a wind to send it tumbling into chaos. Instead, Cato sat in Lee's vacant chair and gestured for the twins to sit. They did so after a moment, looking at each other with confusion. "What is it, Malfoy?" asked George.
"I have an offer for you."
"An offer," said George with a scoff, but Fred look at him with interest, so Cato ignored his twin and focused on him.
"A simple offer. Stay away from Draco and myself."
"We haven't done anything to your kiddy brother," said Fred with a frown.
"For now."
The look they cast each other was enough to confirm his suspicions and Cato leaned forward, a hard expression on his face. "Listen well," he said in a low voice, and they leaned forward with the age-old instinct of those who were being imparted a secret. "I have tolerated your occasional pranks because I felt bad for what I did to your leg," he said, raising a hand with the sharp authority of a teacher when they both colored with rage. "Don't! Act surprise. You both heard the rumors and believed them."
"This is different, this is- Expelled!" spluttered George, sitting up straight.
"Not so long after the fact," continued Cato smoothly. "Besides, I've allowed you a few years of pranks in return, or at least, what few pranks got past my defenses," he finished with a hint of scorn.
"You attacked u-" snarled George, but Cato spoke over him with a flat, hard tone. Hard enough to crush George's voice like glass. "It ends here. Play your games with the others, but touch me or Draco and you'll find yourself answering a few pointed questions from the Ministry about a certain expedition to Privet Drive undertaken this summer…"
They both paled and went still, their anger disappearing into the drenching fog of fear. "What- What are you talking about?" stammered Fred, his erstwhile calm now gone.
Cato leaned back and smiled a small, self-satisfied smile he reserved for these little victories. How naïve he had been, to think violence was ever the answer. It was so much easier to talk things out. "Come now, you really believe there were no witnesses? I doubt you're that stupid."
"I don't believe you," said George firmly. "Bollocks, all of it. You can't blackmail us with that stuff."
His brother nodded in assent and Cato's expression turned sour. Any adult would have crumbled then and there, when faced with the consequences of their actions, but they were still stupid and young enough to believe that they could just deny it and it would go away. And they might have been right. He had no witnesses apart from his memory.
Well, no human witnesses. And Dobby had been only too happy to spy when he believed that it might keep Harry Potter away from Hogwarts. And now his memory of the event was quite refreshed. So he told them the tale in all its detail, word for word, fact for fact and by the time he was done, they were both ashen with shock, their skin sickly in color.
When they failed to provide a response, he stood and walked over to them, looking down at them until their eyes met. First Fred, then George. His gaze was unrelenting and cold and they both glanced at the floor.
"Stay away from me and my brother or I will drown you both in a tide of troubles of the likes you have never seen before." Then he smiled and walked to the door. "Have a good night, Weasleys!"
30th of October, 1992
A fine mist had descended upon Hogsmeade, causing the village lights to shimmer like tremulous gems. It would have struck Cato as quite beautiful, but his eyes had barely left the snow in front of his feet since he had left the castle. It crunched, wafer-thin layers collapsing with every step. Early morning as it was, the sun was still only barely breaching the horizon, a hazy indistinct eye casting a disinterested gaze upon the world. He had left alone today, careful to avoid the usual posse who would have inevitably dragged him to one of their usual haunts.
Only a few students were out so early on Hogsmeade weekend, wandering the streets with their faces hidden by scarves, or hats pulled low over their faces. He smiled as two Gryffindors looked at him suspiciously. What? Were they here so early on innocent business? Is that why they had elected to hide their faces? He passed them by, ignoring their muttered comments, before turning sharply as the Alley reared up from the mist. It twisted and turned, the mist clinging thickly to the houses as he ventured deeper, his solitary steps the only noise among the shuttered homes. Finally, he reached its end and pulled out the remnants of the burned letter. 'The red shuttered house, the Alley.' He walked up to the proper door, drew a breath rattled by nerves and knocked once.
A moment later a small window within the door creaked open. "Yes?" rasped an unpleasant voice.
"I'm here to see the mediwizard."
A pause. "Why?"
"I've been having headaches."
The window slammed shut, then the door creaked open, revealing a crooked old man with a sallow face and rheumatic eyes hidden behind spectacles speckled with grime. "Get in quick," he whispered.
Cato slipped inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell as the man slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. The hallway was as filthy as its owner, with a patina of muck on the floor and walls streaked with mold. Wallpaper peeled away from the underlying bricks like dead skin. A staircase led down into a basement, and further along another spiraled up to the second floor.
"In the basement," said the man. "Knock first." Then he was gone, slamming another door behind him.
The stairs creaked as he made his way down and he absently noted that the layer of dust upon them was undisturbed. Was he early? No, the man had said to knock. And so he did, once, and the door swung open of its own accord. Cato took a slow step forward into the room. It was a bare, grey bricked cellar with old wooden beams holding up the roof, twisted with age. In the middle of the room sat a single table with two chairs. A man sat in one of them, and another stood beside him, his hand on the other's shoulder.
"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy," said the standing man.
"How-" Cato stiffened.
But the man lifted a hand, a small, silky laugh interrupting him. "We are not fools, sir," he said. "If we let your secrets slip, we would be poor businessmen indeed."
Cato managed a stiff nod and walked over, shaking the man's outstretched hand. He was dressed quite immaculately in grey robes trimmed with white fur. His lapels were ingrained with a golden filigree and golden buttons affixed the robe firmly around his athletic figure. A small goatee curled deviously around the man's dark chin and Cato caught a flash of dark eyes out of the corner of his gaze.
"You may call me Mr. White," said the man.
"Mr. White," repeated Cato. His eyes flickered over to the second man, and stayed fixated. Where Mr. White seemed perfectly at ease, even in their dingy circumstances, his partner was the polar opposite. He was a pale man, to the point of translucency and was never still. His body twitched constantly, as if currents of electricity were jerking him around like a puppet. But his eyes, his eyes never moved. They were nearly white and seemed fixated on Cato, pinning him under their slightly unfocused gaze, as if they were looking at something beyond the flesh.
Cato suppressed the shiver that tickled the bottom of his spine.
"That is my colleague. You may call him Mr. Grey," said White. "He will be doing the teaching." He slapped the man's shoulder cheerfully, as if he were introducing them at a bar, and Mr. Grey flinched violently. "He may appear disconcerting at first, but he truly is gifted in the Arts."
Cato nodded slowly and sat down without across from him, not waiting for an invitation. He hadn't quite made up his mind about who was more disconcerting between the two.
White clapped his hands. "Excellent. Now, as you know, I'll leave you two to it, return when you're done, and do the deed." He waved his wand around theatrically with another short, painfully artificial laugh. It was only for an instant really, but as Grey's eyes focused on White's wand, Cato thought he saw a flash of raw terror. He fought to stop himself from shifting uncomfortably. He needed this.
"Understood," he said in what he hoped was a firm voice.
"Young," whispered Grey, his voice so soft Cato could barely hear it. "Too young."
"Ah, ah!" said White, raising a finger. "Now Mr. Grey, young Cato here is paying us handsomely, and we are happy to oblige him, aren't we?" His forced cheer sounded anything but pleasant, and something truly nasty was glittering in his cobalt eyes. Grey ducked his head. His hands, splayed across the table, were tense.
"Of course," he whispered.
"You are aware of the risks, aren't you?" said White. "We'll, of course, be collecting our payment regardless of your… ah… Satisfaction." Another chuckle. Cato hated him.
But he smiled, a polite little thing he used when he wanted people to know he wasn't really smiling. "Yes."
"Good, good. So!" White smiled, a perfect replica of Cato's own insincerity. "How long do you want?"
Cato remembered how hard it was said Occlumency lessons were. An hour seemed to be plenty painful, but he did not have the luxury of weekly classes with Snape. He had a handful of Hogsmeade outings, and that was it. "Five hours," he said, lifting a heavy pouch to prove he had the coins to pay.
"Really now?" said White, and for once he sounded genuinely interested. "Five hours. You really are certain you know how this goes, don't you?"
"Somewhat," said Cato shortly. Clear your mind, Potter. Legilimens. "Shall we continue?" There was a lot of pain to trudge through.
"Good luck, Mr. Malfoy," said White. "I will return in five hours." And he sounded concerned. Perhaps he feared for his galleons?
The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly he was alone with Mr. Grey, who had gone quite still, and was staring at him blankly.
"So…" began Cato, but Grey shook his head, a tiny movement, just barely caught. The moment stretched on for what felt like hours until Cato frowned and shifted. "Listen, Mr. Grey-"
"I am already in your mind," murmured the man and Cato flinched, breaking eye contact.
"How did- but I didn't feel a thing!"
Grey shrugged. All his nervous tics seemed to have fled the room along with his partner. "A test. Some naturally feel even the most careful of intrusions. You do not."
"Splendid," muttered Cato, frowning.
Grey gave him a ghostly smile, far more genuine than White's monstrosities. "It is normal. A very rare talent, in a rarely practiced field." His accent was subtle, barely there, a slight Irish lilt inflecting his every word.
"Now what?" asked Cato.
"No talent means the hard way," replied Grey. "I attack your mind until you understand."
"Understand?" Cato suppressed an irritated sigh. "Would you care to be even less specific?"
Grey seemed unconcerned. "Like with anything," he said, "You must understand the magic. Unfortunate that this cannot be taught in books."
"But there are books on Occlumency, aren't there? I was looking for them a few years back."
"Pale parodies of the real thing. Few will even be able to use them, fewer still will gain anything from them. Even then, pale parodies," he repeated, his eyes drifting to stare blankly at a wall. He laughed, a soft thing, like the patter of rain on leaves. "Is your mind explained in books? Your own character outlined in detail by the author?" He shook his head. "No. Every mind is different, every mind absolutely unique and in turn, every approach to occlumency is completely and utterly unique. No one will defend in the same way, no one will attack the same."
"Then how will I learn?" asked Cato, his attention latched onto the man's every word despite his growing trepidation.
"I have told you," said Grey. "I will attack you until your conscious mind breaks and the subconscious powers within fight back against the intrusion. Then, I will attack again, until you learn to harness these powers."
"That… sounds far less complicated than I imagined," said Cato with a tentative smile.
Grey cast him a regretful look. "If it were easy, more would master it."
"Then what makes it so hard? The pain?"
"The ability to suffer the pain, and learn from it." Grey looked at him once more, and Cato saw pity in his eyes. "I am sorry that you are burdened with something you must go to such great lengths to protect. I would wish this on no one. Legilimens."
Cato dragged himself off the floor, gasping for breath. His breakfast lay in front of him in a semi-digested mess, his supporting hand firmly planted within the mire. He gagged and his throat convulsed as his mouth flooded with saliva. Tears gathered in his eyes and with a tremendous effort of will, he crawled back into his chair, sprawling on the table and wiping his hand on the wood most ineffectively.
He was almost scared to meet Mr. Grey's eyes, but when he did, the man looked as serene and unperturbed as ever. "I expected surprise," mumbled Cato, and Merlin did his tongue feel thick in his mouth.
Grey gave him a long, blank look. "I am, if nothing else, a master of occlumency, Mr.… Malfoy. But yes, I am surprised."
"Now you know why I need to do this."
"Yes." Grey's posture stiffened. "It is, in this situation… I do not-." He paused and seemed to rein himself in. "It is better for me to be obliviated of this knowledge."
Cato relished the opportunity to take a break from the continuous mental assaults. Grey was implacable and it had begun to hurt in such a way that he was seriously reconsidering his commitment to such lengthy sessions. "Does it hurt? Obliviation?" He wanted to close his eyes, shut out the pain, but it hid in the shadows behind his eyelids as effectively as it did in the light.
"No," said Grey. His hand twitched and the man stared down at it as if it were a foreign, vaguely disgusting animal. "It feels like nothing at all. A blink of an eye, like waking from a dream you can no longer recall…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Again."
The wood felt unbreakable underneath his fingers as Cato clenched it hard enough to make his bones creak in protest. "Again."
Blood trickled from his nose. His nose? He couldn't feel it. He rubbed it again. Was his face numb? Was it his hand? His hand moved, like some robotic appendage, and he pulled himself off from the floor. Red marks and torn skin littered his palms, painting a picture of a dozen unwanted falls. He sat down like a disjointed doll, and there was Mr. Grey, as impassive as ever.
"How come…" Minutes or seconds drifted by as he struggled to string together his words. "No barriers?"
"There are no barriers," said Grey. "As if the human mind could be encompassed into some sort of metaphorical dome." His lip wrinkled into a small sneer. "When someone attacks, they merge with the defender and for a moment, you are one being, shared in two bodies. The minds… they meld and mix, fluid things with no delineated barriers…" Again, Grey trailed off, his eyes distant. "It is the most exquisite of things." Then he refocused on Cato. "The skill of the attacker lies in remembering who they were, separating their conscious will from the other, and focusing on their goal. The skill of the defender is like a body rejecting a foreign limb, rejecting the link, erasing the strands that hold both minds together by obscuring their thoughts, giving the intruder no holds on to which they can latch their will. Or giving them only those they wish to present."
The softly spoken words were drowned out by the deafening buzz in Cato's ears and capsized long before he could make any sense of them. He wanted to ask Grey to repeat, but the effort was far too huge. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Grey had stood and come up to him while Cato's mind was lost in the thunder of his butchered thoughts. And why were there two wooden table legs to his left… oh.
Grey was leaning on the table with his free hand, supporting his crude prosthetic leg. "You have had enough for today, Mr. Malfoy. More might kill you."
"This… won't?" He felt like he was dying, at least.
"No." Grey patted his shoulder and even such a gentle movement sent waves of nausea reeling through him. "… -lack of sleep, nightmares, insomnia…" Grey was sitting. "… -ill probably suffer from chaotic control over magic… inability to focus." The candle was guttering on the table, its little flame desperately darting every which way, like a cornered animal. "… repercussions."
"What?" His jaw felt rusted shut.
"I do not know the long-term repercussions," repeated Grey.
"Worth it."
"I daresay it is," Grey gave him a pitying look. "It is a heavy burden to bear."
"Used to it," ground out Cato. He would have shared more. His fears, his doubts, his plans. Who better to do it with? But Grey was talking so damnably loud, and his brain hurt so damnably much. "Will this happen every time?"
Grey opened his mouth to answer, but the door opened before Grey could finish his sentence. White strode in, his face twisted into that same pleasant smile. "Obliviate," he said.
A resigned look crossed his tutor's face and he gave Cato a small nod and a smile. Then the spell hit him and his eyes grew distance, a fine mist covering his irises and turning them white.
White walked over to him, a firm hand landing on his shoulder. The touch seemed to bring back all of Grey's jitters as Cato sat up, wiping a trail of bile from his lips. "Well, now!" said White. "I'm surprised you can still sit up straight."
"W-whu-?" Cato tried to steady himself on the table, his arm swinging around like a wooden club. Why was he so damnably weak? His fingers felt numb, unresponsive, as if their connection to his brain had been lost. He blinked a few times and shook his head. The buzzing in his head was growing louder, why was it so loud? What was that pressure? A vice was being twisted, crushing his skull between two bands of frozen steel. "You-"
"Yes," replied White, patting Grey's shoulder. The man was so vacant, his eyes so empty. A shell of a being, like the pictures Cato had seen of those who suffered the Dementors Kiss. Cato's stomach was in knots, something nasty was forcing its way up his throat. What a cruel existence it was, to live in with the shadow of a thousand forgotten memories looming over you.
He spasmodically reached into his robes, his fingers clawing for the money pouch until he latched onto it and threw it onto the table. The coins clinked like the clicking of teeth and by the way White's eyes lit up, they were speaking a language that he understood far too well.
"Are we done here?" asked Grey. His voice was as dull and flat as a cloudy morning, with all the bright hints of a promising day wiped away.
"Yes, my good friend," said White, weighing the pouch in his hand with a smile. "I think we are."
Cato waited no longer than that. He turned tail and stumbled up the stairs, half blind with pain, his legs following his orders like logs attached to his waist. Twice he fell and twice he pulled himself up again, for there was not a chance that he was going to spend another second in that cellar with them.
"Until next time, Mr. Malfoy!" shouted White as he slammed open the door and ran out of the house and into the cold October morning. The sky was white as clay with no sun. White was right. There would be a next time, and a next time after that. And every time, the man he would get to know a little bit more, the gentle tutor, the soft-spoken enthusiast, would disappear in front of his eyes and forget him. He leaned against a house, pressing his forehead against the chilly stone. Dew had accumulated on it and coated his brow with a soothing balm. But the pain was still there, lacerating his every thought into incoherence. The greater good had been a foolish little joke before. Now, it rung like a reassuring little mantra in his ear, and he felt a stab of sympathy for an old man burdened with a hundred regrets and failures and wondered if he too thought back to this phrase on occasion, and found comfort within its confines.
The air was heavy, filled with the vapors of mediocre potioneering. And for once, to his shame, Cato was contributing to this failure. Snape may not have been his godfather, but he was practically part of the family, and failing here brought a particular sense of shame with it. He wiped his brow. Was it five or seven holly leaves? Why had he put his book on the other side of the cauldron? Cato cursed under his breath and reached around, yanking his textbook over. It skidded across the rough old table and clipped his haphazard array of ingredients shoddily aligned along the edge of the table, sending a vial of frogspawn crashing onto the floor.
"Damn it, Malfoy, my robes!" snarled Prongs, skipping away from the impact before rushing back to her potion.
"Fuck," muttered Cato, the sound blasting through his head like a cannon shot. He leaned down and swayed dangerously as the sudden urge to vomit his lunch overtook him.
"Mr. Malfoy, do you think this is a playground?" Snape swooped in beside him and Cato focused on the man's customary sneer. He straightened and wiped his brow with a trembling hand.
"No, sir." Next to him, his potion hissed, and an acrid stench filled the air. Cato felt his cheeks heating up as his failure begun to bubble and glop loudly, pulling snickers from the Gryffindor side of the room. "Sorry, sir. I'll clean up." He grabbed his wand and muttered a quick reparo, pointing at the shattered vial. But instead of assembling seamlessly once more, the glass flew out of control, deadly pieces buzzing around the room like shrapnel. Shrieks of surprise and pain erupted through as the room as the pieces exploded against the walls.
"Cease this farce," snapped Snape. He waved his wand and the glass, frogspawn, toxic smoke and potion all vanished.
Cato lowered his eyes and not for the first time in Snape's presence, felt very much like a scolded child.
"You, Weasley, take Miss Spinnet to the Hospital Wing. And you, Bletchely, go with them."
"I'm fine, sir."
"I said go!" snarled Snape, his cheeks pink with anger. Then he turned back to Cato, his features suddenly as impenetrable as black ice. "Malfoy, you will stay after class."
Cato sighed and tried to keep a respectable posture despite the gleeful looks thrown at him by the remaining Gryffindors. "Yes, sir."
As class ended, Cato waved a concerned looking Pucey and Montague out of the door and marched up to Snape's desk, resolutely avoiding eye contact. "I apologize, sir. I have not-"
"Do you think I'm a fool, Cato?" He flinched. First name basis was a terrible place to start when it came to Snape, so Draco told him.
"No, sir."
"Then why are you persisting to pretend this is anything other than the after effects of intense occlumency lessons?"
Cato froze, his gaze caught somewhere between Snape's nose and quivering lip. He swallowed convulsively. "W-What's occlumency?"
Snape's hands slammed down on his desk and Cato jumped back in surprise, a hand flying to his brow. "Don't!" snarled Snape, "Play me for a fool."
"Sir, I'm just unwell, perhaps Madam P-" "Your magic is reacting erratically, you cannot focus, your limbs respond sluggishly - Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
Cato raised his chin and straightened his back, his shirt clinging on to it damply. His fixed his eyes on the blackboard. "I'd rather not, sir."
"Detention."
"Very well, sir."
Snape said nothing for a long time, long enough that Cato began to sway on the spot from the headache ravaging his skull. It felt like his brain was slashing around his head like a bucket. Finally, Snape sat down and conjured a chair for Cato. "Sit." And he did, sighing in relief. "Listen to me, Cato," said Snape, his voice surprisingly calm. "I do not know what madness posses you to lie to me so openly, avert your gaze for years or to pursue the mind arts, but I… I am your brother's godfather, and this responsibility drifts to you, in part." It sounded like it hurt for him to say that. "You are far, far too young for this. It could kill you."
Cato somehow managed to conjure a bland smile from somewhere inside of him. "Thank you for the concern, Professor, but I assure you that I am on the right road to recovery."
Snape snorted. "You're an idiotic boy, what secrets could you possibly hold that you fear my gaze?" Cato opened his mouth, and Snape held up a hand, forestalling him. "Enough of your meaningless platitudes, Mr. Malfoy. If you refuse to see reason, then I will be forced to hold you for detention on every Hogsmeade weekend for the foreseeable future."
"Wha- You can't!" said Cato, jerking to his feet.
"I can and I will," said Snape, his tone harsh. "You clearly have no other avenue through which to reach out for occlumency lessons. And I will be writing to Lucius about this!"
"And perhaps I'll tell Potter you're the reason the Dark Lord offed his parents!" the words left his lips so fast Cato barely realized what he had said, and when he did, a sudden, wretched ripple of fear roiled through his belly. He had gone too far, pushed Snape on the button that hurt the most. The silence was beyond deafening. Even the walls had recoiled, leaving just him and Snape's immobile form in a black void.
"What did you just say?" the words were whispered, yet they seemed to penetrate every corner of the room.
Cato took a deep, shaky breath and clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from trembling. "We all have our secrets, Professor. You keep mine, I keep yours." Then he grabbed his bag and fled the room, and Snape didn't call him back. Or even look at him again. But he never did write Lucius or summon him for detention, and Cato judged it a fair price to pay in the end.
A/N: A short response to the previous chapter and its mitigated reception. No character, much like no human, is flawless. Nobody is always rational and nobody's plans always work or are always based off of logic. I try to avoid the stereotypes of Fanfiction, including stone-cold killer MC's who never make mistakes and always have a plan that never fails. Cato is a human, whose bruised pride provoked him into mistakes and realizations. Cato is not a god amongst men. This is not a story about a man who slaughters his opposition and stomps on their corpses. It is about a human who struggles to overcome his obstacles, makes human errors and sometimes acts as irrational as humans do. He is not perfect. What matters is that his irrationality fits within the scope of the character.
For those of you worrying about politics. Do not worry, that will come in time.
As always, thank you for reading and providing your input.