The watcher was being watched. Subtly, calculatingly, everything I saw was being monitored and taken into consideration. The consideration of what? More the consideration of who. Yes, our fearless leader, the legendary Harry Potter, a young man who looked at one thing and yet saw so much more.
Even as I came to know this, Potter's silvery gaze was focused upon the petitioner in front of him, rather then the softly buzzing assembly I was standing amidst. In fact, most of his own committee were listening avidly to the witch tactfully presenting another plea for assistance. A leader elected for his abilities rather then his fame, this decision was justified by his wisdom in flanking himself with the most experienced and influential creatures the resistance had to offer.
A wise leader also understands what he is fighting for and Potter was no exception. The sight of so much horror and the embodiment of so much responsibility surely would have driven a weaker man to madness. And yet Potter used his smile to match for every occasion when his ruthlessness was required. He abhorred fear and lead with love. And all loved him because of it. Even now his impatience to get out of the Ministries audience hall and out on dragon patrol was given away by his uncomfortable perch on the edge of his deep throne like chair, elbows on knees. And the fact he hadn't even bothered to remove his flight goggles, merely pushed them up on his head so that his hair stuck up in all directions, bearing his scar for all who cared to look, and a pair of high rosy wind burnt cheeks that were so deceivingly young.
Also deceiving was the tall figure half hidden behind his high backed chair. Childish in his slim black robes that on closer inspection were not black at all, but a dark swirling storm of fabric that made one slightly ill to look upon, designed to protect a young man whom can no longer protect himself.
It was in this young man that Harry Potter had his greatest strength. And it was on this day that as I watched, I came to learn that in this man Harry Potter might also have his greatest weakness.
A slim white hand crept delicately to rest on Potter's exposed shoulder and he immediately sat back, well worn dragon hide armor creaking audibly, motioning politely for the witch to pause. The hand remained on his shoulder as a messy blonde head bent to the messy black one and spoke quietly into his ear. I knew that many in the gathering had stopped to observe this act, to acknowledge the power that Potter possessed, however I would bet a sickle to a sack of shite that none saw the subtle change on Potter's face that gave away his secret.
I knew that Draco Malfoy usually saved his council for after the audiences were done for the day and it was very seldom that he even faced the hall, preferring to lean just behind Potter's chair, eyes closed and seeing everything. I also knew that today he spoke to Potter of me, for no one else waiting near the massive girth of marble column where I made my observations would have garnered an interruption by Malfoy and a quick flicker of stormy eyes by Potter.
But this knowledge is not what had me incensed. Let them have their suspicions, nothing can be proven except my use of freedom of thought. Rather it was the fact that Potter could smile, he could laugh, he could glare and he could snarl, but for no one else did his face soften the way it did while listening to Malfoy. Watching it, I knew not whether to laugh or throw myself in a rage, for I was one of the few who were there that day…
***
It all started with the taking of Harry Potter's eyes. A horrific blow to the Ministry and one that sent shockwaves of fear through the wizarding populace. Not only was Voldemort strong enough to best Potter, the worlds greatest hope, but now he had two ingredients of unimaginable use. The directions for his evil were now endless and even I was worried, and rightly so. On top though was the fact that no spell or potion could restore Potter's sight. It seemed as though Voldemort's hand of destruction knew no physical limitations, and began slowly clawing away at the very light of hope in us all.
But Voldemort, no matter what form he possessed now, was once human too. And it must have been some scrap of his humanity that lead to the petty arrogance of sending an assassin to finish the job. He had greatly underestimated the stronghold the Ministry still held over the south, though to his credit, Draco Malfoy had gotten closer then any before him.
The hour was late but witnesses were summoned and the would be assassin was marched into the audience hall, head held arrogantly high above the thick bewitched chains that glowed as if white hot.
Potter stood facing him, arms crossed over his chest that was boyish without his customary armor, his refusal to hide the puckered sockets unnerving to everyone but the unresisting prisoner.
"You're a complete fool to continue this charade, Potter. A selfish and narrow minded fool. It's over." So calmly biting, one had to wonder if Malfoy had sang the words as a mantra for the past three years.
But Harry was deaf to these remarks, he would never be foolish enough to be heated by the taunts of a lone Death Eater. Though he could not see, he remained facing Malfoy as he came to his decision, the dark slits of his eye sockets seemingly reflecting off all the darkness Malfoy possessed. His lips remained in a hard line until finally he softly announced his verdict.
"I want to know everything. Break him."
It was obvious that Malfoy had not been expecting such a final and unmerciful sentence from the likes of Harry Potter. I had to smile. A hostage negotiation? Maybe. A lifetime of imprisonment? Oh yes. Veritaserum? Most definitely. He finally began to struggle in earnest, and spit one more curse at Potter's indifferent back, knowing very well the lengths that would be taken to extract the information Voldemort had locked deeply and securely in his head.
"Voldemort can't be stopped Potter! No matter what, with your eyes he is invincible. His armies are invincible. Dumbledore is gone! And what are you? The blind leading the blind!" There was no mistaking the note of panic and the crack of desperation in his hissing shouts, and I had to stifle a giggle with the back of my hand.
But Harry Potter said nothing, just walked calmly out the door waiting open for him.
***
I was present the next day as well, when Malfoy was escorted back into the hall, free of his captors and magical binds and chains, only stumbling in behind the unthreatening figure of Hermione Granger.
This appearance brought a halt to all conversation, only to be replaced by a rash of shocked murmurs. Draco Malfoy was indeed broken. Hands, feet and chest bare, trousers tattered, there were no visible markings of torture. However, it was obvious to anyone that this man had endured more pain in one night then most would feel in a lifetime.
His lean frame barely held up the rest of his collapsed continence and all bout him there was a dreadful pallor of…nothingness. It was as though all the life had been forced out of him, leaving a chapped and pale shell. A lot less intimidating, the midnight black armor of troll skin and teminite weapons gone. Only the teminite rings in his brow and lip still shone with an unearthly silver light. The rarest of metals, teminite is made with the last light of a fairy who has died from heartache. To see it worn by the likes of Draco Malfoy is sickening.
"That was quick," Ronald Weasly had sneered from his chair next to Potters.
"We don't have much time," came Grangers cold reply.
Potter stood up quickly. "True. What do we have?"
Granger finally let a satisfied smile appear on her tired face. She was well aware of the severity of her position and seldom took it lightly.
"Enough to secure the success of this seasons campaign, Commander." She shook her head, as if dismissing the culmination of months of planning and sacrifice unimportant. "And something even better Harry." She gave the body now swaying in front of her a small shove. "Tell him."
Malfoy stepped forward, righting himself absently and shivering slightly at the line of men and women seated before him, all eyes focused hatefully, all but Harry Potters.
He looked mildly confused and thoroughly miserable as Granger prodded him in the back with her wand. Weasly frowned.
"Good job Hermione. Bullocks, does he remember anything he's done?"
Granger ignored the statement and turned to Potter. "Don't worry Commander, he will remember everything. Absolutely everything. But at the moment he's a clean slate. Give it a moment."
Potter nodded patiently and the rest of us watched fixedly as Malfoy painfully straightened, slender shoulders squaring, head coming up to look directly at Potter's blank face.
"There is a way around Voldemort's spell. No harm would come to you and it is completely reversible. A counter spell of ridiculous simplicity actually." Malfoy's voice was horse, as though he had been screaming all night long. But Potter certainly didn't miss the condescending drawl and raised one eyebrow in question.
Granger immediately spoke up. "He's a clean slate Commander. Trust me. But I can't destroy the slate. Welcome to the real Malfoy." Weasly snorted but Potter just twisted his lips and nodded.
"Fair enough. A boy I knew well." He tuned his head back to Malfoy. "Tell me of this spell." His voice rang with doubt, and he was hardly able to finish, for a shocked exclamation had risen up from the ranks in the hall, and even I heard my own breath catch in horror. For Draco Malfoy had chosen to demonstrate rather then tell, and calmly he had dug his thumbs into his very own eye sockets, the retched sound of ripping flesh drowned out by the shouts of those gathered. Cheeks streaming with blood like millions of red tears, he grinned and held out his hands as if presenting treasure to Potter, who was tugging on Weaslys sleeve, trying to get an explanation of what he could not see.
"First, you'll need these," Malfoy laughed.
Even as I came to know this, Potter's silvery gaze was focused upon the petitioner in front of him, rather then the softly buzzing assembly I was standing amidst. In fact, most of his own committee were listening avidly to the witch tactfully presenting another plea for assistance. A leader elected for his abilities rather then his fame, this decision was justified by his wisdom in flanking himself with the most experienced and influential creatures the resistance had to offer.
A wise leader also understands what he is fighting for and Potter was no exception. The sight of so much horror and the embodiment of so much responsibility surely would have driven a weaker man to madness. And yet Potter used his smile to match for every occasion when his ruthlessness was required. He abhorred fear and lead with love. And all loved him because of it. Even now his impatience to get out of the Ministries audience hall and out on dragon patrol was given away by his uncomfortable perch on the edge of his deep throne like chair, elbows on knees. And the fact he hadn't even bothered to remove his flight goggles, merely pushed them up on his head so that his hair stuck up in all directions, bearing his scar for all who cared to look, and a pair of high rosy wind burnt cheeks that were so deceivingly young.
Also deceiving was the tall figure half hidden behind his high backed chair. Childish in his slim black robes that on closer inspection were not black at all, but a dark swirling storm of fabric that made one slightly ill to look upon, designed to protect a young man whom can no longer protect himself.
It was in this young man that Harry Potter had his greatest strength. And it was on this day that as I watched, I came to learn that in this man Harry Potter might also have his greatest weakness.
A slim white hand crept delicately to rest on Potter's exposed shoulder and he immediately sat back, well worn dragon hide armor creaking audibly, motioning politely for the witch to pause. The hand remained on his shoulder as a messy blonde head bent to the messy black one and spoke quietly into his ear. I knew that many in the gathering had stopped to observe this act, to acknowledge the power that Potter possessed, however I would bet a sickle to a sack of shite that none saw the subtle change on Potter's face that gave away his secret.
I knew that Draco Malfoy usually saved his council for after the audiences were done for the day and it was very seldom that he even faced the hall, preferring to lean just behind Potter's chair, eyes closed and seeing everything. I also knew that today he spoke to Potter of me, for no one else waiting near the massive girth of marble column where I made my observations would have garnered an interruption by Malfoy and a quick flicker of stormy eyes by Potter.
But this knowledge is not what had me incensed. Let them have their suspicions, nothing can be proven except my use of freedom of thought. Rather it was the fact that Potter could smile, he could laugh, he could glare and he could snarl, but for no one else did his face soften the way it did while listening to Malfoy. Watching it, I knew not whether to laugh or throw myself in a rage, for I was one of the few who were there that day…
***
It all started with the taking of Harry Potter's eyes. A horrific blow to the Ministry and one that sent shockwaves of fear through the wizarding populace. Not only was Voldemort strong enough to best Potter, the worlds greatest hope, but now he had two ingredients of unimaginable use. The directions for his evil were now endless and even I was worried, and rightly so. On top though was the fact that no spell or potion could restore Potter's sight. It seemed as though Voldemort's hand of destruction knew no physical limitations, and began slowly clawing away at the very light of hope in us all.
But Voldemort, no matter what form he possessed now, was once human too. And it must have been some scrap of his humanity that lead to the petty arrogance of sending an assassin to finish the job. He had greatly underestimated the stronghold the Ministry still held over the south, though to his credit, Draco Malfoy had gotten closer then any before him.
The hour was late but witnesses were summoned and the would be assassin was marched into the audience hall, head held arrogantly high above the thick bewitched chains that glowed as if white hot.
Potter stood facing him, arms crossed over his chest that was boyish without his customary armor, his refusal to hide the puckered sockets unnerving to everyone but the unresisting prisoner.
"You're a complete fool to continue this charade, Potter. A selfish and narrow minded fool. It's over." So calmly biting, one had to wonder if Malfoy had sang the words as a mantra for the past three years.
But Harry was deaf to these remarks, he would never be foolish enough to be heated by the taunts of a lone Death Eater. Though he could not see, he remained facing Malfoy as he came to his decision, the dark slits of his eye sockets seemingly reflecting off all the darkness Malfoy possessed. His lips remained in a hard line until finally he softly announced his verdict.
"I want to know everything. Break him."
It was obvious that Malfoy had not been expecting such a final and unmerciful sentence from the likes of Harry Potter. I had to smile. A hostage negotiation? Maybe. A lifetime of imprisonment? Oh yes. Veritaserum? Most definitely. He finally began to struggle in earnest, and spit one more curse at Potter's indifferent back, knowing very well the lengths that would be taken to extract the information Voldemort had locked deeply and securely in his head.
"Voldemort can't be stopped Potter! No matter what, with your eyes he is invincible. His armies are invincible. Dumbledore is gone! And what are you? The blind leading the blind!" There was no mistaking the note of panic and the crack of desperation in his hissing shouts, and I had to stifle a giggle with the back of my hand.
But Harry Potter said nothing, just walked calmly out the door waiting open for him.
***
I was present the next day as well, when Malfoy was escorted back into the hall, free of his captors and magical binds and chains, only stumbling in behind the unthreatening figure of Hermione Granger.
This appearance brought a halt to all conversation, only to be replaced by a rash of shocked murmurs. Draco Malfoy was indeed broken. Hands, feet and chest bare, trousers tattered, there were no visible markings of torture. However, it was obvious to anyone that this man had endured more pain in one night then most would feel in a lifetime.
His lean frame barely held up the rest of his collapsed continence and all bout him there was a dreadful pallor of…nothingness. It was as though all the life had been forced out of him, leaving a chapped and pale shell. A lot less intimidating, the midnight black armor of troll skin and teminite weapons gone. Only the teminite rings in his brow and lip still shone with an unearthly silver light. The rarest of metals, teminite is made with the last light of a fairy who has died from heartache. To see it worn by the likes of Draco Malfoy is sickening.
"That was quick," Ronald Weasly had sneered from his chair next to Potters.
"We don't have much time," came Grangers cold reply.
Potter stood up quickly. "True. What do we have?"
Granger finally let a satisfied smile appear on her tired face. She was well aware of the severity of her position and seldom took it lightly.
"Enough to secure the success of this seasons campaign, Commander." She shook her head, as if dismissing the culmination of months of planning and sacrifice unimportant. "And something even better Harry." She gave the body now swaying in front of her a small shove. "Tell him."
Malfoy stepped forward, righting himself absently and shivering slightly at the line of men and women seated before him, all eyes focused hatefully, all but Harry Potters.
He looked mildly confused and thoroughly miserable as Granger prodded him in the back with her wand. Weasly frowned.
"Good job Hermione. Bullocks, does he remember anything he's done?"
Granger ignored the statement and turned to Potter. "Don't worry Commander, he will remember everything. Absolutely everything. But at the moment he's a clean slate. Give it a moment."
Potter nodded patiently and the rest of us watched fixedly as Malfoy painfully straightened, slender shoulders squaring, head coming up to look directly at Potter's blank face.
"There is a way around Voldemort's spell. No harm would come to you and it is completely reversible. A counter spell of ridiculous simplicity actually." Malfoy's voice was horse, as though he had been screaming all night long. But Potter certainly didn't miss the condescending drawl and raised one eyebrow in question.
Granger immediately spoke up. "He's a clean slate Commander. Trust me. But I can't destroy the slate. Welcome to the real Malfoy." Weasly snorted but Potter just twisted his lips and nodded.
"Fair enough. A boy I knew well." He tuned his head back to Malfoy. "Tell me of this spell." His voice rang with doubt, and he was hardly able to finish, for a shocked exclamation had risen up from the ranks in the hall, and even I heard my own breath catch in horror. For Draco Malfoy had chosen to demonstrate rather then tell, and calmly he had dug his thumbs into his very own eye sockets, the retched sound of ripping flesh drowned out by the shouts of those gathered. Cheeks streaming with blood like millions of red tears, he grinned and held out his hands as if presenting treasure to Potter, who was tugging on Weaslys sleeve, trying to get an explanation of what he could not see.
"First, you'll need these," Malfoy laughed.