A/N: The Neverending Scene continues. I would really like to thank all the reviewers - over 50 reviews! *squeals* Wheee!
All I can say about Dudley is. . . gross. The sight of him was truly disturbing.
Luckily for my eyes, he left the room. Unluckily for both Potter and I, he left shouting, "Father! Mother! There's one of *those* boys in Harry's room!"
Potter looked positively frightened. He got off me quickly, hand holding his lower spine as if in pain. His eyes were a bit wild, and he was murmuring, like a mantra, "oh shit oh shit oh shit."
"Is this bad? Or is this really, really, really bad?" I asked.
"The latter. I'm not supposed to contact any wizards at all over the summer. You don't know how much they hate wizards." He winced. "It's at the level of Voldemort and his hatred of Muggles."
I winced this time. There was, first off, the idea that anyone besides Voldemort could harbor such hate. There was also another reason. I don't like hearing that name - it scares me. It scares me because of its power, and because I will most likely end up serving that power, a little minion to the Dark Lord. I don't particularly want to be a Death Eater, but there's all those familial expectations and all. . .
"What are they going to do?" I replied, trying to get my mind off the word Voldemort.
"Lock me under the stairs, yell at me, hit me."
He said it so simply. So very, very simply. As if it was what happened to any child who ever misbehaved. As if he *had* misbehaved.
"They hit you?"
His response this time was to pull up his shirt. Bruises in various stages of healing marked his stomach and back. When he said they hit him, they hit him. Hard. Not often enough to leave many marks - he had less bruises than he would during the middle of Quidditch season - but the very fact that they were there incensed me.
I was going to say something - I don't know what. "I'm sorry?" "And I thought Death Eaters were bad?" "Jesus Christ?" Now that I think back, there's nothing really appropriate to say. But I didn't have to do anything about it, anyways; I could hear heavy footsteps down the hall, and then a loud voice screaming, "Haaaarrrrry!!!"
I pushed Potter behind me. "You. Stay." I pulled out my wand.
Potter's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he asked. I just grinned. My regular, sneering, I'm-going-to-screw-someone-over grin. Lucius calls it my trickster face. I prefer to call it my business look, but that's a different story, one that often involves the Weasley twins.
"I'm going to scare the living shit out of your uncle."
At that moment, said uncle decided to enter the room.
"I TOLD you that you were not allowed to communicate with ANY of those foul people!"
God, the man was almost as gross as his son. I shuddered, and my eye twitched yet again. I walked up to him, a sincere-looking smile on my face.
"Good day, sir. Just dropped by to see how Harry was. Haven't seen him since school, after all." I turned around to look at Potter, and winked. He looked horrified. I don't think he knew I was baiting his uncle with my talk of Hogwarts.
He fell for the bait. "You nasty people! Leave this household alone! You have no right to be here! Get out!"
Yes, he fell like a stone off Gryffindor Tower. I had hoped he would tell me to leave.
"I will, on one condition." I smiled again.
"No conditions. Get out!"
I reached out and pressed the tip of my wand into his chest. "As I said, on one condition."
He laughed at me. "You're not allowed to use magic over the summer."
I don't like being laughed at. "Oh, I'm not?" I said. I pressed the wand harder into his chest. "They're going to arrest a sixteen-year-old boy for doing his homework? You think I can't use magic?" He stepped backwards, and I continued to press the wand into him. Then I stood on my toes and whispered into his ear.
"I know the Dark Arts. I enjoy the Dark Arts. I can put you into such pain as you've never known, all with three syllables and a swirl of this wand. I could kill you in six."
Not that I would have actually used Crucio or Avada Kedavra. I've seen those spells done, and I don't like them; plus, they really would arrest me if I'd used them. But Uncle Vernon didn't know that because Uncle Vernon was an ignorant Muggle.
I fell back onto my heels. "I will go, on one condition," I repeated. "You let me take him with me."
"What?" he asked, rather incredulous. Then he remembered that I had just threatened to torture and kill him, and he looked interested.
"He comes with me, away from worthless Muggles like you. From child abusers like you. Unless, of course," I said, my smile becoming a tad feral, "you'd rather I go to the police."
He really looked scared then. "Fine! Take him! We never wanted him anyways," he said. He turned and left the room.
I turned around to look at Potter. "Want to leave?" I asked, rather chipper.
"Why'd you do that?" he asked me.
To tell the truth, I'm sure. All I do know is that I didn't hate him anymore - he wasn't my enemy. He was almost approaching friend stage - maybe not a close friend, but approaching. Still, I couldn't say that. I said something else, which was true but not quite the reason.
"He's a rather worthless and nasty Muggle who beats you. Unless, of course, you want to stay?"
He shook his head frantically, hair whipping around. I laughed, because it really was a comical sight.
"I want to know how you got him to give in," he then said. "I'd like to know the technique, so I can use it."
I stopped laughing. "I threatened him." I didn't particularly want to tell him. It doesn't do to go around telling people that you know how to perform the Dark Arts.
Potter, naturally, just had to ask. "With what?"
"Crucio and Avada Kedavra."
His jaw dropped, and I could tell that I myself had just dropped a little in his eyes. I inwardly groaned. I didn't want to lose whatever trust he'd given me. Why, I don't know, but I do know that it felt good to have someone trust me.
"I wouldn't have used them, you know. It's just that he doesn't know that, so I could use it against him." I said it very quietly.
He crossed his arms. "Rule No. 1: Know thy enemy?" he asked.
I nodded.
There's just one problem with that rule, as shown by his case: sometimes, when you know your enemy, you find that he's no longer your enemy.
God damned rules. They never work the way they're supposed to.
*tbc*
A/N: The Neverending Scene is now finished! W00t! Cheer Draco up, leave a review.
All I can say about Dudley is. . . gross. The sight of him was truly disturbing.
Luckily for my eyes, he left the room. Unluckily for both Potter and I, he left shouting, "Father! Mother! There's one of *those* boys in Harry's room!"
Potter looked positively frightened. He got off me quickly, hand holding his lower spine as if in pain. His eyes were a bit wild, and he was murmuring, like a mantra, "oh shit oh shit oh shit."
"Is this bad? Or is this really, really, really bad?" I asked.
"The latter. I'm not supposed to contact any wizards at all over the summer. You don't know how much they hate wizards." He winced. "It's at the level of Voldemort and his hatred of Muggles."
I winced this time. There was, first off, the idea that anyone besides Voldemort could harbor such hate. There was also another reason. I don't like hearing that name - it scares me. It scares me because of its power, and because I will most likely end up serving that power, a little minion to the Dark Lord. I don't particularly want to be a Death Eater, but there's all those familial expectations and all. . .
"What are they going to do?" I replied, trying to get my mind off the word Voldemort.
"Lock me under the stairs, yell at me, hit me."
He said it so simply. So very, very simply. As if it was what happened to any child who ever misbehaved. As if he *had* misbehaved.
"They hit you?"
His response this time was to pull up his shirt. Bruises in various stages of healing marked his stomach and back. When he said they hit him, they hit him. Hard. Not often enough to leave many marks - he had less bruises than he would during the middle of Quidditch season - but the very fact that they were there incensed me.
I was going to say something - I don't know what. "I'm sorry?" "And I thought Death Eaters were bad?" "Jesus Christ?" Now that I think back, there's nothing really appropriate to say. But I didn't have to do anything about it, anyways; I could hear heavy footsteps down the hall, and then a loud voice screaming, "Haaaarrrrry!!!"
I pushed Potter behind me. "You. Stay." I pulled out my wand.
Potter's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he asked. I just grinned. My regular, sneering, I'm-going-to-screw-someone-over grin. Lucius calls it my trickster face. I prefer to call it my business look, but that's a different story, one that often involves the Weasley twins.
"I'm going to scare the living shit out of your uncle."
At that moment, said uncle decided to enter the room.
"I TOLD you that you were not allowed to communicate with ANY of those foul people!"
God, the man was almost as gross as his son. I shuddered, and my eye twitched yet again. I walked up to him, a sincere-looking smile on my face.
"Good day, sir. Just dropped by to see how Harry was. Haven't seen him since school, after all." I turned around to look at Potter, and winked. He looked horrified. I don't think he knew I was baiting his uncle with my talk of Hogwarts.
He fell for the bait. "You nasty people! Leave this household alone! You have no right to be here! Get out!"
Yes, he fell like a stone off Gryffindor Tower. I had hoped he would tell me to leave.
"I will, on one condition." I smiled again.
"No conditions. Get out!"
I reached out and pressed the tip of my wand into his chest. "As I said, on one condition."
He laughed at me. "You're not allowed to use magic over the summer."
I don't like being laughed at. "Oh, I'm not?" I said. I pressed the wand harder into his chest. "They're going to arrest a sixteen-year-old boy for doing his homework? You think I can't use magic?" He stepped backwards, and I continued to press the wand into him. Then I stood on my toes and whispered into his ear.
"I know the Dark Arts. I enjoy the Dark Arts. I can put you into such pain as you've never known, all with three syllables and a swirl of this wand. I could kill you in six."
Not that I would have actually used Crucio or Avada Kedavra. I've seen those spells done, and I don't like them; plus, they really would arrest me if I'd used them. But Uncle Vernon didn't know that because Uncle Vernon was an ignorant Muggle.
I fell back onto my heels. "I will go, on one condition," I repeated. "You let me take him with me."
"What?" he asked, rather incredulous. Then he remembered that I had just threatened to torture and kill him, and he looked interested.
"He comes with me, away from worthless Muggles like you. From child abusers like you. Unless, of course," I said, my smile becoming a tad feral, "you'd rather I go to the police."
He really looked scared then. "Fine! Take him! We never wanted him anyways," he said. He turned and left the room.
I turned around to look at Potter. "Want to leave?" I asked, rather chipper.
"Why'd you do that?" he asked me.
To tell the truth, I'm sure. All I do know is that I didn't hate him anymore - he wasn't my enemy. He was almost approaching friend stage - maybe not a close friend, but approaching. Still, I couldn't say that. I said something else, which was true but not quite the reason.
"He's a rather worthless and nasty Muggle who beats you. Unless, of course, you want to stay?"
He shook his head frantically, hair whipping around. I laughed, because it really was a comical sight.
"I want to know how you got him to give in," he then said. "I'd like to know the technique, so I can use it."
I stopped laughing. "I threatened him." I didn't particularly want to tell him. It doesn't do to go around telling people that you know how to perform the Dark Arts.
Potter, naturally, just had to ask. "With what?"
"Crucio and Avada Kedavra."
His jaw dropped, and I could tell that I myself had just dropped a little in his eyes. I inwardly groaned. I didn't want to lose whatever trust he'd given me. Why, I don't know, but I do know that it felt good to have someone trust me.
"I wouldn't have used them, you know. It's just that he doesn't know that, so I could use it against him." I said it very quietly.
He crossed his arms. "Rule No. 1: Know thy enemy?" he asked.
I nodded.
There's just one problem with that rule, as shown by his case: sometimes, when you know your enemy, you find that he's no longer your enemy.
God damned rules. They never work the way they're supposed to.
*tbc*
A/N: The Neverending Scene is now finished! W00t! Cheer Draco up, leave a review.