Disclaimer: Please see all previous disclaimers.
A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for all the kind reviews. In response to the questions, I am going to put up a mirror of this on aff.net,eventually… and chances are it will be an NC-17, but I won't know for sure until I get to the naughtier stuff. *wink* Yes this is mainly a Draco-Hermione romance, but there is a lot more to the plot then that. I hope you find the non-romantic aspects interesting, too. Tears is developing a life of its own and sometimes even I am surprised where it is going. As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Drowned In Tears
~Chapter 4~
Torment
"You're taking me to Twelvehouses on Friday evening aren't you, Drakie?" asked Pansy, between bites of the blue-iced cupcake Draco had just given her from his mother's daily goody-package. Because Narcissa, in her deep concern for him after the summer's events, had replaced part of the pastries with a fresh bottle of digestive potion, there had only been enough for Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle stared on hungrily as the chunky girl devoured the sweets ravenously.
Draco paused in mid-tear of the envelope that had just been dropped in his lap by a school owl and glanced up in annoyance. His fiancée had the icing smeared around her mouth like badly applied lipstick. "What? What's that?" It was a good thing Mother had included the new potion. He'd finished the last of his old bottle that morning and it was already beginning to wear off. He slowly pulled the paper from the envelope.
Goyle looked on lustfully as Pansy shoved the last of the pastry into her mouth. "Don' shoo know an-fing?" she asked with her mouth full. The visual of the masticating cake caused the bile to rise in Draco's throat. He pushed his eyes down to the paper in his hand and began to read. The sound of her swallowing hard, nearly choking then chasing the cake with a few very loud gulps of milk caused shivers to course Draco's spine.
"It's the new nightclub that opened in Hogsmeade," she explained, blue-laced milk dribbling down her chin. She wiped it away on her sleeve. As disgusting as Pansy's poor manners were, they ceased to have any effect on him as he read he was being summoned to the Headmaster's Office for an important interview. He assumed it was merely a perfunctory meeting the Headmaster was having with each prefect, but Draco wanted to remain as far from Beane as he possibly could.
"We're going, right Drakie?" screeched Pansy, already close to losing her temper because Draco had not immediately answered her question.
Feeling as if he were about to retch, Draco rose from the table in haste. "Yeah, whatever you want. Pardon me, I have an appointment." He crumpled the missive and tossed it onto the top of his uneaten toast, not even noticing when Pansy immediately snatched it up.
Draco rushed from the Great Hall while at the same time trying not to appear to be in a hurry. He reached one of the many private prefects bathrooms throughout Hogwarts and locked himself in. Slumping onto a marble bench, Draco took a large gulp of the thick, pink digestive potion and relaxed as the queasiness faded. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, replaced the cork and tucked the bottle away. Touching the rubber dropper cap of his other special potion for comfort, Draco smiled slightly.
Crossing to the sink he splashed water from one of the spigots onto his face, wincing as his fingers brushed over the tender spot on his cheek where Weasley had punched him. He blotted his face with a towel and regarded his reflection. What Draco saw was a wan but physically developing boy on the brink of an uncertain maturity. He felt a subtle yet inevitable and profound turning of his life's machinery upon an otherwise insignificant cog. The effect was unsettling, like standing upon the deck of a ship leaving the safety of a harbor and feeling the first swells of a vast and fathomless ocean beneath. What could this portend? What would be the ramifications?
He had his potions and the world was good. He could take on anything; he could do anything. Hell, this new potion even made Granger appear to look good. It HAD to be the potion, he decided, that had drawn him to Granger the day before on the train and had almost caused him to kiss her after the prefects meeting. There was no way that he could actually be attracted to the girl.
Hermione was a caustic wench, always ready to argue or show off how right she thought she was. Sure, she often knew what she was about and made good sense, but that wasn't the point. It was annoying. He couldn't stand the prissy little goody-two-shoes. And no
number of short skirts or low-cut blouses would change that. It was her attitude that made her unattractive. And the fact that she always scored higher than him on tests. Not to mention she was a nosy, self-righteous, interfering Gryffindor mudblood friend of Potter. It was disgusting. It was pathetic.
Oh Bloody Hell... It was obvious the stomach potion wasn't the only one losing its effectiveness. The familiar, dreaded crawling sensation started its way up Draco's spine. The shadows of the bathroom deepened, darkened, filled with foreboding. An inner cold wound its way up from the cracks of his fractured soul. He shivered involuntarily.
The potion lady on Knockturn Alley had said he could take an extra dose now and again if he was anxious, but how much was too much? Did it even matter? Trying not to spill any, Draco uncapped the softly glowing potion and placed a few drops of the pungent fluid on his tongue. Within moments the feeling of well being returned, and for a brief moment he could have sworn he felt almost like his old self again, something the young man hadn't felt since early summer and often wondered if he would ever feel again.
*****
The old headmaster glared at Draco from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. "I am going to give you one chance to confess. Should you do so now you will incur a less severe punishment than if we discover that you'd lied." A looked of expectation crossed over Beane's face as he awaited a response from Draco.
What the hell is he talking about? Draco glanced to Professor Snape. His mentor sat calmly with an air of confidence. "What would you like me to confess, sir?" he asked, looking back at Sawney Beane with what he hoped was his most charming smile.
Headmaster Beane chuckled as if in amusement. "Oh, you can't fool me with your innocent act, Mister Malfoy. I did not spend eight years tutoring you to come away knowing nothing about your games."
Draco swallowed hard at the lump wedging itself into his throat, but said nothing. Staring at Beane stone-faced, he reclined back in his chair. He just wanted to this to be over and out of Beane's company.
"What do you have against Packer Fudge?"
Draco cocked his head slightly. "Who?" Now why does that name sound so familiar?
Snape spoke up in a deceptively bored voice. "The son of Cornelius Fudge, Draco. You saw him last night during the sorting ceremony. He tripped and fell, remember?"
"Oh. Yes," said Draco, the realization registering on his face. "Poor fellow. How is he doing?" He called me down here over a harmless prank?
The headmaster stood up abruptly and leaned as far over the desk as his flabby fleshy gut would allow, and looked Draco in the eye. "I noticed you glaring at him right before he fell. I know what you look like when you are up to something. I know it was YOU."
Draco's face remained impassive, only the pupils of his eyes widened momentarily.
"Give me your wand, please." Beane's request sounded like the order it was.
"My wand? But...." Bloody hell…
Beane turned his malevolent gaze from Draco and pinned it on Snape.
"Give him the wand, boy," said Snape, slowly and evenly, without looking at either Beane or Malfoy.
"But..."
"Your WAND, Mister Malfoy." There was no mistaking the venomous portent in the new Headmaster's voice.
Reluctantly, Draco handed over his magical implement without another word.
Sawney Beane took the wand from the young man and settled back down into his seat. Turning the wand in his fingers, he peered along its length. In the midst of this examination he freed his right hand to find a quill and dip it into a handy inkwell. Draco noticed a sheet of paper before the headmaster, a checklist of some sort. Beane began to mutter and scribble on the paper as he did so.
"Let's see. Teakwood, eleven and one half inches, rigid, heartstring of a Dracnoire dragon..."
He droned on, writing down his observations on the form as he made them. Draco noticed a slight momentary glow from the wand that escaped Beane as the headmaster had his head bent to filling out the paperwork. Draco's eyes betrayed him for half a second, as he suddenly remembered something. Oh BLOODY BLOODY HELL!
Beane continued his assessment. "...excellent for glamours..."
Draco paled and hoped against hope as the headmaster's voice became wooden and mechanically bland.
"...and... and..."
Draco swallowed. Hard.
"...and this is not the wand we are looking for..."
Snape shot Draco a sidelong lance that might have melted a stone gargoyle.
"...you may move along and go about your busi..."
Beane blinked. Draco wished to be somewhere more comforting, like in the tender embrace of a female mountain troll.
"Malfoy...", said Beane in a dry voice Draco remembered all too well, "...did you really think such childish glamours would work? On me?"
Draco drew himself up and made his voice as convincingly honest as he could manage.
"Professor Beane, I have a perfectly good expla..."
"SILENCE, MISTER MALFOY!!" thundered Beane.
Draco looked over at Snape, who appeared to be studying the tapestry nine feet above Beane's head.
"LOOK at ME when I'm addressing you, Mister Malfoy" continued the old wizard.
"Very well. I will finish the paperwork after." He placed the quill in its holder and pushed the paperwork aside. "I can tell, Mister Malfoy, that you are the likely the culprit in last night's unpleasantness during sorting. I need not REMIND you that the name FUDGE carries a bit more weight around Hogwarts than others. Like Malfoy."
Draco did not flinch, but a slight tic appeared on his right cheek.
"This investigation is ended. I have made my judgment. You will receive your punishment. LIKE A GENTLEMAN." Beane cleared his throat. "Your punishment shall consist of five strokes of the cane for your juvenile antics that might have caused serious injury to the son of the Minister of Magic. You shall receive another five strokes because you are a PREFECT and supposedly a role model for our younger students. Further, this punishment shall be doubled for a total of TWENTY strokes for your impudent and futile attempts to englamour the investigation and" –Beane arose and leaned vulture-like over his desk- "TRY TO MAKE A FOOL OUT OF ME. AGAIN."
Draco opened his mouth to protest this last, but the looks both Beane and Snape gave him caused the words to die in his throat.
The old leather chair protested Beane's paunch as the headmaster sat beck down. "Oh, and there shall be twenty points deducted from Slytherin house, as well."
Snape made a faint noise like a small horse strangling on an apple. Sawney Beane did not look at him, but added, "The corporeal portion of the punishment shall be administered immediately. Professor Snape?"
The potions professor, who appeared to be struggling to maintain his composure, replied, "Yes...?"
"You may administer the punishment." Beane sat back in his chair, a grimly satisfied look on his fleshy face.
"...Pardon?" faltered Snape.
Beane glared at him and said, "I have delegated responsibility for punishing the boy to you, Professor Snape, since you are after all head of Slytherin and responsible for his moral character. Or lack thereof."
Snape's face drained of all color and emotion as he turned to Draco.
"Assume the position, boy." From Snape's voice it could be discerned that he was not looking forward to what had to be done.
Draco stared at Snape in disbelief. This couldn't be happening to him. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!
"Weren't you paying attention at the meeting last night?" Snape asked impatiently, "You know- "
Beane cut him off. "I'm not surprised young Malfoy here decided to disregard an important directive because he of course never would feel it could apply to him." Although he said this to Snape, Beane's eyes never wavered from Draco. "I suggest you obey the Professor's order, Mister Malfoy, or your punishment will once again be doubled."
Swallowing hard, Draco rose to his quavering legs and looked beseechingly at Professor Snape. Somewhere deep within that hard, emotionless face Draco thought he detected a note of apology, but there was no way to be sure.
"Oh, and Professor…" said Beane.
"Yes?"
"I'm trusting you to carry this out as you would for any other student. Say for instance… Harry Potter."
"Of course," agreed Snape, turning to Draco. He muttered a word under his breath and the willow switch appeared in his hand.
*****
Found carved on the underside of a desk in the Malfoy Manor school room:
Sawney Beane
Salacious Crumb
Shove that cane
Right up your BUM!!!!!!
*****
The unusual merry making of the potions class was interrupted by the approach of heavy and rapid footfalls out in the corridor. All went silent within the dungeon classroom as the students realized their tardy instructor was about to arrive and was obviously perturbed. The door burst open and a disheveled Professor of Potions staggered into the room.
He made a beeline past his lectern, past the desks full of students, past rows of potions and potion ingredients, past everything in his focused haste. At the end of the classroom Neville turned around just in time to look up into Snape's contorted, reddened face. Longbottom went cold, then hot, then frigid.
"YOU!" roared Snape, extending a trembling finger towards the cowering Neville.
"You... are... ABOUT... to do... SOMETHING..."
The whole classroom watched in rapt fascination as Snape sputtered and fumed like wet fireworks. Very large wet fireworks.
"YOU are about to do something..." Snape repeated, now perfectly mauve above his high collar, "...AGAINST the RULES!"
Neville cringed. "Wha..?"
"That's IT! INSUBORDINATION! Five strokes and five points from Gryffindor!"
"But…" Neville's mouth hung open like a broken shutter.
His expression twisted into something that resembled glee. "Five MORE strokes and five MORE points from Gryffindor!" The Professor's chest heaved and he paused, obviously waiting to add more. "Shall we try for fifteen, Mister Longbottom?"
The sound that emerged from Neville's throat was somewhere between a cough and the sound of a tortured giraffe, but he had the sense not to say another word. Snape looked momentarily disappointed before grabbing his trembling student by the arm. "This punishment shall be administered IMMEDIATELY!" Poor Neville was then dragged, stumbling, to the front of the classroom with the eyes of all his classmates scorching what was left of his pride.
