The Enemy Chapter 8
A/N: Don't ask me why I updated so quickly…I just had an urge to write! So here you go!
It was all so unbelievable. How could Voldemort have made me work so hard to bring Hermione here, only to tell her that she was now on the dark side and heir to his throne? I hated Voldemort; he was quite the bastard, but at the same time I was feeling…well, insanely jealous. Hermione had never worked her arse off for the Dark Side. Then again, neither had I, but…I had connection to it. My father was rooted so deeply into this side that you couldn't pull him out if a Mandrake was about to scream.
I overcame my jealousy pretty quickly, however, when I glanced at Hermione's face. It was a mixture of disgust and surprise, and I instantly felt horrible for being jealous. She hadn't done anything to deserve being heir, but being heir was definitely not a good thing. And now, to worsen things…they were going to give her the Firehorn potion.
"Have you got the potion ready, Pettigrew?" Voldemort snapped. A small, rat-like figure emerged from the shadows. Hermione gasped at the same time that I shrugged. I had not noticed him before—he had not been with the rest of the Death Eaters. In his shaking hand he was holding a vial of red substance that glared at me with all its familiarity. Ah, the Firehorn potion. Hermione and I had slaved over that thing and here it was back to haunt us.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Well, hand it here then. Must you always take forever?" Voldemort's grumpy mood came as a bit of a shock, considering that just a few minutes ago he'd been laughing with glee as he informed us of his diabolical plans.
"I am sorry, my Lord."
As soon as Voldemort grabbed the vial from the small man's hands, he bellowed out, "Crucio!" I turned away, feeling a little sick. The man screamed in pain, his howls haunting my ears. I wanted it to stop, Voldemort please stop, no more, stop, the man didn't do anything…a few minutes later, Voldemort flicked his wand and the man lay on the ground, panting, breathing heavily.
He got up and looked at Voldemort in fear. "My Lord…what for…" he whispered, biting his lip. I suppose he hadn't really meant to say that—it had just slipped out of his mouth.
"For being ratty," Voldemort said with a twisted grin. I stood there, a little surprised. Around me the death eaters guffawed, and even Hermione had a grin playing at her lips. Annoyed, I sat down on a rock close to me. What was this joke that everyone understood but me? Hell, even Hermione got it and she wasn't even part of the dark circle…until now, that was.
Voldemort uncorked the vial of potion and smelled it. "Perfect," he murmured. "I shall have to thank Severus…"
Hermione and I stiffened. The bitter irony infusing into our veins! The very potion that we had slaved over…that same potion was now going to be administered to its maker, to ruin her life forever and deeply…this could not be happening. And Snape, Snape was supposed to be good, he wasn't on the dark side anymore…or was he? A million thoughts swam through my head, I almost didn't want to know the answer. Snape then, was not an ally to the light, he was an enemy, the enemy…
"Oh, children, don't worry," Voldemort said with a small smile. "Severus does not know that he has supplied this potion—I shall simply have to thank Pettigrew…when he recovers, that is."
I distinctly heard Hermione mutter, "Blasted rat," under her breath. Once again, I was in the dark. I hated that stupid Pettigrew, confusing me like that, making me appear a brainless git in front of Hermione…I stopped my train of thought rather quickly. I now knew I fancied her, yes…it wasn't anything more though, I was sure, just a schoolboy infatuation…
"Why is he a blasted rat?" I asked.
"Animagus," she whispered back to me. I almost slapped my head, I was so angry at myself for not understanding this sooner. Now I really looked like a bloody idiot. Of course, he transformed into a rat…no wonder all those lame rat jokes! And here he had gone and taken some of Snape's…no, Hermione and me…some of our potion, just to give it to Hermione!
Voldemort advanced towards Hermione, and I felt her stiffen beside me. My heart almost jumped from its cage as Voldemort moved closer, his smile—hideous sight that was—radiating pure evil.
He touched Hermione's neck, and she nearly cried out; I could see she stopped herself just in time. I imagined his hands must be so cold, numbly cold. Without any further ado, Voldemort tipped the vial so the liquid poured down her throat, and she swallowed, a slightly nauseous expression on her face.
Behind us, all the Death Eaters were watching quite nervously.
"My Lord," my father almost whispered, "How long will it take for the potion to have any effect?"
"A day or two," Voldemort said casually.
I wanted to ask him when we would be allowed to return to Hogwarts but was a little scared to say so. Voldemort never hesitated to use the Cruciatus curse.
Ironically my father had the same thought. "When shall we let the children return?" he asked.
"I would think that now is a good time," Voldemort said. "What time is it?"
"It is half-past midnight," Avery said from the shadows. Half-past midnight? Was that all? It had only been two-and-a-half bloody hours since we'd been here, and it felt quite like days
"Where's the portkey?" Voldemort asked impatiently.
My father pulled that damned necklace out of his pocket. I remembered now that he had taken it from me when we had first arrived. "Here it is," he said.
"No, we're not going to use that one right now…it will jolt memories that I do not want remembered," Voldemort said. I sighed. The old bastard was a lunatic.
Pettigrew, who by this time had stopped writhing on the ground, spoke rather shakily. "I have it, my Lord…"
"Don't announce the fact," Voldemort snapped. "Just give it to me."
The Portkey turned out to be a figurine of the dark mark. I didn't know such novelty gifts were available.
As Voldemort held out the figurine to us and we both snaked our arms, now stinging with the dark mark, across to reach it, he abruptly pulled away.
"I almost forgot," he added breathlessly. "Just to make sure you don't tell your buddies," he said, turning to Hermione, I've got this for you…he pointed his wand at Hermione and muttered, "Memorium Partialiem". I sighed. I knew that charm quite well, how often had my father used it upon me?
The Binding Spell, I called it. Quite figuratively, actually.
With that, Voldemort gestured for us to grab the Port Key and we did, spiraling ourselves back to Hogwarts.
As soon as our feet touched the ground under the tree, Hermione spoke to me. "Look, you bastard, it's not like I want to talk to you but do you have any idea what that spell was, Memorium Partialiem?"
I was taken aback. Had she just called me a bastard, in a not-playful voice? Hurt, I spoke up. "Bastard? Why?" Well, aside from the fact that I'd basically gotten her the dark mark as a gift. Oh, and the heir of Voldemort himself.
"Because of all this…" she trailed off, and I noticed tears welling in her eyes. Before I could do anything, her head was against my chest and she was slowly rocking. Awkwardly, I pulled her closer, reminding myself that hundreds of girls came to me with their problems. But this was Hermione…and I hated to admit it, but she was quite different, apart from the fact that she had the dark mark and was Voldemort's heir.
"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I really am."
"It's okay," she said, between sobs. "He would have gotten me anyhow, you didn't know…"
I cringed, knowing that what I had expected to happen was a whole lot worse.
She pulled away rather abruptly then, leaving me with a little feeling of shock. "So, what was memorium partialiem?"
"Leave it to Granger to stop in the midst of an emotional breakdown in thirst for knowledge."
She smiled through her tears and wiped them away. "Just answer the question, Draco."
I smiled. It was a nice feeling to hear my name rolling off her tongue. "Well…it's not the best of spells."
She nodded, anticipating the worst.
"My dad's used it loads of times on me, don't worry, it's not really dangerous. It requires a lot of power to perform it, and Voldemort is the epitome of power…so I guess it works. Anyhow, you won't be able to tell people about what happened just now unless Voldemort hasn't blocked them out with the spell."
"So…basically he chooses who I tell it to and who I don't tell it to."
"Right."
"So I won't be able to tell Harry or Ron."
"Or anyone else in Gryffindor, I'm sure."
"What would happen if I tried?"
"Well," I said, remembering. "One time my father almost beat me because I had done something wrong. He put the spell on me so I could not tell my mother. I tried to tell her and ended up gagging and having a choking fit. Not really pleasant," I said casually.
"Your father beats you?"
I was rather surprised at the concern in her voice. My father did not beat me, he threatened me, and I always considered it normal. We were a tough family. "No, no," I told her. "He's very strict, however."
She nodded. "I never really understood your situation," she said softly.
I smiled grimly. "But now, yours is so much worse."
A/N: Well? What did you think? PLEASE REVIEW.