Chapter 3
Revelation
"What's done to children, they will do to society." –Dr. Karl Menninger
Draco Apparated outside of his house, quickly followed by Crabbe and Goyle, a few minutes after leaving the Three Broomsticks.
His home was a large, old country house, surrounded by meadows and forests. His father had chosen this particular house for just that reason; no one would come over, prying through their personal businesses. And it was far enough from filthy muggles to suit his liking as well.
As they entered the house, Lucius swarmed over them. "Well, where have you been? You can't just wander about whenever you please anymore!"
"We weren't wandering the streets, screaming at the top of our lungs, 'We know where the Dark Lord is; come and follow us!' We went to Hogsmead for a drink."
"Don't make me wipe that smirk off you face. I have a right to know where you are. You're an adult now and a Death Eater as well. You have much more responsibility than before."
"I know that. I can take care of my self," Draco snapped back. "I don't need you to watch over me like a child!"
Lucius sneered. "You ignorant, ungrateful little..." He raised his hand and slapped Draco hard across the face. Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously gasped and backed up a few paces. Draco said nothing, only raising his head slowly and fixing an icy stare on his father's face. He'd stopped giving the satisfaction of crying out at pain ages ago, and he wasn't about to start again now.
"I have nothing but you and the Dark Lord's best interests at heart, and you act like you are an untouchable god. The last thing we need is you flouncing about in public. If an Auror, or a damned member of the bloody Order catches you, they will make you talk. And if you do, so help me, I'll kill you my bloody self."
"Oh, Father; you can't do that that. You'd have to have a heart," remarked Draco with utter sarcasm.
Lucius raised his hand once again. Crabbe and Goyle stepped back again, but Draco stood his ground and held the cold stare. Lucius lowered his hand smirked.
Well, son," he spat the word out as is it held a repulsive taste, "you might not have all the brains I have, but you have got some valor. And, unfortunately, I respect." With that, he whirled around and walked quickly from the room. Draco spat a small mouthful of blood onto the floor. He'd waited until his father left; bleeding unnecessarily was just another form of weakness. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who looked positively mortified.
"You two might as well go home; I don't need you right now anyway. If I do, I'll send an owl."
"Are you sure?" Goyle asked.
Draco's expression softened the slightest bit. As stupid as they might be at times, Crabbe and Goyle were the best friends Draco ever had. "I'll be fine. If not I'll send for you. Now go home."
They smiled a small farewell, then Disapparated. Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then looked down at it. It was smeared with blood."
"Bloody wanker."
-
Draco sat on the window bench in his room, staring at the sky; the sun barely beginning to touch the horizon. On the nightstand next to his bed, his tawny barn owl, Brutus, still slept. Next to the cage, a plate of cold uneaten food sat, unaccompanied by a drink, or silverware. His mother had come in twenty minutes earlier, tossed the plate on the table, then left. No greeting, no question on how he was feeling; only silence.
He hadn't expected anything more. His mother had never been one to be affectionate toward him. Sure, she'd sent extravagant gifts on his birthday and on holidays – with the occasional sweets – when he attended Hogwarts, but it was all for show. The only reason she sent it was to nullify the fact she had detested for her own son. She had two main concerns: herself and power. Every thing, and one, else was just a space filler.
Draco continued to stare longingly out the windows; envious of the freedom the birds had flying across the sky. He hadn't been allowed off of their property without exact coordinates of his destination for ages. After he joined to the Death Eaters, his mother became horrified at the thought that her son would be captured and rat out Voldemort, her ticket to power. It consumed her. In a feeble attempt to soothe his wife, Lucius had taken Draco's broom from him, and set charms on his room to know whether or not he was there. But, neither of his parents knew that he's passed his Apparition test, so he still had that small freedom.
He stood up with disgust, both at his parents and himself. As a second thought, he sat on his bed and picked up the cold plate. He reached for the fork before he remembered that it wasn't there. Enraged with his mother's incompetence, Draco stood and hurled the plate against the wall; eyes clouded with anger. It shattered against the wall, waking Brutus, who fluttered his wings and hooted, annoyed.
Ignoring the bird, he pulled out his wand and muttered, "Reparo," pointing at the shards of porcelain. The pieces immediately mended themselves. "Kreacher!" he yelled, returning the wand to his pocket.
A minute later, the house elf walked in and stood in front of Draco. "And what is it that master is wanting now?" he asked. "Such an ungrateful little wretch he is. Kreacher does everything master tells him, but no thanks does Kreacher get." He'd said the last part out loud; oblivious to the fact that Draco could still hear him.
"Just clean up the wall, Kreacher. Then get out of my sight." He petted Brutus, who was still agitated by all the noise. Kreacher walked to the wall and started wiping the food off.
"Of course Kreacher will clean up the wall; it is his job. And Kreacher is doing his job well; he thinks..."
Draco ignored the mindless gibbering, as always. He was aware that the house elf wasn't talking to him; a few days with him had told him that. Nonetheless, it was still irritating.
"... the mistress wasn't so nasty. And the girl half-breed wasn't mean to Kreacher, neither.
"Shut up!" yelled Draco, fully annoyed now. "Stop complaining; you good- for-nothing, loathsome creature!" He quickly strode over to the house elf, and jerked him into the air by the back of his filthy clothing. Still holding Kreacher, he Disapparated.
Draco reappeared in Crabbe's room a few moments later. He threw the house elf on the floor, ignoring his loud muttering. He turned back to Crabbe, who was sitting on his bed, looking the tiniest bit more than surprised.
"Find out what he knows about the bloody Order; get Goyle to help. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Then the both of you bring him back in the morning. Understand?"
Crabbe nodded with agreement.
And with that, Draco Disapparated.
-
"Harry, what are we going to do?" Hermione asked desperately. "Kreacher will tell Malfoy what ever he wants him to; he hates us!"
They were back at the house, in Harry's room, waiting for Ron. Their induction was about to begin, and he was still getting ready. Harry was wearing the green dress robe he had worn to the Yule Ball, with a few alterations to make it larger. Hermione was wearing a dress robe also; a deep midnight purple, with silver trim on the arms and neck.
Hermione lay down horizontally on the bed, and propped herself on her elbows to look at Harry. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to us."
Harry sat down next to her. "I think that's a bit exaggerated. I know at least a dozen scenarios worse than this, and in most of them, we almost died."
"Well, that is true," she replied. She rearranged herself so that she was sitting upright on the bed, facing Harry. "But still, this situation is still pretty bad."
"You're telling me."
Harry and Hermione turned to the doorway where Ron was standing. He was wearing a dark blue dress robe; the color one might see if he were for out on the deep ocean waters. "I look like a wanker. If I were younger, I'd beat myself up." He sat down next Harry with a gloomy look on his face.
"Ron, don't say that," Hermione said. "You look rather handsome. Where did you get it, anyway?"
"From Fred and George, of course. That's all they ever get me; for every holiday: my birthday, Easter, Christmas, Arbor Day. Thanks a lot, Harry. At least you realize one can never have too many dress robes." He rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed.
"Umm, can we get back on topic?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah; I've got to tell you guys something anyway." Harry lowered his voice and leaned closer so she and Ron could hear him. "At the Three Broomsticks, when we saw Malfoy there, I saw the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm. He must have joined the Death Eaters like his parents."
Ron bolted upright, "What! No wa-" He broke off, slamming his head into Harry's. "Ow!" He rubbed his forehead. Ignoring the pain, he continued. "No way. He couldn't be. That would mean we gave..."
"We gave Voldemort his own informant," Hermione finished. He eyes were wide. "That's even worse than just giving him to Malfoy." She buried her face in her hands.
"Exactly," Harry agreed, rubbing his own head. "But we can't let it get to us. We won't mention it to anyone. Then tomorrow, we'll track Malfoy down and get Kreacher back. It can't be that hard."
"Oh, it'll be cake," Ron quipped. "We'll just ring the doorbell and ask for him back. With Malfoy being one of our best friends and all, we should get him back rather quickly."
"We got harder things back when we were at Hogwarts. How difficult should it be to get one measly little house elf?"
"You know the Malfoys, Harry," Hermione interjected. "They probably have every charm and spell on their house so no one can bother when they're being evil."
"We have to try," Harry said, folding his arms across his chest. "And we will. Tomorrow."
At that moment, Lupin came in, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who beamed at them. "Come on you three," he said, smiling. "We're all ready for you."
"Are you guys ready?" Harry asked, with another question attached; one that did not need to be spoken. He stood up.
Hermione and Ron stood also, and nodded in agreement, to both questions. Harry inhaled deeply, and followed Lupin out the door.
Revelation
"What's done to children, they will do to society." –Dr. Karl Menninger
Draco Apparated outside of his house, quickly followed by Crabbe and Goyle, a few minutes after leaving the Three Broomsticks.
His home was a large, old country house, surrounded by meadows and forests. His father had chosen this particular house for just that reason; no one would come over, prying through their personal businesses. And it was far enough from filthy muggles to suit his liking as well.
As they entered the house, Lucius swarmed over them. "Well, where have you been? You can't just wander about whenever you please anymore!"
"We weren't wandering the streets, screaming at the top of our lungs, 'We know where the Dark Lord is; come and follow us!' We went to Hogsmead for a drink."
"Don't make me wipe that smirk off you face. I have a right to know where you are. You're an adult now and a Death Eater as well. You have much more responsibility than before."
"I know that. I can take care of my self," Draco snapped back. "I don't need you to watch over me like a child!"
Lucius sneered. "You ignorant, ungrateful little..." He raised his hand and slapped Draco hard across the face. Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously gasped and backed up a few paces. Draco said nothing, only raising his head slowly and fixing an icy stare on his father's face. He'd stopped giving the satisfaction of crying out at pain ages ago, and he wasn't about to start again now.
"I have nothing but you and the Dark Lord's best interests at heart, and you act like you are an untouchable god. The last thing we need is you flouncing about in public. If an Auror, or a damned member of the bloody Order catches you, they will make you talk. And if you do, so help me, I'll kill you my bloody self."
"Oh, Father; you can't do that that. You'd have to have a heart," remarked Draco with utter sarcasm.
Lucius raised his hand once again. Crabbe and Goyle stepped back again, but Draco stood his ground and held the cold stare. Lucius lowered his hand smirked.
Well, son," he spat the word out as is it held a repulsive taste, "you might not have all the brains I have, but you have got some valor. And, unfortunately, I respect." With that, he whirled around and walked quickly from the room. Draco spat a small mouthful of blood onto the floor. He'd waited until his father left; bleeding unnecessarily was just another form of weakness. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who looked positively mortified.
"You two might as well go home; I don't need you right now anyway. If I do, I'll send an owl."
"Are you sure?" Goyle asked.
Draco's expression softened the slightest bit. As stupid as they might be at times, Crabbe and Goyle were the best friends Draco ever had. "I'll be fine. If not I'll send for you. Now go home."
They smiled a small farewell, then Disapparated. Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then looked down at it. It was smeared with blood."
"Bloody wanker."
-
Draco sat on the window bench in his room, staring at the sky; the sun barely beginning to touch the horizon. On the nightstand next to his bed, his tawny barn owl, Brutus, still slept. Next to the cage, a plate of cold uneaten food sat, unaccompanied by a drink, or silverware. His mother had come in twenty minutes earlier, tossed the plate on the table, then left. No greeting, no question on how he was feeling; only silence.
He hadn't expected anything more. His mother had never been one to be affectionate toward him. Sure, she'd sent extravagant gifts on his birthday and on holidays – with the occasional sweets – when he attended Hogwarts, but it was all for show. The only reason she sent it was to nullify the fact she had detested for her own son. She had two main concerns: herself and power. Every thing, and one, else was just a space filler.
Draco continued to stare longingly out the windows; envious of the freedom the birds had flying across the sky. He hadn't been allowed off of their property without exact coordinates of his destination for ages. After he joined to the Death Eaters, his mother became horrified at the thought that her son would be captured and rat out Voldemort, her ticket to power. It consumed her. In a feeble attempt to soothe his wife, Lucius had taken Draco's broom from him, and set charms on his room to know whether or not he was there. But, neither of his parents knew that he's passed his Apparition test, so he still had that small freedom.
He stood up with disgust, both at his parents and himself. As a second thought, he sat on his bed and picked up the cold plate. He reached for the fork before he remembered that it wasn't there. Enraged with his mother's incompetence, Draco stood and hurled the plate against the wall; eyes clouded with anger. It shattered against the wall, waking Brutus, who fluttered his wings and hooted, annoyed.
Ignoring the bird, he pulled out his wand and muttered, "Reparo," pointing at the shards of porcelain. The pieces immediately mended themselves. "Kreacher!" he yelled, returning the wand to his pocket.
A minute later, the house elf walked in and stood in front of Draco. "And what is it that master is wanting now?" he asked. "Such an ungrateful little wretch he is. Kreacher does everything master tells him, but no thanks does Kreacher get." He'd said the last part out loud; oblivious to the fact that Draco could still hear him.
"Just clean up the wall, Kreacher. Then get out of my sight." He petted Brutus, who was still agitated by all the noise. Kreacher walked to the wall and started wiping the food off.
"Of course Kreacher will clean up the wall; it is his job. And Kreacher is doing his job well; he thinks..."
Draco ignored the mindless gibbering, as always. He was aware that the house elf wasn't talking to him; a few days with him had told him that. Nonetheless, it was still irritating.
"... the mistress wasn't so nasty. And the girl half-breed wasn't mean to Kreacher, neither.
"Shut up!" yelled Draco, fully annoyed now. "Stop complaining; you good- for-nothing, loathsome creature!" He quickly strode over to the house elf, and jerked him into the air by the back of his filthy clothing. Still holding Kreacher, he Disapparated.
Draco reappeared in Crabbe's room a few moments later. He threw the house elf on the floor, ignoring his loud muttering. He turned back to Crabbe, who was sitting on his bed, looking the tiniest bit more than surprised.
"Find out what he knows about the bloody Order; get Goyle to help. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Then the both of you bring him back in the morning. Understand?"
Crabbe nodded with agreement.
And with that, Draco Disapparated.
-
"Harry, what are we going to do?" Hermione asked desperately. "Kreacher will tell Malfoy what ever he wants him to; he hates us!"
They were back at the house, in Harry's room, waiting for Ron. Their induction was about to begin, and he was still getting ready. Harry was wearing the green dress robe he had worn to the Yule Ball, with a few alterations to make it larger. Hermione was wearing a dress robe also; a deep midnight purple, with silver trim on the arms and neck.
Hermione lay down horizontally on the bed, and propped herself on her elbows to look at Harry. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to us."
Harry sat down next to her. "I think that's a bit exaggerated. I know at least a dozen scenarios worse than this, and in most of them, we almost died."
"Well, that is true," she replied. She rearranged herself so that she was sitting upright on the bed, facing Harry. "But still, this situation is still pretty bad."
"You're telling me."
Harry and Hermione turned to the doorway where Ron was standing. He was wearing a dark blue dress robe; the color one might see if he were for out on the deep ocean waters. "I look like a wanker. If I were younger, I'd beat myself up." He sat down next Harry with a gloomy look on his face.
"Ron, don't say that," Hermione said. "You look rather handsome. Where did you get it, anyway?"
"From Fred and George, of course. That's all they ever get me; for every holiday: my birthday, Easter, Christmas, Arbor Day. Thanks a lot, Harry. At least you realize one can never have too many dress robes." He rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed.
"Umm, can we get back on topic?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah; I've got to tell you guys something anyway." Harry lowered his voice and leaned closer so she and Ron could hear him. "At the Three Broomsticks, when we saw Malfoy there, I saw the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm. He must have joined the Death Eaters like his parents."
Ron bolted upright, "What! No wa-" He broke off, slamming his head into Harry's. "Ow!" He rubbed his forehead. Ignoring the pain, he continued. "No way. He couldn't be. That would mean we gave..."
"We gave Voldemort his own informant," Hermione finished. He eyes were wide. "That's even worse than just giving him to Malfoy." She buried her face in her hands.
"Exactly," Harry agreed, rubbing his own head. "But we can't let it get to us. We won't mention it to anyone. Then tomorrow, we'll track Malfoy down and get Kreacher back. It can't be that hard."
"Oh, it'll be cake," Ron quipped. "We'll just ring the doorbell and ask for him back. With Malfoy being one of our best friends and all, we should get him back rather quickly."
"We got harder things back when we were at Hogwarts. How difficult should it be to get one measly little house elf?"
"You know the Malfoys, Harry," Hermione interjected. "They probably have every charm and spell on their house so no one can bother when they're being evil."
"We have to try," Harry said, folding his arms across his chest. "And we will. Tomorrow."
At that moment, Lupin came in, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who beamed at them. "Come on you three," he said, smiling. "We're all ready for you."
"Are you guys ready?" Harry asked, with another question attached; one that did not need to be spoken. He stood up.
Hermione and Ron stood also, and nodded in agreement, to both questions. Harry inhaled deeply, and followed Lupin out the door.