A/N; Chapter warnings for; explicit language, blood, violence, torture.
From this chapter on, this story is going to take an even darker turn. Please read the warnings, and the tags carefully, as they aren't put there lightly. Some of them might be triggering for some readers and we wouldn't want to be the cause of that. We want everyone to look out after themselves and only proceed if they are comfortable.
Next update on Saturday, 29th August.
Chapter Fourteen: A Dark Night
"Change always involves a dark night when everything falls apart. Yet if this period of dissolution is used to create new meaning, then chaos ends and new order emerges."
- Margaret J. Wheatley
…
The paragraph in front of him about the properties of acromantula blood in a water based draught must have been written by some imbecile who has mush for brains. Severus scowls at the chicken scratch, the ink blotches, and the far too small roll of parchment. This child is a third year, surely she knows better than this?
He has now read the same few lines about three times, and it still doesn't make much sense. His quill feels like it is about to splinter in his hand, and Severus closes his eyes, schooling his face into a cool mask as he drops down the essay in disgust.
Black is a blithering idiot without an ounce of common sense, self preservation, or regard for others. Severus doesn't know why he expected better, perhaps he thought his past recklessness would have taught Black better, but apparently not.
Had he not been present in the Order meetings? The meetings declaring Umbridge as a threat, and that he must remain as far from Hogwarts as possible, and not try to contact anyone? Especially without prior notice. And he had to come in barging like the Knight Bus right in the middle of an arrest by the Ministry just to give Potter a ridiculous gift, endangering himself, three order members, and worst of all, mucking all over Albus' reputation.
How else would a fugitive have floo access to the headmaster's office if he didn't know about it? Either that makes Albus an incompetent senile old man, or the arrest necessary. An attempted arrest, anyway; Severus snorts. He cannot blame them for trying, but he can at least enjoy their humiliating loss.
Nevertheless, if Minerva hadn't been smart enough to act as shocked and enraged at him as she had, she would probably have been arrested too. As it is, Black managed to disappear before the aurors could gather their wits.
At least Black had the sense to carry a Portkey with him.
The damage was done, not only is Albus now accused of endangering his students, but also for helping a convicted criminal. He's gone now. Severus is sure they would not be able to see or hear more of him unless he wants them to.
The Ministry, and thosevulturistic reporters, are in an uproar, and Hogwarts is being more closely monitored than ever. Black's appearance has thrown everyone into disarray, the people had already been disgruntled by Potter and Albus' claims about the Dark Lord's return, and now another bombshell had been dropped on them.
The implications of Umbridge as the Headmistress are huge and Severus shudders just thinking about that bloated pink monstrosity, he barely stops himself from letting out a disgusted noise. Hagrid would do a better job than her.
Shaking his head, he sets the now broken quill on the table over the stack of unchecked essays, glaring at them as if they were the cause of the Dark Lord's return.
##
The proceeding articles that emerged after Professor Dumbledore's escape each seemed wilder than the last, and Harry sat each morning at his table, wide-eyed as the owls delivered the Daily Prophet in a flock of chaos in an otherwise ghostly silent Hall.
'HOGWARTS IN DISARRAY, HEADMASTER UNDER INVESTIGATION'
'DUMBLEDORE FLEES, THE LIES BEHIND THE BEARD'
'MINISTRY CONSPIRACY OR HUMAN ERROR; what really happened during the Hogwarts breach'
'CONCERNED PARENTS RIOT, CLAIM CHILD ENDANGERMENT'
'NOTORIOUS KILLER SEEN IN HOGWARTS, MINUTES AFTER HEADMASTER FLEES'
'DUMBLEDORE SUSPECTED OF AIDING AZKABAN ESCAPEE, SIRIUS BLACK'
Several papers from different publications lay strewn around the breakfast table, each said the same thing. Even the Quibbler isn't exempt from the general outrage and utter disbelief that plagued the papers.
"This is rubbish," Hermione mutters, rustling the papers with an incredulous frown and Ron snatches one of them to look for himself. Harry tries to look interested in his bowl of oatmeal and blueberries but miserably fails.
"What did you expect though?" Ron says, buried nose deep into his own paper. "They've been doing this since the summer break, first with Harry and err-"
Harry rolls his eyes. "Cedric's death, yes. You can say it, Ron,"
Ron flushes a deep shade of vermilion and shoves the papers away. "Yeah, well. That. Things aren't going to improve with that toad in charge of the school,"
"Nobody looks happy about that," Hermione says as she glances at the staff table, noticing, maybe not for the first time, how vacant it seemed. More than half of the staff is absent from the table, with the exception of McGonagall and Snape. And neither looked happy to be there. These past two days haven't been easy on anyone.
"I still don't understand it," their voices are hushed, and Harry knows that they're not the only ones, barely anyone dares to raise their voice above a certain volume these past few days whilst speaking about certain topics. It's quite a dramatic change from the previously boisterous crowd of students.
"How did it all happen, and… Snuffles' involvement? Merlin, this is a mess,"
Harry hasn't heard of the man since the big scare the other day. He's still not quite sure of how it happened, but Remus appeared the night after, looking disgruntled and quite distressed as he pulled Harry aside and quietly told him that 'Yes, he's okay, and yes, it really was him, and no, he's not hurt, just shocked, '
Remus had fidgeted under Harry's blank gaze, his worn brown sleeping robes shifting as the man grabbed Harry's shoulder. 'He wanted to hand you a gift, a stupid old toy of ours. He found it in his old trunk, he got too excited to think about the repercussions…it doesn't matter.'
Harry had just looked at him.
Remus' grimace didn't diminish. 'He thought you were lonely… as I said, it was just a stupid mirror. He's been talked with, you don't need to worry about a thing.'
'That guy only keeps on making trouble,' Imaginary Sirius commented after Remus left and Harry aimlessly stood in the common room, feeling a blazing heat of anger and indignation wash over him. Dumbledore was gone. Sirius almost got caught. He was a witness to a murder no one knew about.
The murder.
This only makes Harry more sick, and he gives up on breakfast, he pushes the bowl away and wriggles to make some room between his two friends, squashing him between themselves as they're quietly discussing the paper still.
"You said it yourself," Harry says defensively when Hermione glares at him. "It's all rubbish. Let's just not read that garbage,"
Almost unconsciously, he throws a glance at Umbridge, sitting in Dumbledore's place, sweetly sipping on her tea, and smiling down at the subdued students. It's a sinister smile, or so it seems as such in Harry's head. That woman had never looked like more of a toad than as of this moment.
He still has detentions with her. Not held in Dumbledore's office, as it had been completely sealed shut upon the man's departure, but instead in her own pink splashed, cat littered villainous lair. In many ways, Harry is relieved that he doesn't have to serve any torture sessions in the man's office.
He also feels, strange as it may seem, that he's the only person, only remotely getting used to Umbridge's dictatorship these past two days.
The first rule of survival in Harry's books is 'adapting', but in this instance, he's not quite sure whether that's what's at stake or his general resignation regarding his fate. Because he is resigned to it.
Harry doesn't bother listening to Hermione's response, and only tears his gaze away from Umbridge over to the Slytherin table, making sure that no one else will catch him at it. He cannot help it. Every time he sees Malfoy's face, the only thing at the front of his mind is the other boy's twisted face, contorted in pain and outrage as he cried and thrashed in his bounds, only meters away from his mother.
Harry had thrown up a few times already when he spent too much time obsessing over his dream. Even though it wasn't a dream. Harry isn't sure what it was. He's scared of asking anyone, he's terrified of telling Ron and Hermione, after the whole debacle with Sirius, Harry's too paranoid to even try uttering the man's codename. Much less writing him a letter about how he saw his cousin ruthlessly killed by his other cousin while her son watched and her husband did nothing.
And Snape was there.
Snape was there, standing next to a chuckling- considerably taller- Harry, standing with his hands locked behind his back and his face completely stoic. A statue probably would have shown more emotion than that man.
If Harry's thing was true, then Snape was the only other person who knew about Malfoy's mom. Aside from Lucius Malfoy.
Harry doesn't like that. He doesn't like the implications of that at all.
"-Harry? Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"You're staring at Malfoy, mate." Ron pats his shoulder. "Even he's starting to freak out,"
Harry slightly shakes his head, and his eyes focus on Malfoy, seeing the other boy's startled and confused eyes gazing back at him. Harry swiftly turns around, picking his Transfiguration book to stuff it in his school bag.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asks and Harry hastily nods. Picking an apple on impulse. He takes a huge bite out of it despite nausea clearly sending the opposite message.
' See if you can throw up on Umbridge's plate. It's better than whatever garbage she's eating, ' Harry chokes on the apple and imaginary Sirius cackles, smacking the table as he laughs.
Harry really needs to get a rein over imaginary Sirius. Soon.
##
Five words, sixteen letters, six vowels, and ten consonants are causing Harry much more pain than they ought to.
He counts again as each sentence is scratched out, and somehow even his pain muddled brain is chastising him for expecting different results. It's always going to be five words, sixteen letters, six vowels, and ten consonants. It's not going to change, no matter how hard Harry wishes it to lessen.
The parchment is worn and crimson, and the quill remains sharp, no matter how hard Harry presses it down on the parchment. Neither break. The quill remains cruelly sharp and firm in his hand, and the parchment remains unwrinkled, only stained with Harry's blood.
He imagines that, since the start of the year, he had lost more than a pint of blood to this quill. He could have easily felt better if he had donated the same amount instead of it being tortured out of him. There's no way he can stop this now. At this point, she won't even need to make up a reason for assigning him detentions. She's the Headmistress now, she can make a whole decree just for Harry.
"Hem. Hem," There's that irritating clearing of her throat and Harry pauses four words and two letters in, five vowels and nine consonants. He looks up.
"Yes, Professor?"
"It's Headmistress Umbridge now, dear,"
Harry nods. He wants to tell the woman where she can exactly shove that title but forces his thoughts to remain linear. He needs to keep his expression blank.
"Yes, Headmistress Umbridge?" it is an effort not to emphasize that particular word.
The woman clears her throat again, her beady eyes staring into Harry's eyes with a disturbing light shining in them. She wants something. Harry knows that look well.
"I was wondering if we could talk for a moment, Mr. Potter? Just a friendly chat."
Friendly chat. Harry would rather throw himself off his rooftop than imagine having a friendly chat with this woman of all people. But he is in no position to object to what is clearly an order. Hesitantly, he puts his quill down, trying his best to ignore the throbbing in his hand. He cannot wait until he can plunge it down the Murtlap Essence when he's done here.
He hates admitting how helpful it is. Well, Malfoy, really. Who made it possible. Malfoy whose mother was dead. And Harry had seen it happen.
He shakes his head. Not now.
"Yes?" he says aloud and Umbridge leans on her desk, her ugly cardigan pulling tighter as she drops some of her weight on her linked hands.
"I've heard a lot about you since I came here Mr. Potter," she starts and Harry instantly knows that he's not going to like this. "From what I've heard you seemed very close to Albus Dumbledore."
For a moment, Harry isn't quite sure what she's asking of him. "He was the Headmaster. I'd say everyone was very close to him,"
"Oh yes, but you were his favorite," she purrs and Harry instinctively shifts in his seat. He doesn't like the gleam in her eyes.
"I was just his student, headmistress."
She nods. "I've also heard that Black is your godfather. Were you aware of this?"
It takes everything out of Harry not to pale as the woman mentions Sirius's name. "Yes, I did know that."
"He's a killer, Potter." Umbridge points out. "Took thirteen muggles and his friend out with a single explosion. Not unlike the one that caused your relatives' deaths,"
Harry stares at her without a reply. He doesn't know where this is going. He knows he wouldn't like it. "I'm sorry Headmistress, but I don't understand…"
"Oh, of course, you wouldn't, Mr. Potter. You're merely a child,"
Harry waits for her to continue.
"And I'm sure you're aware of Black's break-in, two days ago,"
"I read it in the papers," he didn't. Remus came to him, dragged him out of bed, pulled him in the corner of the common room, and rapidly fired off the facts at Harry's face before claiming that he had to leave. It left Harry feeling very put out, and slightly shaken.
"So you did." She drops her chin on the back of her hands, and Harry takes a deep breath. The cats meow on the walls. "Did it make you wonder why Albus Dumbledore, who seemed quite taken with you, was assisting your parent's killer behind your back?"
"Voldemort killed my parents,"
She flinches at the name hard enough that her teacup rattles, sloshing the smallest amount of tea on her saucer. Umbridge's eyes narrow. "We are not speaking of his involvement. Black had a very distinguished role in getting your parents killed, wouldn't you say?"
"I guess so,"
"You guess," she drawls and Harry bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he should have reacted differently.
Murtlap Essence. Malfoy. That's all Harry tries thinking about. Because this detention had to end at some point. She's interrogating him, and Harry is in so much pain and frustration from his hand alone that he doesn't even care about the reason. He just wants to leave this office, before burning it to the ground.
"Yes. I guess," he says, feeling much braver than he should be in this situation.
"You wouldn't happen to have any speculations regarding that?"
"About why Sirius Black betrayed my parents?" Maybe if he is deliberately obtuse, she would leave him alone.
She shakes her head. Impatient. "Why Dumbledore was assisting him."
Harry shrugs. "No. I don't think about it, Headmistress."
"You haven't wondered." she says and Harry sees the way her shoulders tense.
"No, not even once," he says blandly.
"Don't you feel betrayed. Did you care about Dumbledore at all?"
No. Harry feels tired, hungry, in pain, and quite simply more murderous than he has ever felt in his life. If she keeps this up, he might just go through with Imaginary Sirius's plan. Kill the bitch. Then dissolve the body in a potion or something. Maybe Snape would help him too, he certainly didn't seem to like her all that much either.
"I think that is Professor Dumbledore's business. His choices in life don't define my reactions. As you just said, I'm only a child, and there's no danger threatening me at this moment, even if it were, you're here to protect us, Professor, " he takes a deep breath and musters up the fakest smile he has ever had pasted on his face, it feels greasy and disgusting. "Don't you think so as well?"
Umbridge looks awfully irritated by his response, and his smile turns a little more genuine, a lot more smug, though he tries to tone it down. "Yes, well, of course. Children shouldn't be occupied by such matters." She clears her throat, picks up her quill. "You're correct. It seems that the detentions are finally having an effect."
"I think so as well," Harry would pay an unimaginable sum of money to watch this woman get devoured by a group of ruthless hungry cats. Anything.
"Well then, perhaps, you should be off a bit early today." She waves a hand. "Come over here so I can inspect your hand,"
Every touch of her hand on his revolts Harry to the point of vomiting, but he manages. Walks over to her and sticks out his bloodied hand. It's slowly going numb again and the blood is starting to crust into a rusty brown.
"Hmm, deep enough," she comments, turning his hand over a few times before looking up at him. "Your next detention is on Wednesday. Two pm, sharp. I would hate it for you to be late, young man."
Two means no lunch for Harry.
"Oh, I will be on time," Harry promises with the same smile that painfully stretches his face and then turns, his face dropping into a glare as he picks up his bag and heads for the door.
He is getting seriously tired of the constant dizziness that's been plaguing him, not just after his detentions, but rather, all the time recently. He has gotten better at managing his stumbling, though, and is able to portray a bare minimum of stability as he makes his way out of the office and towards the stairs.
They're meeting at the Astronomy Tower today. Draco had insisted that they don't stick to the same place for too long. Any other time Harry would have called Malfoy paranoid. He would have refused, would have tried to seek a way out of the 'blackmail', however much he found comfort in it; but now, knowing what he did, he understood.
Malfoy's mother had been killed. And Voldemort sure didn't seem pleased by him or his father either. From the urgency with which Malfoy had asked Harry not to tell anyone about it, Harry could only imagine what horrors he'd been promised.
He was probably risking his life by helping Harry.
Blinking back the blurriness furiously, he shakes his head hard. He can't afford to think like that right now. Everyone he knows is in danger. He can't just isolate himself and live somewhere in a hole.
Maybe he should.
He almost wants to turn back around and go to the dorms, end this stupid arrangement. He is knowingly endangering Malfoy's life. The pain in his hand spikes and he staggers again.
Selfish wants win out in the end and he makes his way over to the astronomy tower. Draco really knows his potions. Or healing. Or whatever. Harry doesn't need a label for what Malfoy is doing. The boy himself had named it 'Blackmailing' and Harry refused to see it for what it was. 'Helping'.
The relief feels so blissful after hours of torture but it has an expiration date, as does everything, and Harry really should pull that bandaid off before it becomes etched into the wound. Maybe he could end it today, this could be their last meeting. And then he will stop putting at least one person in danger.
Yeah, he would do that. Nodding firmly to himself, and then stopping because it made him dizzy, he quickly climbs up the last set of stairs to the tower.
Draco is sitting on the floor, twirling his wand around, and the rapid motions are causing small sparkles to fly from the tip in shapeless sprinkles. He doesn't acknowledge Harry's entry until Harry plops down next to him, wordlessly holding out his hand.
Malfoy takes it, peering at the damage with pursed lips. "What does she want to do? Carve into your bones and harvest them?"
He hadn't thought about it that way, but that doesn't seem… impossible.
His bones are probably brittle from years of malnutrition though, so he doesn't know what Umbridge could do with them. He just shrugs. And then winces. The pain has started flaring up not only in his hand but up to his whole arm. It's dull and ignorable. But present. He can't explain it. For a moment he contemplates telling Malfoy, but then decides against it. They're ending their meetings today. He's ripping that imaginary band-aid off, not confiding in it.
Malfoy is unrolling the gauze right now, and Harry watches him, secretly marveling at his unhurried expression. This is the last time he'll ever see Malfoy like this again. Harry discreetly mourns the loss for a reason he himself is unaware of. Malfoy's eyes flick over to the already murky bowl, tainted with blood, and he frowns. He grips Harry's wrist again and pulls it out. Harry almost protests at the loss of Murtlap essence, but then Draco speaks.
"You're bleeding way too much," he murmurs.
"Yeah, that tends to happen when you cut a whole sentence into your hand for four hours straight."
"No," he says, looking up at Harry's face with a frown, "Still too much for that. The cuts, however deep, shouldn't bleed so much. They aren't cutting into any major artery or vein."
Unease rises up in Harry's throat, and he's about to say something when Malfoy shakes his head and starts wiping away at the cuts. Still bleeding sluggishly.
They are bleeding quite a lot.
Malfoy offers him a vial of Blood Replenishing potion as he rubs the dittany soaked cloth over the injury, and Harry uncorks it with his mouth, working awkwardly with his left hand. He'd been skeptical at first, entertaining the thought that Malfoy might be poisoning him. But he is fairly certain now that these really are Blood Replenishers. Or he might have bled out to death long ago.
Grimacing at the taste, Harry gulps it down in two swallows, trying not to gag.
"Oh, grow a pair, Potter" Malfoy snaps and snatches the vial back, dumping it inside his school bag along with the rest of the vials. Harry watches him, feeling his stomach clench. He should probably bring it up now, when Malfoy seems the calmest.
Malfoy catches him staring, and stares back with raised eyebrows. "What?"
Harry thinks on the spot. "Did you know that the letter 'a' isn't in the spelling of any numbers up to nine hundred ninety-nine?"
Malfoy stares at him. "What?"
Harry has no idea why he just blurted out such a thing. It is true, what he said, he's tried it out himself quite a few times, mostly when he cannot sleep. But that still doesn't tell Harry why Draco Malfoy is privy to that information now.
"If you count to nine hundred ninety-nine, you would find that there's no 'a' in the spelling. It's true."
Malfoy lets go of his school bag but keeps on looking at him. "Well, thank you, Potter, for the random trivia."
Harry's not glad, he wants to hit himself. Malfoy either doesn't notice the contempt on his face or doesn't acknowledge it in any way, rather he keeps himself busy with gathering up his supplies.
"Malfoy I-"
"What is this?" A third voice rings out, a very wretched, familiar voice. Harry's blood runs cold. Neither he nor Malfoy turn. But they don't need to.
"Mr. Potter?"
No. Oh no. Harry blinks hard, and blinks again. There's a good chance that this isn't real. Harry wishes it to be a dream, one of those things again. But the look on Malfoy's face says it all. He looks horrified, and past Harry's shoulder, at the woman standing behind her.
She's real. As real as the words on Harry's hand.
"Care to tell me what is going on here, Mr. Malfoy?" Draco stares at her, absolutely poised, and still, except for his wide eyes, his half-opened bag still in his hands.
Umbridge steps closer, her heels dully clicking as she gets closer. Harry cannot do anything but stare at Malfoy's face, his eyes just as wide and his bandaged hand clenched.
They are screwed. They really are. Harry has been so stupid. So fucking stupid.
"Has a cat got your tongues then?" She walks around them, circles them until she's behind Malfoy and facing Harry, her beady eyes traveling from his paled face to his bandaged hand. Draco's eyes are now on Harry's face as well, and he looks pensive, as if he's trying his hardest to remain stoic.
"You have been very disobedient, Mr. Malfoy, haven't you?" She says, almost crooning and Draco straightens, his eyes shifting back to a dull grey.
"Headmistress-"
"Oh it's quite alright, Mr. Malfoy," She says, her eyes narrowed and stitched to Harry's hand. Harry doesn't dare breathe.
"I just suppose that Mr. Potter here needs a firmer reminder, seeing as our current… arrangement is redundant. We'll just have to try harder,"
'You're really losing an opportunity here,' Imaginary Sirius says, he's kneeling by him and Malfoy. 'She's standing right by the edge, she's going to make you suffer, she's going to out him,' he nods his chin at Malfoy. 'Just a little push, and down she goes,'
"No." Harry says aloud, and Umbridge flicks an eyebrow.
"Oh no complaints now, Potter." She turns around and looks over the horizon, "You have been terribly naughty." She clicks her tongue, the picture of a disappointed parent. He'd take the Dursleys over her any day. There was never a day where they hadn't been disappointed in him. Or rather, disappointed that he was still there in their house and alive. Harry had never liked them, but they'd also never sent his skin crawling like she did. And now they are dead. Why couldn't she have died instead?
"All that work, and effort," She curls her lip with a small shrug. "No matter. We'll just have to work a bit harder then, won't we? Maybe try something that really makes the lesson… stick."
'She's going to kill you, it's only fair that you return the courtesy, Harry.'
He's tempted, awfully tempted. But he cannot.
"You've already consumed a large sum of my time Mr. Potter," Umbridge claps her hands once in resolution. "Detention tomorrow at two? I hope you wouldn't be late,"
This feels wrong. Beyond wrong. Harry frowns in confusion, looks away from her to Draco, but the boy is not moving nor looking at him, he looks thoughtful and tense. Harry opens his mouth.
"What, you're just allowing me to leave?"
"I believe those were my words, yes. Detention tomorrow at two. Did I stutter?"
She didn't. But Harry still cannot believe his ears. The tone of her voice is easy for him to distinguish. She's dismissing him. Just like that. Something is fundamentally wrong with that. With the way her eyes are looking at him but her mouth is forming words contradictory to the look in her eyes.
Harry throws one last desperate look at Malfoy, who doesn't return it, before slowly pushing himself to his feet. Umbridge watches his every move, a disgustingly wide smile on her face, stretching it like pliable dough.
"Alright. Thank you, Headmistress." Harry quietly picks his bag, and sneaks a glance down at Malfoy, still on the ground.
"Malfoy and I should be going now," he says it mostly for the other boy's sake, but Umbridge clicks her tongue once more. The sound makes Harry want to wriggle in discomfort.
"Oh no, I shall escort Mr. Malfoy back to his dormitory." Draco's eyes narrow and Harry glances between the two, feeling highly uncomfortable.
"I'm sure the two of us-"
"You better run along now, before we'd be forced to extend your punishment, Mr. Potter. Don't you think?"
Malfoy finally looks up and stares right into Harry's eyes. "Leave, Potter."
Harry turns, against every nerve in his body that screamed at him to stay, and mechanically makes his way to the spiral stairs that lead down the tower.
##
Draco feels strangely calm as he follows Umbridge down the stairs. He knows there is no way in hell that she is just 'accompanying him to his dormitory'.
She will probably have him sit in her detention right now. He will get a firsthand experience in what Potter has been going through for over a month since the term started. His wand is a distinguished presence in his sleeve. He knows he can take on Umbridge, he has been trained by his parents and Severus. And he is not above using the dark arts to escape if she tries something.
Because she has the potential, Draco knows this, and can easily see it on her. But what would she try, and more importantly, what would be her motive?
His hands twitch at his side, and his eyes narrow. If Umbridge could, he is sure she would be skipping right now. She sounds way too cheerful than anyone has the right to be in such a situation.
At least Potter is safe.
Draco almost pauses when the thought rises. Where did that come from? When did Potter's safety surpass his own? Well, if he were to be murdered tonight, at least someone will be there to provide testimony. He had managed to wrap Potter's hand before Umbridge busted them, so Draco's sure Potter would make it to his dorm alive. Even though he has been looking progressively worse as the detentions went on. Worse than he'd been when Draco found him passed out on the bathroom floor.
He takes in where they are going, and surely enough, they seem to be headed towards her office. Definitely in the opposite direction of the Slytherin dungeons. He slips his wand down his sleeve, running a finger over its tip.
He just has to remain alert. He would be able to at least get out of there if something happens. He doesn't know what could possibly go wrong with serving detention at least two hours after the curfew, but he also wouldn't dismiss every fiber of his being that screams that something will. Draco is going to be ready for it.
She opens the door for him, her smile an ugly slash across her face, stretching wide and showing too many teeth. "In, Mr. Malfoy."
She doesn't show any indication that this might be strange, her words are spoken as if telling him something as mundane as time, not inviting him to her office past curfew after she specifically told the only other witness that she was taking him to his dorms.
It all sounds very murder-esque.
His wand slides further down his sleeve, and he looks around, assessing his surroundings, taking in the purring cats, the sickening splash of pink on every surface, the repulsive odor of her perfume. Before he can really do much. Umbridge has shut the door behind herself with a loud thud and is turning on him, her wand out and ready to attack, although not trained on him. He tenses.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I have to say I am very disappointed," she starts, tapping her wand against her chin slowly, as if thinking very hard. Draco doesn't answer, just looks at her with a blank, bored gaze.
"Fraternizing with the enemy?" she continues, and Draco stiffens. Enemy? He knows that she hates Potter, but enemy is a strong word, certainly? Unless-
"Did you learn nothing," she says, her eyes taking on a malicious glint, and dread pools in Draco's gut, "from your mother?"
The three words shock Draco so much that for a second all he can do is stagger back a few steps, his heart thudding and ears pounding. No no no no.
His hands have seemingly gone numb, and he can't get a good grasp on his wand, but Umbridge is still speaking, "The Dark Lord would be most disappointed, Draco. He had such high hopes for you."
Death Eater. Death Eater, she's a Death Eater. She's with them. His mind is scrambling. This was exactly what he had been afraid of that very first day he found Potter unconscious.
He has the sudden urge to laugh hysterically, because of course it happened. Of course the very thing he feared has happened. He's been discovered by a Death Eater and she is probably going to kill him now. No one will know. Just like no one knows about his mother.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Draco?" she asks, and this time her wand is trained directly on his face. She's too close for his comfort. Somehow Draco thinks she'd be too close for comfort even if she was in the opposite wing of the castle.
He finally manages to get a hold of his wand, it slips into his palm and he's shouting, fumbling, the wand movements all wrong, "Reducto!" Somehow, as if sensing his desperation, the spell fires, right at her face.
But she is too fast. Of course she is. She's not a Ministry worker at all, she's a Death Eater. She throws up a wordless shield as her eyes spark with surprise and fury. "My, so bold. You'll just need to be put right back in your place, right, Mr. Malfoy?"
He barely has time to lift his wand, let alone put up a shield himself, when she says, her voice impossibly stable and vindictive, "Crucio,"
He has a split second in which he is sure his face contorts in horror, before blind agony bursts through his body. This time, he is aware that he is screaming. His raw throat another added element of pain as he thrashes around. Vaguely, he also feels himself banging his head against- against something hard. Most likely the edge of her work desk. The pain doesn't last, consumed by the rest of his body splitting torture.
When the curse is lifted from his body, Umbridge's face is inches from his own, and he jerks back in surprise, his eyes widening. He cannot feel his wand, his only weapon, where is his wand?
Umbridge rests her wand against Draco's cheek, and he lets out a strangled noise. The touch repels him, disgusts him, and he wants it off his face, along with the portion of skin she's touching. It feels wrong.
"What do you have to say for yourself now, Mr. Malfoy?" she digs in her wand harder, making him wince.
Her cruciatus wasn't as strong as Aunt Bella. It wasn't, he knows it. His limbs aren't shaking as violently as they had the last time, and he can think.
So he speaks, "Fuck you." Then he grimaces. Probably not the best choice of words, he thinks. His thoughts scattered and hysterical, should have said 'fuck off'.
Umbridge's face smoothes out, "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. You're forcing my hand now."
Forcing? He wants to laugh, and he probably does let out something resembling a twisted chuckle. She already tortured him. His head is throbbing. His options are laughably limited.
Running away, if at all possible by an astronomical streak of luck, could be considered an option if she, along with his godfather, nearly half of the people he knows for sure and their parents weren't Death Eaters.
Staying here, getting tortured by this wretched woman, until she decides to either wipe out his memory or do something else, well, Draco doesn't bother finishing either thought. They all lead to the same fate.
She gives him a smile, which is probably meant to look grim, but just comes across as gleeful and sadistic, and Draco braces himself. If muggles can take hours of this, he can take a few minutes.
"Diffindo!" Draco flinches in surprise, and Umbridge jerks her hand back with a hiss. There is a long, red gash running from her wrist up to her elbow. Then his eyes flit towards the doorway, from where the voice had come, and Draco gapes.
Potter.
He is panting slightly, and looking pale. His wand is trembling in his hand which is still pointed at Umbridge.
Stupid, stupid, Draco wants to shout, she'll just hurt them both. Kill them both. Potter is such a moron.
Umbridge straightens up, "Well, Mr. Potter. Seems like you don't listen to instructions well either. No surprise there." she's facing him, and Draco struggles to grapple around for his wand, finding it should be easier than this. It must have rolled under the desk.
Draco uses her distraction and ducks his head and just as he had thought, his wand lies, innocuously under the desk, slightly out of his reach.
Harry sends a stinging hex towards Umbridge, and Draco doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. A stinging hex, what the fuck is wrong with Potter? His fingers strain to grab the freaking wand.
She blocks the hex very easily, smiling, shaking her head. "Potter, you're just making it worse for yourself."
Potter, in spite of seeming that he very well realizes that fact, still lashes his wand at her "Confringo!"
She deflects it again, advancing on Potter and Draco's fingers close around his wand at last, he tries to stand, knowing that Potter would definitely need the help but his legs won't cooperate. He's not trembling as much as he could be, but Umbridge is sadistic and his head is pounding. He can cast without standing, no big deal. He would be pretty incompetent if he couldn't.
His vision swims a little, and he glances up. He doesn't have time to curse himself, as he sees Umbridge sending a jinx at Potter, Draco quickly shouts 'Protego!", sending a shield propelling in front of the other boy, stopping him from collapsing.
Draco grabs the edge of Umbridge's table, almost pulling off the horrid table cloth and everything on the table along with it, struggling to stand. By the time Umbridge turns to him, her hair is a wild mess as she sends a jet of red light at Draco and whirls to face Potter again. Taking on her is taking more effort than it should. Potter isn't half bad at defence and Draco knows how to duel and yet, she's just… winning.
Potter is too slow, for some reason. She sends another stunner at Potter and the boy barely dodges the curse before lunging himself to the right, crashing into her decorative cat shrine upon a table. Draco stifles a groan and grips his wand tighter.
This isn't good. Not good at all. He's beyond dead, a walking corpse really. Not once, not once had he fathomed that this creature was a death eater. She couldn't be, she works in the ministry, they're not that incompetent, to let a death eater woman work as the Minister's secretary. She's affiliated with the dark lord. That must be it. No marks.
Just like his mother.
A voice in his head whispers something about his father. He ignores it.
"The harder you fight me the worse your punishment will be!" Umbridge snarls at him, "Our Lord will not remain merciful forever, Draco!"
Potter's eyes widen in realization and Draco has the most hysterical urge to roll his eyes. He's just getting it now? God, Potter is slow. This is genius. This explains a lot actually. She wasn't assigned only to interfere with the ministry. She was assigned to torture Potter to silence, and probably get rid of Dumbledore.
"Sod off," he sneers back, reeling as he quickly dodges a stunning curse, and prepares to fling a curse in response before the fireplace in Umbridge's office flares green.
A man that Draco distinctively knows as one of the Rosier family steps out, Draco knows it in an instant because of the trademark honey colored hair and narrow cheekbones. Two features exclusively belonging to Rosier men. Draco remembers it well enough. He's seen the man around before.
The young man catches Draco's gaze, steadily holds it without an ounce of concern. He looks too young to be Rosier Senior, his father's former business partner. This must be the son.
"Where were you?!" Umbridge cries, finally standing over a stunned Potter, and Draco sighs. Rosier's eyes are still on him, before he throws an irritated glance at Umbridge. "You've wasted three full days, still unable to get the Dark Lord's work done, and then couldn't even come to aid me?"
"If you cannot handle two teenage boys, then what must be said about the cause you serve to our Lord?"
Umbridge huffs, and clenches her wand tighter. "One of them happened to be Potter," She glares down at Potter's unmoving body. Rosier raises an eyebrow.
"He's barely five feet," Rosier turns to Draco once more, who has been subtly hinting his wand towards the man. "Potter and Malfoy's whelp. Treachery runs in their blood it seems,"
"How would you know?" Draco sneers, and slowly pushes himself to his knees.
"You wouldn't be here if you weren't. Our Lord was too soft on you and your family." the man's lips draw back to reveal his pearly white teeth, somehow sharper than one would have expected. Draco returns the glare with a sneer of his own.
"You have no idea what you're babbling about,"
"Neither do you." he turns to Umbridge, "We're taking them."
The woman looks shocked. "What? Both of them?"
Rosier jerks his chin at Potter's body. "He's unconscious, basically laid out for us. We're taking them both. Our Lord would be most pleased with our conduct."
"He doesn't even know we're bringing Malfoy-"
"Traitors are to be punished with no deliberation." the man cuts in. "Dumbledore is as good as gone. We're taking the boy." he sneers at Draco over his shoulder, "And you,"
"Fuck you, Rosier,"
"Your father will be most displeased. That is, if he gets to live through the night. Bad blood… he seems plagued with it,"
Draco says nothing more, and instead narrows his eyes. He cannot take on them both. He needs a distraction. Anything to release Potter from the curse so he could help. He has no idea how Rosier is with a wand, but he knows that Umbridge isn't much competition.
Before he can even twitch his wand, Rosier whips his own wand, ripping Draco's wand out of his clenched hand and flying into the air. Draco hisses as Rosier smirks in triumph. Nonverbal magic. Fuck.
"If you're finished with your antics now," he inclines his head, and points his wand at Potter, levitating him as Umbridge heads to wrench Draco off the ground by his elbow.
"You won't get away with this," Draco spits at Umbridge and she backhands him, flinging his head to the side. In a wild, incomparable parody of what Auntie Bella did to him only a while ago.
"I won't have to," She smiles at him, sweetly. Disgustingly. "You'd be dead before you find out, wouldn't you?"
Draco doesn't doubt it. But he knows that his only satisfaction at this moment is humiliating the vulgar, repulsive figure before him. "You wouldn't know either. You're not even worthy enough to bear his mark." he smirks. "You're his bitch,"
Rosier seems nonplussed by the exchange, as he reaches for the floo powder and inches Potter closer to the fireplace. "Hand him over," he says to Umbridge and the woman squeaks indignantly. "What?!"
"You're running the bloody school," Rosier drags Draco to his side, his hand tight enough to grind Draco's bones. "You cannot just leave your post. Stand back and damage control. Until our Lord summons you,"
"You're just going to take the credit!"
"For stunning two underage boys?" he rolls his eyes. "As if. Scram before you anger me, Umbridge. I'll send Dolohov along later,"
"I told you," Draco cheeks, narrowing his eyes at Umbridge's flushed, enraged face. "You're nothing."
Rosier shoves him into the fireplace and before Draco can utter a word, he's stunned. All he hears before they floo away, is the young man shouting,
"The Malfoy Manor!"
Fuck.