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Chapter 5
Rule #4: Having friends is costly. Keep them only if you are unable to function without moral support.
Draco flopped face first down on his bed. It was the second Wednesday after school started and he had just spent and hour and a half in a room full of Death Eaters-to-be, and he just knew that his mind must have shriveled up within the first ten minutes. He wouldn't be surprised if he were as dumb as Potter now, having to sit through that. Basically the whole time had been spent crowing about how much better the purebloods were and how stupid the mudbloods were. As a neutral party it had been his job to listen to the debates, step in when confused, and counter the points if he spotted a weakness in their theories. Draco had spotted a weakness in their brains; they hadn't even started to discuss the marriage laws.
And speaking of the marriage laws, it's not like they were actually going to get passed. First of all, it went directly against Statute 8 of the Ministry of Magic's Charter. Secondly, if purebloods were forced to marry mudbloods, there would be Civil War. He really didn't see the point in even discussing them in their debate group, most likely the Against Pureblood Reign group thought they were stupid as well.
He rolled over and noticed an owl perched on his nightstand, its yellow eyes staring at him imperiously. He sighed, took the letter off of its leg, and read it.
Draco,
As
I understand it, there is a new class for you this year, one where
students have the opportunity to speak freely about such issues that
have been taboo until now. Imagine my surprise when I hear that you
have disregarded the opportunity to speak favorable about your lord,
and instead have signed your name to a group made up of pureblood's
who wallow in their cowardice and shrink away from the duty of
joining their lord. Our lord was most distressed when a comrade
brought this to his attention, and I was most ashamed at your
actions, actions which will bring swift consequences if you do not
satisfactorily explain your position. I expect your letter within the
night, and do not forget that you shall join us in the summer.
Your
Father,
Lucius
S. Malfoy
Draco sighed and closed his eyes. Yes, that would be Nott tattle-telling on him, and the swift consequences would be something like being kicked off the Quidditch team. His father had never given Draco physical punishments, not because Lucius didn't have the nerve to, but because Lucius did actually care for Draco. To be sure, it wasn't unconditional love, Lucius only had that for himself, money, and power, but somewhere, half way down on his father's list of priorities, he held affection for his only son.
Many people wouldn't believe that, but Draco had proof. His mind drifted back to the 'incident'. He had just turned thirteen, his father was away on business, and Narcissa was home, which was a surprise. It wasn't that his mother had deliberately meant to harm him, she was just dangerous in a neglectful, not-thinking-things-through way. She was having a party and having men over that week, and she wanted Draco out of the way. Normally, she would just lock him in his room or in a closet somewhere, this time…
Draco shook his head to clear it; those weren't the best memories. Basically Draco, through no fault of his own, had become addicted to one of his mother's illegal pleasure potions, which left him wasted and screaming for more. Lucius had brought him through rehab himself, holding him when the seizures racked his body and when Draco screamed and cursed at him, and even when Draco tried attacking him, as his body took control, needing more of the potion. It took two weeks for him to gain control back, and another month before he was fully recovered. And once he was, Draco saw his father hit his mother for the second and last time.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and felt a twinge in his temples which meant a migraine coming on, and no doubt this one would be worse than usual. The owl by his bed gave a sharp hoot, and he opened his eyes to glare at it, and then went to his desk to compose his reply, but he ended up glancing at the clock on his desk.
Blaise should have been back in the dorm by now. In fact, all of his dorm mates should have been back by now; he had only been a few minutes ahead of them as Warrington, a seventh year, had called Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott aside to discuss a strategy. Realization hit him like a speeding cart from Gringotts.
Muttering French curses under his breath, he grabbed his wand and cloak and ran out of the Slytherin dorms and up the stairs leading out of the dungeons. While on the move, he swung his blacker-than-black cloak behind him and fastened it around his neck. If he remembered correctly, which he had, the APR's (Against Pureblood Reign) were meeting in the Charm's room and if he was lucky, they wouldn't have let out yet, which would mean he could get to Blaise before the other Slytherins did. He wasn't in luck.
He could hear the door opening in the hall to the right and he immediately rounded the corner and pulled up short. He could see the three Slytherins lying in wait behind the pillars that lined the hall on each side and the class was spilling out of the lit room. That was the only light, and the students were laughing and joking as they entered the dark hall, never knowing of the danger that stalked the only Slytherin in their midst. He ducked behind his own pillar.
And Blaise literally was 'in their midst'. In fact, he was talking with the Golden Trio and they were all smiling widely. All of the students, except Blaise, continued down the hall, away from Draco and the other Slytherins.
"All right, see ya guys," Blaise called in farewell. He waved and watched them leave, then started making his way towards his own dormitory and towards his housemates, completely unaware of their presence. At least, unaware until they left their posts behind the pillars and began circling him, forcing him into the part of the hall that was lit with the light of the moon through an open window. Oh, they were stupid, Draco thought, watching as the attackers stepped into the large area of light as well. Not only were they easier to pick out this way, but if they had only kept Blaise in the light, he would not be able to see them in the shadows, making it that much more of a frightening experience.
Draco did not step in when the first punch was thrown, nor the second. He waited. He waited after the sixth and seventh punch, and waited after the third kick. When Blaise fell, that's when he stepped out, his footsteps echoing harshly along the hall. Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle froze.
"Well, well, well," he drawled in a cold voice. He came up to the moonlit patch, stopped short of it, and stared at the three. "Look who forgot to invite me to the party."
"We didn't forget," said another voice, coming from behind Nott. Three more figures stepped out, Warrington, Heckert, and Carangi, all seventh year Slytherins. "You weren't invited," Warrington continued.
Draco stepped closer, allowing the light to fall onto him. The blue light caused his hair to glimmer silver, his skin to shine, his eyes to seemingly glow and the rest of him was covered by his black cloak; he knew he cut an imposing figure.
"And why not?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.
"Maybe we don't agree with your way of handling it," said Warrington. "Maybe we think you're being too soft on him."
"You think now?" asked Draco. "Always a time for firsts, I suppose."
Carangi growled and Heckert clenched his fist. Warrington stepped forward so that Draco, who was a few inches shorter than him and a whole lot thinner, was staring at his chin.
"Listen here, Malfoy," he spat. "You have done nothing about the blood traitor, so we took matters into our own hands since you didn't dare do anything."
Blaise groaned on the ground and shifted slightly, staring up at the boys.
"Draco?" he whispered through swollen, bleeding lips.
"Ah," said Warrington. "I see how it is. You don't have the stomach to actually hurt a friend, now do you? Not even when he deserves it!"
"He doesn't deserve it," said Draco, his mind whirling. There was no way he could take on the six of them. He was a good duelist, a superb duelist in fact, and if they had been any other students, he would have taken them on. However these were Slytherin's most dangerous, and the curses they used would be dark and bordering on illegal. If Draco was even hit once, he would be disabled, and then his unwillingness to harm Blaise would be revealed and he would be seen as a traitor as well. He needed a way so he could get them disarmed willingly.
His active mind was spouting probabilities and hypothetical situations and it took only a split second for him to know what to do. He looked Warrington in the eye and said calmly, "I asked him to join the other group."
The Slytherins gaped at him.
"You what?" Warrington demanded. "You're a blood traitor too!"
Draco laughed, hollowly and cynically. "Me," he said. "A blood traitor?" He reached up and yanked on Warrington's robes bringing his face down to eye level with him. "Never insult me like that again, got it, Richard?" he asked. With a sharp twist and a yank, Warrington went smashing brutally into a wall, the wand in his hand dropping to the floor.
Draco knelt down beside Blaise and pulled him up, staggering with the weight of the other boy. He turned to leave but pretended to stumble again and the other boy's head connected with the pillar and with a muffled cry, the boy passed out. "Sorry, Blaise," Draco whispered, setting the boy down. "But you can't see this."
He whirled on the other boys. "I told you not to do anything. I told you to ignore him. I told you to mock him, to taunt him, to isolate him, nothing more! He is my spy on Potter, and you, all of you, are interfering with the Dark Lord's work." His face was set in an unforgiving scowl and his eyes blazed.
"We're, we're sorry, Malfoy," said Crabbe, stuttering in fear.
"Oh, you're sorry are you?" Draco demanded. He made a show of stopping himself from hexing him, and then turned his back on them, keeping an eye on the reflections in the window across the hall, seeing if they would take the opportunity to stab him in the back. They didn't, and Draco knew that his plan might actually work.
"You will have to be punished," said Draco. "I want you to leave your wands on the floor and enter the Charms room. I will lock it behind you and when you are let out the next morning you will tell Professor Flitwick that you were vandalizing the room because of the filthy mudbloods who were meeting there. He will take you to Snape who will give you a few detentions, and this matter will be forgotten. Do you understand?"
"We're not yours to punish," Warrington spat from where he lay on the ground. "You have no-,"
He whirled around the older boy. "Would you rather I told the Dark Lord the next time I am called for a report that my plans were ruined because my commands were not followed?" Draco asked coldly. "Because I assure you, he will not be pleased."
"He wouldn't care. We thought we were in the right!" Carangi exclaimed sounding panicked.
Draco laughed again, a chilling laugh as freezing as his steely eyes. "Do you really think the Dark Lord will care for your petty excuses? I am the Prince of Slytherin and my commands are to be obeyed. Do you know what the Dark Lord's punishment for disobedience is? Hmm, Carangi?"
"The-the Cruciatus," the boy whispered.
"That's right. Now if you like, I can give you a quick crucio now and have it done with, of course I'd have to silencio you, so no one could hear your screams."
"You wouldn't," said Warrington, though he didn't sound so sure of himself.
"I would," said Draco. "I've been able to perform that curse since I was twelve. I have no qualms. Now, I thought I was being generous by locking you in the room, but if you think not, I'll tell the Dark-,"
"No!" said Carangi. "We'll go. Come on Heckert, Crabbe, Goyle, let's go. Nott, you too."
"Leave your wands on the floor," Draco reminded them as they hurried into the classroom. Five wands were surrendered and Draco turned to Warrington, who glared but grudgingly got to his feet and stalked into the classroom, chucking his wand on the floor by the door.
Draco walked to the room, scooping up Warrington's wand as he surveyed the six Slytherins. "Stupefy," he said calmly at Warrington, who crumpled. By the time the others responded, Nott and Carangi were out as well. Heckert, Crabbe and Goyle had no chance at reaching him and soon they joined their classmates in unconsciousness. He then shot a few blasting hexes at the walls, making the chalkboards tumble down. He also shot a writing hex so that the word 'mudblood' was scrawled on the wall. Then Draco turned to the unconscious students, concentrated hard on the past half hour and then on nothing, and whispered "Obliviate."
Memory charms were extremely hard, especially on a group of people, and genius though he may be, Draco was exhausted at the end. He kicked in the wands the boys had dropped, still holding onto Warrington's, then shut and locked the door with a charm that couldn't be opened by 'alohamora'. Finally, he slid Warrington's wand under the door. Now, if his wand was tested, he would have no link to the 'obliviate' or the trashed room.
Draco pulled out his own wand, levitated Blaise, and cast a camouflage charm on the both of them. He brought Blaise back to the dorm, and once the door was shut, he took off the charm and placed Blaise on his bed.
His friend's face was quite a work, with a broken nose, a black eye, fat lips, and a scrape on the cheek. Draco pulled off Blaise's shirt, pleased to note that none of the ribs were broken, only bruised. Draco had read a book once on healing, three years ago. Although he didn't quite remember every word, he came close, and immediately began healing the boy, though he left the bruises on his face. Blaise woke up to the damp cloth on his forehead.
"Draco? That you?" he asked.
"Yes," said Draco.
"What happened?" Blaise asked.
"I beat you up," said Draco.
"What?" Blaise asked, trying to sit up, but Draco pushed him back down.
"That is all you need to know. Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle along with Warrington, Carangi, and Heckert trashed the Charm's room and you heard them so you locked them inside. You came back here, and I beat you up because you are a blood traitor. That is what you tell the other Slytherins; that is all you need to know. Got that?"
"But you didn't-,"
"I did," said Draco firmly. "If you don't believe me, I will obliviate you."
Blaise stared at him then nodded. Draco gave his face one more swipe and then cleaned up, drawing the curtains around Blaise's bed.
He then went to his desk and sat down, burying his face in his hands. He was exhausted, and the migraine that had started was now a blazing fire in his head. The owl his father had sent hooted loudly, and Draco remembered the letter. Fighting off the blurry vision and the throbbing behind his eyes, he pulled out a parchment and wrote his reply.
Father,
You
understand correctly, there is a debate class this year. No doubt the
student responsible for sending you such distressing news was not
blessed with a brain capable of understanding my reasons of joining
said mentioned group, which are, I assure, quite satisfactory. While
functioning under the guise as a member of the neutral party, I am
given access to the faction that opposes the Dark Lord, and have then
ample opportunity to support him by listening in on the other side's
strategies and their main points for debate. If you believe that this
information is not important, I shall immediately join the group that
supports the Dark Lord. Until then, know that I have not renounced
him.
Your
son,
Draco
L. Malfoy
After giving the owl the letter and letting it out the window, Draco collapsed on his own bed, feeling that he didn't have the energy to cast the usual lighting and silence spells around his bed. He was a slight insomniac, and so usually stayed up late studying or researching, and the charms allowed his roommates to sleep unaffected by whatever light and sound might be coming from his bed, but it also helped him as well. When Draco did sleep, which was somewhere around four hours a night, he was a notoriously light sleeper, and the charms allowed him to sleep through the occasional grunt or snore.
He managed to sit up and pull the curtains shut around his bed, and aimed a spell so that the light turned off, but even that left the room spinning and his vision doubling. Memory spells with another person's wand was never advisable, not to mention he was slightly rusting on healing charms as well.
Rule number four: Having friends is costly. Keep them only if you are unable to function without moral support.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but between the pounding of his head, and the thoughts that never ceased racing through his mind, sleep didn't come. He bit back a moan and increased the lighting around his bed, then slipped out to grab the book on the Cretin dialect Bill had given to him, and lay back on his covers, quill and journal in hand. He already knew the Cretin dialect, but there were other codes in the book as well. What was most interesting were the notes Bill had written in the margins, relating one language to the other, or writing out the translations in between the lines.
The notes kept referring back to the Syrian dialect, the most complex translated dialect yet, one that was only touched on briefly in the NEWT's course. It was the one his professor over the summer had given him without the key to see if he could translate. He had needed a little help on some parts, but he had done it. Bill's notes referred to the dialect, seemingly explaining to himself the similarities between the Syrian dialect and three others, and then showing how they fit together.
It was absolutely brilliant work, and Draco was impressed. Bill was obviously very knowledgeable in the field of Ancient Runes, although he made one error in his translations. He had used the singular form of a verb when it should have been the plural, a mistake easy to make, because verbs in English just had time related tenses and not plural and singular forms as well.
Without consciously thinking of it, he crossed out the wrong word, and wrote the correct form in. He then stared, realizing what he had done. He tried to erase the word, but a glance at the bottle of ink he was using showed it was indelible ink and wouldn't disappear, which just went to show that geniuses were capable of making stupid mistakes as well. He turned the page and continued reading, hoping Bill didn't use the book too often. He read until the early hours of the morning, the words growing blurrier and blurrier, until he slowly drifted off to sleep.
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Bill staggered back from the Death Eater meeting, sickened at what he saw and completely exhausted from the two hours spent cringing every time one of the masked men looked his way. He went through the secret passage in the back of the castle, whispering the password Dumbledore had given him, and entering the safety of the school. He left the invisibility cloak on until he reached his rooms and then changed his clothing into soft pants and shirt and a thick pair of socks. He then collapsed in an armchair with a tumbler full of firewhiskey.
Once his mind had stopped spinning and reeling from the show of absolute hatred and brutality, he got down to work. He could not send the message to the Order's operative by owl, but he would put it in code. When he finally drifted off he was still sitting in the chair.
The next morning he was met by a harassed Minerva McGonagall.
"Bill, I need your help. Did you here about what happened last night?"
"No," said Bill. "I was…"
She nodded in understanding. "Well, it seems that six Slytherins went into the Charm's classroom to wreck it because of the APR meeting in there."
"APR?" asked Bill, his mind working a little slow because of the rough night.
"Against Pureblood Reign group," said McGonagall. "But Blaise Zabini heard a noise, and when he went to investigate, he saw them wrecking the room and locked the door on them, however when he went down to the Slytherin dormitories, he was accosted by Mr. Malfoy because he had joined the Against side. I need you to see what you can get out of Malfoy and Zabini while I see to the other six. See if you can get Blaise or Malfoy to talk."
"Why do I need to get them to talk?" asked Bill.
"Because Mr. Zabini isn't telling anyone what happened last night," said McGonagall.
"I thought you said that Draco beat him up," said Bill. "How could you know if they aren't saying anything?"
"All the Slytherins are talking about it, and saying that Blaise told them that, but when teachers got involved, he clammed up. Normally Severus would handle this, but he's indisposed."
Bill nodded. The spy had been subjected to a few, rather nasty crucios and wouldn't be teaching classes today. The cover story was that he was ill.
"I'll go," said Bill. "Where are they?"
"In my room, but I have a class in an hour."
"They'll be out by then," said Bill, he had his own class to teach then too. He walked down to the Transfigurations classroom and heard a raised voice.
"I'm not going to tell them that, Drake!"
That was obviously the Zabini boy, and Bill pushed open the door to see Blaise standing in front of Draco, his fists clenched and face red from yelling. Well, red and also black and blue from the fight last night. Draco was sitting composedly in his chair, his face impassive and unreadable. Both boys turned to Bill when he entered.
"Yes?" asked Draco. "Do you need something?" He raised an eyebrow at Bill, his tone clearly informing Bill that he was interrupting something and should leave. It was same voice his parents used on Ron when he was interrupting their conversation about the Order.
"McGonagall asked me to talk to you," said Bill. "She tells me there was a fight?" He made it a question to see if they would deny it.
"Go talk then," said Draco, gesturing to the teacher's desk.
Bill studied the boy. He knew what Draco was doing; it was actually rather clever. If Bill did go up to the teacher's desk, like any other teacher would, he would be in a position of authority, but by following Draco's 'suggestion' he would cede that authority to Draco, who had ordered him there in the first place.
Bill, very deliberately, sat in the desk behind Draco, and Blaise straddled a chair to face him. Bill waited to see what Draco would do. Draco couldn't remain with his back to Bill but if he faced him, he would be responding to Bill's actions, showing that the Professor was indeed in control, not himself. Draco slowly turned around, and Bill was face to face with grey eyes that were carefully guarded, but the storm was apparent behind the ice.
"So," he said, breaking the tension. "Either of you boys want to talk?"
There was silence. Draco's eyes flickered once to the side, but he couldn't see the other boy so he brought his attention back to Bill. Bill could tell he wasn't going to talk, and neither was Blaise, at least not when Draco was in the room.
"Draco, you can go to class," said Bill calmly.
"What!"
"To class," said Bill, ignoring the tone of incredulity. The kid was obviously not used to being ordered about.
Draco glared at Bill, before standing abruptly and storming out of the room. Bill watched him leave, making sure the door was shut before turning back to Blaise.
"So, you were at the APR meeting last night," said Bill.
"Right," said Blaise.
"But when you were walking back you heard a noise."
"Yes," said Blaise. "I followed Nott and the rest back to the Charm's classroom, saw that they were wrecking the room, and shut the door and locked them in."
"So you heard them going into the room," said Bill.
"Yes," said Blaise.
"And you saw them messing up the room."
"Yes."
"And you locked them in."
"Yes."
"And Draco didn't beat you up."
"Yes," said Blaise. "I mean no, I mean, what was the question?"
Bill leaned back in his chair, thinking very hard. He had taken one look at Blaise's face, which was black and blue, and one look at Draco's face which was not marked at all, and decided there was no way Draco had done all that by himself. Of course, he could have used a charm to petrify Blaise, but Bill had gone out on a limb. For some reason, he just couldn't see Draco being that cruel, and his suspicions had proven correct.
"So, Draco didn't beat you up," said Bill again.
Blaise looked down, squirming uncomfortably.
"I won't tell anyone," said Bill. "Promise."
Blaise was silent for a moment, then looked at Bill. "It wasn't Draco," he said.
"I see," said Bill. "Why are you saying that it was him then?"
Blaise hesitated again. "Draco told me to," he admitted finally. "But I can't tell you anything else."
Bill knew he wasn't going to get anything else from the boy, so he nodded. "Alright, thank you Blaise. You can go to class now."
The boy practically ran out of the room, leaving Bill sitting at the desk deep in thought. Draco was indeed an enigma, saying that he was responsible for the attack when he wasn't. And why would Blaise go along with it? Draco must have done something for him, perhaps stopping the true attackers?
Bill sighed and pushed the thoughts from his mind; he had an operative to inform of the Death Eater meeting.
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Two more chapters before Bill finds out about Draco! Read and Review and Let me know what you think.
