Again, I own none of these characters. Sorry if the first chapter was a bit confusing... this one will get around to explaining everything better. Please take a moment to review if you enjoy the story... or if you just wanna hate as well.
CHAPTER 2: DOXY DOOKIE AND MUDBLOODS
After Snape and Umbridge had passed by without noticing him... did they notice him, for he was unsure whether Snape failed to sense at the very least the presence of something. He had escaped safely to Draco, held him in his arms; they had given one another the best possible reassurances that could be offered under the present circumstances. Harry still suspected his lover's cowardice; it was present in the way the boy trembled in his arms. Draco still feared abandonment; feared being left alone with no other default than the values he found himself regretting more with each passing day; values, nonetheless, that should he not keep to publicly, would earn his fathers disavowal, possibly once and for all. He did not sleep well, nor did Harry. Harry wondered desperately what Umbridge and Snape had been talking about in the corridor regarding the Hufflepuff she killed in the Great Hall and the potion Snape was ordered to produce. "Void his cell matrices of magic?" she had said. The prospect sounded terribly frightening, but for the life of him, Harry could not possibly figure out what, exactly, she was up to or how such a thing could be done. He awoke, slipped on his cloak, and returned to his room quite disturbed, dark circles under his eyes, to face what would undoubtedly a terrible day.
Draco woke up a bit later, Harry no longer there, and began to pace about his room. The living quarters were rather spacious and quite well proportioned. Even for the dungeon in which it resided, Dracos quarters lacked the usual coldness and austerity that one would associate with such a place. The antechamber was full of lavish French Second Empire style furniture upholstered in the usual Slytherin colors of silver and green, placed, as it was, atop an enormous and intricate oriental rug and set out before a blazing fireplace. The walls were lined with books on various subjects and all manner of objects, including some of the darker relics that Draco had obviously inherited from his father. Old habits do die hard. As he paced back and forth between this common area, although that wouldnt be quite a fair term, since this suite belonged to Draco alone, and his large bedroom, he was trying to devise a plan of action. In his room Draco did have quite a few wardrobes, as he had a penchant not just for fine robes but for all the latest Parisian fashions from the muggle world, as well as numerous Italian shoes.
'Muggles', he thought. He didnt quite know how he really felt about muggles, having so little experience with them while being raised by pureblood parents... pureblood parents. Draco thought of his mother, Narcissa. He knew how much she loved him. It pained him, and he felt trapped between his newfound passion for Harry and his love for her. He realized that despicable things were ahead, but he couldnt let go of her. He knew it would destroy her to be forced to abandon her dearly loved son by her imperious yet cowardly and servile husband Lucius. Draco never had a great fondness for his father, although what little respect he once held for the man had greatly faded over the past five years, and even more since he had secretly been carrying on with Harry. He knew what lie ahead; what he was going to have to do to preserve himself. Illness overcame him, and after vomiting, he removed the silvery blade he usually used in potions, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, and made several deep incisions into his thigh. The rush of warm blood felt strangely comforting, reconnecting him to this strange reality that had been spiraling out of control and feeling more and more virtual, like a more and more hopeless nightmare with each passing minute. He dabbed at the incisions with his fingers, pressing them to his lips to taste the warm, sticky fluid. I am alive, he thought, but I am terribly afraid. Already, he knew what he was going to have to do, and also lose, in the process. He knew the several forms of loneliness that lay ahead, and he feared them.
Pansy Parkinson dropped by later to inform him that the muggle-born registrations were already beginning to take place.
"Draco, dont you want to come and watch? Its absolutely excellent, seeing the pathetic faces of those filthy mudbloods. Your aunt Bellatrix is downstairs snapping wands personally, and shes been asking for you; she always has thought of you as her protege. She has demanded you stop moping about and join her at once. That filthy mudblood Granger is scheduled for later this afternoon. Dont you want to come with me to see it? I thought you hated that dirt-veined bitch: Gryffindor's golden girl. Ha!" shrieked Pansy. "I doubt shell feel so confident with her new wand and re-sorting into Huffleputz. Drakey arent you happy? You do realize, this means the golden trio is no more?"
Concealing his emotions had always been something Draco excelled in, unless those emotions were rage or spite. Aunt Bella had been teaching him occlumency recently as well. His face went cold, assumed its usual regal sneer. "Of course, Pansy. You know I cant wait to see her face. Ill meet you in an hour."
"Perfect, Drakey", she replied, skipping forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Oh, I also came to tell you that once they're done with the mudbloods, we're to resume classes immediately. I believe our first one is double Muggle Studies with the Gryffindors. I never really have enjoyed that class, I know you havent either, but I have a sneaking suspicion all that is about to change! I just met Professor Gamaliel, and it seems she has quite a different teaching approach than Burbage, and Im quite sure it will be far more useful to our kind."
Draco suddenly noticed he was bleeding again and had no desire to share that with Pansy. "Pans... I have to get a couple things done for Umbridge and I'm already behind. We shall meet later to watch Granger's humiliation. Now, if youll excuse me," he said, as he ushered her out of his chambers, which she did not take kindly to, before she could notice what he had done to himself.
After removing the bandages and tending to his wounds once he decided he felt better, Draco slipped into new clothes and was about to don his robes when he received a second knock at the door. "What is it now?," he shouted, irate at being disturbed once more. The wall slid open with a creak and in stepped Headmistress and High Inquisitor Umbridge.
"I will not be spoken to in such tones: 'Crucio!'" Umbridges curse was incredibly short lasting: the pain was brief but absolutely, intolerably excruciating, making her intent quite clear. "I do not want to hurt you, Malfoy. I have great respect for you and your family. In fact, I believe we may even share some common ancestors, as there is hardly a pureblood family with which I do not share some relation. I will not, however, tolerate being spoken to in such a way. Insubordination must be punished," she said sweetly, and with a wicked smile. Draco made note to himself that this toad must be kidding herself, for she certainly didn't fool him. Is she even actually a pureblood, he thought to himself.
"I have come here", Umbridge continued "to deliver some excellent news to you. I have appointed you head of the re-formed Inquisitorial Squad, and as such, I believe you would do well to exercise some self-restraint, as it will be your duty to set an example and take part in doling out punishment to the filthy mudbloods and their blood-traitor friends that I am quite sure will attempt to help them defy the new educational regime. I have arranged for you to have private lessons with me after your classes today, during which, I think, I will assess your proficiency with the cruciatus curse and during which we also will work on improving your skills with the curse in order to guarantee maximum efficiency in the punishments youll be administering. I've arranged for a couple mudbloods to be present for you to practice on." At this, Umbridge daintily pivoted and stepped back through the entrance, the wall sliding shut behind her. Draco sunk back down onto his sofa and took a moment to compose himself. He would not have time to lament what he knew now was soon to be the abrupt end of his relationship with Potter. He took a few moments to collect himself, stood up, and finished with his robes before setting out to face whatever lay ahead.
"Doxy dropping! Did you hear her? She wants to put doxy droppings in my wand!" Hermione shrieked. "I'm so angry I could spit."
"Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," hissed Umbridge in her most sickening tone of sweet after creeping up the hall from behind them. "A filthy Muggle you are, and filthy doxy droppings in your wand you shall have!" Harry glared at her with the most intense hatred he could muster, but she simply smiled, sweetly and threateningly, back at him. "Mr. Potter, is there anything you wish to say to me?" Harry couldn't take it.
"Yes Mam," he almost spat. "You're a filthy, filthy woman. Go ahead, punish me for it, you fucking toad. Youre not going to get away with this. The Order is going to find out what youre doing here, what Voldemort is doing, and when they do you're going to Azkaban."
Umbridge returned this comment with a slightly irritated smile, and her voice rose to an even higher pitch. "I am quite sure there will be no thing of the sorts. Azkaban is under the jurisdiction of the ministry. I assure you, the ministry is working on eliminating Dumbledores traitorous followers. I believe we have already rounded up a certain Dedalus Diggle and a Miss Hestia Jones. Not to worry, both have been given the Dementors kiss. They are the ones who now slumber without soul in Azkaban, not I. It would behoove you to behave yourself, lest you meet the same fate. Although you are not muggle-born, I need not remind you I have supreme authority here and am authorized to treat you with impunity. As for now, another 50 points from Gryffindor, and I think I shall arrange detention for Miss Granger instead of you, as I know that punishing your little mudblood friend in your place will teach you to keep your mouth shut far more effectively." At this, Umbridge grabbed Hermione by the hair and yanked her so hard her wand fell from her pocket. Umbridge immediately picked it up. "Well, well, this will simply not do. Especially for such a dangerous mudblood like you. Ive heard about your abilities. You are a dreadful little tart, that you most certainly are. I don't who you stole all that magic of yours from," she continued, examining Hermione's wand. "I know Bellatrix is doing the honors today, but in your case, I do not believe we can wait another minute." Unbridge promptly snapped Hermiones wand in half and proceeded with dragging her by the hair toward Muggle Studies Professor Dawn Gamaliel's office for re-sorting.
After being re-sorted, Hermione had been forced to remain behind in the Muggle Studies classroom to wait for class to begin. She had obviously sustained abuse from the cruel professor, and, no doubt, from Bellatrix, as she was in tears, clutching her new wand, which looked less like a wand than a dowel. Harry arrived at almost the same time as Pansy and Draco, and all took their seats, Harry glancing nervously at Draco, who was refusing to make eye contact: not a good sign. Professor Gamaliel arrived. She was a slightly wispy, relatively tall, and whimsical looking woman: Harry thought she rather reminded him of Professor Trelawney... well, maybe not that whimsical, however, one thing alone stood out above all others – the expression on her face, which could not be mistaken for anything other than cruelty and a desire for domination. The professor beckoned everyone to stand and began to speak in a somewhat singsong voice. After informing the class that she was a kind woman, she immediately contradicted herself as she informed the class that she preferred to call mudbloods 'doxies', no doubt in an attempt to further insult the children and make them feel even more insecure about their new wands as well as what was to become of their wizarding abilities under the new educational regime.
"Come here my little doxies, come show me your new wands made with genuine doxy droppings encased in pine. Nothing to fear, I assure you they are far more compatible with your kind than anything you've used before." She beckoned, almost obscenely, for the muggle-born students to approach her desk. The classroom was not overly large, not nearly the size of, say, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which now harbored both DADA classes as well as classes in using the Dark Arts themselves.
Hermione whispered to Harry "I cant believe this, and why is one side of this room filled with teachers desks and the other with those tiny little things." She gestured at what seemed to be elementary school sized desks on the other half of the room.
"Now, children, please take your seats. Doxies on my left, purebloods on my right by the windows please. You will notice I've replaced many of the normal student desks on the right side of the room with large, office-style desks much like my own. I assure you, this is done in the name of education. Pureblood wizards and witches had very little exposure to the muggle world before the arrival of you mudbloods, so they will need much space to work with all the charts and diagrams we will be studying in this class. I have left the old student desks in place on the left. Since you little doxies grew up in the muggle world, I almost feel as though I'm wasting my breath teaching you, since you essentially are muggles and grew up living out what I am going to be teaching you, and yes, I know there aren't enough desks. The rest of you, my dear little doxies, can either stand or go curl up in the corner and sleep. Sounds tempting, doesnt it? I know how lazy you doxies can get unless provoked," she says, opening her mouth and chattering her teeth obscenely, mimicking an angry doxy attempting to strike. She then picked up an unidentified spray bottle from her desk and shook it at one of the Hufflepuffs.
"Now, dear children, we are going to begin this year with a game. You are all probably wondering why I keep calling the mudbloods doxies, and the mudbloods must certainly be asking themselves what, exactly, is a doxy? Luckily, we were able to procure a perfect specimen that was confiscated last year from the Weasley twins. I quickly gave it the killing curse and placed it very much as I found it in a jar of formaldehyde, enchanted formaldehyde, of course, so that it appears as clear as crystal. I want all of you to pass it around and take a good look. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please come to the front." As the jar was passed around, the students felt patronized, seeing as they were not first years, they all knew what the revolting black furry biting fairy with multiple pairs of arms and legs was. As Granger approached the desk, Gamaliel raised her wand and instantly transfigured Hermione into a very living version of the creature in the jar and promptly shouted "Incarcifors!," imprisoning Hermionie in a small cage. Walking back to her desk, she picked up the spray bottle again and handed it to Draco. Now, Mr. Malfoy, I want you to spray her and see what happens.
Harry jumped to his feet and shouted "No Draco, dont do it!"
"Quiet, Potty, youre ruining my concentration."
Draco promptly sprayed the transfigured Hermione, twice, for good measure, earning applause from Professor Gamaliel. Hermione lay, immobilized, at the bottom of the cage. Harrys heart broke into pieces. So, it seemed, Draco had made his decision. Harry felt all hope leave his body, almost as if in the presence of a Dementor. He realized he had just lost his newly found love. At that moment, he felt all his old principles and morals leave him, possibly forever, to be replaced by the sheer forces of anger and hate. He stood up to raise his wand at the professor, but thought better of it for Hermiones safety. The professor vanished the cage and returned the now paralyzed Hermione to her human form and lifted her, carrying her to the corner and proceeded to drop her there, limp, on the floor.
"That was doxycide, it's poisonous, as you see, it works on mudbloods too," chimed the professor.
Draco cackled. Harry felt his heart split even further beyond repair at that moment. The class continued with similar pointless demonstrations and ad hominem attacks on muggles and muggle-borns, as well as a homework assignment on the evolution of muggles from mushrooms. Hermione did not regain consciousness until the end. She left class clutching Harry, never having felt more humiliated in her entire life.
Professor Snapes class was relatively tame in comparison. Something was wrong with him. He sat, at his desk, seemingly lost in thought. Everyone thought this was quite odd, and even more remarkable was the complete lack of any of his usual harsh criticism and maliciousness. The students, however, hadn't a clue what Snape had been doing the night before, on Umbridges orders.
Snape sat, continually trying to close his mind each time he thought back to the events of the previous evening. Severus had years of experience closing his mind, shutting down his emotions, willing himself not to feel. His life had been one disappointment after another. Some believe a part of us dies with every loss of another, with every unrequited love, with each traumatic event. Try as he might, he couldnt entirely stop the memory of the previous night from flashing before his eyes:
There he stood, in the dungeon, wondering how much of his soul was truly left as he flayed the flesh from the dead Hufflepuffs body, skinning the boy with the blade of a curved knife, peeling back the flesh from his arm, severing tendons and tearing through muscles, flaying it from his back with long strokes of the blade and wet peeling sounds, laying it out on the table, cutting it into neat little squares for testing shortly as the cauldron bubbled in the background. He vanished the massive pool of blood that had collected. Looking at the mangled body, staring down into the childs face, which he could not bring himself to strip of flesh, he began to dwell on the fact that the boy couldnt have been more than eleven years old. Could this boy have lived, loved, found a home here at Hogwarts? Where did he come from? This business ranked among the sickest of the sick things he had done in his quite tumultuous life. Snape felt soiled, reduced to a kind of deed of which only Voldemort would be capable.
'Close your mind he willed to himself.' He had killed in the name of Voldemort, spied, and in the end received as payment the death of the one thing that had ever given him joy in a life filled to the brim with misery, abuse, and dark deeds he now deeply regrets. That one thing, or rather, person, was Lily Evans. He could not, however, think of her now. If he was to remain faithful to the love that enabled him to live; to get up each morning... if he was going to protect the boy she gave her life to save that fateful night, he could not falter, not now. He willed himself not to feel sick, using occlumency to shut down his feelings almost to the point of nonexistence. He could not resist now. It would be too early. His life would be taken once they realized it would be impossible to constrain him using the Imperius curse, and then he would be unable to protect anyone; he would be killed. He was not, however, quite inclined to produce this potion expediently. He was not inclined to develop something Umbridge could cruelly use with what he was sure would be a liberal hand, in order to deprive masses of muggle-borns of their magic, reducing them to muggles. He would, he knew, eventually be forced to produce this potion, and he fought the conflicting impulses inside him: develop the potion quickly, or risk more deaths; risk being condemned to skin more innocent children in the name of Umbridge and Voldemorts sick project. He knew he could get it right on his first try, but he wasnt about to give it to Umbridge until he absolutely had to; not until he faced the prospect of another innocent student laying dead on his table, sacrificed to create this disgusting formula Umbridge had dubbed 'Muggler Potion'.