A/N: Thanks so much for all the faves and alerts guys, and double thanks to those that reviewed! The reception to the prologue was much bigger than I'd hoped, so I hope I can live up to your expectations.
Warning: This is YAOI. This means boy/boy action. If you don't like, don't read. So if I get flames, I'll ignore them, seeing as that if you didn't like it, you wouldn't read it, and if you didn't read it, you wouldn't flame. So a flame means you read despite my warning, so you're an idiot for not taking me seriously.
Setting: Hogwarts, 6th year.
"Talking"
'Thinking'
-Time change, character change-
Observations/Internal Monologues
0o0oDream sequence0o0o
Textbook entry
Chapter One:
Maith an Fear's Pian: Good Man's Pain
I am still alone. Ever since the banishing of Morrigan I have been left here with no outside contact. I was once a good man, I fought against the Dark Sorceress alongside the rest of my clan. I was the only survivor of that horrific battle. They repaid me by isolating me here. This potion is for them. Maith an Fear's Pian was created to cause one serious physical injury for each truly good deed a person has done, whether others know of it or not. I have not tested it, as there are no subjects, but I have worked on the theory for the last thirty years. It's unique blend of rare ingredients combine mind magic and dark magic with nature magic.
First the potion scans the mind for chemical traces left behind by memories of past good deeds and emotions, such as the will and desire to protect. Each of these strong emotions and actions leaves behind a unique magical signature that slightly changes the energy emitted by the chemical traces left behind in the brain long after the event is over and the magical signature faded away. Most do not even know the signature exists, but I had studied that with Morrigan herself before she was driven insane and became dark.
After the potion has detected and counted the amount of these tiny chemical changes, the body is forced to relax. Then the potions seeks to flow through the body of the victim, ripping open skin in deep gashes, breaking bones into splintered fragments, and tearing muscle into shredded ribbons. The strength of the damage caused and thus the amount of pain is based on the strength of emotion felt, whether the good deed was actually performed or not. All the while the nature magic is acting to keep the body calm, completely unaware of the foreign substance that reeks havoc on the internal workings, thus preventing the release of white blood cells and the body's overall ability to heal itself.
The best part of this is that because the body does not recognize that it is injured, healing potions and spells are almost guaranteed to fail, as they rely on multiplying and strengthening pre-existing chemical defenses within the body. Without the base defenses, there will be no natural healing to amplify or speed up, the victim will instead slowly bleed out, or perhaps die of infection.
If ever I get the opportunity to use this on the miserable wizards that trapped me on this wretched island, I will do so without remorse.
Excerpt from "A Scientific Journal of Magical Possibilities"
By Gerard O'Rourke
September 1st, 6th year
(Draco's POV)
Another school year. I almost expected them to kick me out. But I suppose Dumbledore wouldn't allow that. He always has kept us Slytherins close, watching us, using us as scapegoats whenever anything goes wrong. I admit that often enough it was our fault, though not as often as everyone claims.
But things are so much different now. Father's in Azkaban. Mother's glad. I don't know what to think. When Father was home Mother was always quiet. She enjoyed her parties and played hostess to the Dark Lord and other Death Eater families without a complaint. She agreed with Father whenever he said it was an honor to have the Dark Lord in our home.
Now she's ordering me to stay at school for the Christmas Hols, telling me that she doesn't want me to become marked and enslaved as my father was. She says that she will always hate dirty little mudbloods, but that she also knows she has no more right to end their lives than the lives of purebloods. Murder is still murder, she says.
She claims the Dark Lord is mad. The only reason I listen is because I have met him once, at a dinner party last Christmas. Before he allowed Father to be captured at the Department of Mysteries and imprisoned. Before I was told that Father had failed him and therefore would not be rescued. And even then, when Father was still around to praise him, he did not seem…sane.
Only now has mother allowed me to know the true extent of the deeds that the Death Eaters commit. She gave me Father's journal. I read it. The things he did… there was no glory or honor in it. It makes me sick just thinking of it. It changed him, twisted him beyond recognition. Only now can I tell how badly his mind warped over time.
I already had my suspicions about my father's sanity, but I assumed that he was merely under stress about Potter's continued existence and the Dark Lord's reaction to it. I often hoped that Potter would just die already so that my father could have some peace and spend time with me walking through the gardens and teaching me things other than Dark Arts like he used to do.
I did not realize how much Father had changed, as the only times I saw him in the last two years were for lessons in the Dark Arts over Hols and briefly at dinner over the summer, between Death Eater meetings. Sadder still is that I never knew my father as he truly was. I was too young when he was still himself to have any memories of the man the first few years of his journal portray.
Mother told me that before Father was arrested, he told her something very important, and that when he told it to her, she saw a glimmer of the man she loved within his eyes. Sounds sappy to me, but Mother wouldn't lie about such things. She told me that Father overheard a glass ball, a prophecy, break. In the prophecy it was stated that Potter alone can defeat the Dark Lord, and that 'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'. It sure explains a lot, I suppose. I'm sure glad it's Potter and not me that the Dark Lord is after, though if I follow Mother's orders, he'll be after me as well.
She says that she has much more to tell me, but that it must wait until Potter has killed the Dark Lord. She cannot tell me everything now because she doesn't trust Dumbledore and the "light side" any more than she trusts the Dark Lord, and wouldn't want the headmaster butting into Malfoy business.
I don't know what to think anymore. All I know for certain is that I refuse to be marked. I am a Malfoy; I bow to no one, for I am above such behavior. I will not become my father, even if it means the Dark Lord will destroy my home and hunt me down when I don't show up for initiation this Christmas. It is with this resolve that I head downstairs for what may be the last time.
(Harry's POV)
"No!"
I bolt upright in the dark room, drenched in sweat and trying not to hyperventilate. I am glad that Bill agreed to cast the silencing charms for me when I was brought here from the Dursleys last month. At the thought of the elder Weasley the color red flashes across my vision, and I promptly roll over and vomit onto the carpet. Once my muscles stop shaking and my stomach is empty I stumble to the bathroom connected to my room to rinse out my mouth and brush my teeth.
As the images from my vision flash through my mind I am sick gain, filling the toilet bowl with mostly clear liquid. I decide that a scalding hot shower is in order, for I feel dirty just thinking about the torture I saw Snape experience. The man may be a right bastard, but even he didn't deserve the Maith An Fear's Pian potion. But I won't think of that. I won't. I hum for a minute as I scrub at my skin, using the sound of my voice and the running water to drown out the thoughts and images that keep trying to overwhelm me. It works.
What day is it? Time means little to me now and I lose track of it so easily. I dress slowly, pulling on some old cloths I found in the dresser of my self-claimed bedroom. I am glad that Bill and Charlie have taken an interest in me, as they are the ones who shrunk the cloths to my size. The Black jeans and form-fitting black t-shirt with emerald trim are rather comfortable, and I cannot help but to feel comforted by the fact that they used to belong to a relative of Sirius, despite the morbidity of wearing the cloths of a dead man.
A fresh wave of pain washes over me as I think of the godfather I will never have. It's as if Fate decided upon my birth that I was not meant to experience the love, safety, protection, and advice of a parental figure for more than a year. I was meant to raise myself and develop my own morals and values, rather than learning them from world-wise adults.
I head downstairs for a cup of tea when I'm stopped by the silent forms of Bill and Charlie Weasley. They look pale, but determined, and though we've grown close over the summer, I am weary.
"Bill. Charlie. Anything I can do for you this morning?"
"Harry." They nod. I wait a minute, staring, and Bill fidgets before finally speaking up.
"Listen, Harry, are you okay?"
"What do you mean?" I ask defensively. It was a loaded question, after all, and I could never answer it truthfully, not even to them.
"What Bill means to say is that he set the silencing bubble over your room, and, in the best interest of your health, also placed an alarm spell to alert us if you were in an undue amount of pain."
Charlie looks stern, firm in his belief that they've done the right thing. While I am angry, furious actually, I cannot act on it. They may have seriously violated my privacy, something I have little enough of these days, but these two are the only ones who've been here and even bothered to try and help me through the emptiness that has been with me since Sirius's death. I grit my teeth.
"I'm fine. I had a vision, but it was nothing worth reporting."
"You sure?" Bill asks with obvious concern.
"I'm sure. Snape may need Madam Pomfrey though."
"We'll let her know to expect him. And Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to put your school robes on. Today's the day and we know how you don't like to be around when everyone else is." Charlie states mildly.
"Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are coming back today too. It may not be a good idea for everyone to see you in Regulus's old cloths, wearing the Black crest might send the wrong message to the adults you've been avoiding."
I simply nod, and as they head back to their room I continue downstairs for my morning tea. It is dark outside and I can sense no one out of their rooms. No one has explained to me how I can sense the location of others here, and I have not asked. None the less, I am grateful. Being able to sense the whereabouts of others has done a great deal to aid me in avoiding them.
The sense of others' presence is a constant sensation in the back of my mind, and I have grown used to it. Now I have only to think of a person to know where they are, if they are present in Grimmauld Place. It's sort of like a marauder's map in my head, only without the map part. I can feel the others in the back of my mind, but that's just it. They're in the back of my mind. I can sit here and think my thoughts without having my attention constantly dragged to their locations. I am aware of them, but not focused on them. It's like with the map, the locations are always there, but the ink is only visible if you want it to be.
As I drink my steaming tea I try to use these locations to distract myself, but ever since I taught myself how to put them in the back of my mind, it seems they cannot distract me. I would be grateful for that, if I weren't trying so hard to forget the torture to which I bore witness. Snape was not compromised, but he was under suspicion due to his absence from Voldemort's latest raids, under the excuse that Dumbledore had him preparing the castle for the start of term. Old Tom was also suspicious because Snape's potions didn't seem to be as effective as they once were. Frankly I'm surprised Tom could tell, but Ra what a horrible punishment.
He made Snape brew the Maith an Fear's Pian potion without telling him what he was brewing, or for what the potion would be used. Snape had no choice but to brew it or die, and he couldn't figure it out because it's only a theoretical potion anyways. It was created by an old Irish wizard that went dark after being trapped on an island for years. The one and only copy of the man's journal is in Voldemort's possession, and it hasn't been seen by anyone else is over 500 years. The only reason I know of it is because Tom and I were linked as Snape brewed it and I had access to old scaly-arse's thoughts.
Of course, Snape figured out what the potion was likely to do as he progressed in the brewing stages, seeing as he knows which ingredients have what properties and how they react to one another in differing amounts. He is a potions master, after all.
I never would have guessed that the bastard had done so many good deeds in his life. Tom was smug when there could be no argument about Snape's potion skills, but he seemed as surprised as I was at the amount and extent of Snape's injuries. I wonder if Snape ever figured out exactly what it was that triggered the potion to cause the injuries…and with his obvious amount of good deeds I wonder if Tom still trusts him… perhaps I should warn Dumbledore…
I finish my tea with a frown and wash the glass in muggle fashion before heading back upstairs. I can sense that Bill and Charlie are awake, but still in their temporary shared room. Neither of them will tell me their plans for the year, and I have no idea if I will see the two of them again. Which reminds me of another problem; no one took me to get my school supplies this year. I sigh as I close my door behind me.
I suppose I've been avoiding everyone so much that they've forgotten, but I thought that at least Mrs. Weasley or Remus would've remembered. I guess Remus must be grieving over Sirius as much as I am; after all, they did tell me that they were mated, and explained to me that wizards as well as werewolves view that as even more binding than marriage.
Still… how am I supposed to start a new year with no books, bags, cloths, robes, potions ingredients, or anything else for that matter? At least I've got a couple of quills and plenty of parchment leftover from last year. I suppose I could always wear Regulus's old cloths despite the Black family crest. The robes, however, are Slytherin, and I doubt wearing them would go over well… I think I can use my old ones from last year, it's not like I've grown that much since then. That decided I set to packing the few things I've gathered since coming here.
A/N: Well, it's a short chapter I know, but mostly because I have more written and typing it all up during finals is not the best idea. So here's a chappie to tide you over until finals are done! Please read and review, lemme know any thoughts ideas or questions you have, as I adore each and every review I get!