Hogwarts One Half
Chapter Eighteen
by Lionheart
I O I O I
Nodoka Malfoy went downstairs to meet Arthur, Molly, Bill and Charlie Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks and Arabella Figg as the participants and beneficiaries of this second attempt had just finished watching her go into the wardrobe and close the door.
Seeing as how they were all magical, having her come downstairs without explanation just after she had locked herself in a closet did not merit comment. A bit of puzzlement perhaps, but no great astonishment.
Nodoka then led the group upstairs to where her second magic circle was prepared, along with those weapons Cologne had prepared for her before disappearing out the window, told them this was her backup circle and she trusted it more as this one had not been found by their saboteur, then proceeded to enhance them all.
The actual ritual went off without a hitch. McGonagall served as filter to the rest, taking the risk on herself so they could be safe. But the ceremony went by unimpeded by problems or further mishap.
When the power ceremony was over, Nodoka excused her guests back to their rooms, all of them being too tired to chat as their magical resources were all in a jumble - just like hers had been a trifle less than a week ago when she'd done this. They'd recover quickly, and be far more powerful for this.
She'd save on supplying them with Voldemort's skills until she was absolutely, 100% certain that could be done without danger or disadvantage. So little time had passed since her group had done it that she really could not be sure it had been managed perfectly. All of the time she was learning things with a feeling like realizing where she had left her car keys, but the jury was not yet in over whether or not she'd gotten by unscathed in personality.
The evidence was compelling that she and her group were all fine, but Nodoka felt a little justified in being just a touch paranoid over that matter. The worst that had occurred to any of them sleeping with kneazels and unicorns was that some of their petting muscles were getting sore from stroking the over attentive, affection seeking animals. And Fawkes was now actively seeking them out at mealtimes to receive stroking and treats.
So Nodoka closed the door on the last of the now-tired participants, grabbed up her cloak, and went out another way, slipping out a secret exit to stride off Hogwarts grounds and apparate away to a big home in a small village that was the former residence of the late Hepsibah Smith. The night was still young, and though a trifle late for a social call, Nodoka still knocked and was answered by a House Elf who took her name and showed her into a side room to wait.
It was not long before the lady of the house, bearing a startling resemblance to Hepsibah, came down to see her, a look of concern visible on her face as she shook her guest's hand. "Professor, has something happened to my grandson?"
Shooting a quick glance into her memory, Nodoka recalled a Zacharias Smith was one of the younger students in Hufflepuff, and she blessed herself for taking Aphrodite's advice and followed along with her daughter and her friends using that 'Forget Me Not' charm and others of that sort along with all of Ranko's three Houses, so she knew them and they knew her, until everyone in them could recall each other as easily as the members of Hufflepuff did.
Of course, Hufflepuff had other advantages in the loyalty department. As Ranko and some others were discovering, they were a finely tuned machine when it came to identifying and eliminating social problems among their members, and they did it in such a nice way that no one seemed to mind as they rewrote parts of their behavior.
"Zacharias is fine. No troubles of any kind to report to you, Mrs. Smith." Nodoka smiled warmly, before a look of concern crossed her features. "No, I am afraid that I come on a different matter."
"Oh?" The Smith family matriarch raised both eyebrows. If not a family emergency then why the lateness of this call? And why in person? Those went unsaid, but expressly stated in her body language.
By way of answer, Nodoka unwrapped the cup she held in her hands, revealing the golden vessel to the startled eyes of the old woman.
"Perhaps you had best come in to sit down," the kindly old woman offered, directing her in to a sitting room, where they both settled themselves. Once they were seated, she asked, "Is that what I think it is?"
By way of answer, Ranko's mother simply handed over the artifact. The grandmother of Zacharias tapped it with a willow wand, and the small, golden vessel went from the size of an inconspicuous teacup to a full blown chalice, large enough that, were it filled, it would take two hands to lift. Its full size revealed a splendor absent from the smaller form, being made of hammered gold and chased with elaborate silver filigree. Twelve great, perfect gems, each a different color and the size of the last joint on a man's thumb, were set into platinum mounts to form a band around the brim, inlaid with fine runes. Overall, the craftsmanship was clearly the work of a goldsmith of extraordinary talent, and was obviously magical in that it radiated a very pleasant golden glow that seemed to warm the very heart when looked upon. The artistry was superb, whereas the smaller form had been plain.
"By your look of surprise I see that you did not know of this facet of its powers. I find myself reassured almost as much by your expression as by my test this is not a forgery. Helga put many enchantments into her cup. We know of quite a few of them, some from heritage, others we rediscovered in our search for it, useful for proving beyond a doubt its authenticity if it were ever returned to us. Tell me, where did you find it?" The large woman waved her House Elf closer and selected from a tray filled with herbs and beakers, a red vial. Pouring its contents into the chalice, the name of the potion came bubbling up to be written on the surface of the liquid, correctly identified along with a list of major ingredients.
Nodoka was clearly astonished, yet recovered herself quickly and with a breath was again composed. "I was buying a property yesterday, and this was discovered hidden in a place within the walls. I do not know precisely where, as I did not discover it, the Headmaster did. This evening was the first time he released it to me, and as soon as I had completed my duties I brought it here to you."
The round woman had poured out the potion back into its vial without a funnel, and magically did not spill a drop. Filling the chalice with another liquid she dipped or wafted through the smoke several herbs and roots, and tests proved them to be supercharged after the effect of the exposure. Absorbed now in her experiments, the descendant of Hufflepuff many times removed filled the cup with water and touched several combinations of softly glowing gems with her wand, instantly producing potions of a handful of varieties. For one of those tests an old House Elf was assisted by a much younger one to come forward, as the elderly elf had a badly crooked leg from an accident many years ago and could not walk unaided. A special combination of stones adjusted another dose of pure water into a glowing potion, which the lady of the house poured over the elf's crippled limb, instantly restoring the appendage to whole and hearty in a flash of golden light.
At last satisfied, the grandmother sat back comfortably in her wide, overstuffed chair, face suffused with gladness. "Excellent! This is, without a doubt, the correct cup. Only Hufflepuff could have faked her own vessel so well, so it is certainly hers. Excuse me for becoming so entranced in testing it; some of these powers had not been used in hundreds of years. My mother certainly never knew half of them. She'd just found it a pretty bauble, a jewel for her collection. Supposedly, Hufflepuff's cup has even greater wonders, but those can only be unlocked properly using a matching medallion that has been lost since right before the first crusade. Probably in the tomb of a thief somewhere in the deserts of Arabia, which brings me to this question: Do you know who stole it? As I'm sure you must be aware, the reward we offered was a million galleons for return of this cup, and a hundred thousand for the name of the thief. We'll get you the money this evening, if you like."
Nodoka shook her head, saying, "keep your money. I have no use for more. However, I do know the name of the person who stole it. He was shown this cup by Hepsibah mere days before her death, and his name is Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort."
Hepsibah's daughter dropped the prized artifact out of astonishment, her face slack and pale with fear. Picking it hastily back up, she turned and tried to make light of it with a false smile. "How did you..."
"Find out?" Ranko's mother shrugged apologetically. "The evidence was undeniable. Do you know what a horcrux is? Voldemort sealed a portion of his soul into that cup to gain immortality."
This time the daughter of Hepsibah actually flung the priceless artifact away from her in fear and made no move to pick it up from where it had rolled across the carpet under a table.
Minutes later, Nodoka was walking back to Hogwarts, a soft smile on her face and the cup unexpectedly back in her pocket. She'd offered to pay a million galleons for it, and the lady had at first refused to take a knut for it. Not even an explanation that Voldemort's essence was completely removed had dissuaded her, though it had convinced the woman to accept the million galleons in its stead. And Nodoka had a wonderfully crinkly certificate of complete ownership, and compiled notes for all of the cup's known powers. She'd already registered the former with Gringotts and the Department of Magical Antiquities, and intended to study the latter this evening (after making and hiding a few copies).
Looking up in the sky and recalling the hour, Nodoka corrected that to 'next morning.'
I O I O I
The darkest school of magic in Europe was located deep in the rugged mountains in south-western Bulgaria amidst deep gorges and high waterfalls. The narrow valley was protected so that it could not be seen from the air, and students had a special way of entering.
Unlike Hogwarts, where pupils took a magical train to a magical village and then walked or rode the rest of the way, pupils of Durmstrang started out by getting themselves to a high altitude magical village, flooing or flying or portkeying into an old Bulgarian magical town located in a cleft of those mountains. If those students came from muggle families, teachers or other staff went to fetch them. The Bulgarian Ministry of Magic loaned out several of their clerks and officers each year to act as escorts for that purpose.
Once at the village, they were let down a mine shaft in rickety old iron buckets, and there in those deep pits, put on board ghostly boats that would sail them through miles of twisted, flooded caves and passages. Those routes changed every year to prevent the students from memorizing them, and magic was used to alter distinctive features and open or close portals or cave mouths so old paths could not be followed even if you recalled them.
This caution was a good part of the reason Durmstrang had not been burned in Napoleon's wars or later muggle conflicts.
Draco found the whole thing terribly exciting, dark and mysterious; just the way he liked it. Also, he knew that he'd be learning the Dark Arts, and not just defense against them. That was far superior, in his eye, as he'd always intended to use them. Also, the school year was shorter! Classes started at Durmstrang one week later, and ended a week earlier as well.
About the only thing that could have made this better for Draco was if Crabbe and Goyle had been able to come along, but their fathers had mysteriously listened to Dumbledore's convincing and they would instead be going to Beauxbatons.
Boarding the ghost ship that would take him to his new school, young pureblood Draco Malfoy, garbed in the most expensive cut of cloth allowed for his new uniform, eagerly sought out people like him to form his new power base out of.
Unfortunately for him, Draco entered into this attempt with some false assumptions. There was a world of difference between having strong reputation and teacher support, plus bodyguards in the forms of Crabbe and Goyle, and NOT having that support. The same tactics that could have been used successfully in the one situation wouldn't work in the other.
Draco Malfoy was a pureblood and heir to one of the most powerful magical families in all of the British Isles. He was, by natural consequence, a spoiled whiner, bully, and accustomed to his father's influence and money protecting him by mere mention; and consequently the boy getting his own way in virtually all circumstances he'd been in so far.
Those were tools that momma's boy had come to rely on, perhaps dangerously.
A name will get you only so far, and only among those who know that name and revere it, or fear it. And Lucius Malfoy's power, while great in Britain, did not extend far outside of it. As wizards tend to be an insular lot, not concerned with others' problems, family reputation at home did not spread so far as to be useful to a young pureblood here.
As Draco entered the ghost ship, full of dark witches and wizards, he tried his usual power games, and ignorantly ran into the fact that Durmstrang was already well supplied with dark alliances and power structures of every kind. None of those tricks he was trying were new here. Also, he did not have the patronage of Snape making things easier on him, promoting and sheltering him while he built up his own following, or his father's hand on the leash of the local Minister of Magic.
No, other people held all of those advantages here. They had them and used them.
I O I O I
Draco was not smart.
It was one thing to make yourself a bully in a school that only had a few of them, and where the teachers turned a blind eye. It was easy in that case to become not only a bully but a ringleader of bullies. However, it's an entirely different matter to enter a school full of bullies. You've got to fight your way to the top if you want to get there, and that means taking crap as well as giving it, proving you're tougher than the other thugs and so able to lead them.
Draco was not good or elegant about taking anything he didn't like.
The worst thing you can say to a bully when he is picking on you is "wait til my daddy hears about this" and there was nothing Draco was more likely to say. He said it early and often.
That sort of behavior attracts abuse.
Worse, his whole attitude of privilege was the wrong tack to take in a school full of thugs. The young boy from a wealthy pureblooded family created enemies when and where he did not need them, often deliberately rubbed others the wrong way and, more importantly for this situation, relied upon help from others whose support he did not currently have.
It was a school that taught the Dark Arts, and consequently had some very not-nice people attending. Nothing Draco had was new to them in the advantage department. He wasn't the only one going there who had influential or powerful relatives, or political connections, or was ruthless about using them. The big difference was young Malfoy's resources were far away while those others' were closer to home.
Yes, Lucius virtually ruled Britain's magical government through bribes and favors. But the Bulgarian head honchos, pulling strings behind the scenes, were hard for him to affect.
They'd also done preparatory work Draco's father had not done, given next to no warning before the change of schools. So what favors and favorable arrangements could be had had all been locked onto previously by others. This could have been compensated for if the Malfoys had time to adjust in advance, if nothing else to teach young Draco how to alter his approach to be more appropriate to his new circumstances.
But they hadn't done that either. A week was not much time for something so major.
An unsupported attack is a good way to lose troops in a war. Sadly for Draco, he was the only sacrificial peon he had. No saves or do-overs, no adults under obligation to his parents to pull his bacon out of the fire every time he messed up.
So all it took was once. One big screw-up to mess up his schooling for a year.
The boy's proud ancestors would've screamed aloud at how quickly the young scion got himself into trouble. He knew how to find the centers of power, going right to the right group at the right place on those boats to find those pupils most advanced in power politics and suitably influential at their school. The trouble came from his expecting them to automatically greet him as their natural leader.
They didn't.
Draco compounded this error by tongue-lashing them as if they were incompetent inferiors for not having instantly recognized and bowed to his innate superiority. Obviously they were supposed to kowtow to make amends for this grievous error, so he could graciously forgive them, after suitably punishing them for the snub. Then he could assume his rightful post of command.
This was his second mistake.
His third and final error, causing a meltdown of his future and burning all possible hope of his success or happiness at Durmstrang was not to immediately backpedal and begin sucking up the moment they proved superior in the smackdown department, accepting a position as subordinate and follower so he could later work up in the ranks.
Instead he vowed revenge and that 'His father would be hearing about this and he'd make them suffer.'
Now it is one thing to be a fool, another to be a rich or powerful fool, and still another to be a whiny little crybaby always promising that his daddy would come get you if you upset him. That type of behavior might as well have been hanging a sign around poor Draco's neck saying "Hurt me, I'm a wimp."
Attracted by the smell of blood, sharks began to close in around the blond pureblood.
I O I O I
Things did not get off to a good start with Draco at Durmstrang.
Never before had young Draco Malfoy been without a power base to back his demands. Always before he'd had powerful resources at his beck and call, willing to get him anything he wanted. He'd been trained to expect that and rely on it. So even now, when it wasn't available, he still tried to act as though that was how things worked.
It wasn't turning out well for him.
If he'd had Crabbe and Goyle flanking him that would've been something. Even a little bit of authority could be played into a much more powerful hand. Draco was good at that. But the other boys had gone off to that French school because Dumbledore had succeeded in one of his schemes for once, and convinced their parents to send them off to Beauxbatons.
Draco'd always been the one with the big club, backed by the heavy guns, and riding high on the support and admiration of others. Frankly, Draco didn't know how to deal with life any other way. People were supposed to kowtow to him. His threats and demands ought to spark obedience, even fear, among his so-called peers because every one of them should naturally understand that he was highest among equals, the best of the purebloods who were themselves the best of the world.
Things hadn't gone that way for him.
All of the expectations he'd grown up with had gone sour on him. Draco was no stranger to powergames, but before it had always been someone in his family running them. No, he'd known there'd be hazing, even looked forward to it. But he'd assumed that it went without saying he'd be immune to it and get to inflict it on the other kids his age, alongside of the older students who'd naturally accept his exempt status and treat him as an equal.
No, he was not prepared to have a corn cob shoved up his butt and told to scratch around and squawk like a chicken for the amusement of the older boys.
Or else he'd get turned into a chicken.
Unfortunately, it went even worse for him because of his failure to make friends and allies on the boats to the school. Worse yet, he'd made enemies, powerful ones, of the worst kind to have - those who had favors owed by staff members, influential friends, and advantages they could call on from outsiders who had a bearing on how the school got run.
Exactly the sort of person Draco had expected to be himself.
Students at (particularly European) boarding schools have a rich tradition of being cruel to their younger classmates. In fact, there's an interesting bit of word history mixed up in there. The term 'faggot' was once a simple measurement, it indicated a unit of firewood once it had been split and cut into an appropriate shape and size for burning. It was no more offensive than 'bucket' or 'gallon'. However, in those old boarding schools students all did chores, and naturally the most junior got most of the worst jobs, including hauling firewood. Then, just as a man who worked a mill became known as a miller, or a man who worked a smithy became known as a smith, the contagious nature of words kicked in and the junior members of those boarding schools (all of which were boys, as back in those days girls were viewed as not worth educating) became known by the nickname 'faggots' because they carried firewood to all of the many fires burning throughout those large school buildings.
This could have been no more deranged or improper than calling a man who pulls an oar an oarsman if not for one thing. Schools were single gender in those days, and lacking any form of female companionship the older boys would routinely rape the young ones, as just one more part of the general hazing and abuse. So, to be a 'faggot', formerly a measurement of firewood, then an appellation tied to those who carried firewood, became instead those who were too weak to resist and so got it up the butt when older boys were getting lonely. Only later did it come to mean those who indulged in such activities by preference. A term those it applied to would later discard as being far too offensive and repulsive to utter in public - a reputation it did not acquire from having had anything to do with firewood.
And really, is it so hard to picture naughty little schoolboys using a term that meant wood in giggles about their perverted little games?
However, Draco was learning a whole new lesson about being too weak to resist.
In the eyes of the older years he'd earned a dose of punishment just by coming to school. It was a standard entry fee paid by nearly everyone, that they made sure to get back with interest when it was their turn as they returned as older students. In Draco's case he'd gotten elected for another whole dose just because he'd failed to make any friends yet. That made him the odd boy out and it was ritual to haze them much harder so the other boys wouldn't feel so bad about taking their share. After all, they hadn't had it as bad as HIM (whomever that 'him' happened to be during their year).
The odd boy out got to grouse and lick his own injuries, having had it worse than anyone. But since he was the odd boy out, who cared what he felt anyway?
This was also how they chose who got to start out the school year on the bottom of the pecking order. The odd one out, Draco in this case, started out with no friends and a worse dose of hazing than anyone, so he became the guy to pick on until he'd done something to escape that status. This often happened in one of two ways: acquiring a protector, or having some other kid do something dumb or unlucky enough to replace him at the bottom, where anyone could pick on him (including especially the one whom he'd replaced, who'd formerly been the one to receive all of the abuse and often had much to do to relieve his frustration).
Thus, those unhappy traditions got carried on for yet another year.
Draco's hazing this year was to be particularly bad, worse even than most 'lowest boy on the totem pole' hazings because he'd done worse than make no friends, he already had powerful enemies who numbered among the crueler sorts of upperclassmen in the school, as they were the types who had influence and so knew they could get away with anything.
And so they did, with Draco as their target.
The blond boy was not physically powerful, nor was he all that strong magically despite having trained a bit at home. At least, he wasn't anything by comparison to boys four and five years older than him with the commensurate extra growth and instruction. Nor did the Dark Arts offer him any advantage, as everyone around there knew them.
In short, he was too weak to resist whatever they wanted to do to him.
Naturally, he objected. Humility was not in his makeup. His nature was such that he couldn't just play along or put up with it to get it over with and minimize the painful experience, then get even another night. Or even slink away to avoid being noticed and hope to avoid the treatment entirely. No, he had to resist, be the first to stand up and refuse, and that got him more punishment as the older boys simply could not tolerate dissension, or else ANY first year could feel he had a right to avoid the hazings if he wanted to - and they'd all want to.
After having been careless enough to walk into the situation in the first place, objecting was no way out. So Draco earned yet more ill treatment from the older boys and an opportunity to lead off the festivities by personally volunteering, via his objections, to be the example and first target.
Lest anyone misunderstand, he stood up not out of bravery but out of ambition. You can't climb the social ladder at the same time as you are stuck on the bottom, and getting labeled as the year's first whipping boy was something you had to be paroled out of by someone else taking your place. It wasn't something you could outlive on your own. And despite whatever you did in your future, classmates could always recall you as the boy who clucked like a chicken with a corn cob sticking out of his derriere. That was not an image a future Dark Lord or high ranking lieutenant to a Dark Lord could afford.
Being seriously humiliated as a year's favorite victim was poison to your image. It burned your reputation from whatever height down to prey animal and victim - which was a large part of why ambitious older students did it to the new arrivals, to secure their own place as leaders of the pack, eliminating competition.
If Draco had any kind of power base he probably could've refused and made it stick. But he didn't, and he foolishly behaved as if he did with nothing to back it up.
The Japanese have an expression: "The nail that sticks up gets pounded down."
Even though he'd meant it in all seriousness, his power play was hollow. So when other students called his bluff there was nothing there to back it up but empty claims, so they had to treat Draco with extra harshness to punish his challenge of the older student's power. He objected, fought, and made loud noises, guaranteeing that he was more interesting to haze than the wiser first years who shut up and let him get all of the attention. The other new kids got off easy because so much torment had to be refocused on Draco. All of the while Draco was screaming that his father would make them all sorry they'd done this to him, removing all doubt that he was a spoiled little momma's boy and helpless to defend himself.
In short, he made himself the perfect victim.
Instead of being exempt, he got to play Weird Object Insertion games and told to swallow a live flobberworm whole. As part of the general history of cruelty passed down from one generation of male Durmstrang students to the next, Draco got dosed with a bit of Polyjuice armed with hair stolen from someone's sister and got to learn a new lesson about being on the receiving end of rape, with the girl's brother getting to fulfill a weird fantasy by going first.
Then the year's chosen victim had to kick things up a notch by calling a powerful ring leader a mudblood. That did not go over well with anyone. Others of the pureblood camp had to actively disown Draco lest they be pulled into a conflict they didn't want with the powerful muggleborn ringleader who also happened to be among the most ruthless thugs at school.
Draco really would've loved Hogwarts, a fabled promised land wherein he was the ONLY bully.
I O I O I
It was a timid first-year boy who approached Professor Malfoy in the hall. He'd taken her class a few times, and she knew his name, only the boy had seen in her a little more interest in being nice and befriending the students than any other teacher there, and that's why he approached her.
It was, sadly, a routine matter. A Slytherin in the upper ages had hazed him. Snape would have sneered, said something insulting, and taken points off of the victim. McGonagall would ultimately have done nothing because the Headmaster had insisted she stand aside from Snape's little depredations, and that snake shielded his whole House from her. But Nodoka had shown a penchant for standing up for students against that hated Professor, so that's why this boy crossed half the school to find her and ask for justice.
What he got exceeded his wildest expectations.
Nodoka had seen to the boy's injury, and gotten righteously angry. That curse had not been just a prank, but a spell illegal to use under any circumstances. To find such was being flung around in a school, of all places, was abominable!
But then, for ten years Professor Snape had been teaching his House to be horrible, evil bastards. Whatever the virtues or merits of ambition, Slytherin had earned an evil reputation with Severus at their head, because he'd done his level best to encourage evil behavior in all of them, turning a blind eye to their foul deeds and punishing those who questioned his cronies, while protecting all his snakes from the entirely correct and appropriate punishments of others that justice would normally demand in recompense for their foul crimes.
Snape's reign as Head of House had produced some nasty little bastards. Not all, by no means all, of Slytherin was like that; but those who were held all of the influence and power in the House under Snape's supporting authority. And being ambitious, most of that House followed those among them who had influence and power.
Curing the first year and sending him on his way, Nodoka called for some Auror support, then went to Minerva's office to ask the Deputy Headmistress permission. Then, flanked by a dozen (fully cured) veterans of Magical Law Enforcement, the Defense teacher had stormed into the Slytherin dorm just after curfew.
Raising her wand in the chamber, she sounded a loud BANG! off from the tip and told everyone there to assemble in their common room. Then she stood before the gathered Slytherin throng.
"This evening an illegal spell was used to cause a first year Hufflepuff's face to melt. It was dripping off the front of his skull by the time I stopped its progress. No other witch or wizard I know of could have cured him of the permanent disfigurement that spell had caused. Now, as the student was struck from behind he didn't know who did it, only that he was called a 'filthy mudblood' as it happened; so I want you to tell me: Who was it?"
The gathered throng stood quiet, a few feet shuffling among the younger years, and proud and arrogant looks among the older, as if to ask 'who was she to question Slytherins?'
They were long accustomed to Snape's handling of things, where he would (upon having learned of such an offense) quickly blame the victim, filling the other staff member's ears with made up tales of how he'd observed that student doing something dangerous, or being careless, possibly with a potion known to explode and melt things. But he would invariably claim that even after correction this pupil went on to do it wrong anyway, so it was all the poor boy's own fault. It would be a very carefully crafted story armed with specific, believable details and made to sound very convincing in spite of being patently false. And the victim's protests would sound fake and weak by comparison, the denials of a child who didn't want to get blamed for his own mistake and so was trying to pin the blame on any handy target. Snape would stay on hand long enough to make sure they'd sound like that, even if he had to voice his own interpretation of them for it to do so, making sure to cast doubt and spin on everything until it suited his story.
He was expert on this, having done it countless times and gotten better with practice over more than a decade.
Then, in the privacy of their dorm, he would give a sharp reminder to his House to be more careful about illegal spells that leave evidence, when it was possible to get caught. This would be followed by a short reminder of those illegal spells that left no traces.
The poor subject of this abuse would normally have had his face treated at St. Mungo's, where they'd transfigure him a new one that could be adequate looking, but never quite feel right, and would have to be regularly adjusted as that student grew older until he'd reached adult size. And, moreover, he'd have to listen to endless lectures and reminders about being more careful in the future, when nothing in this whole incident had been his fault - except to be so trusting as to turn his back on a Slytherin.
If Snape had been the first to hear of this, that's the response he would've taken. It was, by now, a very familiar pattern to him, and he was quite comfortable in its proper execution.
Instead, Nodoka was dealing with this situation, and she gave a fierce nod. "Very well then, I've summoned Ministry Aurors to look into the matter, as this goes beyond mere school rules into an outright criminal act." She stood aside and let the professionals take over the investigation.
The very first thing they did was to count roll call, to see how many Slytherin students were missing. To no one's surprise, several were. Those names got taken down as out of dorm after curfew, and recorded for further investigation.
The aurors then split into two teams. One fanned out into the Slytherin dorm and began to search all of the rooms, both for students and for any traces of Dark Arts materials or hidden caches of illegal substances. These were expert at their jobs, and they did a thorough scan of it, turning up a veritable mountain of things against the law or restricted at Hogwarts (since they were looking for anything hidden anyway), and a few students who'd hidden from the general roll call for whatever reasons got unearthed and taken out to join the rest.
The other group took the assembled Slytherins and confiscated their wands, then searched their bodies with Dark Arts Detectors of various kinds while other Aurors stepped aside to cast spells revealing the last few incantations each wand had been used to perform. Any Dark spells, and there were a lot of them for so small a group, got the wands tagged and their owners taken aside for questioning. Some outright illegal spells got revealed and the lucky owners of THOSE wands got put under arrest and manacled for taking off to Ministry holding cells for questioning and later trial.
It was when the Aurors had progressed halfway through the group, not tolerating any resistance, that the idea began to sink in to kids in general that these guys were serious!
As the investigations continued, Nodoka used her position as teacher to personally and privately examine each Slytherin's wand as the Aurors got done with them. As she did so she added two subtle, hard to detect or remove, but very powerful curses. The first would cause that wand to explode, taking the casting hand with it, if that wand was ever used to cast one of the Unforgivable Curses. And the second cast a powerful Rotting Curse upon the stump if the first spell was ever triggered.
If it ever came down to Aurors being granted permission to cast the Unforgivables again, and there were Slytherin graduates among that flock, she could remove the curses for them. Otherwise, Voldemort was going to get a nasty surprise when he returned to find his most willing recruits had to get new wands before they could do battle on his side - because his forces depended upon the advantages the Unforgivables gave them.
Plus, there was also the fact that he'd lose a few followers finding out they needed new wands. First they'd lose their wand hand, then the Rotting Curse could cost them their lives if not cured quickly enough, and none of her studies showed that moldy warts was hot on Healing skills, or that he had any talented ones among his followers. The mindset of helping others needed to become a Healer was the exact opposite of what Death Eaters had to have to join that side. And Rotting Curses cast on fresh wounds were not easy to cure.
Ministry Aurors, on the other hand, could and would use their access to St. Mungo's to cure theirs should any accidents appear among their numbers, while Nodoka could easily rebuild their hands. Although the lady made a note to remind herself to teach her daughter and her friends how to do that in her absence, just in case Nodoka herself became a casualty of war.
It had happened to better witches then her, she knew. So it was best to be prepared. You never knew, it could even save her own life.
I O I O I
Author's Notes:
Draco is another one of those characters that seem to get away with anything, all of the time. Then more than half of fanfiction tries to redeem him. How can you redeem someone who never stopped liking what he was doing, or had to pay the cost? Why would he even want to be redeemed?
