Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom 1996
Draco knew that Snape would emulate the bleak Potion's class in his new arena. The classroom was dimly lit with flickering candlelight, the windows shrouded in deep velvet drapes. How he managed to bring the dampness from the dungeons was beyond him, but it was there, and it set everyone on edge, or was it anticipation?
Either way, the dramatic entry, with the signature rippling cloak, had the students sitting up straighter, their murmurings and inane chatter instantly ceasing.
Draco looked at Professor Snape with unveiled disdain and thought, let the foolish wand waving commence, you sanctimonious bastard! He had never regretted taking this class more, but then, that was the pattern of his life now, wasn't it?
He slumped further down into his seat and started counting the feathered segments along his quill. Quiet malcontent. He supposed he could work with that, for the opening monologue of this farce at least.
Snape used his standard drawn out silence, and icy glare, as he drifted around like the Dementor he was. It was more than Draco thought was necessary, and Longbottom's anxiety was almost tangible before he finally addressed the class.
"Today we will be having a discussion about what criteria specifies magic as Light versus Dark, and whether the Unforgivable Curses should truly be deemed so - "
It was then that Potter felt the need to loudly scoff and rudely interrupt Snape. Draco couldn't even be bothered to roll his eyes, it was the same bullshit as usual.
He was over it.
"Ah yes, Mr Potter, resident expert on all matters evil. You obviously, have something you wish to say. However, as you are merely a student, mediocre at best, you will remain silent until I ask for discussion to commence," he lazily proclaimed, as if he was discussing the weather, " twenty points from Gryffindor."
The Gryffindor students simultaneously blustered, and Potter's scowl deepened, as if he thought that would have some lasting effect on the Professor.
It didn't.
It never did.
Draco moved on from the quill and started counting the stones in the walls.
"What you will come to realise," Snape continued," is that your childish notions of segmenting and labelling your world into specific boxes of discourse, is just that, childish. Magic, at its core, is fluid. What you perceive to be an intonation, producing that which is deemed light or dark, is driven not by the magic itself, but your intent."
"Let us discuss the rudimentary. A Wingardium Leviosa, for example, is deemed a simple charm, taught in your first year, and easily produced," Snape carelessly flicked his wand, illustrating his point with a water filled goblet.
"My intent, in this case, was to simply raise the goblet you see before you, into a state of suspension. Now, I have complete control over the object, it is at the mercy of my will and most importantly, my intent." Snape rose the goblet higher and the class watched in fascination as it drifted to a spider web strung between the apex of the visible wooden beam of the ceiling. The goblet drew closer and trapped the spider dangling precariously from the web. Snape held it steady for a few moments before lowering it once more, the room silent and staring at the now deceased spider floating along the surface of the water within.
"I could use this simple charm to lift a person into flame, I could use this simple charm to hover knives above your head while you slept," his gaze swept across the room making his words seem pointedly more sinister.
"And yet, this charm is deemed light. It is not Unforgivable, nor will you find it described in what some may deem dark literature. But, as I have just established, it could easily be used to maim, torture and kill. The same could be said for any other charm. A Diffindo could be used to decapitate or sever limbs, a correctly placed Lumos could blind a victim. A healing charm could even be used to encase poison inside an open wound." Draco looked at Crabbe next to him and saw him eagerly jotting down notes. Merlin, Snape was actually giving him ideas. He had to suppress a shudder.
Granger interrupted the resounding silence to raise her hand.
"But, what of the curses that are specifically designed to be used for nefarious purposes," she asked in a clinical matter, "In what way could something such as the Cruciatus be seen as light? It's impossible."
"Incorrect," Snape parried, to many gasps from the majority of the room, "The Cruciatus, has the potential to injure, and is more often than not, used for torture purposes. However, the curse itself can have healing applications, too," he lectured back, looking down at Granger's face and holding her rapt attention.
"It is the most effective way to return memories from those Obliviated as well as having the power to keep one alive when suffering a hyperthermic state by stimulating the nerve endings. Whilst there are other charms that could also achieve this, the Cruciatus is the most effective method. The same is true for temporary paralysis, and it can also be used to break free of a Petrificus Totalis." He swept past Granger and continued his roaming between the narrow valleys of the desks, giving the students a moment to think over his words.
"This is why you must question that which you perceive to be black and white. An Avada could be an act of mercy, an Imperius could be used to hinder, and again, save in certain contexts. What it all surmounts to is your intent, what method you use to protect from harm is justifiable, is it not?"
Draco was no longer ignoring Snape's words. It was so easy for him to stand there and say all this, but what use was it when your choices were limited to bad or worse? He had tried to close off his mind from over analysing his situation thus far, but now his thoughts were flooded with what ifs?
His hands became clammy and sweat beaded upon his brow, his pale complexion turning ashen as the rising panic built.
Granger turned to face him and noticed what no one else did. She mouthed, "Are you alright?" Concern evident on her features as her eyes took in his mounting panic, while the rest of the class started writing the discussion questions Snape called out.
He had a choice right now, at least, so he chose to ignore her.
~0~
Cornering Madam Rosmerta at The Three Broomsticks was simple enough. The storeroom he had found stank of mildew and that deeply woody aroma of old spilled wine. The cellar was situated underneath the bar with no windows or exit points, except for the main entry, making it the perfect access point for him to reach her. It was also fittingly perfect for his task, with the dungeon like vibes it possessed.
It had only been a few hours of waiting and now the glassy eyed woman stood before him at wand point.
He stared at her features and noted that friendliness she exuded was ingrained into her skin. Even under his Imperius, the laugh lines still remained around her eyes, each wrinkle a permanent reminder that this woman had laughed and been happy over time.
"Tell me to stop," he commanded, searching her blank eyes for something, anything, to hold him back.
"Stop," she blankly replied.
"No, say it again."
"Stop," she repeated, still no inflection of tone in her voice.
"No!" his voice grew louder, his frustration seeping out, "Say it like you mean it. Say stop! Do it!"
"Stop," she said quietly, but the effect on him didn't work, there was nothing in her eyes to make him believe.
He began to pace back and forth in a tight line, resorting to repeating the steps he had planned over and over again to calm down.
Give her the coin.
Give her the necklace.
Give her the poison to put in the mead.
A first resort and a backup, a method of communication. It would work. This was careful.
His hands would be clean.
He stopped pacing, took a deep breath, and released it slowly.
"Take this coin," he calmly stated, pulling it from his pocket, "You will contact me through this, and I will contact you with strict instructions that you will follow and obey. You will not indicate to anyone in anyway that you are under the Imperius, and you will not think about any task I have set you once it has been completed."
Madam Rosmerta raised her hand and took the charmed Galleon, placing it into the pocket of her apron.
He watched her closely and saw how fluid the movement was, no sign of any resistance whatsoever.
He reached back into his robes and pulled out the vial of poison next, his hand shaking as it did so.
Above the room a conversation drifted down the stairs, halting everything.
"Ron, what are you staring at?"
"Nothing!"
"I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more Firewhiskey."
He could hear the annoyance in Hermione's tone and her impatience, while Weasley was obviously trying to cop an eyeful of Rosmerta.
Who was still just blankly staring at Draco with those cold, lifeless eyes.
"Tell me to stop," he said again, the pleading evident now in every syllable.
"Stop," she replied.
He couldn't take it anymore.
"Aren't you scared? Aren't you afraid? I could do anything! I have you completely under my con...control," he had tried to sound threatening, but his breathing become erratic. The anxiety was almost crushing him and the cellar felt smaller and smaller with each passing moment.
He could wait, he needed to be calm to do this or the Imperius could be faulty. Yes, he could delay this, just for a few days. Granger and her cronies were too close, there were too many people in the bar. The snow was piling up outside, it could all be detrimental to his plans. Another day would be better, this could still work.
He moved his shaking arm, to place the poison back in his pocket, but paused and looked back at that damned blank face again.
"Tell me, are you afraid? Are you scared of me?" He slowly asked.
"No," she stated plainly.
"Why?" There was still nothing there, she was a living, breathing statue, nothing more.
"I am not scared of you, I pity you."
He looked into her eyes and stared and stared.
Ten minutes later he left The Three Broomsticks. His pockets empty.
~0~
Draco quietly watched as Madam Pomfrey changed the bandages crisscrossed along his torso, the linen seeping into the salve on his nearly healed wounds.
He had spent three days in the hospital wing and now he was finally being released.
With the corridors empty and most students still in the Great Hall for dinner, he followed the same path he had for months, on his way, once again, to the Room of Requirement.
He automatically went through the ritual of it all and pushed open the doors harbouring centuries of Hogwarts trash.
The room was cathedral-like and seemed endless, the towers of forgotten goods like pillars reaching from floor to ceiling. This room was for the broken and lost. A forgotten shrine to what once had use. He could relate to that, his surroundings always mocking him the further he walked through the mess. But today he wasn't going to wallow in self pity, today he was going to release some pent up rage.
He raised his wand and started blasting objects at random, watching calmly as wooden desks exploded and pages from books littered the air.
The momentum built and he aimed higher, causing tower after tower to crumble and fall all around him. He cleared a path through the wreckage and started again, an autonomous repetition that comforted as he destroyed. He doubted there would be enough in this room to satiate his need for violence; regardless, he had no intention of stopping. The feeling of accomplishment grew as he watched a cascading tower completely engulf and bury a shiny, crown-like treasure that had been resting on a small table. Something that perfect deserved to be buried under fractured wood and decay. He wished he could tear down the entire room on top of that treasure.
He ignored the twinge of dark magic he felt as he kept moving forward.
His face felt tight and rigid, the sweat building the more he destroyed. He didn't know how long he had been in there but it must have been hours, or it felt like that at least. Eventually he exhausted himself to the point where his wand was barely able to conjure a flicker of light.
So he threw that in frustration, too.
And then watched it roll and land at the feet of a person a short distance away.
He saw who it was and barked out a hoarse laugh. Of course it would be her.
"Well," he started, straightening out his robes, "care to join in on the fun?"
Hermione looked at him with that face that made him want to scream and shake her.
"I'm here because of this," she held up an old potions book, "this is the book that Harry found the spell that he used on you. It's Professor Snape's."
"Ah, hiding the evidence now are we? I love the fucking irony that it's Snape's, it explains a lot." He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"You know that I had nothing to do with this! I'm furious with Harry! He could have killed you!" She angrily shot back, stepping forward to be closer to him.
He knew it was petty being angry with her, he wasn't really, he was just so angry that it clouded his usual sense of rationality.
"I know you had nothing to do with it, I also know that you've spent the last three nights by my bedside in the hospital wing."
"Yes," she admitted without a shred of embarrassment at being caught.
"I did that once, too." He told her, watching as she stopped, just a short distance between them.
"When?" she asked, before carelessly throwing Snape's book into a pile of shredded parchment.
"When you were petrified. I came to see you."
She nodded and quirked a small smile. "I'd always thought that you might have, it's something that you would do." She paused for a moment and he knew she was going to fish for answers.
"What's going on, Draco?" She turned serious in an instant, and he saw she was looking at his sallow skin and the darkened marks under his eyes.
"Just games, Granger. The usual." he answered, evasively waving his hand as if it was nothing.
He knew that she knew better than that. He also knew that she wouldn't push him on the matter.
"You're not stupid, Draco, far from it. I can help you," she reached for his hand and squeezed it softly in reassurance. In reality, it caused him to feel nothing but frustration that she would believe herself to be capable of helping him.
"How can you be so smart, yet so naive? There are no choices here, no matter what side you're on. Either way, we're all being used and most of us won't survive what's coming," he blankly stated, his cynicism of life practically leaching from his every pore.
She removed her hand from his and stepped closer, raising her arms and pulling him close, holding him to her with her cheek pressed up against his.
He didn't even think about rejecting her, holding her back and accepting the moment for what it was.
Her soft hand started to stroke the back of his neck, her fingertips grazing across his hairline before she whispered in his ear.
"I'd rather die on my feet, than live on my knees."
He grasped her waist tighter. "That's a pretty quote," he whispered back, " but it doesn't give much incentive for those of us born on our knees, now does it?"
"Ok, Draco, we'll keep playing the game," he read the sadness in her gaze and didn't miss the longing either. It was what it was.
She turned and walked away.
~0~
A/N
The dialogue in italics between Hermione and Ron is taken straight from HBP.
Only one more chapter to go!