A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
Malfoy Manor
Lucius Malfoy was edging closer and closer to a nervous breakdown. It had been over two weeks since the Potter boy was supposed to have received his "gift", and so far, nothing had happened. No rumors of Dark Magic spreading throughout the school, no missing students, and no trace of nefarious or otherwise illegal rituals. Not even so much as a dead house elf. Nothing noteworthy at all had happened, and it was killing him.
Lucius's first thought had been that he had misunderstood his opponent. Judging from Draco's descriptions of him, the Potter boy was apparently a very inquisitive type of person, who loved research and knowledge more than anything else. Therefore, it had only been logical for Lucius to assume that the boy would jump at an opportunity to read a tome as ancient as this one. The knowledge contained within "Daemonis Magicka" could certainly not be found anywhere else, and that alone should have been enough to entice Potter into reading the blasted thing, but apparently, that had not been the case. Either Potter had realized that something felt very, very off with that book and decided to leave it alone, or he had simply had enough common sense in him to understand that accepting packages sent to him by complete strangers was probably a very bad idea. Either alternative would be favorable for him, but bad for Lucius. He needed Potter to read that book, and, hopefully, attempt the rituals detailed on its pages.
I need to contact Draco again, he thought to himself as he hurried out of his bedroom, making sure to bring with him a fresh piece of parchment to write on. I need to have him monitor Harry at every possible opportunity, to see if the boy has changed, or been altered by the Dark.
Rushing to his study, he plopped down in his chair and started writing at breakneck speed, jotting down instructions for his son to follow. It only took him a couple of minutes to fill out the entirety of the parchment, and as he re-read it to make sure there were no errors in his spelling, he couldn't help but feel a surge of teenage-like excitement wash over him. If his plan actually worked, if the boy actually did what he so desperately hoped he would, then the Dark Lord would reward him with riches and power beyond his wildest dreams. Those who served Lord Voldemort and did his bidding always got something in return. And if Lucius managed to do something as big as kill his arch-nemesis for him, then he was sure he would be rewarded more handsomely than any other Death Eater before him.
But if he failed, however… if Potter somehow came out stronger from all of this… well, Lucius didn't even want to think about that possibility. He feared suicide would be his best option at that point.
No matter. Nobody stands against the Darkness forever, Harry Potter. Light always falters in the end. Hope always dies. You will fall eventually. You will fall.
Transfiguration Class
Meanwhile, in a completely different part of the country, Harry Potter was stuck in Transfiguration Class, sighing internally to himself as he rested his head against his desk. Professor McGonagall was currently busy teaching them how to Transfigure a block of wood into a miniature bookshelf, something that Harry had long since covered and learned about during his own private study lessons in the library. It hadn't been too hard for him to get the formula right, resulting in a successful Transfiguration on his third attempt.
To be blatantly honest, when it came to Transfiguration as a whole, the workings behind it were in fact rather simple. Of course, like many aspects of the wizarding world, it completely broke the laws of thermodynamics and seemingly spat on what most people would consider common sense, but it was still an inherently easy thing to learn about. Anyone could technically Transfigure something if they tried hard enough, which, to be fair, was odd in its own right. You would think that modifying the very core of a being or object's existence would be a complicated process, but Mother Nature seemed content with letting just about any random wizard do so if they felt like it. The statement "magic makes the impossible, possible" had never been a better fit.
At the end of the day, however, it didn't really matter to Harry. Sure, the idea of toying with the fabric of reality was intriguing, but despite this, Harry wasn't a very huge fan of Transfiguration. He just found it to be a rather… ordinary form of magic. It was too commonplace. Too widespread to be anything special. Which, in turn, only made the fact that he wasn't very good at it that much more annoying.
Literally everyone and their grandmothers can do Transfiguration, yet I always seem to mess it up, he thought to himself, a hint of frustration seeping into his mind. Sure, I'm better at it than most, but I'm definitely not as good as Hermione, or even Neville. And when even Neville's better than me…
His daydreaming was cut short by what sounded like a miniature explosion coming from his right. Turning his head to see what was causing the ruckus, he was not surprised to see Anthony Goldstein covered in what appeared to be soot, with a shocked expression on his face.
"Mr. Goldstein! If you would please be so kind as to tell us what in the seven hells just happened?!" Professor McGonagall hollered, her eyes hard as stone as they furiously regarded the thoroughly confused young man.
"I'm… I'm sorry, Professor, I… I just wanted to…" Anthony frantically stammered, desperately searching for the right words needed to form a coherent sentence.
"You just wanted to what, Mr. Goldstein? Transfigure the piece of wood into a working bomb, perhaps? Create a little distraction in the middle of my class?"
McGonagall looked about ready to devour the poor boy, and even Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine as he saw the fire in her eyes.
"No! Godric, no! Nothing like that, Professor! I just… I needed some…"
The rest of the class waited in dead silence as Anthony continued his struggle with the English language, before finally managing to find the right words.
"I wanted to see if I could Transfigure the piece of wood into… into steroids, Professor."
Harry's self-control nearly gave out as he heard the young boy's answer, his will the only thing stopping him from bursting out into laughter. He had expected the answer to be stupid, but this stupid? It was almost too good to be true.
"S… Steroids? What in the world would you use those for?" McGonagall muttered, a look of complete and utter shock coloring her features.
"You see, I've been… I've been hitting the gym lately, trying to work up some muscle… but it just isn't working, I'm not getting any bigger… so I thought… perhaps steroids would help me…"
Harry couldn't hold it any longer. He burst out into heartfelt laughter, shaking his head in disbelief at the surreal situation he found himself in. This man had just tried to use MAGIC to transfigure a block of wood into a performance-enhancing drug, just so he wouldn't have to pay for it. The entire thing was about as wise as unplugging your dying grandpa's life support to charge your Game Boy.
The rest of the class soon joined in, and before long, everyone was laughing, with even Professor McGonagall struggling to maintain her composure. Anthony, on the other hand, looked about ready to jump out of a window and die of shame, his face beet red with embarrassment.
"Okay… Okay…" Harry wheezed after finally regaining control of his laughter. "First off, Anthony… what do you think would've happened when the Transfiguration wore off?"
This gave the young boy some pause, and Harry could practically see the gears turning in his head.
"Well… I mean, by then, the steroids would've been broken down and taken up by my bloodstream… but…"
"Exactly, you don't know," Harry cut in, nodding his head as if to confirm his suspicions. "Heck, even I don't know! Imagine what would happen when all of those tiny, broken-down particles tried to assume their original form again. Needless to say, I don't think it would be too good for your circulatory system."
"Actually…" Hermione piped up, "What would most likely happen, is that…"
"Not the point, Hermione," Harry smiled, gesturing towards Anthony with a wave of his hand. "The end result is still the same, namely a very dead Anthony."
The room quieted down somewhat after that, and the lesson went on as normal, with Harry returning to his carefree daydreaming, albeit in a better mood than before. And so content was he, in fact, that he almost didn't notice when the class ended, and somehow managed to just barely miss seeing Malfoy and his two goons stalk off after Hermione.
Dungeon Corridor
Hermione had always hated the Hogwarts Dungeons. The underbelly of the massive stone castle was always so cold, so silent, so completely void of life that it made her feel depressed every time she came down here. The sound of her own footsteps reverberating throughout the empty corridors only added to that feeling of loneliness and isolation.
Why in Godric's name does the Potions classroom have to be in such a creepy place, she thought to herself, mumbling under her breath as she headed towards the next lesson of the day. After walking for a couple of minutes, she arrived at her destination, only to be met with a solid stone wall instead of a door.
Ahh, you have got to be kidding me…
To her great frustration, it would seem the very castle of Hogwarts itself had decided that today was a great day for practical jokes, and as such, had shifted around the locations of the rooms a bit. This was by far the thing she hated the most about the damn school, its apparent sense of humor. She already knew where the Potions classroom had most likely wandered off to, of course, but that was on the other end of the Dungeons, which meant another 3 minute walk.
But just as she was about to turn around and start backtracking, a sudden rush of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. And before she even had a chance to react, a male voice cut through the silence, making her yelp in surprise.
"Deprimo!"
As soon as the incantation had been invoked, Hermione felt what could only be described as an immense pressure weighing down on her body, forcing her to strain every fiber of muscle she had in an effort to remain standing. It didn't take long, though, before the pressure became too much for her legs to bear, and they gave out, making her fall to the floor in a painful, pathetic heap.
But, despite having given up the struggle, the weight didn't disappear. In fact, it only seemed to intensify, crushing her frail body against the cold stone tiles with tremendous force. The pain that accompanied it was overwhelming, all-consuming, and she barely had enough resistance left in her to let out one choked scream of agony before the last bits of oxygen disappeared from her lungs.
Prying her eyes upwards in one final, desperate attempt at calling for help, she managed to catch one last glimpse of golden-blonde hair before her consciousness faded away, and she blacked out.
Draco Malfoy stared in disgust at the pitiful Mudblood in front of him, a strong urge to spit on her welling up in his chest. Giving out after only 15 seconds of suffering under the Deprimo spell? Laughable. Downright embarrassing. He himself could easily withstand 30, maybe even 40 seconds before starting to panic. It had been one of the first things his Father had taught him. How to endure torture, how to fight back and not give in. Obviously, this Mudblood had not received the same training.
Gesturing for Crabbe and Goyle to grab her, he stood back and watched as they lifted up the unconscious body of Hermione Granger, a thin stream of blood dripping from her nostrils. Such a shame, really. Draco could think of several, better ways to spend his time than on a sub-human like this. But oh well. Potter had forced his hand with the insult in the library, so something had to be done in order to teach the arrogant prick not to mess with the Malfoy family. Hurting his closest and only friend should surely do the trick.
Watching her get pulled along by her hair, he followed as his bodyguards dragged the Mudblood into a nearby vacant classroom, and locked the door with a quick charm. Whilst they started clearing out some tables to form a circle, he found a semi-comfortable chair to sit in, and proceeded to watch the necessary preparation work unfold in front of him.
Now that he had a better chance to check her out, he could perhaps admit that the Mudblood wasn't all that ugly to look at, at least not appearance-wise. Her blood and family status certainly was, but despite her bushy hair and overall "nerdy" look, she did sport a certain appeal.
Maybe she'd make for a good servant, if trained properly, he thought to himself as Crabbe lifted up a chair and placed it in the middle of the now empty clearing. Although Father would certainly not approve, it's not like I'd be marrying the bitch. I'd just be using her, and putting her in her rightful place.
With the preparations finished, he cracked his knuckles as his bodyguards grabbed the unconscious girl, and started tying her with magically conjured rope to the chair. Only once they were sure she couldn't possibly break free, did they stop their ministrations.
"Alright boss, we're done," Goyle droned, gesturing towards the firmly tied-up girl in front of him.
"Well, okay? Don't just fucking stand there, wake her up!" he shot back, shaking his head at the stupidity of his minions. Draco had always known that his obedient vassals weren't exactly the brightest students at Hogwarts, but sometimes, their mental retardation surprised even him.
"O-Of course, boss! Aguamenti!"
A small jet of ice-cold water shot out of Goyle's outstretched wand as he channeled the spell, hitting the unconscious Mudblood straight in the face. Needless to say, it didn't take long before she started to wake from her slumber, opening her mouth to draw a deep, almost panicked breath. Draco watched on with a look of complete indifference as she gradually became more and more aware of her surroundings, her eyebrows shooting up in fear once she noticed him and his entourage, and how tightly tied up she was.
"Ahh, finally... the Mudblood graces us with her presence. What a pleasure."
"Pleasure's all mine," Hermione replied with a smile, the legitimacy of which was only betrayed by the ice in her voice.
"I bet it is. Now, do you have any idea what's about to happen to you?" Draco continued, unfazed by her fake bravery.
"Vaguely, yes. Three guys surrounding a lone, tied-up girl in an otherwise empty room? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were planning on raping me."
Despite her harsh, judgmental tone of voice, Draco could see that she was beginning to panic.
Good. I want to see you break.
"Not a bad guess, although you aren't quite right. We are not going to rape you, just hurt you more than anyone else ever has," he nodded, a small smile starting to creep its way onto his face. Oh, he was so going to enjoy this.
"Aww, how noble of you… But are you sure you don't want to fuck me? Make me scream your name, and beg for more? Make me plead: "oh Draco, I'm so wet for you…" she teased, a hint of desperation creeping into her words. To anyone else listening, the fact that she was practically begging them to rape her might sound completely bizarre, but Hermione knew that she had never been good with physical suffering. She knew that if they started torturing her for real, it would be ten times worse than rape. In her mind, the damage caused by being violated mostly affected the psychological part of her body, not the physical one. She could deal with that. She could deal with the shame and the self-loathing. But if they scarred her real body, if they caused her real, intense, physical pain? She would break. She knew she would break.
Sadly, Draco had also managed to figure out as much.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm afraid we're not going to be doing that today. Although, if you want to drop by for another round later on, we wouldn't say no," Draco replied with a grin, his eyes flickering with a combination of lust and greed. Despite his reassurances that he wasn't going to rape her, he couldn't stop the slight twitch in his groin at the thought of dominating her right then and there. But Father had taught him better than that. His pride simply wouldn't let him do it.
"Now, it's about time we got this party started…"
Stepping back, Draco gave room for Crabbe to do his thing, and sat back to watch with a gleeful expression on his face. Seeing someone he loathed getting punished was definitely amongst his top five favorite pastimes. His smile only widened when Crabbe's fist connected with Hermione's face, drawing blood and causing her to let out a muffled groan. Psychological torture was all well and good, but usually, you had to get physical if you wanted to get the best reactions from your victims.
As Crabbe continued landing blow after blow, Hermione's groans gradually grew in strength, before finally erupting into downright screaming. She was bleeding heavily now, thick streams gushing from her nose and mouth. It was nothing some quick healing charms couldn't fix, but that was the entire point of the beating. They had to patch her up afterwards, so she wouldn't have any visual evidence to use against them.
Giving her one last, more powerful jab to knock her out, Crabbe took a step back to admire his work. The floor was covered in blood-splatter, and Hermione's robes were completely drenched. A quick look was all Draco needed to understand that it wouldn't do for anyone to find her in such a state, so the evidence would have to be destroyed.
A couple of Episkeys and Tergeos later, and the girl was looking good as new. Her wounds had been closed, and all traces of blood had been removed. Her blood-stained robes had been incinerated, and the chairs rearranged back to their original position. Nobody would suspect a thing. Only Draco, his posse and Hermione would know the truth.
There was only one problem left to deal with now. Incinerating the young witches' robes had left her in nothing but her undergarments, and even Draco could see the obvious implications that hinted at. A half-naked girl surrounded by four of the school's most notorious boys? Yeah, that one would've certainly been hard to explain.
"What are we gonna do, boss?" Goyle asked, gesturing towards the still unconscious body of Hermione Granger.
"Shut up, I'm thinking…" Draco replied, stroking his chin in a speculative manner with one hand. "I suppose we could just leave her here…"
A moment of silence passed then, as Draco thought long and hard about how they were going to solve this.
"Ahh fuck it, we'll just leave it to Potter. Crabbe!"
"Yes, sir!" The slightly overweight boy immediately stood at attention, eager to do his masters' bidding.
"Go tell the Potter brat where he can find his friend. Oh, and be sure to give him my regards while you're at it."
"Yes, Draco!"
Watching his minion rush off to find Potter, a smile ghosted across Draco's lips. He had done something good today. He had sent a message. This would teach that imprudent little shit not to mess with the Malfoy family. He only wished he could remain as a fly on the wall to see his arch-nemesis' reaction once he found his friend unconscious on the ground.
Motherfucker.
Harry was pissed. Really, really pissed. He should have known something was up. Hermione hadn't shown up for class, and she never missed a single lecture. What's more, both Draco and his goons had been missing too, which should have been a surefire sign that his friend was in trouble. And surprise surprise, just after Potions class ended, Crabbe had appeared out of nowhere and approached him to say that Hermione had "been involved in an accident", and that he could find her in the furthermost corridor of the Hogwarts Dungeons.
If they hurt her… I swear to every deity there is, those fuckers will regret the day they were born…
Despite thinking this, though, the majority of Harry's anger was still directed mostly towards himself. He had been too absorbed in dodging Snape's bullshit to truly notice that something was wrong. If only he had been paying a little more attention to his surroundings…
Rushing down the hallways, he finally arrived at the place where Hermione was supposed to be. He quickly came to a grinding halt.
Time slowed down as his vision honed in on the unconscious, half-naked body of his friend laying on the cold stone floor, a metaphorical bomb going off in his mind.
A multitude of things happened at this point. Every glimmer of rationality he might have had left in his thought-process disappeared. The world around him seemed to fade out of existence, as his entire being locked its focus solely on the barely breathing figure in front of him. A kill-switch was flipped, a switch that terminated his connections with his feelings. And only a single thought remained in his head, shining brighter than a beacon of pure light in an otherwise empty void:
Draco Malfoy will die.
Draco. Malfoy. Will. Die.
He will die.
He shall die.
He will die.
He will die. Hewilldiehewilldiehewilldie…
The American novelist James A. Baldwin once said: "The most dangerous creation of any society is the man who has nothing left to lose". Applied to this particular situation, this exact statement would turn out to be a whole lot more accurate than most could've perhaps predicted. You see, by removing the "middle man" and going directly after Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy had made a grave mistake. He had neglected to consider just how close Harry already was to falling over the edge.
Years of accumulated physical and psychological trauma suddenly reached a tipping point. Something had to give. And in this case, the existence one would usually classify as Harry Potter was the thing that gave.
In an instant, Harry ceased to be. In his place, the Obscurus appeared.
A/N: So this chapter was noticeably shorter than my previous ones, about 50% shorter to be exact. This was due to a couple of reasons. First, I wanted to reassure people that no, I am in fact not dead, and yes, I will be publishing more chapters soon. Second, I didn't really know how to end it. I couldn't quite settle on whether or not I wanted to include the confrontation with the Obscurus in this chapter, or make it its own standalone thing. After much speculation and wondering, I finally figured out that I was taking too long, and decided to just go ahead and push this out. I hope you guys will find it enjoyable to read nonetheless.
And on a completely unrelated note, I have also decided to change the title of the story from "Daemonis Magicka" to "The Crimson Sorcerer", as I find this title better reflects later events than the current one.
So that's about it. I hope you guys can forgive me for my unannounced hiatus, and remain excited enough about the story to jump back in.
And as always, I will see you guys in the chapter.
-Twisted