Having a brutally full semester isn’t very much fun, but the bright side? Massive amounts of schoolwork always inspire me.
I’m asking for some brutal honesty about the first scene. I have distinct feeling it’s a little cheesy and may seem OOC, so if you could either confirm those fears or lavish consoling denials to the contrary, I’ll love you forever.
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Chapter 10: Its Mysterious Nature
Darien Malfoy was known as a very mysterious person. He was considered by many of the women in Bulgarian high wizarding society to be the epitome of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ archetype, and while he appeared to be quite legitimate, there were rumours of a dark past, which made him all the more enticing to them. A dark past with certain habits he was known to revert to, every once in awhile, including frequenting some of the more shady establishments of whatever city in which he was currently residing. Darien Malfoy had a reputation of choosing a darkened corner, ordering a few drinks, and glowering at any who dared to cast a stray eye in his direction. While it was speculated that this was merely a tactic he used to maintain an intimidating persona, many also felt that it was merely his chosen way of brooding over details of his life that didn’t go completely to plan.
He was scowling over his half-finished fire whiskey in exactly such a shady place one evening, when a sudden silence fell over the entire establishment, and a few shocked gasps punctuated the air. Darien looked up to see what had caused such a reaction, and froze when he saw what it was.
Standing a few yards away from him was a tall figure, dressed in black robes with the hood drawn, obscuring the face. He was standing with his arms crossed, his height allowing him to loom rather ominously, projecting an aura of power and intimidation. It was obvious to all observing this scene that Darien recognized the person standing in front of him, as his facial expressions were rather telling of the surprise of recognition he felt when he took in the sight. His eyes moved from the mysterious man’s face to the eyes of the bar’s patrons, watching with vicious curiosity.
“Draco Malfoy! It’s really him!” he heard a voice exclaim, and then a chorus of murmurs as recognition traveled throughout the room. Darien, looking visibly shaken at his cousin’s sudden appearance, made a move to stand up, when Draco held out a hand, halting his movements.
“I have an important score to settle with you, Darien,” the elder of the Malfoy cousins spoke, his voice cold and dangerous.
“And I should kill you where you stand for what you’ve done,” Darien cried, standing suddenly, tossing the table in front of him aside as if it wasn’t even there. A smattering of noise filled the air; shattering glass, cries of concern from the curious patrons, the cry of outrage of the owner as he observed the damage.
“What I’ve done? While I’ve been busy trying to find a way to solve this little mess, you were supposed to keep her safe,” Draco hissed.
“You’re the one that tried to kill her in the first place! You shouldn’t even be speaking to me about keeping her safe, when you’re the reason she’s even in any danger, you bastard!” Darien cried out, taking a few angry strides so that he was facing off directly in front of his taller, older cousin.
In a flash of movement, which seemed quicker because it was so unexpected, the entire crowd watched as Draco Malfoy sucker-punched his cousin with a fast and vicious right-hook. The dark-headed Malfoy stumbled backwards, cursing and clutching his face where he’d been struck. A series of gasps and snickers filled the air, along with the sound of crunching glass as Darien’s feet fought to maintain balance as his vision spun and a roaring sound filled his ears; the effects of Draco’s powerful strike.
“I know everything, you bastard,” Draco said softly, his voice cold enough to send a wave of fear through all those who were straining to hear. It spoke of a deep rage that was made even more threatening precisely because he was perfectly in control of it. “If you even think of betraying me again…”
“You call it betrayal, I consider it moving in on unmarked territory. For after all, what are you to her at this moment, other than a bad memory that occasionally still haunts her that she would sooner forget?” Darien said, as he finally recovered his balance and bearings, along with his cocky attitude. Draco’s head snapped up to meet his cousin’s eyes. Silence had descended over the bar once again, as the patrons sensed a deeper current of animosity than had originally been apparent to them, and they all leaned eagerly forward, hoping for more entertainment.
“None of that matters. We can settle that score later, Darien. I’m talking about your promise to look after her. Break it again, Darien, I dare you to,” Draco said, his voice resonating with an ominous threat. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the silent pub, the only sound in the room was the crunching of glass underneath his boots.
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“What do you mean, drugging me without my knowledge?” Ginny demanded, horror rising along with the taste of bile at the back of her throat as she spoke. Feeling the room begin to spin, she glanced searchingly for the answers in the three pairs of eyes looking back at her. Faye was wearing a kindly and patient expression; Vincent looked pale and concerned; and Morgan looked exasperated.
“Don’t go just dropping that kind of thing on her, after the night’s she’s had, you ninny,” she snapped. “Especially when we don’t even have any proof that that is what has been happening. She could be perfectly mad for all that we know. It’s only a hypothesis at this point, Faye, as I keep telling you.”
“Hypothesis or not, the girl should have the right to know what may or may not have been happening to her over the course of the past few weeks. For goodness sake, Morgan, how else do you explain the loss of memory? It’s really the only way I can see this happening, and you know that. A simple test will tell if there is any remnant of the potion in her system, and then your hypothesis will be proven,” Faye snapped back.
“Will someone please tell me what you are both talking about?” Ginny cried out. All eyes were once again focused on her, and Ginny noted the small glance between the sisters before Morgan began to speak again.
“This is where your knowledge of Muggles becomes important, dear. As you know, they do all sorts of horrible things to one another – “
“ – Just like wizards do, Morgan! Don’t act like we’re superior, just because we’re magical doesn’t make us any superior on the moral front,” Faye interjected. Morgan glared at her sister before she continued.
“All sorts of things to each other, it’s really quite terrible. They’ve developed different types of potions – err, drugs, as they call them – that have different effects on people, and they are used in different situations. For the most part, they’re all medicinal, meant to heal and whatnot. But, there is one in particular, which is relevant to your case, my dear. It’s a drug that has been discovered to have other uses, outside of the one that it was originally designed to have.”
”Oh, for Gods’ sake, Morgan, quit skirting around the issue, are you or are you not supposed to be a Medi Wizard?” Faye interjected, sounding exasperated. Ginny watched with a strange detachment, thinking that she would not have expected the more gentle of the two sisters to have a greater ability to be blunt. “We think that someone has found a way to merge a Muggle drug, called rohypnol, with a wizard potion, and that this is what has been used on you.”
“I’ve heard of that before. The Ministry had had a few requests to work with other governments to help crack down on illicit trade of that potion,” Ginny said slowly. Her hand involuntarily grabbed the blanket, squeezing into her fist, preparing herself for what she was going to hear. She knew that it wasn’t going to be very pleasant; she could see it in the concern in their eyes.
“Rohypnol is what the Muggles call a ‘date-rape’ drug – it’s used to incapacitate victims, to drug them so that they aren’t aware of what’s going on. It can be administered in a few different forms – slipped into a drink, snorted, injected, and it’s effects are often mistaken for different things, especially because it’s used so often with alcohol. It takes about ten minutes to start working, and depending on the dose, can last for over twelve hours,” Morgan explained. Ginny closed her eyes – the room was spinning too much and it was making her nauseous.
“The effects may sound familiar to you, Ginny dear. The side effects are drowsiness, headaches, amnesia and loss of memories, poor motor functions, nightmares, confusion, tremors and sleepiness. It’s original use is for fight depression, but it can also produce aggression or excitability,” Faye added. Ginny sighed, deeply, and forced herself to open her eyes and face the world. Despite what this might mean, it did mean one thing: that she definitely wasn’t losing her mind.
“It sounds pretty useful on its own. Why blend it with a magical potion? I don’t see the need. And why was it used on me?” she asked, her voice breaking a little near the end.
“That part gets a little hard to hear, my dear. I’m not exactly sure why, but I have a pretty good idea. You see, Muggles use it in order to gain control over someone’s body,” Vincent said, as Ginny shuddered and pulled the bedclothes up to her neck, unable to meet his eyes. “I think that it’s been magically altered – blended with a magical potion, something I think that resembles Veritaserum – in order to gain control over someone’s mind.”
“In order to do what?” Ginny demanded, her eyes fierce, and to Vincent, who wasn’t used to seeing her in this kind of position, rather frightening. He paused, searching for the right way to tell her.
“Steal your memories. Combined with the properties of the rohypnol, which incapacitates someone, we think that some kind of powerful truth serum would allow for someone to be able to have complete access to your mind – memories, feelings, thoughts, and take what they wish. By keeping you dosed with the rohypnol, the confusion, paranoia, drowsiness and other symptoms would make it difficult for the victim to realize what was happening. In your case, with the emotional trauma you’ve been through recently, it would exacerbate that condition –“
“- and make everyone think I’m crazy,” Ginny interjected. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she felt as if the mass of emotions that were currently battling for prominence were going to explode, bursting out of her and consuming everything in its path. “You are telling me that someone has been date-raping my mind?”
“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so,” Faye answered softly. Ginny released a deep, shaky breath.
“Okay. Well, at least I haven’t gone mad. But the question is why? Why one earth would anyone be stealing my memories? Vincent, you seem to be calmly aware of all this, certainly you might know?” Ginny demanded, surprising everyone in the room.
“I think it might have something to do with the sword. Not too many people really know what happened – I don’t even know if I know the whole story – but there are a few elements that have been making their way through the rumour mills. That you, Harry Potter and his friends, were able to track down the mythical Excalibur somewhere in Italy, but that you weren’t there soon enough – that someone else got to it first, and that you almost died, has become almost common knowledge. I can only assume that someone is trying to track down the sword, now that it’s pretty much confirmed that it exists,” Vincent said.
“But I don’t know anything! He… Draco has the sword, and he hasn’t been seen since then. I didn’t even know he was… that he was one of them, until after I woke up a week later,” she protested, a hard edge of bitterness apparent in her voice. “I can’t even remember what happened once we entered the abbey.”
“But not everyone knows that. In fact, it might even be possible that you did, at one time, know exactly what had happened, but that memory has since been taken from you,” Vincent said, the warmth and compassion in his voice proving inadequate to keep her from shivering at his words. The horror of that very idea – that someone has been crawling around inside her head, and taking what they want from it while she’d been helpless to stop them – would stay with her for a very long time.
“In fact, it’s quite impressive that you’ve resisted the harsher side effects for this long. From what I know of this potion, most victims have quickly descended into an irreversible state of insanity after only a few doses, because of the way that the potion requires your mind to stay open and vulnerable to outside forces. You’re quite lucky, my dear, because it seems as though someone has been drugging you for quite awhile – weeks, even. The bonding on you must be incredibly strong to have protected you for so long,” Faye said. Ginny’s head snapped up at her words, and she could hear an exasperated sigh and some angered mutterings coming from Morgan.
“Bonding? What are you talking about?” Ginny demanded.
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Draco grimaced slightly as he wrapped the ice pack tighter around his swelling hand, cursing under his breath. He really hadn’t meant to strike his cousin – he preferred other ways of making an opponent suffer, ways much less physical – but there was something in Darien’s voice, some strain of emotion, that unsettled him so completely that his instincts took over.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Malfoy?” the cultured, accented voice asked kindly.
“A few answers would be nice, Mr. Ballan. You know why I’m here,” he said, his eyes indulging for a moment in the elderly gentleman’s finely decorated apartment. Priceless works of art were displayed in careful arrangement on his walls, and coupled with the sight of the artefacts scattered around the room, which were enough to send anyone who’d been raised to appreciate expensive things into a heavenly rapture, the view was altogether stunning. After a moment, he refocused his attention on the elderly man sitting before him, cautiously sipping his tea.
“Yes, I know why you came. I have to admit, I was uncertain what I would do if you came to me, and especially if you came to me before I could inform Miss Weasley of the information I’m about to share, but I have been assured that your allegiances were rather misrepresented in our earlier dealings,” he explained. Draco snorted.
“You could say that. I’d be angry, except that it’s rather a result of my parent’s legacy. But I assure you, I am not what I have been made out to be. You would have been killed months ago, when you first came to me with your information about the sword, if I were.”
“Certainly. Do you still have the sword? Have you kept it safe?” he asked. Draco, sitting across from the man, paused, watching the way Ballan’s eyes flicked towards him, while attempting to appear as if he were not watching him at all. Draco shifted in his seat slightly, attempting to shake off the other man’s observing eyes.
“It’s where it needs to be at this moment. What information do you have for me?” he asked.
“It’s both information and an apology, for it seems as if I was entirely misinformed about the nature of the sword, and that misinformation has helped create the unfortunate situation you find yourself in. The nature of the sword, and therefore the nature of the curse on the sword, are completely different than I originally told you.”
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More to come, I have another paper due next week.
I’m asking for some brutal honesty about the first scene. I have distinct feeling it’s a little cheesy and may seem OOC, so if you could either confirm those fears or lavish consoling denials to the contrary, I’ll love you forever.
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Chapter 10: Its Mysterious Nature
Darien Malfoy was known as a very mysterious person. He was considered by many of the women in Bulgarian high wizarding society to be the epitome of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ archetype, and while he appeared to be quite legitimate, there were rumours of a dark past, which made him all the more enticing to them. A dark past with certain habits he was known to revert to, every once in awhile, including frequenting some of the more shady establishments of whatever city in which he was currently residing. Darien Malfoy had a reputation of choosing a darkened corner, ordering a few drinks, and glowering at any who dared to cast a stray eye in his direction. While it was speculated that this was merely a tactic he used to maintain an intimidating persona, many also felt that it was merely his chosen way of brooding over details of his life that didn’t go completely to plan.
He was scowling over his half-finished fire whiskey in exactly such a shady place one evening, when a sudden silence fell over the entire establishment, and a few shocked gasps punctuated the air. Darien looked up to see what had caused such a reaction, and froze when he saw what it was.
Standing a few yards away from him was a tall figure, dressed in black robes with the hood drawn, obscuring the face. He was standing with his arms crossed, his height allowing him to loom rather ominously, projecting an aura of power and intimidation. It was obvious to all observing this scene that Darien recognized the person standing in front of him, as his facial expressions were rather telling of the surprise of recognition he felt when he took in the sight. His eyes moved from the mysterious man’s face to the eyes of the bar’s patrons, watching with vicious curiosity.
“Draco Malfoy! It’s really him!” he heard a voice exclaim, and then a chorus of murmurs as recognition traveled throughout the room. Darien, looking visibly shaken at his cousin’s sudden appearance, made a move to stand up, when Draco held out a hand, halting his movements.
“I have an important score to settle with you, Darien,” the elder of the Malfoy cousins spoke, his voice cold and dangerous.
“And I should kill you where you stand for what you’ve done,” Darien cried, standing suddenly, tossing the table in front of him aside as if it wasn’t even there. A smattering of noise filled the air; shattering glass, cries of concern from the curious patrons, the cry of outrage of the owner as he observed the damage.
“What I’ve done? While I’ve been busy trying to find a way to solve this little mess, you were supposed to keep her safe,” Draco hissed.
“You’re the one that tried to kill her in the first place! You shouldn’t even be speaking to me about keeping her safe, when you’re the reason she’s even in any danger, you bastard!” Darien cried out, taking a few angry strides so that he was facing off directly in front of his taller, older cousin.
In a flash of movement, which seemed quicker because it was so unexpected, the entire crowd watched as Draco Malfoy sucker-punched his cousin with a fast and vicious right-hook. The dark-headed Malfoy stumbled backwards, cursing and clutching his face where he’d been struck. A series of gasps and snickers filled the air, along with the sound of crunching glass as Darien’s feet fought to maintain balance as his vision spun and a roaring sound filled his ears; the effects of Draco’s powerful strike.
“I know everything, you bastard,” Draco said softly, his voice cold enough to send a wave of fear through all those who were straining to hear. It spoke of a deep rage that was made even more threatening precisely because he was perfectly in control of it. “If you even think of betraying me again…”
“You call it betrayal, I consider it moving in on unmarked territory. For after all, what are you to her at this moment, other than a bad memory that occasionally still haunts her that she would sooner forget?” Darien said, as he finally recovered his balance and bearings, along with his cocky attitude. Draco’s head snapped up to meet his cousin’s eyes. Silence had descended over the bar once again, as the patrons sensed a deeper current of animosity than had originally been apparent to them, and they all leaned eagerly forward, hoping for more entertainment.
“None of that matters. We can settle that score later, Darien. I’m talking about your promise to look after her. Break it again, Darien, I dare you to,” Draco said, his voice resonating with an ominous threat. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the silent pub, the only sound in the room was the crunching of glass underneath his boots.
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“What do you mean, drugging me without my knowledge?” Ginny demanded, horror rising along with the taste of bile at the back of her throat as she spoke. Feeling the room begin to spin, she glanced searchingly for the answers in the three pairs of eyes looking back at her. Faye was wearing a kindly and patient expression; Vincent looked pale and concerned; and Morgan looked exasperated.
“Don’t go just dropping that kind of thing on her, after the night’s she’s had, you ninny,” she snapped. “Especially when we don’t even have any proof that that is what has been happening. She could be perfectly mad for all that we know. It’s only a hypothesis at this point, Faye, as I keep telling you.”
“Hypothesis or not, the girl should have the right to know what may or may not have been happening to her over the course of the past few weeks. For goodness sake, Morgan, how else do you explain the loss of memory? It’s really the only way I can see this happening, and you know that. A simple test will tell if there is any remnant of the potion in her system, and then your hypothesis will be proven,” Faye snapped back.
“Will someone please tell me what you are both talking about?” Ginny cried out. All eyes were once again focused on her, and Ginny noted the small glance between the sisters before Morgan began to speak again.
“This is where your knowledge of Muggles becomes important, dear. As you know, they do all sorts of horrible things to one another – “
“ – Just like wizards do, Morgan! Don’t act like we’re superior, just because we’re magical doesn’t make us any superior on the moral front,” Faye interjected. Morgan glared at her sister before she continued.
“All sorts of things to each other, it’s really quite terrible. They’ve developed different types of potions – err, drugs, as they call them – that have different effects on people, and they are used in different situations. For the most part, they’re all medicinal, meant to heal and whatnot. But, there is one in particular, which is relevant to your case, my dear. It’s a drug that has been discovered to have other uses, outside of the one that it was originally designed to have.”
”Oh, for Gods’ sake, Morgan, quit skirting around the issue, are you or are you not supposed to be a Medi Wizard?” Faye interjected, sounding exasperated. Ginny watched with a strange detachment, thinking that she would not have expected the more gentle of the two sisters to have a greater ability to be blunt. “We think that someone has found a way to merge a Muggle drug, called rohypnol, with a wizard potion, and that this is what has been used on you.”
“I’ve heard of that before. The Ministry had had a few requests to work with other governments to help crack down on illicit trade of that potion,” Ginny said slowly. Her hand involuntarily grabbed the blanket, squeezing into her fist, preparing herself for what she was going to hear. She knew that it wasn’t going to be very pleasant; she could see it in the concern in their eyes.
“Rohypnol is what the Muggles call a ‘date-rape’ drug – it’s used to incapacitate victims, to drug them so that they aren’t aware of what’s going on. It can be administered in a few different forms – slipped into a drink, snorted, injected, and it’s effects are often mistaken for different things, especially because it’s used so often with alcohol. It takes about ten minutes to start working, and depending on the dose, can last for over twelve hours,” Morgan explained. Ginny closed her eyes – the room was spinning too much and it was making her nauseous.
“The effects may sound familiar to you, Ginny dear. The side effects are drowsiness, headaches, amnesia and loss of memories, poor motor functions, nightmares, confusion, tremors and sleepiness. It’s original use is for fight depression, but it can also produce aggression or excitability,” Faye added. Ginny sighed, deeply, and forced herself to open her eyes and face the world. Despite what this might mean, it did mean one thing: that she definitely wasn’t losing her mind.
“It sounds pretty useful on its own. Why blend it with a magical potion? I don’t see the need. And why was it used on me?” she asked, her voice breaking a little near the end.
“That part gets a little hard to hear, my dear. I’m not exactly sure why, but I have a pretty good idea. You see, Muggles use it in order to gain control over someone’s body,” Vincent said, as Ginny shuddered and pulled the bedclothes up to her neck, unable to meet his eyes. “I think that it’s been magically altered – blended with a magical potion, something I think that resembles Veritaserum – in order to gain control over someone’s mind.”
“In order to do what?” Ginny demanded, her eyes fierce, and to Vincent, who wasn’t used to seeing her in this kind of position, rather frightening. He paused, searching for the right way to tell her.
“Steal your memories. Combined with the properties of the rohypnol, which incapacitates someone, we think that some kind of powerful truth serum would allow for someone to be able to have complete access to your mind – memories, feelings, thoughts, and take what they wish. By keeping you dosed with the rohypnol, the confusion, paranoia, drowsiness and other symptoms would make it difficult for the victim to realize what was happening. In your case, with the emotional trauma you’ve been through recently, it would exacerbate that condition –“
“- and make everyone think I’m crazy,” Ginny interjected. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she felt as if the mass of emotions that were currently battling for prominence were going to explode, bursting out of her and consuming everything in its path. “You are telling me that someone has been date-raping my mind?”
“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so,” Faye answered softly. Ginny released a deep, shaky breath.
“Okay. Well, at least I haven’t gone mad. But the question is why? Why one earth would anyone be stealing my memories? Vincent, you seem to be calmly aware of all this, certainly you might know?” Ginny demanded, surprising everyone in the room.
“I think it might have something to do with the sword. Not too many people really know what happened – I don’t even know if I know the whole story – but there are a few elements that have been making their way through the rumour mills. That you, Harry Potter and his friends, were able to track down the mythical Excalibur somewhere in Italy, but that you weren’t there soon enough – that someone else got to it first, and that you almost died, has become almost common knowledge. I can only assume that someone is trying to track down the sword, now that it’s pretty much confirmed that it exists,” Vincent said.
“But I don’t know anything! He… Draco has the sword, and he hasn’t been seen since then. I didn’t even know he was… that he was one of them, until after I woke up a week later,” she protested, a hard edge of bitterness apparent in her voice. “I can’t even remember what happened once we entered the abbey.”
“But not everyone knows that. In fact, it might even be possible that you did, at one time, know exactly what had happened, but that memory has since been taken from you,” Vincent said, the warmth and compassion in his voice proving inadequate to keep her from shivering at his words. The horror of that very idea – that someone has been crawling around inside her head, and taking what they want from it while she’d been helpless to stop them – would stay with her for a very long time.
“In fact, it’s quite impressive that you’ve resisted the harsher side effects for this long. From what I know of this potion, most victims have quickly descended into an irreversible state of insanity after only a few doses, because of the way that the potion requires your mind to stay open and vulnerable to outside forces. You’re quite lucky, my dear, because it seems as though someone has been drugging you for quite awhile – weeks, even. The bonding on you must be incredibly strong to have protected you for so long,” Faye said. Ginny’s head snapped up at her words, and she could hear an exasperated sigh and some angered mutterings coming from Morgan.
“Bonding? What are you talking about?” Ginny demanded.
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Draco grimaced slightly as he wrapped the ice pack tighter around his swelling hand, cursing under his breath. He really hadn’t meant to strike his cousin – he preferred other ways of making an opponent suffer, ways much less physical – but there was something in Darien’s voice, some strain of emotion, that unsettled him so completely that his instincts took over.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Malfoy?” the cultured, accented voice asked kindly.
“A few answers would be nice, Mr. Ballan. You know why I’m here,” he said, his eyes indulging for a moment in the elderly gentleman’s finely decorated apartment. Priceless works of art were displayed in careful arrangement on his walls, and coupled with the sight of the artefacts scattered around the room, which were enough to send anyone who’d been raised to appreciate expensive things into a heavenly rapture, the view was altogether stunning. After a moment, he refocused his attention on the elderly man sitting before him, cautiously sipping his tea.
“Yes, I know why you came. I have to admit, I was uncertain what I would do if you came to me, and especially if you came to me before I could inform Miss Weasley of the information I’m about to share, but I have been assured that your allegiances were rather misrepresented in our earlier dealings,” he explained. Draco snorted.
“You could say that. I’d be angry, except that it’s rather a result of my parent’s legacy. But I assure you, I am not what I have been made out to be. You would have been killed months ago, when you first came to me with your information about the sword, if I were.”
“Certainly. Do you still have the sword? Have you kept it safe?” he asked. Draco, sitting across from the man, paused, watching the way Ballan’s eyes flicked towards him, while attempting to appear as if he were not watching him at all. Draco shifted in his seat slightly, attempting to shake off the other man’s observing eyes.
“It’s where it needs to be at this moment. What information do you have for me?” he asked.
“It’s both information and an apology, for it seems as if I was entirely misinformed about the nature of the sword, and that misinformation has helped create the unfortunate situation you find yourself in. The nature of the sword, and therefore the nature of the curse on the sword, are completely different than I originally told you.”
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More to come, I have another paper due next week.
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