Draco needed a mug of blackcurrant Mead. His night had been terrible.
He'd spent a great portion of his evening searching for the Room of Requirement. He needed to start working on fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. The Dark Lord was becoming impatient with him. Then his mark began to throb in agony, as it always did when the Dark Lord was furious. He’d hate to be the one who was on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s wrath that evening.
Draco made his way towards an isolated statue of a one-eyed witch. It was rather creepy looking and didn’t warrant much attention from students and staff alike. But Draco had caught Potter disappearing behind it during their third year and had discovered it to be a route into Hogsmeade. Rather than ratting him out, he’d made use of the connecting tunnel to get into the village in order to clear his head, sometimes to think, and sometimes for a drink. Smooth talking Madam Rosmerta hadn’t been an issue as of late, he thought with a smirk.
He greeted the cool air of the village with welcome. It tickled his face and blew his hair around his head. He rapped on the door of the Three Broomsticks. A few shuffling noises and footsteps could be heard before the door swung open.
Madam Rosmerta stood in a dressing robe. She looked startled. “What-“
But Draco cut her off, flicking his wand from underneath his robes. He had long since mastered nonverbal spells. The woman’s eyes immediately glazed over, and she stepped away, allowing Draco into the pub.
“I’d like a mug of blackcurrant Mead, if you don’t mind,” Draco said, taking a seat on a barstool. He’d first cast the Imperius curse on Madam Rosmerta two weeks earlier. He’d practiced on Crabbe and Goyle a few times, but they’d been willing subjects. He’d been nervous about using the woman, who’d always been kind to Draco. It’s the only way, he thought to himself sadly. And he wasn’t harming her in any way.
Madam Rosmerta sloshed a mug in front of him and stood across the counter from him, staring blankly forward. This made Draco uncomfortable and he shifted his position so as to not look at her.
“I’ll need your assistance again next week,” Draco said, still not looking at her. “Hopefully things will go as planned.” He realized he was talking to himself, but he’d wanted to clear his head, after all.
“Young Malfoy, how is your progress coming along?” the Dark Lord’s high voice rang in ears.
They were standing once again in the abandoned old Muggle house that Draco had come to despise.
“I have a plan, my Lord, it is to be initiated quite soon,” Draco said, trying to control his shaking hands.
“Good,” the Dark Lord said, “I hope that you won’t disappoint me, Young Malfoy. You know what happens when people do. Your father must have told you, I’m sure.”
Draco shuddered. “Yes, my Lord.” The Dark Lord was staring right at him, and Draco had the peculiar feeling that he was doing more than just staring, but actually reading his thoughts. If that was the case, all his efforts to appear remotely calm had been futile, as he was screaming in fear inside.
The Mead calmed his nerves, and soon the task at hand, the Dark Lord, and even the Weaselette seemed like far away concerns.
“Thank you,” Draco said, leaving a few coins on the counter next to his emptied mug. Before walking out, he modified Madam Rosmerta’s memory, gave her orders to return to bed, and lifted the curse.
He returned to the castle. It was now well past two in the morning. The Mead was taking its toll on him and he needed to get to bed.
Draco headed towards the dungeons, listening for any sign of movement within the halls. He passed by the Hogwarts trophy case and paused for a moment. There was a special section reserved for three golden trophies, topped with miniature lions with ruby studded eyes.
For Special Services to the School.
The names engraved read Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger. Draco scowled. He remembered these were awarded to the Golden Trio during their first year, something about a wizard’s chess game and flying keys. It sounded bizarre then and it still did.
Then he noticed a fourth trophy that looked quite similar to the other three, except it was topped with a golden serpent with emeralds for eyes. Now that’s more like it, Draco smirked. The name read Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Draco had never heard of the name before. He squinted in the darkness to read the year. 1943. That was before his parents were even born.
A wave of sadness suddenly filled Draco. What will I leave Hogwarts with? An arrest warrant to end up in Azkaban like my father? Would I get the same Wanted posters Sirius Black had?
He yawned and headed towards the dungeons, making sure to quietly get into bed.
His sleep was filled with many dreams. Draco tossed and turned through dark and turbulent images. He saw the red eyes of the Dark Lark taunting him, heard his high-pitched laugh ringing in his ears. He saw his father being escorted away by the Ministry men; his mother’s tear stained face. And then he saw Ginny Weasley, laughing as she beckoned him to her, her red hair flailing around her freckled face.
Draco woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. He glanced at his watch; it was half past six. The others would be rising soon as well.
His dreams disturbed him. It seemed as though he couldn’t escape the Dark Lord, not even in his sleep. He missed his parents terribly; he hadn’t spoken to them in a long time. But why on earth would the Weaselette come into his dreams? Talk about nightmare, he thought. He’d take on the red piercing eyes over the red hair any day.
Draco’s head slumped back against his pillow as he mopped his brow. He stared at his green bed hangings, willing the time to pass by. He was in no shape to attend classes. He thought about sleeping through breakfast, but he was still shaken up from his dreams.
“Malfoy, you up?” Blaise’s voice rang in his ears.
Draco grunted in response. He hoped Blaise would get the hint and leave him be, but before he knew it, his bed hangings were being pulled open and he felt the weight of his bed sink further in.
“Boy, have you got much to tell.” Blaise laughed.
“What are you on about, Zabini?” Draco groaned, throwing a pillow over his head.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you coming in past two. And one would’ve thought you had a woman in your bed, what with all the moaning all night long.”
Draco jerked up, the pillow sliding off his face. “What?”
“Was there a lady friend with you here last night?” Blaise’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Of course not.”
Good grief, Draco thought. Were his dreams that bad that he had to verbalize his terror? He could only imagine what the rest of his dorm mates thought of him.
Blaise’s expression changed and his eyes narrowed. “Bad dream?”
“Something like that,” Draco muttered.
“Well, you’d better hurry on up. Breakfast will be served soon.” Blaise left the room.
He and Blaise had never been very close. He knew his mother came from a prominent wizarding family, and that his current stepfather was an extremely well-to-do man. He wasn’t sure why Blaise had suddenly taken an interest in him. This was the worst time for him to have friends.
He'd spent a great portion of his evening searching for the Room of Requirement. He needed to start working on fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. The Dark Lord was becoming impatient with him. Then his mark began to throb in agony, as it always did when the Dark Lord was furious. He’d hate to be the one who was on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s wrath that evening.
Draco made his way towards an isolated statue of a one-eyed witch. It was rather creepy looking and didn’t warrant much attention from students and staff alike. But Draco had caught Potter disappearing behind it during their third year and had discovered it to be a route into Hogsmeade. Rather than ratting him out, he’d made use of the connecting tunnel to get into the village in order to clear his head, sometimes to think, and sometimes for a drink. Smooth talking Madam Rosmerta hadn’t been an issue as of late, he thought with a smirk.
He greeted the cool air of the village with welcome. It tickled his face and blew his hair around his head. He rapped on the door of the Three Broomsticks. A few shuffling noises and footsteps could be heard before the door swung open.
Madam Rosmerta stood in a dressing robe. She looked startled. “What-“
But Draco cut her off, flicking his wand from underneath his robes. He had long since mastered nonverbal spells. The woman’s eyes immediately glazed over, and she stepped away, allowing Draco into the pub.
“I’d like a mug of blackcurrant Mead, if you don’t mind,” Draco said, taking a seat on a barstool. He’d first cast the Imperius curse on Madam Rosmerta two weeks earlier. He’d practiced on Crabbe and Goyle a few times, but they’d been willing subjects. He’d been nervous about using the woman, who’d always been kind to Draco. It’s the only way, he thought to himself sadly. And he wasn’t harming her in any way.
Madam Rosmerta sloshed a mug in front of him and stood across the counter from him, staring blankly forward. This made Draco uncomfortable and he shifted his position so as to not look at her.
“I’ll need your assistance again next week,” Draco said, still not looking at her. “Hopefully things will go as planned.” He realized he was talking to himself, but he’d wanted to clear his head, after all.
“Young Malfoy, how is your progress coming along?” the Dark Lord’s high voice rang in ears.
They were standing once again in the abandoned old Muggle house that Draco had come to despise.
“I have a plan, my Lord, it is to be initiated quite soon,” Draco said, trying to control his shaking hands.
“Good,” the Dark Lord said, “I hope that you won’t disappoint me, Young Malfoy. You know what happens when people do. Your father must have told you, I’m sure.”
Draco shuddered. “Yes, my Lord.” The Dark Lord was staring right at him, and Draco had the peculiar feeling that he was doing more than just staring, but actually reading his thoughts. If that was the case, all his efforts to appear remotely calm had been futile, as he was screaming in fear inside.
The Mead calmed his nerves, and soon the task at hand, the Dark Lord, and even the Weaselette seemed like far away concerns.
“Thank you,” Draco said, leaving a few coins on the counter next to his emptied mug. Before walking out, he modified Madam Rosmerta’s memory, gave her orders to return to bed, and lifted the curse.
He returned to the castle. It was now well past two in the morning. The Mead was taking its toll on him and he needed to get to bed.
Draco headed towards the dungeons, listening for any sign of movement within the halls. He passed by the Hogwarts trophy case and paused for a moment. There was a special section reserved for three golden trophies, topped with miniature lions with ruby studded eyes.
For Special Services to the School.
The names engraved read Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger. Draco scowled. He remembered these were awarded to the Golden Trio during their first year, something about a wizard’s chess game and flying keys. It sounded bizarre then and it still did.
Then he noticed a fourth trophy that looked quite similar to the other three, except it was topped with a golden serpent with emeralds for eyes. Now that’s more like it, Draco smirked. The name read Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Draco had never heard of the name before. He squinted in the darkness to read the year. 1943. That was before his parents were even born.
A wave of sadness suddenly filled Draco. What will I leave Hogwarts with? An arrest warrant to end up in Azkaban like my father? Would I get the same Wanted posters Sirius Black had?
He yawned and headed towards the dungeons, making sure to quietly get into bed.
His sleep was filled with many dreams. Draco tossed and turned through dark and turbulent images. He saw the red eyes of the Dark Lark taunting him, heard his high-pitched laugh ringing in his ears. He saw his father being escorted away by the Ministry men; his mother’s tear stained face. And then he saw Ginny Weasley, laughing as she beckoned him to her, her red hair flailing around her freckled face.
Draco woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. He glanced at his watch; it was half past six. The others would be rising soon as well.
His dreams disturbed him. It seemed as though he couldn’t escape the Dark Lord, not even in his sleep. He missed his parents terribly; he hadn’t spoken to them in a long time. But why on earth would the Weaselette come into his dreams? Talk about nightmare, he thought. He’d take on the red piercing eyes over the red hair any day.
Draco’s head slumped back against his pillow as he mopped his brow. He stared at his green bed hangings, willing the time to pass by. He was in no shape to attend classes. He thought about sleeping through breakfast, but he was still shaken up from his dreams.
“Malfoy, you up?” Blaise’s voice rang in his ears.
Draco grunted in response. He hoped Blaise would get the hint and leave him be, but before he knew it, his bed hangings were being pulled open and he felt the weight of his bed sink further in.
“Boy, have you got much to tell.” Blaise laughed.
“What are you on about, Zabini?” Draco groaned, throwing a pillow over his head.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you coming in past two. And one would’ve thought you had a woman in your bed, what with all the moaning all night long.”
Draco jerked up, the pillow sliding off his face. “What?”
“Was there a lady friend with you here last night?” Blaise’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Of course not.”
Good grief, Draco thought. Were his dreams that bad that he had to verbalize his terror? He could only imagine what the rest of his dorm mates thought of him.
Blaise’s expression changed and his eyes narrowed. “Bad dream?”
“Something like that,” Draco muttered.
“Well, you’d better hurry on up. Breakfast will be served soon.” Blaise left the room.
He and Blaise had never been very close. He knew his mother came from a prominent wizarding family, and that his current stepfather was an extremely well-to-do man. He wasn’t sure why Blaise had suddenly taken an interest in him. This was the worst time for him to have friends.
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