Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 4: Blood and Tears
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG
Summary: Draco is wriggling with curiosity about T.M. Riddle. So much so that he dares to ask Professor McGonagall about it. In the middle of class. The Transfiguration Professor is not amused, and Draco becomes confused and angry as he not only earns detention, but somehow gains the scrutiny of his least favorite Gryffindors. Adding insult to injury (in Malfoy's mind, at least) he must serve detention with Ginny Weasley, whom he himself had assigned the punishment. Meanwhile, Harry's Occlumancy lessons are not going well, but he feels curiously reluctant to discuss them or his new professor with his friends, almost creating a barrier around himself. It's an afternoon of unpleasantness as Malfoy is confronted with a Weasley he can't figure out how to antagonize on top of Ron's mysterious desire to pulverize him every time they see each other. And through it all, no one will tell him what he wishes to know; Who is T.M. Riddle?
Chapter Four - Blood and Tears
" . . . The motions we make
Combine as if dancing . . . "
Transfiguration
The steady hum lessened as the class began. "Today we are going to learn how to Transfigure the desks before you into living, breathing kittens," Professor McGonagall stated without ceremony. There were comments made underneath their breath as several of the students wondered if they were capable of performing the spell. Draco wasn't worried. He made it a rule never to fail at anything if he could possibly help it. He resisted the urge to make a disparaging remark as some of the girls including Pansy made "how cute" noises by his side. He was sure she was only taking the class to play the dutiful girlfriend. Not that he actually classed her as such, regardless of how much she chose to disillusion herself regarding the matter. He had more important things to deal with. He raised a hand in the air, thinking now was as good a time as any to make his enquiry.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall asked dryly.
"I was just wondering before we start if you could help me with a little research I've been carrying out," he began.
"Does this research have anything to do with today's lesson?" the professor asked.
"No, but . . . "
"Then it might be more usefully carried out on another occasion," McGonagall stated dismissively. "Stop wasting class time."
"It's important," Draco argued. He couldn't afford to be ignored! He had to know!
"Really?" Professor McGonagall queried sarcastically. "I'm interested to know what might be so important you're practically dancing around in your seat with impatience." There was a subdued murmur as a few students chuckled, none too loudly for fear they would succeed in attracting Professor McGonagall's wrath.
Without giving another opportunity for rebuttal, Draco posed his question. "I was just wondering where I could find information regarding a T. Riddle," he said. Draco saw each and every member of the Tiresome Trio turn to stare in his direction. Weasley looked shocked, the Mudblood apprehensive; Potter's expression was unreadable. That in itself was a rarity. Normally it was possible to read him like a flaming book. Why would they care if he asked McGonagall for a little extra information?
A long pause followed the sentence as Professor McGonagall's eyes bore into Draco's uncomfortably. "Is this some kind of joke, Mr Malfoy?" she asked sharply. "I can assure you, if it is, I find it to be in incredibly bad taste! There will be no discussion of previous students in my classroom now or in the future and you will see me after class to arrange an evening to attend detention," she concluded grimly. Crabbe and Goyle were open mouthed with disbelief in their usual fashion on either side of him. Blaise Zabini had covered his mouth in a less than obvious attempt to hide a smirk. Git! Just because it wasn't him getting into trouble for once! There'd be some pay back involved there if he had anything to do with it! He was rapidly running out of options. Scratch that. Had in fact run out of avenues to pursue. It was a lost cause. T M Riddle would remain a mystery to him. He couldn't help but notice McGonagall was eyeing him furiously. Suddenly he realised the rest of the class were engaged in various stages of struggling with the tricky transfiguration charm. Pansy's section of the desk had a mottled piebald tinge to it and slight indentations as opposed to ears. His own section remained resolutely composed of wood. He hadn't so much as gotten out his wand yet. He fumbled within the pocket of his robes for the magical implement.
"Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall stated, having lost patience eventually, "if you are unwilling to join your fellow students in attempting this exercise I will be forced to ask you to leave the classroom and report directly to the Headmaster's office to explain your apparent apathy!" she remonstrated. "Ten points will be deducted from Slytherin for your inattention. Count yourself lucky I don't extend the number of hours you will be spending in detention," she added. There were distinct disadvantages to taking classes with the Head of a rival House, Draco found himself thinking ruefully. Although, why she hadn't said anything to the three Gryffindors whose heads were bent together towards the back of the classroom had him somewhat frustrated. Whatever happened to the famous Gryffindor sense of fairness? Seemed it deserted both staff and pupils alike where Slytherin was concerned. He concentrated upon the Transfiguration exercise instead. There was a lot of ground to make up since he wouldn't put it past old McGonagall to extend his detention for each minute he sat there idle. He couldn't wait for whatever punishment she would see fit to dole out and sincerely hope his father's spy network wouldn't take this particular bit of information home. If it did, he wouldn't just have his teacher's displeasure to deal with. "Finished already, Mr Malfoy?" Professor McGonagall enquired. "Doesn't look like it to me." Draco bent hastily over his work and concentrated his mental efforts on the spell once again. How he loved school!
****
Occlumency
"Oh no, Harry, you'll have to work a little harder than that," Professor Kaede Jenkins taunted infuriatingly. "I'm not easily broken." She pushed her long hair away from her face impatiently as it threatened to impede her line of vision.
"I can't!" he glared. He wondered why she had chosen those particular words. After all, she was the one seeking to force the memories from him.
"Let's try again," she instructed. "Legilimens!" Professor Jenkins commanded. Once more her office flickered in and out of focus before Harry's eyes and image followed image in his mind. Crossing the lake and his first view of Hogwarts . . . signing autographs with Lockhart in detention . . . unwrapping his Firebolt at Christmas with Ron . . . saying farewell to the members of the Order at King's Cross station . . . He came to himself, still on his feet, with one hand flung before him in an attempt to ward off the final vision. "Proves a point, doesn't it, Harry?" Professor Jenkins inquired mildly. Whilst he had disliked Occlumency sessions with Professor Snape, he was beginning to worry about sessions with Professor Jenkins for the simple reason that she was perfectionist whom he actually wished to please. His progress was never quite enough to satisfy himself. Even so, Harry realised he was gaining ground at an unprecedented rate. The ability to block out Voldemort's wraithlike presence from his mind was incentive enough to keep trying, straining reserves he hadn't even known he had.
"You can and you will learn this, Harry. Other lives than your own depend upon it. This isn't some game we're playing here. Do you want Voldemort to be able to bend your will to that of his own? To be forced to betray those you care for?" Professor Jenkins chided. "Had I not been initiated into the Order prior to my introduction as your Occlumency professor, I might have discovered vital information out about your associates today. Isn't that something you've always feared?" she assessed accurately. Her aqua eyes watched him closely.
"Of course I do!" he returned, frustrated. He was so tired . . . "I trust Dumbledore though," he returned loyally.
"You can't afford ever to let your guard down; you have to be protected at all times," Kaede Jenkins continued relentlessly. "Learn to trust your own abilities. There may be an occasion when you are the only weapon you have."
"I know!" Harry snapped. His head hurt from the attempts to concentrate . . .
"Then why are you getting so angry with me?" she asked reasonably. "Frustration clouds your ability to concentrate and shield yourself. You have to stay focused." Her words began to flow into one another as Harry struggled to block the mental energy directed at him. Suddenly, it diminished in a blessedly early conclusion. "I know it's hard, Harry, but this is the way it is. You owe it to your parents to fight every inch of the way."
"What the hell do you know about my parents?" Harry snapped mulishly.
"Enough," Kaede retorted. "I know of them. We all do. They're famous by wizarding standards."
"Harry, believe me when I say I only have your best interests at heart. I've seen people affected so badly by Legilimency that their worst fears and memories were literally paraded before their very eyes."
"When?" Harry interjected.
"I can't speak about it." The conversation seemed to have reached an impasse. "Believe me when I say there are some things it is better not to discuss even if it were a possibility," she said soberly. Curiously enough, Harry found he knew exactly what she meant. The fact that he understood the sentiments of a professor a decade older than himself, if not more, did not disturb him in the least. Life was teaching him certain lessons well.
"Your parents are an emotional black spot for you," Kaede lectured seriously. "One sharp retort from an enemy might be enough to distract you momentarily. That lapse in concentration allows an opening into your thoughts that a skilled Legilimens could use to great advantage. You already know Voldemort is such a gifted wizard. Now that he's aware you have access to his thoughts he is no doubt attempting to observe you particularly closely. Waiting for an opportunity . . . .Have you had any intrusive experiences since you recommenced your Occlumency studies?" Professor Jenkins asked suddenly.
Strangely enough, Harry hadn't had any episodes since Voldemort had attempted his momentary possession in the Department of Mysteries last year. He shook his head in response. He could only imagine the Dark Lord was biding his time. He shuddered, remembering how Voldemort had forced alien words from his lips and unfamiliar emotions to express themselves. He had felt violated, unclean.
The feelings had centred entirely upon his scar as it burst open in a kaleidoscope of pain, as his mind and that of Voldemort's fused together in a moment of intolerable clarity from which there could be no escape...Harry had no control over his movements and the only thought he could process was the dim need for release from the agony which pounded upon the inside of his skull as though it could fight its way from inside to out . . .
The longer he was without an occurrence the better. The fact that Voldemort could strike without warning, using his own body as a weapon against him was unnerving in the extreme.
"Good," Kaede returned. "Remember your evening practice. As long as possible to clear your mind of all thoughts. Try to build gradually each night. I also want you to start working on your shielding."
"Shielding?" Harry questioned curiously, unsure exactly what she meant by the word in a magical sense.
Professor Jenkins grinned. "Not literally, although you can work with a metal if you want. You need to find a form of defensive "shield" behind which to hide your innermost thoughts. Those memories you particularly wish to suppress. It isn't enough to block everything. That arouses suspicion in itself. You'll find a format of preference - metal, rock, plants, fire, water, wind, earth . . . you get the picture, Harry. You'll know when you've found the right one. Then we'll work at reinforcing it."
"How will I know?" he asked.
"It's the form that will leap instinctively to mind unbidden," his tutor clarified. Harry found himself curious as to what element would present itself to him.
"That's enough for today, I think," Professor Jenkins stated briskly. "Same time next week."
"See you," Harry said his farewells. He had the feeling he had missed something important somewhere along the way. Perhaps the thought would resurface again further down the track...
****
Detention
"Weasley!" Draco exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ginny Weasley looked up briefly from staring at the desk in front of her. "I should have thought that was perfectly obvious," she muttered.
"No. I meant why," he corrected hastily.
"You've only got yourself to blame," she retorted. "Seeing as it's your fault I'm here."
"How do you work that one out?" he inquired nastily.
"You took the points from me, didn't you?" she snapped.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The House points," Ginny clarified impatiently, looking at him as though he blatantly needed help. "You must have known what would happen when you did it. McGonagall was furious when she found out our total was below zero within the first week of term. Incidently, so was my brother." Abruptly, she shut her mouth as though she had said too much.
Seemed his plan had been even more fruitful than he had anticipated but now he was suffering for his success. He would have to spend the whole detention with the Weasel. Surely even McGonagall couldn't devise a more cruel punishment than that?
"I find the idea of your brother on the warpath utterly terrifying," Draco stated sarcastically. "So much the better, in fact. I haven't tormented him for at least six hours or so. That's practically a record in abstinence for me." He smirked. Ginny Weasley looked up sharply at this, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again with an obvious effort. What? Now she wouldn't even talk to him? If he wanted her to speak, she would! He wouldn't stand for being ignored by some insignificant fifth year! He was a Malfoy, for Pentheus' sake! It wasn't to be born! "Why so quiet all of a sudden, Weasel?" he queried spitefully. "Scared to answer back?"
She looked back at him calmly. "Not scared, Malfoy. I could never be afraid of you," she stated truthfully. "It just doesn't seem worth wasting my breath when there's so little worth responding to."
Draco thought that was rather rich from the youngest of such a renowned family of blood traitors as the Weasleys. "I'll have you know I'm practically top of my class, Weasley!" he exclaimed impetuously. His lip curled. "Well, after Miss Mudblood, at any rate." Ginny Weasley turned to stare at him. Initially, he thought it was in protest as his use of the word "Mudblood" but soon realised he had in fact almost sought to justify his intellectual capabilities to a Weasley, for Hera's sake! His late night escapades must have addled his brain. Draco slowly became aware that Ginny Weasley was watching him curiously. No doubt thinking along the selfsame lines as himself. A disturbing thought. "What?" he snapped defensively.
Ginny rolled her eyes expressively. "Nothing." She was seemingly reluctant to share her thoughts and recommenced staring at the surface of the desk in front of her. Now who was ill versed in the subtle art of conversation? Draco thought triumphantly.
Professor McGonagall swept into the room without warning. "I see you're both here already," she began, speaking in a clipped, precise tone. "Mr Malfoy, you will commence writing "I must not poke my nose into affairs which are none of my business" on the blackboard. It will be written in your best handwriting one hundred times before you leave." His lip curled imperceptibly. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall caught sight of the movement. "Any further comment will result in yuorself and Miss Weasley being forced to stand in the middle of the Quidditch pitch for seven evenings with one foot each in a waste paper basket holding hands, Mr Malfoy. I believe you would consider that a punishment worse than death, wouldn't you?" she questioned accurately. Draco heard a small noise from Ginny Weasley. He thought she was trying to stifle a snigger. He turned to glare at her furiously. How dare she laugh at him? "Miss Weasley, you will sharpen and supply Mr Malfoy with the chalk with which to write his sentences." Ginny's head reared sharply and her eyes began to sparkle. Draco waited for her to object to the command but she assented to the task without protest. McGonagall handed her a box of white chalk and she began to pare the tip of the first piece down to a point by hand with a small art knife. Draco knew it was a laborious task and almost felt he had fared the better of the two of them. "You will complete this task in silence. I will know when it has been concluded." Professor McGonagall stated, looking at both of them, and swept from the room as quickly as she had entered it.
Draco took up the piece of chalk Ginny Weasley had laid on the desk for him to use. Although it was perfectly adequate to write with, he muttered, "Can't you be bothered to do any better than this, Weasel? I would have thought all of your family were used to menial work already. Honestly, even my house-elf could make a better job of it." The Weasley chit showed no sign of having heard him. She merely continued with her task at a slightly increased speed. "Come on," Draco urged. "I know you're dying to offer some pearl of wisdom." He heard her breath released in a rapid gesture of impatience and saw a slight frown crease her brow. Otherwise, there was no response. "Surely you're not telling me you can't even think of anything to say, Weasel?" He pressed onward, determined to rattle her by any means necessary. "I'd expect more - even from the likes of you." He paused. "Admittedly, not much more but I guess I can credit you with being able to string a sentence together," he stated condescendingly.
Finally, Ginny Weasley made eye contact with him. She seemed calm. "It's no good, Malfoy. No matter how much you insult me, it won't help you escape the fact that you'll always be a git. You can't get away from yourself no matter how hard and fast you run. Find a way to get over yourself," she continued. "Hard as the task may prove to be. Stop taking your frustration out on others. I suppose I shouldn't even hate you for it. I should pity you," she added mercilessly.
Draco was struck dumb by her insolence. Then astounded. How dare the Muggle loving piece of scum presume to know anything about him! "Thank you for that astounding two second insight into my infinitely complex psyche, Miss Freud," he exclaimed angrily. Or should that be "fraud"? he wondered.
"I'm surprised you've even heard of him," Ginny returned. Suddenly, she smiled scornfully. "I bet that's the first time you've said thank you for something too - and you can't even mean it when you do manage to force the words from your lips."
Somehow, breaking the Weasel's resolve to maintain a frosty silence had left him even more dissatisfied than before. How was it that a girl he hated could take one look at him and think she knew more about him than those he associated with every day? Even if everything she had said was a complete load of codswollop, he confirmed mentally. Everyone else seemed to want something from him. Constantly. There was nothing he could offer her she would ever deign to accept. Not from a Malfoy. Not that that made her worthy of any particular attention. It just made her stupid for opposing a family with such wide reaching influence. If the game was hers, the set and match would most definitely be his in the end.
****
The Great Hall
God, it was predictable how the Weasel reacted whenever Precious Potter was around! They were sitting at the Gryffindor table across the Great Hall, Potter sandwiched between Weasley and his Mudblood tart. Now the Weasley brat was opposite them. Waiting. Waiting for what, he couldn't tell. Presumably, a time when she would get a life as opposed to trying to substitute everyone else's for her own. Precisely what was it about Potter that entitled him to such loyalty? He hadn't even done anything to defeat Lord Voldemort when his parents were killed. He certainly hadn't been a role model since. Blatant disregard of school rules - the three of them both . . . and they got away with it every time! Then there was Ginny Weasley with her ratty, tangled, impossibly red hair waiting to be noticed. Finally, Weasley condescended to notice his sister and Potter addressed a brief remark to her also. There she was. Watching Potter. And Draco himself watching her. The irony didn't escape him. He wished he could obliterate her altogether then she wouldn't bother him any more. He wished even more fervently he could forget that blasted poem.
****
Ginny hesitated at the breakfast table. Ever since she had remembered that initial dinner she had been struggling to decide how precisely to broach the subject with Harry.
The chit chat had gone on long enough. "We need to talk," she began, wincing as the clichéd phrase emerged without warning. She had thought she had rid herself of her awkwardness around him but it appeared there were still certain matters she lacked the finesse to deal with appropriately. This was more than that though. She didn't know where to start. "Listen, Harry," she rephrased. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Sounds ominous," Harry teased, green eyes dancing.
"I'm serious!" she protested, hating that she would be the one to spoil his good mood. An upbeat Harry was becoming more of a rarity these days.
"I'm all ears," he stated solemnly, expression still playful.
"I've kept wondering whether I should bring this up or not but, in the end, I figured you ought to know. Kaede Jenkins - your Occlumency tutor."
"What about her?" Harry asked, his smile exchanging itself for a slight frown.
"I think she knows Snape," Ginny said, determined to make her point.
Harry let out a quick breath. "So what?" he stated coolly.
"So what?" Ginny repeated in disbelief. "Don't you think that might be important?" she argued.
"Not particularly," Harry said dismissively. "They knew each other at school, I guess. It doesn't mean she's in league with the Dark Lord," he continued.
"I'm surprised you can even joke about it!" Ginny exclaimed. "Anyway, you didn't see the way he looked at her! There was more to it than that! I know there was!" She changed tack. "Wouldn't Sirius have mentioned it if they were at school together?"
"I'm sure Sirius wasn't the slightest bit interested in Snape's "friends" at school! Anyway, isn't it possible they know each other through the Order?" he added reasonably.
"Snape never stays for meals, you know that! Professor Jenkins is a new member, isn't she? Brought in straight before the new term?" Ginny queried, annoyed by Harry's prompt dismissal of her concerns.
"Maybe he just fancies her," Harry suggested, looking frankly disturbed at the thought of Snape having the hots for anyone.
Ginny's mouth twitched slightly. "Well, firstly there's the permanent forbidding scowl, then there's the knock-me-dead glare. Finally, there's that greasy shoulder length hair. Who could resist?" she added triumphantly as Harry's face became pale and nauseated. "Promise me you'll think about it," she pressed.
"I don't need to," he said, the crease in his brow deepening as his emotions took hold. His voice lowered itself to a whisper. "She knew my parents," he murmured.
Ginny stared in shock. "Fine," she said. "I guess that settles it. If that's your decision, I won't question it any further," she muttered, head reeling in light of Harry's revelations.
Harry let her leave. His eyes made a mute plea of Ron. "I'm not getting involved in this one, mate," his friend cautioned. "Any quarrel you have with my sister you can sort out yourself," he said.
****
Draco watched Ginny Weasley stalk from The Great Hall in high dudgeon, smouldering in the aftermath of whatever insignificant trifle had caused her to snap at her precious Potter. Nice to know his life wasn't entirely without angst. The fact that the youngest Weasley was having troubles had also brightened his day considerably. Things were on the up.
****
Herbology
"Excuse me, Professor Sprout," Sarah said politely. "Professor Snape asked me to fetch a sample of daisy roots for our next Potions class," she explained. "It has to be freshly picked." She had arrived deliberately early to avoid being late for her next class. The greenhouse was empty aside from the presence of herself and the teacher.
"Preparing a shrinking solution, are we?" Professor Sprout inquired knowledgably.
"A super shrinking potion," Sarah admitted reluctantly. "Snape said it was such a waste of time teaching some of us maybe our fellow students would be sensible enough to shrink us away entirely so he'd be saved the bother of wasting his energies in teaching us," she added.
"That would be Professor Snape to you, Miss Taylor," Professor Sprout admonished, although there was a wry smile on her face as she spoke. "If you'll follow me," she beckoned. "We'd better not keep Severus waiting. He's apt to become somewhat short tempered if kept waiting for too long." Sarah had been all set to follow when she was arrested by the sight of Neville Longbottom apparently deep in conversation with Hermione towards the entrance of the greenhouse.
"I wanted your opinion on the theory that sage aids clarity of thought," Neville asked intensely.
"Possible, nothing proven," Hermione returned quickly. "I've read about the Hadrian test which sought to establish a causal link between the two. The study was inconclusive. Why do you ask?"
"I just thought . . . " He tailed off.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "No, Neville, I'm sorry but if St. Mungo's haven't managed to find a cure in this many years, anything I'd suggest will be of little use to you."
Neville smiled wistfully. "You know Healer Smethwyck suggested I look for work within the Potion and Plant Poisoning Department whilst I was there?" He shook his head infinitisimally. "I guess I should consider it. After all, Herbology is one of the only subjects I'm actually good at. It might make sense."
"You hate Potions though!" Hermione protested.
"True - although it would have made lessons easier if we'd had anyone other than Snape," Neville concluded ruefully. Hermione couldn't disagree with that particular statement. Aside from Harry, Snape had made a career of tormenting Neville regarding his lack of skill in the art of potion making.
"Wouldn't it be . . . hard for you to work there on a constant basis?" Hermione asked cautiously. She didn't want to risk offending her friend.
Sarah realised this was definitely a conversation she should not listening to and moved rapidly after the diminishing form of Professor Sprout before she heard anything further, cheeks burning slightly.
Neville looked at Hermione defensively. "Just the opposite, I think. I'd be able to visit as often as I wanted. I wouldn't feel restricted, if that's what you're thinking. I might not be able to help them personally but being part of the association which has taken care of them for so many years . . . I'd class that as an honour not a hindrance," he finished simply.
Hermione felt swift tears of compassion welling in her eyes at the speech. "Don't ever let anyone sell you short," she told Neville. "You're one of the bravest people I know and I'm happy to call you my friend," she said boldly
"I just want to do what I can," he protested. "The same as everyone else. The determination was reflected on his chubby face which seemed to take on a new maturity. "I guess before last year I couldn't see myself as anything other than little old me. Good at Herbology, useless at everything else." Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "Don't say it, Hermione, you know everyone thought it was true," Neville admonished. "Well, everyone except for a few of you," he amended. "I never understood when my Gran said I should be proud to be who I was. Then you saw me at St. Mungo's. At first I was embarrassed. Didn't really know what to say. Then I thought better of it. Suddenly it was okay to acknowledge the fact that I had parents who had fought against the Dark Lord. Fought and survived in at least one respect." He sighed. "There are so many who can't even say that much. And yet - there are times when I wonder whether death wouldn't be a kinder option than the half life they're forced to live. There isn't a Healer alive who's found a cure for madness. All that's left is hope."
"Isn't hope enough?" Hermione asked gently.
"I guess it has to be," Neville returned tonelessly. "Even knowing all I know I have to do what's right. I can't sit back and watch things happen," he added.
"You haven't ever done that, Neville," Hermione protested. "No matter what it's cost you. It isn't in you to turn away. That's part of what makes you a true Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat saw it even on the first day."
"I know that now, Hermione," he agreed. "it's just hard sometimes. I'd love to tell them all about the DA but they just won't understand and I can hardly do it with Gran there. She just humours whatever mood they're in," he finished helplessly.
"Do you ever go on your own?" she asked hesitantly.
"Sometimes," he admitted.
"Tell them then," she suggested. "It can't hurt. They'd want you to."
"I know," he said. "That's the worst thing of all. They'd totally support everything the group's doing if only they knew."
He thought back to last year in the Department of Mysteries when he, too, had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse as had his parents before him . . . He had not thought there could be such intense pain in the world . . . Finally, he had the physical memory to accompany the visual images which had plagued him on an occasional basis. They tended to crop up in his dreams when he was least expecting them . . . The pain had brought them back with startling intensity.
Four hooded and masked Death Eaters standing before his father, younger than he had ever known him, postures accusatory, wands at the ready. His father shaking his head frantically before a triple jet of red light emerged from the wands of three of the assembled Death Eaters whilst one continued to watch. He fell backwards slowly, sinking to the floor, before jerking in uncontrollable spasms. Tears ran down his mother's round face as she was held back by the individual who had observed the torture in progress. No matter how hard she struggled she could not break free . . . Finally, once his father was slumped unconscious upon the floor, his mother was subjected to the same harsh treatment.
"I might not be an Auror but I know there are things worth making a stand for," he stated, returning from his reverie with a renewed sense of purpose and understanding of his parents' motivations.
As Neville finished, the pair became aware of the others in the greenhouse and looked up. "Miss Taylor?" Professor Sprout prompted, turning back. "Do you want your fresh daisy roots or not?"
"Yes, Professor," she replied, blushing a fetching shade of beetroot from head to toe. She moved to the back of the greenhouse before either Hermione or Neville could pose the question she could sense hovering on their lips. What precisely had they meant by "visits"? Was the mysterious secret responsible for Neville's prolonged absence from school at the start of term and, more importantly, what would he think of her if he had the impression she'd been eavesdropping on his conversation deliberately - even if that hadn't in fact been the case?
****
Posted by rockygirl at September 27, 2003 10:31 AM