On a Night Like This

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Chapter three: All Figured Out


Things quickly fell back to normal at Grimmauld Place. Severus and Draco were passing information back from the dark lord. His revels were really taking a toll on them, they spent a lot of time recuperating their bodies and minds. The Order knew the war was drawing near from the information they received. Voldemort was excited and celebrating with the revels. Truly it wasn't worth the pain for the small amount of information that they were currently receiving. Voldemort himself did not have all the details at this point. They had to keep attending though, so as not to appear suspicious.

They knew from Draco that there was a lot of excitement and tension among the younger Deatheaters. They never experienced his previous fall and could not wait to see their new master triumph. Their excitement was because they really didn't know anything of war. They were mostly in his outer circles and really never went further than torture. Virtually none of them had seen the horrors he was capable of. None had seen him torture muggle women while his followers raped them repeatedly. They never saw children killed in front of their parents. In short, they really knew nothing of their master's true nature.

Knowing these truths, the older servants were more wary. They had survived a previous failure and were well aware that Voldemort was not a guaranteed winner. Most of them had been in his service for some time and had witnessed his ascent to evil. Unlike the younger, less powerful and less trusted servants, they harbored some doubts about he-who-must-be-named. This was only spoken of in whispers, but the Order was surprised to hear how prevalent this view was among the most powerful of the Deatheaters.

The trio spent their time practicing defensive and offensive spells. Minerva had told them that they should only work on defensive spells to protect themselves. Surprisingly it was Hermione that pointed out that they should be able to fight back. There was no use pretending that it would retain their innocence to retain the offensive. This Voldemort had already snatched away from them. They might as well hex the hell out of him on their way down.

They had become quite adept at kicking out some pretty nasty hexes. What Minerva didn’t know is they decided to take their training one step further. It had been Ron’s idea, really. He had become more frustrated with his jelly-legs hex every time it failed to reduce Harry’s legs to jelly. “Shit!” he yelled after it failed for the tenth time, “This is pointless. I mean really, what use is this when they are going to take us down with Unforgivables? Is my jelly-legs really going to be worth a damn when they can torture us with something like the cruciatus?”

His best friends looked at him with sympathy. They happened to be thinking the same thing. It was a given that fighting for the light meant no use of curses that came with a price tag of life in Azkaban. He thought to himself for a moment. “Think about it. We are going to have to kill people. It doesn’t matter what the rest of the Order tells us. If I see someone trying to kill one of you two, I will not hesitate. You are my best friends and I plan on doing anything to protect you, no matter the consequences.”

He expected protests but received none. They knew all too well that this was not a game. It was very likely that they would lose their own lives and the lives of those they held dearest. He saw grim determination written all over their faces. “You’re right,” sighed Hermione. “We will have more of an advantage if we use those spells and we might as well be good at them. I doubt we need to practice the avada kedavra, all we need to cast it is enough hatred. I doubt that will be a problem. We won’t have any reason to use the imperious curse. That just leaves the cruciatus. Practicing this will have a twofold advantage for us.”

She met with some confused looks. “You know that we can’t talk about this with anyone else, Mcgonagall will flip her lid if she gets wind of what we’re doing.” They nodded at her. “So we are agreed that we are going to have to both cast and receive the curse in battle. It is a favorite of the Deatheaters. We should practice on each other.”

“What!?” Harry shouted. “We can’t torture each other!” Hermione rolled her eyes at him and looked to Ron, who seemed to have grasped her meaning before Harry. “That way we can not only work on perfecting it ourselves but we can develop resistance to the curse. Think about it. We can barely last a minute under the curse before passing out now. That is not going to do us any good at all. The longer we can withstand it, the better the chance we have of surviving and ultimately winning the war.” She saw that he understood her now. “All right,” Harry said. “But we need Malfoy's help. He goes through that all the time and I’m sure he could use the practice too. He should be able to give us some tips for recovery.”

Hermione nodded at him, she had not thought of that. This was strange for them, thinking about the welfare of a Malfoy. But they recognized the sacrifices he had made and the torture he endured at the hands of Voldemort to pass information to the Order. They tolerated him for the Order. Harry departed to find him and Hermione and Ron returned to practicing their jelly-legs.

Harry walked timidly into the room Draco was staying in with Severus. He quickly spotted him on his bed, asleep clad in a pair of black pajama bottoms. Harry winced when he saw the bruising and scars on his upper body. As he neared Harry noticed he was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Suddenly he started thrashing and screaming. Terrified, Harry grabbed his shoulders and shook him awake. He was astonished when Draco wrapped his arms around him, sobbing. As soon as he realized what he was doing he pushed Harry away. Avoiding his eyes, Draco stuttered out an apology. “Nightmares. They haven’t stopped since I joined the Deatheaters.”

Harry looked at him with understanding. He remembered all too well the dreams he had of Voldemort. In fact they hadn’t stopped, but since he learned to keep him out of his head they had lessened in severity. He would not wish that on anyone. Involuntarily his hand reached out to stroke Draco’s sweat-soaked hair. He snatched it back at the last minute and hoped Draco didn’t notice. He had no idea where the sudden urge to comfort him came from. He hates you, he reminded himself. He is not your friend.

Even in his head he knew this to be a lie. If anything, Harry could rid him of the dark lord and the horror he endured daily. He knew Malfoy would not hate the one who could rescue him from what his life had become. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. “We wondered if you could help us with some of our curses. We think we have found a new approach to our practice that will work better.” Draco nodded at him mutely and rose, following him out of the room. Both of them were wondering the same thing: exactly when did they stop hating each other?

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