Hate Transforms

A ghastly white face looked down upon him, through the dense black around him, with slits for eyes that glowed red. The face was distorted in anger, and disappointment. Words were being yelled at him, but he did not understand. He had tried his best, yet failed. Now the pale figure floated away and just before the glow of the blood red eyes disappeared a bright green flash blinded him, followed by the frighteningly still silence he knew to be death.

Draco awoke with a jolt, covered in sweat, and shaking from head to foot. He was going to cross a line today, a boundary not meant to be crossed by the faint hearted. He had to master his emotions if he was going to be successful. This was no time to succumb to nightmares about the Dark Lord. He had more pressing issues to worry about, like pulling off his task in the middle of Hogsmeade without being caught.

His morning passed quickly, and before he knew it he was walking to Hogsmeade with Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle. Luckily, Pansy was occupying Blaise in some mindless conversation, because Draco was too distracted to talk. As they had left the castle he saw how tight security had become at Hogwarts. Mr. Filch was checking everyone who left or entered with Dark Magic detectors, like Sneakoscopes. He was glad he made it out of Hogwarts with the cursed necklace, he now prayed it would make it back in to the castle in the hands of another.

After going to a few shops, allowing him to refill his quill and parchment supply, as well as purchase a new dark green robe, he convinced the others to head to The Three Broomsticks. Pansy whined about wanting to shop more, to no one’s surprise, so Draco bribed her by offering to treat her to whatever drink she wanted. This worked to his advantage. She had demanded that he buy her something ‘fancy’ from the top-shelf wines that were in the cellar. Now Draco had the perfect excuse to disappear with Madam Rosmerta.

The streets of Hogsmeade were lightly covered in the newly fallen snow. It had been unseasonably cold the past couple of days. He pulled his dark green cashmere scarf tighter around his neck and beckoned the others to pick up the pace. The stress and anticipation were wearing on his nerves, and he was liable to lose them all together.

He was several paces ahead of his friends as he rounded the corner to the block The Three Broomsticks was on; then he heard loud laughter and slowed. Up ahead in front of the entrance to the pub the Weasel and Potter were having a snowball fight. Weasley had just thrown a large snowball at Potter’s head. The brown haired boy dodged the projectile smoothly before charming several of his own to chase after the dim redhead. The Weasel squealed rather femininely, to Draco’s amusement, as he ran for cover. Draco found himself chuckling at Potter’s antics, and blanched in mortification.

Did he seriously just find Potter amusing in an innocuous way?

The sound of his laughter must have carried because Potter paused and looked over at him. Their eyes locked and Potter blushed slightly. Draco’s heart was racing, and he felt light-headed. It was a combination of the inexplicable attraction he had towards Potter, and the realization that he was about to use an Unforgivable curse in The Three Broomsticks with The Boy Who Lived right outside.

Merlin help him if Potter decided to go inside as well. He was definitely the last person he wanted anywhere near the pub while he Imperiused Madam Rosmerta. If he were caught by just anyone then he probably could talk or hex his way out of the situation, but not with Potter. Despite all his animosity towards Potter, he had to admit that he was observant, suspicious, and quick with his wand; a dangerous combination. Also his word alone would override any excuse Draco could ever create.

“How mature,” drawled a deep resonating voice, Draco knew to be Blaise’s.

Draco forced a sneer, “Well what do you expect? They are Gryffindors after all.”

The other boy chortled, and the five Slytherins headed into the pub, breaking the awkward moment.

Inside it was warm and crowded. Over by a window was a round table large enough to seat five. Slowly Draco led the way to the table. They all took seats and a moment later the barmaid was at their tableside.

Madam Rosmerta was a shapely woman in her thirties with long brown hair and a warm smile. Today she was sporting burgundy robes and glittery black shoes. She looked down fondly at their group. Draco knew she really only tolerated them because they spent a considerable amount of money during each visit, and this time would be no exception. He enjoyed knowing that he could demand respect through his family’s money, despite his family’s reputation at the moment.

“What can I get for you kids?” asked Madam Rosmerta in her low voice.

Draco cringed slightly at being referred to as a kid, but let it slide.

“Butterbeer,” was the answer for Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise. Then Pansy smiled expectantly over the table at Draco, and batted her eyelashes.

“And I would like to purchase a bottle of wine from the reserve selection in the cellar,” said Draco as calmly as he could.

He could already feel his stomach tying itself into a knot. He had to get a grip. This was just a simple task. No one else was going to get hurt, just manipulated. Madam Rosmerta would just be under his control for a little while, she won’t remember a thing. He still didn’t feel any better about what he was about to do.

“Sure thing, follow me,” she replied with a tight smile.

Her apparent discomfort or suspicion prodded Draco’s ego, and made him angry. The anger was better than fear, giving him courage, so he dwelled on it.

How dare she think she was too good to sell him wine or take him down to the cellar. His family was a big reason this place made as much money as it did. The Malfoys ordered cases of the rare wines and whiskeys the pub stocked. The privileged aristocrat within screamed for recognition and submission from a mere barmaid. Naturally as he followed his chin went slightly higher than parallel to the ground and his spine was stick straight. He walked with the elegance and grace only good breeding could give.

As they walked past the bar Madam Rosmerta told a bar back to take the other drinks to his table. The two of them continued to a hall behind the bar that led down a narrow stone stairwell. At the bottom torches flickered causing light to dance over the racks and racks of wine in the cellar.

“In the front here are the whites, and further back are the reds. What are you looking for Mr. Malfoy?” she asked with ill-hidden impatience.

Further back would be better, in case someone else came down to the cellar. “Reds. What do you have in the way of a Pinot Noir?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Follow me,” she began to lead him back, “we have quite a good selection of them. There is one your father used to be quite fond of.”

He ignored the last comment as best he could. His father was the last person he needed to think about right now. He was the reason Draco was in this mess to begin with. If his father hadn’t of been so stupid as to get himself caught and thrown into Azkaban, then Draco wouldn’t be in this cellar ready to commit a crime worthy to land him in a cell next to his father’s.

About six rows back the shorter woman took a right and went nearly to the end.

“This entire section is different Pinot Noirs, from around the world. Are you looking for any region in particular?”

“Not in particular,” he delayed then looked to the bottom shelf behind her and saw a label ‘Australia’. “However I have heard good things about the Australian ones. Do you recommend them?”

She smiled, making him feel guilty about the subterfuge, and nodded, giving him a sinking feeling. She turned on her heel and two steps to the shelf.

“I do. In fact, one of my favorite wines is a 1992 Australian Pinot Noir,” she said and then began to bend down reaching for the bottom shelf.

The seconds seem to pass in slow motion. Draco’s heart was racing at light speed, and his palm was sweaty as it gripped his wand. Faster than he knew he was capable he whipped his wand out, pointed it at Madam Rosmerta, and yelled with conviction, “Imperio!”

A strange feeling traveled from his wand, up his arm, and through his body. It was a humming, like electricity that resonated to his core. He could feel the control he had over the witch before him. Anything he ordered she would follow, anything he did she would submit. The power was exciting; a feeling one could become accustomed to, addicted to. He was suddenly aware of why the curse was Unforgivable, and not just punishable. This curse gave you unfettered control over another, and in return made you feel strong and larger than life, as if you could own the world.

“Give me the wine,” he said with an authority he didn’t deserve.

She rose and turned slowly, then handed him the bottle without a sound. He needed to make sure the curse was successful before giving her a real task.

“Get down on all fours,” he demanded. His brow lifted in surprise when she complied, by lowering onto her hands and knees on the dusty floor. She was his robot. “How interesting?” he thought, as he looked down at the woman.

If he was a man with no morals, like a true Death Eater, he would take advantage of this situation. But he was not inclined to do so, a surprising comfort. He was completely flaccid as he gazed upon the woman on all fours in front of him. However, he was not above humiliating her for how she had made him feel earlier.

“Bark like a dog while running on all fours,” he told her with a slight smirk on his face.

Immediately she began to, “Woof! Woof! Woof!” and move as fast as she could while on her hands and knees. The satisfaction was hollow and incomplete.

“Stop!” he yelled down the aisle to her. “Get back up and come over here. I have a job for you.”

She followed his orders without delay.

“I want you to find a Hogwarts student, but not a Slytherin, and secretly put them under the Imperius Curse. Once you are sure they are under you control I want you to give them this package,” Draco pulled out the necklace that was wrapped in brown paper. “Tell them it is for Professor Dumbledore from you. Make sure not to open this package, and tell the student the same.” He paused and wondered if he needed to add anything else. “Otherwise go about your normal routine, and act as you normally would.” He finished by asking, “Are we clear?”

“Yes,” was the answer.

“Good.”

Draco turned away and headed for the stairs. As he walked a wave of nausea crashed into him. His vision blurred and he stumbled forward. Sweat broke out over his forehead as he contemplated the implications of his actions. He was one of them now, a Death Eater, even without the mark on his arm. He just stole the free will of another wizard; there was no going back now.

All he could do was hope his pathetic attempt to kill the Headmaster worked. He needed it to work, to save his family and to save himself.

His chest was still tight, and his breath was short and fast. He took a moment to regulate his breathing. He closed his eyes and imagined he was somewhere else, someone else. He imagined he was any other Sixth Year student whose main concern was school work and the opposite sex, not killing or being killed.

Eventually his feet began moving again, carrying him back to the table by the windows. His heart slowed and his breathing quieted. Hopefully the others wouldn’t notice anything different in his behavior.

Draco weaved through the crowds in front of the bar and made his way back to the table. Finally he took his seat.

“Well, what did you get me?” demanded Pansy in a high voice that cut through his daze.

By some miracle he was still holding the bottle of red wine. “1992 Australian Pinot Noir, you better like it. Otherwise you owe me 10 galleons,” he said in his normal haughty tone. He was beginning to truly master the mask his family has always held in place in public. It was becoming second nature.

Pansy looked pleased when the price tag of the wine was announced and used her wand to uncork it. She apparently was waiting because there were two wine glasses already on the table.

“What took so long, Draco?” she pried.

Draco feigned annoyance, “That stupid barmaid talked my ear off about wine as if I was some sort of novice. I mean really, you would think she would know better. I guess you can’t expect miracles in an establishment of this caliber.”

“How very true,” affirmed Blaise.

Pansy poured two glasses and offered one to Draco. He accepted and tasted the wine, not bad; not that he was surprised.

“Oh, wonderful choice!” fawned Pansy. “I knew you were the right person to pick out a wine.”

Her praises were so transparent. Ever since Fourth Year when he asked her to the Yule Ball, out of desperation, she has been trying to compliment her way into his bed and a relationship. Of course she reeked of gold digger. Which was beside the point; he had no interest in her.

Two glasses of wine later Draco had a relaxing buzz. Conversation had drifted from topic to topic, and currently centered on Quidditch. The gratuitous topic allowed him to talk with ease, and kept him from thinking about more serious things.

The distraction didn’t last as a group of Gryffindor girls entered, one he recognized as Katie Bell who played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The talkative girls took up residence at a table near the bar. Draco noticed Madam Rosmerta staring at the table. When Katie departed for the restrooms and Madam Rosmerta followed in suit he had to leave. He couldn’t sit there in the same vicinity while another dark deed took placed because of him.

“Time to go, I’m bored,” he declared abruptly, cutting off Goyle midsentence about how the Slytherins were bound to win the cup this year.

Luckily his volatile mood swings were commonplace, so no one suspected anything to be out of place.

“But I haven’t finished my drink,” Pansy griped.

He rolled his eyes. “Well if we go then I will put up with you going into that insufferable dress shop with the blue dress you were crooning over earlier.”

That was the trick, her eyes lit up with the excitement of another purchase. Especially a purchase that meant, she could try on slutty clothes, prance around a dressing room, and try to flirt with him. He didn’t care; he just needed to get out of here.

As they all rose and headed for the door he had a fleeting thought, “I hope I don’t run into Potter.” He wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing the Golden Boy after what he had done in the wine cellar. At the moment he was barely able to walk and talk at the same time, let alone think about or face that brunette boy.


A/N:
Thanks for the reviews!
I promise more naughtiness in the next chapter… I’m building up to it :)
...this chapter was getting kind a long and I wanted to post what I had... next chapter will continue from here still in Draco's pov

To Ayla Rouge: thanks for the advise, I definitely think he will tell Harry at some point after they hook up (which they will!), and I’m glad you like the HBP setting, I aim to please!

Everyone keep reviewing, it’s motivation.