A Very Slytherin Conversation
Draco had been sure that the monster would tear him to pieces after trapping him in its lair. What had happened instead had been infinitely more terrifying, and Draco knew he would have nightmares about it for years to come (if he could survive that long).
The monster had taunted Draco, calling the Imperius Curse a “mind trick” (Draco couldn’t help but morbidly ponder what perverse euphemisms the monster would assign to the other Unforgivable Curses; “tickling trick” and “sleeping trick”, perhaps?) and claiming that Draco was strong with “the Force.” Draco had never heard of this “Force” before, but he could be reasonably sure that it was some sort of eldritch Dark magic and that the monster was telling him, in its twisted, cryptic way, that Draco was going to make for a fine ingredient in some horrible sacrificial ritual.
Then that green snake had appeared from underneath the monster's robes and yawned, showing off its gleaming fans. Draco had recoiled instinctively from the dreadful sight, and the monster, with a pinched expression, had released Draco and started hissing with the snake. Draco had been certain that he was about to be relegated from ritual material to snake feed, but then the monster had regained its sinister smile, and had told Draco, in a sardonically soothing tone, that the snake was “completely harmless,” unless one happened to be a rodent. It didn’t take Draco more than a few seconds to parse the meaning of that; the message was clear as day: “I’m keeping you alive so that you can serve me, and if you displease me or even think about ratting me out, you can say hello and good night to the inside of my pet snake.”
Draco really hadn't been able to decide which was worse—the gruesome yet quick demise he had been anticipating, or the oppressive servitude on offer that would, in all likelihood, end within a serpent’s stomach. On the other hand, the monster had taken Draco’s silence as an acceptance of the latter, for it had laughed—a truly sickening sight, in Draco’s opinion—and given him a Chocolate Frog.
“It’s alright to eat your fill,” the monster had said, its eyes gleaming with malice. “You just have to keep up with your exercise.”
In other words, “Serve me well, and you will be justly rewarded.”
Almost catatonic, Draco had unwrapped the frog. Feeling too sick to eat, he’d tried to crack it open and remove the card—a simple act that Draco’s trembling hands had stubbornly refused to perform, all while the monster stared unblinkingly at Draco in mock concern. Spurred by shame and terror, Draco had gone ahead and bitten off the frog’s head. That had been a mistake.
Inside the hollow body of the Chocolate Frog had been an all too familiar card:
“Salazar Slytherin was the founder of Slytherin house at Hogwarts. He was one of the first recorded Parselmouths, an accomplished Legilimens, and a notorious champion of pure-blood supremacy.”
Draco had promptly voided the contents of his stomach.