Imperiused
Chapter 13: Imperiused
Every face in the Great Hall stared incredulously at Potter…because of course he’d be the one, singular student to somehow get his name into the Goblet of Fire without incident. Draco suddenly felt suspicious of Angelina Johnson’s excitement at entering the competition. Had she even entered at all? Or had she simply put Potter’s name in for him. The Potter Effect was a sure fire way to not only get a Gryffindor into the Triwizard Tournament, but win it altogether. The way all of the Gryffindors were currently being scrutinized by the other Hogwarts students, particularly the Hufflepuffs, told him that he wasn’t the only one with that train of thought.
No applause rang out, but an angry buzzing like bees gathering for an assault filled the Hall. Professor McGonagall was the only one moved to action. She stood and swept past the others at the Head Table, whispering urgently to Dumbledore. After listening to what the Deputy Headmistress had to say, Professor Dumbledore stood up and called, “Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please!”
Granger had to practically shove him from his seat toward the Head Table, and stupidly, he walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. The long table filled with usually friendly Puffs was now glowering at him for taking away their rare victory so quickly. When he stumbled on the hem of his robes, Draco snorted at his lack of finesse for someone who was trying to represent the school in challenges that would obviously require better coordination.
Dumbledore ushered Potter through the side door, unsmiling. The one person who was smiling, however, was Ludo Bagman. He looked like he had just been handed the prize money himself. Draco was certain the gambling addict had some tricks up his sleeve considering Bagman had a debt to nearly every prominent wizarding family in England, and possibly Scotland. Bagman, followed by Professor Dumbledore, Barty Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape all piled into the back room.
As soon as the old wooden door shut behind Snape, the Great Hall erupted in shouts and loud chattering. Everyone was just as befuddled as the next person, all wondering aloud how Potter could have possibly done it and which older student had put his name in the cup for him. Draco half-listened, not really caring about the how, but more the why. Why did Potter always have to break the rules? He just knew Potter would be allowed to compete, and not only that, but he would end up not having any repercussions for breaking said rules. If a Slytherin had done it, they wouldn’t be allowed to compete, and probably have the whole House punished for it. Naturally, Gryffindors wouldn’t have to deal with any sort of disgrace, as they were Dumbledore’s own House and forever favorite in everything.
Draco’s eyes were still watching the Head Table, looking for any indication on what they were supposed to do now. It seemed none of the professors knew either. Moody was the only one to get up from his seat, but instead of addressing the agitated crowd of teenagers before him, he slunk off to the wooden side door, slipping inside mostly unnoticed.
“Think Johnson did it?” Theo asked with a hint of irritation, but mostly because he hadn’t been able to get anyone to put his name in for him.
Blaise shook his head, “Nah, she’s a bit too uptight, don’t you think? She wouldn’t risk getting in trouble if it meant she might not be able to play Quidditch next year.” He had a point, Johnson took the sport almost as seriously as Wood and Flint did.
“Attention! Students! The feast is now over, please follow your Prefects back to your dormitories for bed, goodnight!” Professor Flitwick had finally gathered his wits about him and taken over the situation. Draco had always thought that for such a small man–most likely part goblin–he had been able to instill his authority and garner respect from students of all houses. He wouldn’t be surprised if one day when Dumbledore was finally gone, and if McGonagall was Headmistress, she’d most likely pick the Charms Professor as the next Deputy Headmaster.
The Slytherins stood to leave, leaving the remaining Durmstrang students a little confused and leaderless. Making their way toward the dungeons, Draco posed a question only loud enough for his friends to hear. “What if it wasn’t a student that put Potter’s name in the goblet? What if it was a professor…or a headmaster?”
Theo and Daphne surveyed him, a little taken aback. “Do you think Dumbledore would really do that?” Daphne asked with surprise.
He nodded. “It’s exactly the kind of thing Dumbledore would do if it fit his agenda…but we also know Karkaroff is a Death Eater. It could’ve been him too,” Draco pointed out and they nodded, understanding his train of thought.
“Does it really matter, though? It’s Potter’s life in danger–not Granger’s. Shouldn’t you be happy his annoying arse might end up damaged beyond repair?” Blaise, ever the voice of reason, made a great point. Why did he care? So what if Potter was gone, or badly injured? Surely it would make his life easier–no more problems with Quidditch, for starters.
Draco went straight to the boys’ dormitories, not bothering to bid Pansy or Daphne goodnight, leaving that to their doting boyfriends. Something was telling him he should still make a note of his suspicions. They didn’t have the best track record with strange things happening at Hogwarts, and the Triwizard Tournament was a pretty large scale production. Draco’s gut kept pointing him back to the World Cup–another big, and much anticipated event. If something so sinister could happen there, why not at the Tournament? Here, it would just be Dumbledore, really, to work around–the Cup they had to evade a whole Ministry! He searched his nightstand for the enchanted parchment, scrawling something across the page in hopes that she would read it, even if she didn’t respond…but he hoped she did.
“Writing a love letter?” Theo crooned, tossing his robes haphazardly at the foot of his bed. His dopey grin warned him his friend had just been thoroughly snogged in the hall, and would probably be sneaking out to the common room after more people went to sleep.
He laughed, “Well, if you call writing Granger a few clues on who to look at as suspects, then yeah, I s’pose it’s a love letter.”
“Suspects? Draco, again, who cares?” Blaise sighed as he, too, entered the room and flopped down on his bed, toeing his shoes off without moving.
Draco grumbled, “I just can’t help but think something big is happening this year. The Quidditch World Cup–all of the Death Eater gatherings! They’re up to something! Just because we won’t be the intended targets doesn’t mean they won’t try to make us do some fucked up shit, or even make us take the Dark Mark! We’re fourteen–soon to be fifteen, it’s not that crazy to think they would start recruiting Hogwarts students. They did it last time…”
Greg had joined them, and “thankfully” Crabbe was still out stalking Astoria. “I agree,” Greg said. “I’ve heard some of the things my dad says and he’s like a different person now that they started meeting up again. He’s hardly home, but when he is, he’s preaching nonstop about blood purity and how we need to eradicate the ‘filth’. It’s creepy.”
“I just wish there was something we could do to figure out what it was they were up to,” Draco huffed, frustrated at their powerlessness in that moment. “There has to be something…”
The doorknob to their room jiggled, and Crabbe let himself in, tossing his things in his trunk at the foot of his bed, kicking his shoes somewhat nearby. “You’ll never guess what just happened! Tori wants to be my girl, officially.” The sinister grin on his face was much different from Theo’s lopsided lovesick look, Crabbe’s facial expression was uncomfortable to view. It was like watching a serial killer lure their first victim to a secluded place… Actually, if he thought about it, that could potentially be exactly what it was.
They would have to tell Daphne. If anything happened to her sister, and they could have done something to stop it, it wouldn’t just break her heart, she would flay their skin off their bodies, and cut their appendages off one by one. As much as she complained about her younger sister tagging along, Astoria was Daphne’s greatest treasure, and they could all see right through her agitation toward her sibling. They were two sides of the same coin, and she would do anything she could to protect her sister.
Theo, whose head hung low, like a dead man walking to the gallows, pulled his curtains closed around the bed, not saying a word. Blaise eyed both Draco and Greg, silently agreeing that the girls needed to be informed about the situation in full. Tomorrow.
No one congratulated Vince, and he didn’t seem to care. He was in his own demented world, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment, behind his partially closed curtains. He was mumbling something to himself, and Draco heard a few bits and pieces, but not enough to string together anything coherent. ‘Flint’, ‘father’, and ‘soon’ were all he could make out, and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that Crabbe would be the first of them to take the Dark Mark, and willingly.
…
The next morning at breakfast, Draco tried to make eye contact with Granger upwards of seventeen times–that was when Theo stopped finding it funny to keep count at least. She expertly avoided his glances, but the way her eyes kept focusing on the Head Table, he knew she had read his message. It was something at least. She had wanted him to be the bad guy, but he just wasn’t–no matter how hard she, or his father for that matter, tried.
She was sitting next to Weasley, which was irritating enough, but the ginger had the audacity to be scowling. His best friend just magically maneuvered his way into a prestigious tournament, and he was sitting next to the Granger, his mouth was puckered up like he’d just drank a glass of sour milk. Draco wanted to punch him in the face, for nothing other than being so fucking ungrateful. So maybe he could be just a little bad–more like neutral. He wasn’t evil, but he wasn’t Saint Potter either…somewhere in between. It was her fault really, she brought it out in him. He had no claim over her, but the squeezing in his chest was just so damn possessive he couldn’t help himself.
Granger only lasted about three more minutes in the Great Hall before she sneakily wrapped up some toast in a napkin and dipped out of the Hall when Weasley wasn’t looking. Draco rolled his eyes. Seriously, if she didn’t take care of the wonder twins, they’d both be dead or expelled by now with how oblivious they were. Maybe she was actually the reason Potter was still the bane of his existence…was that even true anymore?
Sure, first year Potter had bested him in the stupidest ways possible, relying on dumb luck and Dumbledore saving the day. Now, though? He didn’t actually have much of an effect on Draco’s life anymore outside of the Quidditch matches…and there wasn’t even any Quidditch this year. Maybe he should just let bygones be bygones, and forget the whole rivalry.
Nah. It’s way too much fun to get Potter all riled up. Even if Draco lost nearly every interaction they had–due only to Potter’s lack of accountability of course–it was still a reliable form of entertainment, and who didn’t need a little more of that in their lives. Maybe he’d give him a little pass this year since Wonderboy was going to be providing amusement via the Triwizard Tournament. Nearly dying in public a few times in one year is a decent trade…
“Hello? Anyone home?” Theo used Draco’s skull as a door, knocking aggressively.
Draco shoved him away, “Bleurgh! Knock it off, Theo!”
“Just making sure you're still in there. You were staring pretty intently at Weasley like you might go over there and put him out of his misery–which none of us are opposed to, but maybe not in broad daylight with half the student body watching,” Theo joked, taking a much-too-big bite of crepes.
“Ha-ha,” Draco mock laughed. “I was just considering how enjoyable it’ll be to watch Potter almost get himself killed a few times this year. We usually have to do some sneaking around to see that. This year, we can openly enjoy the show, and not feel obligated to help in any way.”
“It’d be against the rules!” Blaise choked out between laughs, and they all joined in.
The large wooden doors to the Great Hall creaked open, and Crabbe walked in, escorting Astoria on his arm like a proper pureblood would. It was so unlike Crabbe’s typical slouched posture, Draco had to do a double take. They weren’t just dating, they were courting. Daphne’s eyes flashed when she caught sight of it. Shit. They should’ve told her ages ago, but the cat was out of the bag now…
“Tori, what the fuck?” Daphne screeched at her sister once she and Vince had gotten close enough to the table to not make a completely ridiculous scene, though several Ravenclaws watched with interest.
Astoria, to her credit, kept her composure, though her lips were threatening to crack into a wide grin. She was more than pleased with herself. “If you must know, Daphne, Vincent and I are courting now.”
Daphne’s jaw dropped so hard, it could’ve hit the floor. “You’re joking.” She scanned the faces at the Slytherin table, “Did you all know about this?” Tears started to well up in her blue eyes. “Tori, how could you? You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, you’re so young!”
The younger girl haughtily snarked, “Of course I do, sister. I’m becoming the perfect pureblood wife, but what are you doing exactly?” Astoria pointed her gaze at Theo, then back to her sister. “You’re screwing around with the laughing stock of pureblood society–his father has essentially disowned him in all but title, and his only saving grace is that he’s the sole remaining heir to the bloodline and fortune.” She gave an eerie giggle, then more softly, “You threw away your virginity for the fool, and now no one will want you, whore.”
CRACK!
Daphne froze in shock, reaching for Astoria, but the auburn haired little girl recoiled at her touch. Her cheek now a blooming shade of vibrant red, she took Crabbe’s arm and he led her further down the table. Daphne ran out the Hall, fleeing from her sister’s cruel words and her own actions. Theo chased after her, his long strides catching up to her quickly, then they were gone. Astoria, now fully recovered, seemed unaffected by Daphne’s reaction, and sat down next to Crabbe. She sipped her tea demurely and her eyes had glassed over, a small, pleasant smile gracing her lips.
This was not Astoria. She had always been so sweet–looking up to all of them, enjoying their witty remarks and funny anecdotes, but this…this reeked of Vincent Crabbe, especially the pureblood propaganda. Was she under the Imperius? He could throw it off, but Astoria? She was twelve, maybe thirteen–when was her birthday…not important right now–she wouldn’t even be close to having that kind of control over her own mind. Hell, the way she spoke about Crabbe, she’d probably willingly let him do whatever he wanted if it meant she had a proper boyfriend.
A child bride. Draco just hoped the Greengrasses had enough sense to make sure they couldn’t actually wed until she was of age. It wasn’t unheard of for families to allow the younger daughters to marry, and it bode well for them that Daphne was not yet betrothed. It was considered in bad taste if the younger sister was married before the elder. At least there was one strike in their favor.
Daphne did not resurface the rest of the day, and Pansy disappeared with her, the girls locking themselves up in their room. Even Theo wasn’t allowed in once they found out all the boys knew something was wrong quite some time ago. Draco felt awful. His stomach rolled every time he went over the scene again in his head. She was definitely under the Imperius, the way her eyes were so glazed over the rest of breakfast was the real giveaway. What could they do about it though? Crabbe was young, and not the best at any type of magic…he’d have to re-cast it often or at least keep her close, physically, to maintain the hold over her.
“Do you think she’s okay?” Theo worried as he paced across their dormitory. “She’ll be okay, right?”
“Which one?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. “To be fair, I don’t think either of them is going to be okay until this mess gets sorted.”
He had a valid point. Daphne would never recover until her sister was safe and they could go back to normal. Astoria, on the other hand, she just wouldn’t be safe until Crabbe was out of the picture. If they had a true betrothal contract, though, it would have been signed in blood–blood magic. There would be essentially no breaking it. It was why Pansy’s betrothal to Flint was so distressing.
“Well, the first step is to get her out from under the Imperius,” Draco stated. “But what next? If they’re legitimately betrothed, there’s not much we can do, right?”
Blaise rubbed his forehead roughly in frustration, “No, there’s not.”
“What if I get close to him again? Let him think we’re best mates?”
“Draco,” Theo looked very worried, “you can’t, mate. We can’t have two of you under his thumb.”
Sure it would look like Crabbe was calling the shots a bit at first, but Draco had always been the leader when it came to Greg and Vince. Vincent Crabbe, at heart, was just a follower, and if Draco stepped up to fill that position, he might be able to get Astoria free.
“Just think about it. He’s a born lackey, not a leader, he doesn’t have the brains for it. Someone else is calling the shots anyway–probably Flint. It would serve all our purposes if I could get inside, and influence both of them, right? Maybe I could get Flint to break his contract with the Parkinsons or at least keep delaying it, and the same with Crabbe,” Draco made a convincing argument. He knew it would work because, well, it had to. It was their only option.
Blaise was in. He could tell by the light shining in the other boy’s dark brown eyes that had been missing since just after the school year started. Hopelessness had begun to sink into his bones, and here Draco was, offering a life raft. He wouldn’t be able to resist–he’d do anything for Pansy. Theo, in contrast, shook his head determinedly.
“No, you can’t,” he declared as if he had any say over Draco’s actions. “You’ll be implicated in anything the two of them scheme up. They’re probably already killing small animals for the fun of it, and after Moody’s lessons, Crabbe’ll be moving on to torturing first years soon.”
“I’m not going to kill anything or torture anyone, Theo,” Draco stared at him in shock at the implication that he would take part in such a thing.
The brunette shook his head, “You might not want to, but if it came between a little light torture or blowing your cover and losing Pansy and Tori…you’re too loyal to let the girls suffer. You’d do it, and you’d be convincing. You’d have to be, or we’d kill you because you’d get them killed. I just think you should consider the possibilities here, mate. You won’t know what they’re capable of until you’re in too deep.”
“A life sentence in Azkaban,” Blaise said quietly. “If you got caught…if they checked your wand…it would be a life sentence in Azkaban, that even Lucius couldn’t get you out of. Too many people are suspicious of the old families already. It would be his freedom or yours, and honestly…you’d probably both go down for it either way.”
The three of them stayed silent for a long while. Draco, leaning back against his pillows, just stared at the dark, emerald green of the canopy above. Why did they have to be the ones to deal with all of this? Why couldn’t some random Ravenclaw be Crabbe’s target…or Flint’s for that matter? Why did it always have to be them?
Theo’s snores indicated he had fallen asleep without having any conversation or activity to keep him awake. Draco pushed his curtains aside, and tiptoed out of the room, knowing exactly where he was going.
“I’d do the same,” Blaise whispered so he wouldn’t wake their roommate. “If it was me, I’d protect them at all costs. You’re a good friend, Draco.”
Draco nodded without a word and crept out of the room.