Dark Magic and Dangerous Dreams

After the media’s discovery that Thomas was a werewolf, everyone largely stopped caring that he’d gone, and Draco’s friends began warming up to him again.

“It was brave, what you did,” Pansy said the following day, walking to Potions with Draco and squeezing his arm.

“What did I do?” he wanted to know.

“Single-handedly getting him out of the school!” Pansy exclaimed. “He’s dangerous!” Many students seemed to hold this view, and often approached Draco in corridors with equal praise and fervour. The only ones who hadn’t seemed shocked by this revelation, and indeed that it made no difference to, were the group of students who Draco was convinced formed Harry Potter’s secret club. Thomas Arimonticus was their friend and comrade, and his being a werewolf - what did it matter? Then again, Draco realised, that Harry Potter loved werewolves. That Lupin, the DADA teacher they’d had in Third Year, was a werewolf, and a close friend of Harry’s dad. Draco tried to picture himself sitting down to chat with Fenrir Greyback, a close friend of his dad, and snorted with laughter.

“Something funny, Draco?” said Professor Snape, lip curling.

“I was thinking about werewolves, sir,” Draco blurted out.

“Yes,” Snape smiled, “they are rather… comical.” He shot a venomous look towards Harry Potter, who went bright red with fury.

“Harry, don’t do anything stupid…” Draco heard Hermione groan.

“Werewolves are not comical!” Harry shouted, leaping to his feet. “Most of them live in hard times due to Umbridge’s millions of anti-werewolf decrees! Professor Lupin, for one —”

“Hold your tongue, Mr Potter!” sang a sweet voice from the back of the room. Umbridge emerged with a clipboard, smiling at Harry, who sat down, fearful.

“Detention will do you nicely, I think,” said Umbridge, “and Severus, do learn to control your students! And, Mr Malfoy” — Malfoy blanched at being addressed like his father — “werewolves are not an appropriate thing to think about in school, or anywhere, really. Come to my office after this lesson, please, and don’t worry - you are not in trouble.”

“What do you think it’s for?” Blaise asked Draco at the end of the lesson.

“Dunno,” said Draco, “unless it’s to commend me for handing him in, or something.”

“Can’t believe she’s trying to control people’s thoughts now!” said a loud, opinionated voice by Draco’s left shoulder. He looked down with a sneer to find himself face-to-face with Hermione Granger, who was wearing a indignant expression.

“Honestly, it’s like something from 1984, George Orwell had it right all along!” Draco had no idea who or what she was referring to - wizards had different literature to Muggles.

“Malfoy, since you haven’t read the book, clearly, and I doubt any other Muggle-born of this school will have, since it’s quite an old and advanced book, I think you ought to let me be your campaign manager, and we’ll recruit loads of people to help overthrow Umbridge! I’m sure you’ve heard that Harry’s already doing something like this, only he said no Slytherins are allowed in that one.”

Draco just looked down at Hermione, completely unimpressed.

“I’ve read it, Hermione,” said a male voice, who had just drawn up to them.

They all looked, surprised, at Gregory Goyle, who was scratching his head as if the voice didn’t belong to him.

“You’ve read 1984,” Hermione said incredulously. “But wizards don’t know about Muggle books! And your dad’s, well” — she lowered her voice — “a Death Eater.”

“Yeah,” said Goyle, “but my mum’s a Muggle. My parents aren’t together, you see, and I was brought up in the Muggle world. I have a high reading ability, but I’m quite thick otherwise.” The two of them reverted off in literature heaven then, trying to plan a way to free the thoughts of Draco and everyone else at the school from the evil clutches of Umbridge.

“What the flip?” Draco muttered to Blaise.

“I didn’t think the Sorting Hat meant it literally when it said ‘everyone must unite’ in its song this year,” Blaise replied. The two of them sniggered for a minute before Draco remembered he was supposed to see Umbridge. As much as he would have liked to stay to hear more revelations about Goyle, he really didn’t want to be subjected to any detentions, so he bolted without a backwards glance.

Umbridge wasn’t in her office when he got there, so he sat down in a pink suede armchair opposite the desk to wait, trying to keep his eyes on the floral carpet because he knew if he had to look up and see those awful kitten pictures on the wall he would vomit. Her office was unbelievable. He had no idea how anyone could work in such a disgusting place. Just as he was thinking this, he remembered Hermione, and realised how he probably would be in deep trouble if Umbridge could read his thoughts.

All of a sudden the door opened and with a tap-tap-tap of heels on the flagstones Umbridge bustled in and plonked herself down at her desk. She smiled at Draco, who stopped slumping in the armchair, and tried to smile back. She smiled even wider and Draco wondered if this was all they were going to be doing.

He eventually broke the stupid smile tennis with “You asked to see me, Professor?”

“I did,” she said, and shuffled about some papers on her desk. “Draco, as one of my most highly-prized members of the Inquisitorial Squad, you are aware that you recently handed over Thomas Arimonticus of Ravenclaw, who turned out to be a werewolf. Did you know this when you turned him in?”

Draco wondered if this was a trick question. But she said he wasn’t in trouble… so maybe it would be best to tell the truth. “I did, Professor,” he said.

“Ahhh. Your observance, cunning and integrity is to be praised. What would you say, Draco, if I were to give you a special job to do?”

“It depends on the job.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed in dislike. She’d have preferred automatic, unquestioning loyalty. “This, Draco, is a job no one has dared entrust to anyone at the Ministry. You would be taking part in a very extra-special — let’s call it an extra-curricular programme, shall we? Work experience. If you do this, Draco, and succeed, the rewards will be plentiful.”

“For you or for me?” Draco said sarcastically. “I’ve already done work experience this year anyway.”

“I think you misunderstand me, Draco.” This time, her voice was bitterly angry. “You don’t have a choice. You will do this for me, therefore gaining all the freedom you should wish to complete it. You will be given all the privileges of an adult — the Ministry will allow you the use of magic whenever you need it and however you need it; you will be allowed to leave the school grounds at will, as long as you inform me; you will have free rein of the Restricted Section in the library, if it helps; you will be allowed to miss lessons, homework, and other school duties; and you do not have to remain in your domitory at night.”

To Draco, this sounded like a good deal. Depending, of course, on the job.

“There must be a catch,” he said.

“Oh, there is one tiny little thing I overlooked!” Umbridge said sweetly. “You must wear a Ministry tracking device at all times, so we can make sure you aren’t using your privileges in anything unrelated to what we are asking you to do.”

“What is it you are asking me to do?”

Umbridge’s reply was hard and cold. “Find Thomas Arimonticus. He is to be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss. And, Draco, if you fail, that will be your fate.” Draco stood up, shaking.

“You- you can’t! My father should have something to say!” he spluttered, backing towards the door.

“Oh, he does,” said Umbridge, smiling. She produced a letter, written in Lucius Malfoy’s handwriting, giving his full consent for Draco to undertake the task. “He seems to think your success in this matter would restore honour to the Malfoy family,” Umbridge said, smiling. “Such a dear man.” She followed Draco to the door and, before he could leave, locked it. “Toleschus.” He was trapped, back pressed against the door, breathing rapidly in fear, unable to even swipe some white blond hair out of his eyes. Umbridge got closer to him until she was almost pressed up against him.

“What do you say?” she asked sweetly. Draco looked down into her flabby, pouchy face, her stiff, greasy hair, her black eyes that glittered like beetles.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he said quietly.

“No,” she sang. Still looking into his face, she grabbed him by the belt and Draco squeaked in horror. However she was only fixing something to the skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his trousers. Using her wand, she muttered a quick spell and Draco felt the little tracking device being sucked into his skin; upon looking down, when she stepped away, he could see a little green light flashing under the first layer of skin which was so pale it was translucent. There were no incision marks, no blood, no way to get it out… unless he cut it out.

“If you try to cut it out,” Umbridge said, once again scarily reading his thoughts, “it will sink further down in your skin. It will always be just one layer below where you cut, until it is inside your stomach. Oh yes, Draco, everyone knows you are clever, yet the Ministry are cleverer. That is why we recruited a teenager to do this job. You are replaceable should he attack you or in case you fail. Good luck! Although no one expects you to succeed.” With a sweet, saccharine smile, Umbridge used Alohomora on her door, and Draco fled the office, heart pounding, fear echoing all around the walls and floor, mirroring the emotion in his own heart.