History of the World Volume V Chapter 19 The Rule of Turpin – Peace Under the Tiers of Society
Even the lowest of creatures from the bottom tier of society can be ruled peacefully. All humans understand fear, and with fear comes tranquility. Sometimes the higher a human rises in society, the healthy instinct for fear is overcome, oftentimes by misguided idealism or pride. To maintain efficient rule, fear must be regularly reestablished…
A dark figure waited quietly in the antechamber to the office of a second tier governor. He seemed out of place in the well-lit hallway, with his black robes and greasy hair. His almost vampire-sallow skin framed a pair of piercing black eyes. This wizard seemed calm and unconcerned with the prospect of meeting a second tier governor. His blasé attitude would have been more shocking except for the silver armband circling his bicep over his robes. That band separated him from even the highest second tier governor. It identified him as a third tier elect, a potential immortal.
"Severus, come in," Albus called.
Rising smoothly, Snape strode forward into the equally brightly lit office and sealed the thick wooden door behind him. The game that brought him here was more dangerous than dragon herding, more foolish than centaur trapping, more moronic than a Muggle. How had he ever become involved in the rebellion? He was one step from initiation to the third tier, and he was a spy, the single most highly placed spy the rebellion had managed. Mingling with Turpin's immortals, his Occlumency had been put to the test, and so far he had passed, but the situation couldn't continue. It wouldn't continue. Snape knew that if he didn't remove himself from the inner sanctum soon, he wasn't going to get many more chances.
Dumbeldore stood there loose and quiet and expectant. He could stare at you over his half-moon spectacles with almost as much penetration as one of the immortals Snape had to block out everyday. Anger flared in Severus at having to face that intrusive stare even here. It was Dumbeldore's fault that he was stuck in the untenable position of third tier spy. If he didn't owe the idealist fool his life, he would have washed his hands of the entire mess years ago. Those twinkling old-man eyes knew what they were owed, and they knew that he couldn't betray them. "Still enjoying your position over the school system, Albus? You'll be pleased to know that the third tier educators still think you're a slightly-senile apolitical old coot."
"I always said a little eccentricity goes a long way. Is your position still secure? Your Occlumency is holding up?" Albus didn't offer Snape a comfortable chair or try companionable conversation. His spy's visits were rare and brief, and it was important to get down to business. "Tell me everything you can."
Ignoring the question about his safety, Severus moved on to his report. They both knew how dangerous his position was, and they both knew that if his Occlumency had slipped they wouldn't be having a conversation, at least not in the living world. "I have news," Severus said. "They're moving me to a new department, special dispensation under a witch named Oscasia, but before I left the education council I caught wind of an old internal directive. The rebellion has moles throughout the regime. Well the regime has a few moles of its own in your rebellion. I don't have all the details, and the details I have don't make good sense. But the regime has been smuggling a commodity out of the rebellion periodically for decades, or longer." Snape met Dumbeldore's eyes and allowed him passage into the antechamber of his mind to complete his report in the most secure manner possible. "They seem to be targeting certain children, stealing them quietly. I can't tell you why, or even be sure that this information is accurate, but I have no reason to doubt the source."
With a flash of black robes fanning out, Severus Disapparated out of Dumbeldore's office, his report complete. Albus stared after his spy for a long moment, rolling the new information over in his mind a couple of times, twisting it around looking at it from every angle that made sense and a few that didn't. Turpin's people were quietly stealing children from the rebellion? If you set aside the improbability of a quiet kidnapping, there was still no obvious reason to steal a few children here and there. There had to be more details, but Albus didn't really have the manpower to start a taskforce over a bit of unsubstantiated information that was so vague it could mean a dozen things. At the same time he couldn't ignore ominous warnings about kidnappings.
With a sigh, Albus decided to do the best he could with the information he had. He took up an ostrich feather quill which was nearly as long as his arm and dipped it into a small ink well filled with shimmering golden ink. He scratched a brief note onto a scroll of parchment.
Remus,
I have need of you.
A.
As soon as the words were written, they vanished. Another parchment, potentially a world away would bear his message and bring Remus Lupin to his door. Lupin was a man apart, a werewolf, a loner, and an unusually trustworthy mercenary. He wasn't part of the rebellion except for those times when Albus employed him.
Lupin's loyalty to the rebellion wasn't hard to rationalize when you considered the current climate about lycanthropy. Turpin's society did not tolerate the disease, treating it as an infection to be eradicated through any means necessary. Facing execution for a medical condition, a secret society of the afflicted came into being, a werewolf society. All those suffering from the disease were offered sanctuary, and once safe, few dared mingle with the outside world for fear of Turpin and his guard. Lupin was an exception to that fundamental rule, daring to interact with the uninfected, daring to walk alongside Muggles and wizards, and perhaps most foolhardy of all, daring to help the rebellion when compensation was offered.
The fireplace flared a bright green where no fire had existed, and the young werewolf, Remus, appeared only slightly dusty for his trouble. He brushed at the simply woven brown set of Muggle clothes he was sporting and bowed his head slightly to Albus. "Governor, you called."
Albus smiled warmly and tilted his head a fraction of a degree, returning the gesture of respect. "It's good to see you, Remus, prompt as always. Are you by any chance available for hire?"
Not waiting for an invitation, Remus took a seat across from the desk. "As it turns out, I am not entangled at the moment. What do you have for me?"
"I have a bone for you, my friend. There isn't much meat, but the bit that's there is serious business. This could take some time to figure out," Albus said.
"If you have the gold, I have the time," Remus replied. "Let's see this serious business."
Their first meal at school wasn't very exciting. By the time the first year students had gathered their supplies and made their way to the dormitories, the older students had long since eaten and retired. Simple meals of bread, cheese, and salted meats waited for the children in their bedrooms. Harry surveyed his room, a dormitory with twelve simple but elegant sleigh beds, all draped in the subdued purple of the first years. Those boys who had trunks found their luggage waiting and those who didn't carried their school supplies to an empty bed. Draco headed to the back of the room and claimed the handsome black leather trunk that matched the robes he had been wearing prior to their fitting.
Harry purposefully headed for the opposite corner of the room. They couldn't expect them to bunk as partners when half the teams were split up with girls in the opposite room. The trunk at the foot of the bed seemed too small to hold all the things they'd been given, but Harry found the space inside ample more like a walk in wardrobe of space, complete with shelves for books and ingredients. There was even a pole with hangars for his extra robes. Harry looked up from stowing his gear to find Ron unpacking his significantly heavier burden at the bed next to his. "Need a hand?" Harry offered. "How much stuff did you bring anyway?"
Ron rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Don't worry about it. My mum packed it all very neatly. She means well, but she packs like she might never see me again. If you need an extra bathrobe or couple dozen extra quills, come see me."
Picking at the tray of dinner food, Harry selected a tasty-looking bit of salted pork and chewed it thoughtfully. "Tomorrow should be pretty exciting. Do you think we'll see any of the upper classmen or the lower classed kids? I have a couple of good friends in Class III and II and IV even."
"Nah," Ron said. "We don't really see those guys in the lower classes but we will interact with the older Class I students. I have two brothers here right now. They're the number three and four of their class, identical twins, Fred and George."
"Wow, that's lucky. Is the number four bitter?" Harry asked with a chuckle.
"Don't laugh, but they're technically both number three. The divination stone said, and I quote, Fred and George Weasley, not Fred then George or George then Fred. They aren't like twins who don't like each other and want to show how they're actually very different people. They're really cool about it all." Ron grimaced, shoving a large pile of towels haphazardly into his bedside trunk. "That's good enough for tonight." He grabbed a hunk of bread and threw himself across his bed.
"That would have to be cool, having a twin. I just have a little sister. She's a complete baby, but I'll miss her I suppose. Give me time to forget how much she annoys me," Harry said. He crawled onto his bed and cuddled down onto his pillow. "We should probably sleep, right?"
"It might make classes easier tomorrow, but I doubt we'll manage it," Ron said. A timed spell kicked in and the lights began to dim. "So, were your parents Muggles like Hermione's?"
Blinking into the dimmed room, Ron realized that Harry had already slipped into sleep. He must have been really tired. Ron stifled a yawn and considered changing into his pajamas, but he was asleep before he could muster the initiative to rise off the soft coverlet.
Outside the dormitories Headmistress McGonagal tucked her wand away. It was a tradition older than her, enchanting the first year students to sleep on their first night at school. She remembered the unnatural night of slumber from her school days. It wasn't a restful sleep. She'd dreamt of being smothered by her blanket all night. Funny how little things could stick in your mind for so many years. If it were up to her, she would have dropped the high-handed spell casting, but as Albus was always reminding her, you didn't buck traditions under this regime. The more paranoid of the emperor's watchdogs considered an attack on tradition a sure sign of a seditious mind. Rebels couldn't afford to arouse suspicion over superfluous whims.
Sighing deeply, Minerva made her way up the stairs to her rooms. For so many years now, she'd worked in this school, first as a teacher and then as the headmistress when Albus was called up to be the central director. Her second secret job was always that of a recruiter for the rebellion. She'd been sending bright idealistic children to their deaths on the fringe of society for decades now. God she was tired. It wasn't only her old knees that ached during her evening climb to the headmistress's tower. A dull pain pounded in her head, radiating from her heart.
Rebellion was a game for children. Children valued their ideals enough to sacrifice their lives, to give up everything. Old women knew better. Minerva joined the rebellion as a girl, a young teacher working alongside a dashing older man. Albus recruited her himself, and maybe she'd been a little star-struck back then. His blue eyes disarmed her then. They still did. If it weren't for that man's eyes, she'd have withdrawn quietly from the rebellion years ago. Instead she kept sending him children, sacrificed to her inability to tell that man no.
Sliding through her bedroom door, Minerva frowned dispassionately. Who was she kidding? It wasn't like she twisted anyone's arms. She just listened to the children and offered those who were simpatico a connection to the fringe they were looking for. If they didn't find that fringe through her, they'd find it eventually. At least she made the transition a safe one for them. Standing alone, staring at the intricate tapestries on her wall, Minerva blinked back the tears in her eyes. It wasn't like they all died out there.
Honey-bread, waffles, sausage, eggs, toast, muffins...breakfast was slightly more bountiful than dinner had been. Hermione walked along the buffet line feeling assaulted by smells and foods that she'd never tried. At least this was a pleasant assault. She'd said Harry had it cushy with his three meals a day, but she hadn't really understood what cushy was until facing this feast. The banquet room was only partially full, early risers of various ages filling in the benches along rows of long polished tables. There were nine tables out there, one for every age group plus one for the teachers set aside and above the rest.
Hermione and the other seven girls in their class rose early, beating the boys to breakfast. She had tagged along in their whispering preening wake without actually speaking. Hermione knew she had nothing in common with the gaggle of talking laughing witches who hadn't spent the first decade of their lives in a hovel on a hill. Yet she needed to find a way to fit in and function. She was the highest placed girl in her glass for goodness sake. She should be in the middle of those girls, leading them. Snatching up a couple of unfamiliar foods, she turned to survey the other girls from her class who were already seated. At the head of the table one of the wizard-born girls was practically holding court. She wore the purple robes they'd been issued with style, somehow owning the dismal colour. Lisa Turpin had shiny black hair, clear pale skin, and the coldest black eyes Hermione had ever seen on another child.
Who was she kidding? The divination stone might think she had potential but those girls would chew her up and spit her out. Her decision to charge into that wolf pack shriveled and died before she took a single step.
"Hermione, there you are. I didn't want to head to breakfast without you, but I wasn't sure if you'd left yet," Harry said. No longer feeling quite so alone and beleaguered, Hermione could almost have hugged that boy. Harry with his familiar mussed hair and wire-rimmed glasses grabbed a plate and started shoveling breakfast foods onto it haphazardly. "So have you looked at your schedule for today yet?"
"Of course I've looked at it," Hermione snapped, careful not to show her relief at his arrival. "I assumed we'd all be going to the same classes anyway."
Now that Harry had his food, he joined Hermione watching the other girls in their class. He restrained himself from asking if Hermione had made any friends yet. He had some idea about how nervous other witches and wizards made her. "Come on, let's sit next to Valerie. She's okay."
Hermione recognized the horsy girl Harry was headed for from her brief stay at the group home. As for whether Valerie was really okay, she wasn't so sure. Harry thought just about everybody was worth knowing. It made his endorsement a little less valuable in Hermione's opinion. She had barely made it into her seat, when Harry shoved a folded piece of parchment under her nose. "Mine and Draco's schedule."
Unfolding the parchment, Hermione scanned the list. "It's different than mine." She fished around in her robes until she found her schedule and placed the papers next to one another.
"Yeah, I know. I already had a look at Ron's copy," Harry said. "We'll have a couple of classes together anyway."
Frustrated that she wouldn't have her one real friend in most of her classes, Hermione thrust Harry's schedule back at him. "It's stupid. Why bother splitting twenty kids up? They could just shuffle us around as a group and save their breath," Hermione said. "What kind of class size are we talking anyway? Four kids? Six?"
Ron, her esteemed partner, chose that moment to slide into the seat across from her. "Usually four according to my brothers. It means you can't disappear into the background. They ask everyone lots of questions everyday, and there's loads of teacher student interaction."
"Yeah, loads of student teacher interaction," two older boys chimed.
Hermione stared at the identical pair of gangly redheads suddenly seated at their table. They were wearing a deep green colour, upper-classman's robes. These had to be some of the older brothers Ron had spoken of. That shade of red hair couldn't possibly exist in two families.
"Congratulations, Ron," one of the boys said.
"Going to introduce us to your friends?" the other asked.
"Fred, George, this is Harry Green, and Hermione Granger, my partner. Harry and Hermione, these are my brothers, Fred and George."
"Ron speaks highly of you both," Harry said. He smiled at the twins and started shoveling down his breakfast.
"Let's see it," Fred said.
"Your schedule," George clarified.
"We came by to help you out," the twins said simultaneously.
Taking the crumpled paper Ron offered, the brothers pored over the schedule. "I wouldn't do first year again on a bet," George muttered. "Look at that day one. History with Fudge, Ecology with Wesson..."
"And Spell-Crafting with Dover," Fred said. "Listen up little brother and we'll tell you everything you need to know. Professor Cornelius Fudge loves to hear himself talk. He'll assign you enough reading to keep you up half the night."
"Every night. But take notes and that's what he tests from," George said. "Professor Vera Wesson is teaching ecology and magic but she really prefers the plants to the animals and the hard questions are all herbology."
"Professor Elspeth Dover is what, three hundred years old?" Fred asked.
"At least," George said. "She's tough though and immune to charm, but she's usually reasonable." A pack of older students passed by the table and the twins hailed them. "That should get you through the day, little brother."
Hermione watched the twins retreat to their age group's table, thankful for the first time to know Ron. It felt good to have some idea of what to expect. Ron was smiling at her as though he could read her mind. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she rose quickly. "All that helpful information and they didn't bother to tell us where any of these classes are," Hermione said. "I'm leaving now and looking for our first class."
Frowning, Ron chugged his glass of milk and shoved a last piece of toast in his mouth. He had to hurry to keep up with his partner. "Hermione, wait."
Watching his friends leave, Harry lingered over his own breakfast and waited for his partner's arrival. With school there were things you could control and things you had to live with. He couldn't influence divination stones or choose his schedule. Draco Malfoy most definitely hadn't been his choice of partners, but he wasn't planning to go anywhere, nor was he going to try to get Draco dropped to Class II, which meant they were stuck with each other. Harry spotted Draco's slick blond head in the breakfast line and sighed. It was going to be a long year.
"Okay Green," Draco said. He took the seat Ron had just vacated and stared resolutely across the table. "I don't particularly like you."
"Really? And I was so warming to you," Harry said. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Unfortunately, we have to work together today. If you're late, they'll hold it against me too. If you screw up, I suffer the same homework penalties. The only things we don't share are test scores. This is me telling you to not screw up, unless you're going to do it royally and get yourself declassified."
Chuckling, Harry leaned forward, closer to Draco. How ugly could this relationship get in less than a week? "You're really something else. I'm not going to screw you up, if I can help it. This school isn't a joke to me. I want to do well here too. I've been studying in preparation for this place for as long as I can remember. Does it have to be a battle between us? Can't we work together in class?"
"Maybe," Draco said. "We'll see."
Four students sat on silk pillows in a half circle. The oval classroom they inhabited was bright and airy. A ceiling-height window arched every two feet offering a clear view of the sky and clouds outside. The instructor, a tall man with thick black hair and striking brown eyes stood in front of his class silently. His black robes were unadorned except for one decoration. All of his students had noticed the golden armband on his upper left arm. This was a third tier wizard.
"Good morning, class. We will be studying the art of magic. Your schedule says Dark Arts, but you need to understand that it isn't an evil thing we study here. Magic isn't black and white. It is gray. Some spells cost more of your soul than others, and we call those expensive spells dark. Even the most innocuous spell may be used for evil, and even the darkest spell can be used for good." The instructor took out his wand and began to pace gracefully, cat-like, in front of his students. "Harry Green, name a dark spell."
Transfixed by his instructor, Harry took a moment to answer. "Avada Kedavra."
"Excellent, an expensive spell. Now Seamus Finnigan, name a light spell," the instructor said.
"Ah, Wingardium Leviosa?" Seamus said.
"Another good answer, but have you ever thought how evil can be good and good evil? If I were to cast Avada Kedavra on a rampaging rogue wizard, would I be the force of darkness? If I were to levitate a stone over an innocent infant and allow it to crush that child, did I cast a light spell?"
"Wizards and witches are evil or good. Spells are just tools. My name is Tom Riddle. It is my job to teach you the expensive spells known as dark magic and how to defend yourself from them. Now take up your wands."
"Class pairs stand and face each other." Professor Riddle paused between the two groups. "Can anyone tell me what the spell Tripudio will do? Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco frowned and tried to think of an answer. Of course Green and Finnigan would get easy questions, and he'd get the obscure spell question.
"If you don't know, just say so. You don't have to stare at me for three minutes," Professor Riddle said. "This is the first day. My expectations go up from here. Don't bother smiling. This means you have to get the answer the hard way. I want you to take turns casting Tripudio at each other until someone figures it out. Watch my wand." Professor Riddle demonstrated a sharp flick of his wand. "Tripudio. Ready? Begin."
Covered from head to foot in foul-smelling dragon dung Hermione gripped her Spell-Crafting text and refused to look at her similarly dung-encrusted partner. It was all Ron's fault for distracting her when they were supposed to be fertilizing the Golden Dinksaps. She got a dusting in its eyes, and the creature came up out of the ground showering them in crap. Now they had to finish the day, their first day, in complete filth. Her knuckles began to ache she was gripping her book so hard.
"I'm sorry," Ron said for the hundredth time. Hermione still didn't look at him or respond to his apology. Honestly, it was at least as much her fault as his. Would she accept an apology or offer one? No. She had one gear, disgruntled. Well he wasn't apologizing anymore. She wasn't the only one wearing dragon dung to the last class of the day. "You are impossible," he muttered under his breath.
"Wow, what a smell," Harry said. "I take it you guys had a good lesson." He slid into the seat next to Ron and brushed delicately at his friend's dirty shoulder. "What happened?"
"An accident in ecology," Ron replied. "How did your morning classes go? I don't see your partner."
Harry laughed and slid lower in his seat. "Professor Riddle is great. He's third tier you know, and his class was really interesting. Dearest Draco had to stay after class to get the Tripudio curse reversed. I was the first to cast it correctly."
"Really? Congratulations, I guess. What's the Tripudio curse?" Ron asked. Whatever it was, Draco probably deserved it.
"The curse of the dancing feet," Harry whispered. "Draco had rhythm. Draco was feeling the music."
Hermione abandoned her sulk and spun toward the boys. "Was it really embarrassing? I wish I could have seen that."
"Now she talks," Ron said. "Will I have to curse Draco every time something goes wrong to get you to stop pouting?"
"I wasn't pouting," Hermione snapped.
"Right, you just went deaf," Ron said.
While his two friends traded barbs, Harry doodled on his parchment and daydreamed about his amazing first class. Dark Arts was the exciting subject he had heard it would be, and Professor Riddle was the epitome of the wizard Harry wanted to be. Calm, handsome, charismatic, powerful...Harry could see himself in that role, wearing that armband, teaching that class.
"She was pouting. Tell her Harry," Ron said. "Back me up man," he added more quietly.
"Hermione doesn't pout. She wages silent psychological warfare, my friend," Harry said diplomatically.
"I will not be made a fool of," Draco gasped. Panting and out of breath from all the dancing he had just done, he stared at Professor Riddle. Sparks were dancing in his blue eyes. "Do you know who my father is?"
Professor Riddle shrugged disinterestedly. "As far as I know the only student in your class with a parent on the third tier is Lisa Turpin. Why would I bother to know any of your other parents?"
"My father is the sheriff of this whole district," Draco said. "Lucius Malfoy, he's practically third tier."
"Your father is a second tier nothing, and the sooner you realize that, the easier your life is going to be," Riddle said. "You should run along to your next class, before you're late."
"My father..."
"Is nothing!" This time Riddle's voice dropped and his eyes literally shifted red for an instant. "Go."
Spell Crafting was not the fun and games Dark Arts had been. Theory, logic, languages, the power in words, the power of intent, Harry's head was aching from the massive amount of knowledge Professor Dover threw out in that first class. In the prepatory classes at the group home they'd taught rudimentary Latin, Arabic, Ancient Egyptian, and Greek. No one had come out and said they'd need the languages, but it made Professor Dover slightly easier to understand. Harry just wished he'd studied those subjects a little harder.
"That should be enough for our first class," Professor Dover said. Her voice was surprisingly strong and clear coming out of the stooped white-haired woman. She seemed so frail that an errant breeze might blow her over. "Mr. Green, could you please tell me where your partner Mr. Malfoy is?"
Harry glanced to his right and the empty seat there. "I haven't seen him since our morning class. He needed to stay behind for a few minutes."
"Well, perhaps you should stay with him if he requires an escort to make it to class. I'll expect a twenty inch essay on the use of old or dying languages as words of power, from both of you, in addition to your regular assignment," Professor Dover said. "If he misses another of my classes, there will be worse than a homework penalty awaiting the both of you."
On their way out of class Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and winced. "Tough luck. It's really too bad that you have to take the extra work with him."
"Yeah," Harry muttered. Truthfully, he was a little worried about his partner. Sure Draco had acted like a complete idiot from day one, but it was only day two. Was it fair to judge him, classify him, and give up hope that there might be a halfway decent human being under the posturing surface? He seemed very serious about doing well at school. Missing his first Spell Crafting lesson was completely out of character.
Back at the dormitories, Harry threw his books onto his bed. There was no sign of Draco there, which only meant that he'd probably gone to dinner early, or maybe he was somewhere studying? Ron had started chattering about Quidditch sometime on the walk back and he was beginning to pick up steam. "And if the Western European Magnate team doesn't beat the South Americans this year we won't continue to the match with Africa the year after. We'll go into the loser's bracket. Harry, are you listening?"
"I'm listening. We need to win this year's intercontinental match because we lost to the Australians last year. It doesn't really matter if we win though. We're still screwed if those freaks from Antarctica don't lose soon." Harry checked to make sure he had his wand and stepped toward the exit. "Are you going to dinner? I'm starved."
"The freaks from Antarctica are not going to be world champions! Don't even suggest it. We can't be friends if you're going to be a pessimist about the Westies chances," Ron said. "I mean really."
"There's nothing wrong with Quidditch or the Westies," Harry replied. "I've just got something on my mind." The great hall was filled more completely than Harry had ever seen it, students and teachers occupying the empty places making a sea of multicoloured robes. Harry scanned the crowd looking for a slick blond head over a purple robe, but Draco wasn't there to be found. "Ron, I'll catch up with you at dinner, okay? I need to check on...something." Harry headed back into the hall and jogged to the west tower where their Dark Arts class met. It was the last place he'd seen Draco, and maybe Professor Riddle would still be there. Maybe he could tell Harry where his partner had disappeared to?
Clomping up the last steps, Harry knocked at the door and waited. "Professor Riddle?" When no one answered, he pushed tentatively at the heavy oak door, which cracked open without protest. "Is anyone here?" Harry peeked his head around the door. The classroom was very different without sunlight streaming through the many arched windows. The small amount of light offered by the crescent moon barely cut into the shadows. The room was obviously deserted. With a sigh Harry started to leave, but he caught a bit of motion out of the corner of his eye. "Who's there?" Harry pushed the door all the way open, his heart suddenly thudding faster. He brandished his wand, and his hand hardly shook.
"Go away, Green."
Rather than a dark beast left over from upper classman lessons like Harry had been imagining, that voice sounded like Draco. "Malfoy? What are you doing up here in the dark?"
"Why am I here? Why are you here, Green? I just want to be alone," Draco said. "Why don't you go to dinner and make nice with your little friends."
There was a tired defeated inflection to his voice that Harry hadn't expected. Was this about class and the dancing curse? It was just a little dash of embarrassment. Things like that were bound to happen while they learned magic. "Well I'm not leaving you alone, partner. We're in this together and you let me down today. We have an essay as long as my leg due next week because you couldn't be bothered to show up for Spell Casting."
"It doesn't even matter to me," Draco hissed. He stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. There was a clean slice cut into the smooth curve of his right jaw. Where blood had fallen and dried his purple robe was stained black. "It's all over."
"You need a healer. What happened?" Harry asked. He walked forward a few steps, but Draco gestured sharply for him to stop.
"It's healed already. I'm marked. I pissed Riddle off and he VETOED me," Draco shouted.
Harry didn't ask Draco what he meant. He'd heard that third tier wizards and witches could veto anyone on the second tier so that they weren't eligible to ever rise to the third tier. "But you're just a kid," Harry whispered. "Can he do that?"
"Obviously he can and did," Draco said. "My father's going to kill me. Number two in the class and no chance of ever rising."
Never having had a father or mother with expectations to live up to, Harry couldn't completely understand Draco's dilemma. Heck, he'd imagined what it would be like to have a father, demanding or supportive, kind or cruel. Draco's father might be of the demanding variety, but Harry had a hard time believing he would really kill his son over a little disappointment. "Forget it," Harry said. "It's over. Now you can just enjoy this experience. Just go to school without all the stress of trying to be better than everyone else."
"You think everything is so easy, cut and dry, black and white," Draco said. "I just lost my only dream, my lifelong goal."
"Aren't we a bit young to have lifelong goals? There's more to life than the third tier," Harry said. "There's Quidditch and Quidditch."
Draco snorted and shook his head at Harry. "You think the new meaning in my life is going to be Quidditch?"
"It seems to get Ron through the day," Harry said. "Come on to dinner. You have to be starving. I'm starving, and I bothered to grab a bite at lunch."
Draco nodded slowly. He let Harry lead him away, trying to steel himself against the hundreds of kids who were going to see the veto carved into his cheek marking him forever as inferior. Well they could all gawk, they could think what they wanted, but he wasn't inferior. He wasn't number two material and he didn't deserve to be exiled from tier three. Harry was a condescending idiot, coming around and pretending to care. Still when he pushed through the doors to the Great Hall, Draco was glad to have someone beside him even if it wasn't a friend.
Author's Note:
And the arrival of Riddle! Living under Turpin's reign changed Harry and company's experiences, their lives and their personalities. Riddle is obviously different, but is he Voldemort? I guess you'll just have to wait and see.
Lest I forget, many thanks are owed to Magical Maeve for her time and effort beta reading.