The Good Slytherin

Chapter Twenty: Mark

"Daphne?"

"Huh?"

Care of Magical Creatures class had ended and Daphne looked like she was off in her own world. Mark had seen this glassy eyed look before--it was the same stare that he had seen two weeks before when he helped her mother out of the attic. Now Daphne bore the same look as if all her mother's grief had been transferred.

Mark began to gather his things, which was enough to show Daphne that it was time to go. She looked startled as if she suddenly had no idea where she was.

"Come on," he said softly and helped her with her school bag. She nodded appreciatively, adjusting her scarf as they joined the swarm of departing students.

"What am I going to do, Mark?" Daphne asked as they wandered up towards the castle.

He slowed down to give her his full attention. "About what?"

"Everything."

Daphne hadn't said much about what had happened with her mother, much less her father. "How are you doing?"

"How do you think I am doing?" she snapped. "Let's see. My family is an active supporter of the Dark Lord, my father practically lives in New York these days, my mother is losing her mind, and oh, by the way, I have an aunt who was a Death Eater. I'm really effing fabulous!"

He was startled. "Daphne--"

"It was only me and my mother this past summer because my father was off in New York working for the Dark Lord! It makes me sick!"

"Daphne, I--"

She looked apologetic for snapping at him and her tone became softer. "I know you are trying to be supportive, Mark, but you already know who you are. You have France. What do I have? Nothing. I have the weight of my family on my shoulders and it's crushing me."

"Daphne, it doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to be whatever you think your family wants you to be."

"You think it's that easy, huh?"

"I'm only saying--"

"Mark, I know you are trying to help. . . . I need sometime to myself," she said quietly as she stared off towards the Quidditch pitch. The bleak January landscape slowly darkened before them as the last rays of pale sunlight retreated into the horizon.

"Of course."

Daphne took her schoolbag from him and began to walk ahead of him. "I'll see you back in Slytherin," she called over her shoulder as she started up the stone steps.

"What about dinner?"

Her voice was distant. "I'm not hungry." She then faded into the distance.

"Where's Daphne?" Marion asked as Mark sat down at the long Slytherin table.

He didn't want to sound too alarming. Ever since they got back to Hogwarts, Marion had been quite sensitive to Daphne's deteriorating mood and he wasn't about to get her worked up over nothing. "She needed sometime alone," Mark said casually as he reached for the roast chicken.

"What's Malfoy done this time?" Tristan asked, setting down his knife and fork, brow furrowed.

"No, no. I think the strain might be getting to Daphne. That whole bit with her family and what." Then again, maybe Mark should be worrying about her.

Marion didn't seem to be particularly mollified. "I should go check up on her after dinner," she said curtly. "I've noticed that she hasn't been doing her homework."

She was right about the homework bit. Daphne's normally exemplarily schoolwork had declined since returning to Hogwarts. "Right. I am sure that it's only temporary. Daphne only wants some time alone. We haven't been back but two weeks."

The look on Marion's face plainly read that she didn't enjoy his dismissal of her concern. Even though she had publicly made her choice to renounce any loyalties to Malfoy, it didn't change her hostility towards Mark. Thankfully she gave him a thin-lipped scowl and returned to her potatoes--he didn't feel like getting into an argument with her.

"She did snap at me though."

Tristan looked surprised. "Snap at you? Why would she do that?"

"What did you do, Mark?" Marion interjected rather loudly before he had the chance to respond. A few students turned and stared.

Here we go, he thought. So much for preventing an argument "Me? I didn't do anything! You know I care for Daphne as much as you do."

"Mark--"

"Stop it you two." Tristan's grey eyes were fixed intently on something or someone. Mark turned around to see that Malfoy and a bunch of Slytherin boys were walking out of the Great Hall. They seemed to be joking about something. Tristan watched them like a hawk.

"Hmmm. Wonder where they are off to?" Marion mused, calming down somewhat now that her attention was diverted.

Mark watched them disappear into the chamber beyond. "I reckon they're not off for a tea party."

"You can bet on that," Tristan said gravely.

He was about to turn back to his dinner when he suddenly saw Zacharias Smith. There was a brief moment when they made eye contact and a flicker of recognition, but Zacharias's jaw tightened and he quickly looked away. Mark wasn't sure if he was expecting more, but he stabbed dejectedly at his roast nonetheless.

Nothing more was said about Malfoy during dinner, though Mark could tell that Tristan's attention was elsewhere. After they had made themselves quite full, they headed back to the common room to work on their homework. Marion instead went straight to the girls' dormitory to check for Daphne. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

"You think Blondie is up to something?" Mark asked, sliding into one of the high backed chairs by the fire.

Tristan took the seat across, but looked anxious. "C'mon, mate. You already know the answer to that."

"Could be one of his secret meetings where he is ineptly plotting our demise?"

"Funny. That's what I was thinking." Tristan's laugh sounded hollow.

"Well, he's not here in the common room."

"Obviously. He could be in his bedroom."

"Why? You want to go looking for him?"

"That's a smashing idea. Thanks for suggesting it."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You could have just said so."

"I'm probably being paranoid."

"Obviously." His couldn't help but feel nervous. "Shall we check in the dormitory?"

"Right."

They left their things by the fireplace and headed for the fifth years' dormitory. They weren't very far before they heard Malfoy's voice spilling out into the hallway.

"Father says I did quite well for my first time."

Exchanging puzzled looks, Mark and Tristan crept closer to the door.

"Go on, show us," someone urged loudly.

"You volunteering, Montague?"

Suddenly there were footsteps behind them.

"What are you two fairies doing?"

Mark whipped around to see Miles Bletchley eyeing them menacingly from the other end of the hall, wand raised.

Bugger.

"Careful, Mark" Tristan hissed in his ear.

"Sod off," he snarled at Bletchley.

Tristan made a small groan. "Nice try. I'm in charge of the diplomatic relations next time."

Unsurprisingly, "sod off" wasn't enough to diffuse the situation and the loud comment merely caused Malfoy to come out into the hall with a group of Slytherins in tow. "Well if it isn't Faggot Ferris and his sidekick."

"What a charming attempt at a nickname. Did you think of it all by yourself?"

Malfoy's gaze cooled.

"These two were spying on you," Bletchley said, looking rather chuffed.

"Montague," Malfoy said with a greedy grin. "Looks like I'll get to show you after all."

Bugger.

Mark reached for his wand, but a poke in the back from Bletchley sent him into Malfoy's room before he could draw it.

As the door shut behind them and the Slytherins gathered around, Malfoy raised his wand at Mark and Tristan. A forth year chuckled expectantly and Mark's stomach sank. "Didn't your father teach you it's not polite to point?" he quipped, trying to stall.

"Don't worry, Mark," Tristan interjected, voice weak. "His father is busy teaching him other things."

"What would you know, Connors?" Malfoy said, his pale gaze centering on Tristan. "Do you want to be my first test subject? Like father, like son, right?"

Tristan suddenly grew very stiff. "I see you've been very busy over the Christmas holiday."

Malfoy flashed them a wide, menacing smile and readied himself as if he was about to cast a spell on Tristan. "Watch carefully."

Mark looked around the room for some hint of what to expect. The look of awe on some faces did not bode well and there was a shuffle of movement from the Slytherins. "IMPERIO!"

Tristan flinched and Mark jumped back as if there had been an explosion. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his body and he gaped at his friend, waiting for some outward sign of the curse's affect. The rest of the room seemed to be holding their breaths, but then strangest thing happened . . . Tristan began to laugh.

"Cool!" someone said from behind him. "Make him do something else."

Some of the adrenaline gave way to rage and Mark readied himself to pounce. He looked at Malfoy to see if another curse was on its way, but Malfoy's look of surprise revealed that maybe Tristan's laugh attack wasn't quite what he had planned.

"It's okay, Mark. It didn't work." Tristan was still laughing. Maybe Malfoy inadvertently did a Cheering Charm? "Next time, don't go bragging to your mates about spells you can't do, Malfoy."

Looking many shades of pink, Malfoy seemed as though the embarrassment might kill him. Since none of his friends offered any defense, Malfoy resorted to his tried and true insults. "You might want to watch your back, Connors. Sooner or later you'll end up just like your father, you filthy blood traitor."

For a moment, Tristan looked as though he was about to throw a punch. Mark felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation, but his friend scowled instead and grabbed at Mark to leave the room. "Come on," he said between clenched teeth. Amazingly, the Slytherins parted, clearing a path to the door. Mark and Tristan couldn't have left any faster if they floated out.

"Bloody hell!" Mark gasped, slightly winded from nerves as they bounded into the common room.

Tristan said nothing. They went straight for the door and into the dungeons, wandering deep into its labyrinth like corridors. Neither of them much wanted to be anywhere near Slytherin at the moment.

"You all right?"

Despite his earlier laughing fit, Tristan looked humorless even in the low torchlight. He grabbed at his head. "I think my life flashed before me."

"Not under the Imperius Curse?"

"No, mate. I remember quite well what it felt like from Professor Moody's class and that was not it. Malfoy's spell work couldn't so much as make a toilet to flush."

"So, uh, what did he mean when he said like father, like son?"

Tristan's expression hardened and there was a tense pause. He was normally such a levelheaded chap that it was a bit of a shock to see his eyes flash with rage, nostrils flared. "Daphne's not the only one with family secrets. You know what Lucius Malfoy's special talent is?"

Mark shook his head no, though he was beginning to get a good idea.

"It's the Imperius Curse. And there were a lot of wizards and witches who did some nasty things while under his control. My dad was one of them."

Mark hesitated to ask for specifics. His own uncle's roster of crimes was not for the faint of heart. "What did he do?"

Tristan gave a snort and began to pace a little. "Killed about ten of his Muggle born patients when he was a Trainee Healer. Barely remembers three quarters of it and frankly I think he prefers not to know. Eventually he was cleared of all charges, but that stigma never goes away. My dad spent the last fifteen years trying to forget the rest, often dumping the worst of the memories into a pensieve. He has Lucius Malfoy to thank for that. Shows what right piece of work Draco must be, coming from a worthless shit of a father."

"Bloody hell. How does your dad know it was Lucius Malfoy that had cursed him?"

"Some choice flashbacks. I stole a look in the pensieve a few of years ago. Needless to say, my dad isn't too pleased with the Ministry's cover up of You-Know-Who's return."

Mark shuddered. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Not exactly polite dinner conversation, right? Oh by the way, my father killed ten people while under the Imperious Curse. Can you pass the potatoes? No, Mark. That information might be fine for Slytherin, but there is still a majority of wizards and witches who find that cause for alarm. People aren't so forgiving when it comes to You-Know-Who." Tristan held his gaze for a few moments before turning away with a sigh, anger spent.

"I'm sorry--" Mark began, unsure of what to say. What does one say?

Tristan's posture was still defensive, but he relaxed a little. "Nah, mate, forget it. Now you know why it's so important that we go after Malfoy. You think I want to end up under the Imperius Curse like my dad? Because that's what's going to happen to us if we let him win. And if You-Know-Who succeeds in defeating Dumbledore, or hell, even Harry Potter, you can say goodbye to both our blood traitor arses. We already know what Draco Malfoy wants to do with us."

Mark had not forgotten the list. "You really think Harry Potter can take down the Dark Lord?"

"If rumors are to be believed, then Potter has done more than any of us combined. So yeah, I guess I do."

"I didn't think we'd get out of that room alive after the curse failed," Mark croaked.

"Don't worry. Malfoy will never admit to such an embarrassing failure just as he knows that we don't have any proof to go to Snape or Dumbledore with. He'll pretend like it never happened, all the while making our lives hell for his incompetence."

"But, Merlin. Malfoy is spending his holidays learning Unforgivable Curses?"

"Maybe, maybe not. It might have been him talking shite."

Mark took one look a Tristan and knew that he didn't think it was bollocks at all. "But one day. . ."

He looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, "One day he'll get it right and I don't want to be around when he does."

True to Tristan's prediction, Malfoy said nothing of the failed Imperius Curse and taunted them mercilessly instead. Daphne was so lost in her own thoughts that she barely gave notice, but Marion was keen to point out the change.

"Blimey. Is it me or is Malfoy a nastier little shit than normal? Maybe Harry Potter showed him up again?"

It had been a few days and they had yet to tell her or Daphne about the Unforgivable Curse. Tristan had agreed that it might be too much too much to reveal--too much strain for Daphne at least. But now Marion had noticed something was amiss and they finally felt compelled to inform her.

"The Imperius Curse?" Marion said in disbelief, voice echoing a little in the empty classroom they had taken her to.

"Yes, but the curse failed."

"Oh Tristan, that's awful," she gasped.

"Not as awful as the look on Malfoy's face when he realized it didn't work."

Mark was quick to notice that Tristan had conveniently left out any mention of his father.

"Have you told Daphne?"

"Not yet," Tristan continued. "She's got enough the worry about, don't you think?"

"Right. . . don't tell her."

"Eventually Daphne will need to know, Marion," Mark interjected.

She gave him her usual glare. "You always think you know what's best for her!"

Mark felt his temper stoked and was about to growl something back when Tristan silenced him.

"Oi! I'm tired of playing referee with you two." He looked like a worn out parent. "Whatever it is--whatever injury caused or offense given--get it sorted! Malfoy's been plotting our demise and you two continue to bicker like four year olds."

Marion looked diminished by Tristan's sudden outburst and for a moment Mark honestly thought she was going to burst into tears. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty for his part.

"I'm going to the library," Tristan barked and stormed out of the room leaving Mark and Marion to stare at each other with surprise.

"Marion, in case you have forgotten, I am on your side," Mark said calmly after a few moments.

She gave him a steely look.

"Why do you hate me? Did I do something to you once upon a time?"

"No--"

"Well, what is it?" he said exasperatedly, hands in the air.

This time she really did look like she was about to cry. Her pale face suddenly looked a bit red and her eyes glistened. "Well, before you came along, I was Daphne's best friend!"

It wasn't the response he expected. "Oh."

"And now you are her best friend and . . . and it's not the same!" Her eyes were shiny with tears.

"Oh."

She stared at him like she expected some sort of apology.

"I didn't know, Marion. I mean, it kind of happened that way. I always thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you," she quietly confessed, eyes on the floor. "Just jealous."

Mark stepped forward with the urge to console her.

The intimacy of the moment seemed too much for her. "I'm going to go find Tristan," she said hoarsely and suddenly left made for the door. Mark was now by himself.

"I can't win!" he shouted into the empty classroom.