Fic: The Coming Winter
Title: The Coming Winter
Author:
smoo_001
Summary: The wizarding world is changing forever, and Draco wonders if he will ever be able to find peace. Written for
jamie2109 and
nocturnali's AWDT prompt ‘Evil is an art form’.
Warnings: Darkfic
Rating: R
Word count: 1,483. Whoopsie.
The Coming Winter
“Evil must be an art,” Draco muses. He’s sure he’s right. Nothing else makes sense. There are novices who commit petty crimes, steal children from their families, kick kittens, maybe even kill a muggle or two. Then there are the artists. Masters of their craft, those that hone their skill after careful, deliberate practice, their talents obvious from when they are very young - though only noticeable to the trained eye. And then, then there are the naturals. Those that are not only born with the gift, but seem to embody it, make it effortless, as natural as breathing or dying.
Draco doesn’t believe in fairy tales. Neither does he believe in false gods and empty promises. No, in his carefully protected world of wonders and darkness, there is no room for happy endings. Leave the twinkling lights to the deluded and hopelessly plebian, he’s content to survive, thank you.
As he stands, in relative annonymity behind his gleaming mask of black and silver, he lets the tiny part of his mind not kept carefully blank indulge in a little nostalgia. He thinks back to the days when he allowed maudlin fears lead him down what he thought was the right path. He remembers fear, failure, dread, sleepless nights, cold sweats, defeat, acceptance, hope, love, pain, paranoia, blindness and pleasure. Oh, such pleasure, it still hurts to think about it.
He gives himself a tiny mental shake, silently berating himself for not paying attention and allowing such dangerous thought to cross his mind - a mind that doesn’t even belong to him anymore. No, he had long since sold it, his soul, his body, everything he had save his name, for a pittance.
He returns his full attention to the present. He watches, dispassionately, as the creature hangs by its shackles in front of the crowd, head hanging at a strange angle, emaciated body barely held up by skeletal arms. The crowd lets out a cacophony of hoots and cheers as the creature’s captor walks around the binds, seemingly examining the body with a healer’s eye.
“Look at what it has become,” the captor crows, his eyes flashing across the assembly, “this is power. Look at it. This is the absolute power you admired so much. Look at it!” he roars as he wandlessly sends a vicious looking hex at the figure.
The creature, for its part, does little more than shudder at the force of impact, its tight chains restraining any real movement. More blood gushes out of its open mouth, and Draco thinks he may have heard whimpering, but he is too far away to tell. It doesn’t matter anyway. The crowd cheers again.
“I almost feel pity for it, you know,” the crowd is silent again, eagerly listening. “And I feel pity for you, for the Wizarding world”. He laughs slightly, but it is a jarring sound. “Had it not been for me, you would have blindly followed this… this creature. This weak nothing of an animal, and to what end? To your own demise!
But fear not my friends. Today we rise above what we have been for centuries. We are magical, wonderful beings, and today we cast aside our fear of persecution, our hatred. Today, we become what we were always meant to be!”
The crowd goes wild again, and Draco, while outwardly ecstatic, almost wishes he were a child again, when these were only ideals, something to overhear at his father’s keyhole when he should have been fast asleep in his bed.
Draco watches as the body shifts a little, as if trying to get comfortable. He snorts quietly, wishing this could be over so he could go home and nurse his throbbing headache. But he knows there will be no rest for him tonight.
The wizard on stage holds up a hand, and the crowd falls silent again. “It is time,” he says quietly, and Draco swears he can hear the creature take in a sharp breath. He can smell the excitement among the crowd, and in any other circumstance, he would have been reveling in the heady smell of euphoria, sweat and tangible magic. But not today. Today is a day when his world changes, and all Draco can feel is an overpowering, numbing dread.
As he tries to calm himself and enjoy the moment, the creature’s binds are carelessly Vanished. It slumps almost immediately to the floor of the raised platform, before the wizard lifts it high into the air, letting the body rotate in lazy circles for the crowd to see at every angle.
It hangs there for a few moments, grotesquely puppet like, blood dripping onto the front rows from its various wounds. No one seems to mind, they all appear to be frozen. Even Draco, despite the lurching in his stomach, can’t take his eyes off the figure.
The wizard takes a breath and raises his other hand, pointing at the floating mess above him.
“Avada Kedavra!” he screams, and a sickly green light, brighter than anything Draco has ever seen rushes out and hits the creature. He vaguely registers that several people in the crowd are screaming and cowering, his own mouth is open and his eyes hurt from the brightness. Whoever knew, he thinks distractedly, that darkness could bring such light?
The creature’s jaw opens almost impossibly wide. Even more blinding, white light streams in waves from its body, mouth, eyes, chest - it is like the sun at noontime, and Draco feels like he is on fire. Just as he starts to feel that he can’t take this anymore, there is an almighty burst of light, deafening in its soundlessness and Draco, like almost everyone in the crowd falls to his knees, trying to get as far away from the spectacle as possible. And then, mercifully, it is over.
Long moments pass, and Draco tries to bring himself back from the edge of unconsciousness.
“It is done,” he hears, and opens his eyes. He wonders when he fell down and curled up in a fetal position. He stands up quickly, wincing as his head swims, and brushes dust off his robes. He can smell the rising stench of vomit in the air, and tries to focus on the platform once again.
There is no sign of the creature anymore, though Draco didn’t expect there to be. Due to the force of the curse, or possibly because of its own innate magic, its body has evaporated, much like its soul must have. He wonders whether there could be a heaven or hell for such beings.
“It is done, my friends,” the wizard repeats, smiling darkly. Draco, despite himself, shudders. Murmurs ripple across the crowd, the people unsure of what to do, wait like so many sheep for their next command, a cue to tell them how to behave.
“We have conquered our fear with this one, single act of sacrifice,” the wizard continues. “today we are evolved, and someday, our children will thank us. They will see our trials as necessary for the equality of all wizardkind and we will be heroes!”
The crowd takes this as cause to cheer, and a roar bursts out. Fright and nausea apparently forgotten, they throw their arms in the air, and begin to chant His name.
“There is much work to be done,” he holds his hand up again for silence. “We have a world to rebuild, we have a society to change, and these will take hard work and more sacrifice. But fear not, my friends, we will help each other. I and my faithful companion will never abandon you, our devotion to the wizarding world is stronger than ever and together we will bring deliverance, wizardkind will be more glorious than ever before!”
The crowd cheers madly again, and the wizard on stage holds his hand out to Draco. Draco grasps it immediately, and allows himself to be pulled on stage. Plastering a wide smile on his face, he removes his mask and together, they raise their arms to the stormy sky, as the audience’s roar reaches a fever pitch.
“We are at the dawn of a new age!” his companion is shouting, his voice rising above the din. “we are power itself, and here we bring in a new day where every witch, every wizard, every man, woman and child are equal!”
The crowd thunders its applause again, and it goes on, endlessly. Somewhere, between the smiling and fireworks, Draco catches the one murmured sentence that makes his blood leave his face in a rush.
“Although, some wizards are more equal than others,” the Hope of the Wizarding World says with an almost imperceptible wink. Draco smiles thinly, trying not to grimace at the crushing grip on his hand. He wonders whether those piercing green eyes, long since uninhibited by schoolboy glasses are a little darker than they used to be, or if is just a trick of the fading twilight.
A/N: The line ‘Some wizards are more equal than others’ is shamelessly adapted from George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’.
Author:
smoo_001
Summary: The wizarding world is changing forever, and Draco wonders if he will ever be able to find peace. Written for
jamie2109 and
nocturnali's AWDT prompt ‘Evil is an art form’.
Warnings: Darkfic
Rating: R
Word count: 1,483. Whoopsie.
The Coming Winter
“Evil must be an art,” Draco muses. He’s sure he’s right. Nothing else makes sense. There are novices who commit petty crimes, steal children from their families, kick kittens, maybe even kill a muggle or two. Then there are the artists. Masters of their craft, those that hone their skill after careful, deliberate practice, their talents obvious from when they are very young - though only noticeable to the trained eye. And then, then there are the naturals. Those that are not only born with the gift, but seem to embody it, make it effortless, as natural as breathing or dying.
Draco doesn’t believe in fairy tales. Neither does he believe in false gods and empty promises. No, in his carefully protected world of wonders and darkness, there is no room for happy endings. Leave the twinkling lights to the deluded and hopelessly plebian, he’s content to survive, thank you.
As he stands, in relative annonymity behind his gleaming mask of black and silver, he lets the tiny part of his mind not kept carefully blank indulge in a little nostalgia. He thinks back to the days when he allowed maudlin fears lead him down what he thought was the right path. He remembers fear, failure, dread, sleepless nights, cold sweats, defeat, acceptance, hope, love, pain, paranoia, blindness and pleasure. Oh, such pleasure, it still hurts to think about it.
He gives himself a tiny mental shake, silently berating himself for not paying attention and allowing such dangerous thought to cross his mind - a mind that doesn’t even belong to him anymore. No, he had long since sold it, his soul, his body, everything he had save his name, for a pittance.
He returns his full attention to the present. He watches, dispassionately, as the creature hangs by its shackles in front of the crowd, head hanging at a strange angle, emaciated body barely held up by skeletal arms. The crowd lets out a cacophony of hoots and cheers as the creature’s captor walks around the binds, seemingly examining the body with a healer’s eye.
“Look at what it has become,” the captor crows, his eyes flashing across the assembly, “this is power. Look at it. This is the absolute power you admired so much. Look at it!” he roars as he wandlessly sends a vicious looking hex at the figure.
The creature, for its part, does little more than shudder at the force of impact, its tight chains restraining any real movement. More blood gushes out of its open mouth, and Draco thinks he may have heard whimpering, but he is too far away to tell. It doesn’t matter anyway. The crowd cheers again.
“I almost feel pity for it, you know,” the crowd is silent again, eagerly listening. “And I feel pity for you, for the Wizarding world”. He laughs slightly, but it is a jarring sound. “Had it not been for me, you would have blindly followed this… this creature. This weak nothing of an animal, and to what end? To your own demise!
But fear not my friends. Today we rise above what we have been for centuries. We are magical, wonderful beings, and today we cast aside our fear of persecution, our hatred. Today, we become what we were always meant to be!”
The crowd goes wild again, and Draco, while outwardly ecstatic, almost wishes he were a child again, when these were only ideals, something to overhear at his father’s keyhole when he should have been fast asleep in his bed.
Draco watches as the body shifts a little, as if trying to get comfortable. He snorts quietly, wishing this could be over so he could go home and nurse his throbbing headache. But he knows there will be no rest for him tonight.
The wizard on stage holds up a hand, and the crowd falls silent again. “It is time,” he says quietly, and Draco swears he can hear the creature take in a sharp breath. He can smell the excitement among the crowd, and in any other circumstance, he would have been reveling in the heady smell of euphoria, sweat and tangible magic. But not today. Today is a day when his world changes, and all Draco can feel is an overpowering, numbing dread.
As he tries to calm himself and enjoy the moment, the creature’s binds are carelessly Vanished. It slumps almost immediately to the floor of the raised platform, before the wizard lifts it high into the air, letting the body rotate in lazy circles for the crowd to see at every angle.
It hangs there for a few moments, grotesquely puppet like, blood dripping onto the front rows from its various wounds. No one seems to mind, they all appear to be frozen. Even Draco, despite the lurching in his stomach, can’t take his eyes off the figure.
The wizard takes a breath and raises his other hand, pointing at the floating mess above him.
“Avada Kedavra!” he screams, and a sickly green light, brighter than anything Draco has ever seen rushes out and hits the creature. He vaguely registers that several people in the crowd are screaming and cowering, his own mouth is open and his eyes hurt from the brightness. Whoever knew, he thinks distractedly, that darkness could bring such light?
The creature’s jaw opens almost impossibly wide. Even more blinding, white light streams in waves from its body, mouth, eyes, chest - it is like the sun at noontime, and Draco feels like he is on fire. Just as he starts to feel that he can’t take this anymore, there is an almighty burst of light, deafening in its soundlessness and Draco, like almost everyone in the crowd falls to his knees, trying to get as far away from the spectacle as possible. And then, mercifully, it is over.
Long moments pass, and Draco tries to bring himself back from the edge of unconsciousness.
“It is done,” he hears, and opens his eyes. He wonders when he fell down and curled up in a fetal position. He stands up quickly, wincing as his head swims, and brushes dust off his robes. He can smell the rising stench of vomit in the air, and tries to focus on the platform once again.
There is no sign of the creature anymore, though Draco didn’t expect there to be. Due to the force of the curse, or possibly because of its own innate magic, its body has evaporated, much like its soul must have. He wonders whether there could be a heaven or hell for such beings.
“It is done, my friends,” the wizard repeats, smiling darkly. Draco, despite himself, shudders. Murmurs ripple across the crowd, the people unsure of what to do, wait like so many sheep for their next command, a cue to tell them how to behave.
“We have conquered our fear with this one, single act of sacrifice,” the wizard continues. “today we are evolved, and someday, our children will thank us. They will see our trials as necessary for the equality of all wizardkind and we will be heroes!”
The crowd takes this as cause to cheer, and a roar bursts out. Fright and nausea apparently forgotten, they throw their arms in the air, and begin to chant His name.
“There is much work to be done,” he holds his hand up again for silence. “We have a world to rebuild, we have a society to change, and these will take hard work and more sacrifice. But fear not, my friends, we will help each other. I and my faithful companion will never abandon you, our devotion to the wizarding world is stronger than ever and together we will bring deliverance, wizardkind will be more glorious than ever before!”
The crowd cheers madly again, and the wizard on stage holds his hand out to Draco. Draco grasps it immediately, and allows himself to be pulled on stage. Plastering a wide smile on his face, he removes his mask and together, they raise their arms to the stormy sky, as the audience’s roar reaches a fever pitch.
“We are at the dawn of a new age!” his companion is shouting, his voice rising above the din. “we are power itself, and here we bring in a new day where every witch, every wizard, every man, woman and child are equal!”
The crowd thunders its applause again, and it goes on, endlessly. Somewhere, between the smiling and fireworks, Draco catches the one murmured sentence that makes his blood leave his face in a rush.
“Although, some wizards are more equal than others,” the Hope of the Wizarding World says with an almost imperceptible wink. Draco smiles thinly, trying not to grimace at the crushing grip on his hand. He wonders whether those piercing green eyes, long since uninhibited by schoolboy glasses are a little darker than they used to be, or if is just a trick of the fading twilight.
A/N: The line ‘Some wizards are more equal than others’ is shamelessly adapted from George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’.