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Keep your silver, give me that gold

This was NOT how Jackson wanted to be spending his afternoon. He wanted to run drills on his own before practice started, and he still had homework to fit in somewhere in there. Dark Arts was one of the classes he paid the least attention in, because why did it matter any more? He knew first hand that curses were a joke. You go to a shady guy in an alley on summer break, and he claims to have worked some nasty curse that could make you stronger and...nothing happens. Absolutely nothing. Not a rash, not a bad dream, nothing.

Now that they were getting well into the school year, the holidays approaching, there were whispers among the students. There was a "monster" in the halls. Talk of a snake or a lizard spotted at night through the corridors. But so far there were no confirmed reports. One kid claimed to have been paralyzed and unable to move for several hours, but he had nothing but a scrape on the back of his neck. This was chalked up to childish pranks and stories held from over a decade ago when kids were found petrified in the halls. So far it was little more than a ghost story. Less that that, as not even the ghosts themselves seemed to have seen the supposed monster.

The "failed" curse was not Jackson's first brush with magic that he shouldn't be messing around with. He'd been sick for more than a month the year before because of a potion gone wrong that left him with nasty aconite poisoning and he refused to talk to anyone about it until it was almost too late. And now he was flaunting his disrespect for the dark arts, showing off spells that students really shouldn't be working. It was all wrapped up in an air of showing he wasn't afraid of the magic that supposedly nearly destroyed their world. He didn't just toss these spells around, but threatened to use them on his fellow classmates. His favorite target seemed to be a pair who hadn't seemed like they'd amount to much, but as they grew were getting to be rather proficient. Scott was was the one with true magical power, while his friend was the one who always seemed to know every scrap of lore there was to be known.

Then there was his disrespect of their teacher. Draco Malfoy. Now there was a name he'd heard often enough when he first came to the school. He didn't grown up with wizard parents, so he didn't have the same associations with the name that others might, but he was a quick study. The way people spoke of the Malfoy family was that they were some evil, dark, impressive force. Like dark kings of the wizarding world. Too bad most of what he'd heard was of Draco's father, so finally getting into the guy's class was frankly a disappointment. He was expecting someone with an iron fist, someone who was far more into the dark arts part and less about the defense.

That day, Jackson had been asking a few questions that students had no reason to be asking. Like just how a wizard could go about getting stronger. He'd actually started to say. "You know, as strong as V--" when his friend Danny elbowed him so hard in the ribs he stopped talking.

So now Jackson sat at his desk, having not moved after the class emptied out, showing every ounce of disdain possible. Arms folded, knees splayed, partially slouched in his chair. Defensive, offended, knowing he was better than being held after class. He stared at the teacher, challenging him to do something, anything. He was someone accustomed to getting away with his attitude because he was always the teacher's favorite. So this was just a formality.

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Of course, Draco Malfoy teaching at Hogwarts had been difficult at first. Owls had arrived for Headmistress McGonagall every day that first year, protesting his appointment, and Howlers came so frequently that the students had started trying to predict what they'd say. He'd endured it stolidly, but it had won him unexpected sympathy, especially among the younger students who hadn't really understood the war and knew him only as their professor. Every year afterward, things were a little quieter, and then another new professor came and he wasn't the newest addition to Hogwarts anymore, and that was that.

Overhauling the Defense Against the Dark Arts class had been a case of trial and error, but it had evolved into Dark Arts and Defense, a frank and honest overview of the Dark Arts, including why they were no longer practiced, and the defensive enchantments most often used when (and if) they were encountered. Still, Draco never quite relaxed his guard, and he paid special attention to his fifth- and seventh-year students as the increased pressure of OWLs and NEWTs sometimes drove them to take too much interest in his subject.

Mr. Whittemore was someone he'd been paying attention to, though he was fairly certain the Slytherin fifth year hadn't noticed. He should have stepped in earlier, but unfortunately some habits died very hard indeed, and one of them was deciding whether or not something was his problem. He wasn't the Head of Slytherin House, that dubious honor had gone to someone else and it could stay there. Rumors of bullying came late to him, with little proof attached but hearsay. Jackson didn't cause trouble in his class that Draco couldn't handle easily enough, he didn't pay much attention at all, which was one reason the questions had attracted so much attention.

After the last of the students had slipped out, looking over her shoulder a little eagerly as if she'd see something exciting, Draco flicked his wand at the door, wordlessly shutting it, and stood and rounded his desk and leaned against it with his arms folded, thoroughly unimpressed by the display of ego he was being presented with. "You were interrupted before. As strong as who, Whittemore?"

The eyeroll he gave was downright impressive, his entire head rolling until he came to rest an indifferent glare on the teacher. An expression honed and perfected through years of use, frequently used to hide a quiver of uncertainty. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture on something that was more than a decade in the past. What did it matter now, anyway?

"That's what this is about?" he scoffed, with a twist of his eyebrows. "Let's just say you scolded me on the 'forbidden name'--" Complete with finger quotes before crossing his arms again. "--of whatever, and call it good? It was a joke. You seriously think I'd want to be anything like an idiot who drags himself back from the dead just to be shot down by a bunch of kids? Right."

"The name's not forbidden. Nothing like it. Anyone can say it. I wasn't allowed to say 'Voldemort' when I was your age, say it all you like. But it does warm my heart that he's been reduced to a punchline in only sixteen years, not that you'd care about that. Anything that happened before you graced us with your presence might as well be centuries old. No, we're not done."

Draco had shed his jacket earlier, as the Dark Arts dungeon tended to be a bit warm and stuffy, and now he absently rolled up both sleeves as he talked. "Maybe it's escaped your notice, but I do actually realize when someone is paying attention, or not, in my class, and the only time you pay attention is when I'm talking about curses that make you powerful." He braced his arms on either side of the desk and tipped his head, curious, conversational. "Why do you need to be so powerful, Whittemore? Aren't you already?"

A curious thing happened to Jackson's expression as Draco spoke. To someone less observant, it may have just seemed like his usual indifferent posturing, but to someone who knew the mentality well, there was a flicker of fear at actually hearing the name. Then there was confusion immediately after. That did not at all line up with the infamous Malfoy name. At least not as Jackson had heard of it.

At the question, he let out a huffed breath. No. He wasn't. He never would be. He was mediocre at best, because he wasn't the best. Second place was never an option for him. But answering the question in any fashion, directly or indirectly, would mean acknowledging that fact. And he flat out could not do that. "I pay attention, I just don't see the point. I'll prove it. Ask me anything." A challenge. Which he issued as he squared his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter.

But as he did so, his gaze was drawn to Draco's arm, and that subtle fear wasn't so subtle anymore. His gaze jumped from arm to face to arm. Was that what he thought it was? Suddenly, his convictions on Draco being a wasted potential weren't quite so strong. Couldn't something like that just be erased with magic? If he'd really renounced his ways, he'd have it removed, right? But wasn't it supposed to move or something? It just looked like a tattoo. His mouth was a bit too dry to be normal, but he tried to hide his apprehension, looking Draco in the face once more.

Edited 2016-12-23 07:56 (UTC)

A-ha. So the Voldemort name did still hold some power, even over the people who hadn't been born when he'd finally died. Even after this long, there was still a tug every time Draco said it, a strange pseudo-pressure on the back of his neck, his father reaching across time and space to grip him just this side of too tightly, in correction. But he ignored it in favor of noting every reaction he saw, when Jackson spotted the Mark.

It didn't move anymore, had died when Voldemort had, but no magic had been found to erase it, and he knew others who had tried some very extreme and somewhat gruesome methods. He just wore long sleeves, and over the years its importance had waned, but its impact could still be felt. That was useful.

"You've been the one with questions recently, I think you'll find," he said mildly, turning his left arm out to show the Mark more clearly, with a placid smile that didn't match the sharpness in his eyes.

Questions flashed through Jackson's mind, from just how useful it could be to get on Draco's good side to how badly it could go if he got angry. Flicking through all of the awful things he'd heard or read about the death eaters and what they could do. All the rumors of things Draco himself had done, when he'd just been a teenager. Sure, it was known that he wouldn't be allowed to teach her if he hadn't reformed. But what if it was a lie? He wouldn't be the first to fool the school into trusting him.

Rapidly, his cool exterior evaporated, showing more and more of just how uncertain he was, too torn between wanting to stay and know the truth and bolting out the door before the worst could happen. Death was by far not the worst thing that such a dark wizard could inflict on someone not strong enough to protect himself.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he said, trying to sound confident. "It was just a...just a stupid question. That's all."

"You're smart. You know I didn't keep you back just to frighten you with a tattoo and a name. But this is my job now. Teaching students about the Dark Arts, the things we weren't taught, and the things he went and found out about all on his own." Draco resettled his arms against the desk, still at ease, and didn't move again.

"It really wasn't that long ago, you know," he continued quietly, looking around the classroom. He could still remember every professor he'd had in this room, a different one every year. From the perspective of distance, Lupin had probably been the best of them. Maybe Moody, if he counted, since he'd never been Moody at all. "I got this job because of what I already knew about them. One of the things I do, one of the things I have to do if I'm meant to be responsible for a subject like this, is watch my students. Jackson, is there anything you want to tell me?"

He started to answer, mouth open, but his voice caught. What was he supposed to say? That some trumped up jackass in a dark alley shafted him some serious cash for a bogus curse that did nothing? That he was terrified one day he'd end up facing down something massive and powerful that he could do nothing to defeat? That he constantly felt like he was behind everyone else because he didn't know this whole world existed until five years ago? That he would never be good enough because he didn't even known who his real parents were?

Finally, he closed his mouth, shaking his head. "...No." He seemed to have found his confidence again. Only slightly. But with another breath, he started to get get a better grasp. Having that tattoo less visible certainly helped. "But now I know the infamous Draco Malfoy's nothing but rumors and scare tactics." Yes, a flimsy insult will totally hide his own desperate desire to get out of that room.

Well. That would seem to be it. Draco could almost read the questions swimming around at the top of Jackson's mind, but it was up to him to ask them. After watching Jackson for a moment or two longer than would be strictly comfortable, Draco shrugged elaborately and peeled off the desk, waving his fingers at the door in a somewhat tricky but straightforward bit of wandless magic. It opened itself as he sat again and picked up a quill.

"Stop pushing first-years into puddles. It doesn't make you look bigger. It actually makes you look smaller," he said, glancing up again, sterner this time. "Somehow I don't think that's what you're after. You're dismissed."

To that, Jackson simply rolled his eyes. You push one kid, and suddenly it becomes a whole thing. It wasn't even intentional. Well, not directly. It was the kid's fault for being in his way and there just happened to be a puddle. Coincidence. It's not Jackson's fault first years can't get their balance together.

He gathered up his books, a little sullen, and headed for the door. "Guess it's a good thing McCall's not a first year," he said before stepping out of the room.

Days passed without much incident. Still more whispers about the monster, but no new sightings. There was no further questions out of Jackson in Malfoy's class. The only change seemed to be that Jackson's inner circle seemed to have added a new member. Matt, a bright kid who seemed like a loaner now sat with the group. A new member wasn't all that strange as Jackson was constantly kicking out and adding new people, only his girlfriend and best friend ever remaining constant. What made it odd was that Matt was a Hufflepuff, and Jackson never seemed to associate with anyone outside his own house.

Two weeks after his little chat with Draco, Matt wasn't in class. As the session near its end, Danny whispered something to Jackson. His nose had started bleeding and he hadn't noticed. Touching it, drawing his fingers away, he found it wasn't blood at all, but something black and thick. Covering his nose he ducked out of the room without a word, not bothering to ask permission.

He dove into the nearest bathroom, grabbing a wad of paper towels and wiping the mess from his face. But it was gone. He stared in the mirror, terrified, looking for any sign of what it had been. It wasn't the first time, far from it. He wiped at his nose again, trying to find a sign of it. Usually it took over an hour to stop. Why was this happening? What was it?

Draco's snapped out "Mr. Whittemore!" did nothing to put him back in his seat. He hadn't even seemed to hear it. Frowning, not liking this new deviation from the norm somehow, he glanced at the rest of the class. "Eighteen inches on preventative anti-curse charms for Monday, dismissed," he said quickly, already headed for the door himself. Jackson wasn't anywhere to be seen when he emerged, but a few puzzled-looking Ravenclaws in the hallway pointed him in the right direction.

The bathroom was deserted except for Jackson staring at himself in the mirror when Draco slipped inside as quietly as he could. "You missed the homework assignment," he said mildly. "I wouldn't want you falling behind. Problem, Whittemore? Something that couldn't wait another ten minutes?"

When the door opened, Jackson spun to face it, reaching for his wand on instinct. But he hesitated when he saw it was his teacher there, and he took a defensive step back. The scolding about homework seemed so out of place it unbalanced him. Who the hell chased a student to the bathroom to get mad about homework they'd literally just missed? But it was enough to drown out his choking fear for the moment.

"I'll get it from Danny," he said, trying to stuff the paper towels into his pocket. He hadn't had a chance to come up with a proper excuse. "I'm...I had to take a piss. It's not like I was missing anything important." As he spoke, he hadn't noticed that the same black gunk that had been coming out of his nose had decided to move to his ear, slowly trickling down the line of his jaw. "What's the big deal?"

"My mistake, I thought it might be something Madame Pomfrey should be looking at," Draco answered, looking not at his face but at that oil-slick gleam of black. Was that... What the hell was causing that? He hoped it was a trick of the light, maybe it was only blood, and then wondered if anyone had ever hoped someone was bleeding from the ear instead of the alternative.

He took a few steps forward, intending to head for a sink and incidentally get a better look at the substance on Jackson's face, but it only took one step for Jackson to look exponentially more terrified in that flicker of real emotion that slipped out before his mask came back. Draco stopped before he was even halfway across the bathroom, both hands held out to his sides, unarmed. "It's happened before?" he asked quietly. "The black stuff."

In that moment Draco stepped forward, all Jackson could think of was what lurked beneath the teacher's sleeve. In the classroom was one thing, there'd been a strange sort of safety there. An illusion of it, perhaps, but it was still there. Here in the bathroom, so close, the terror was far more present and real. This close, he wouldn't have a chance to do anything. He'd be dead before-- but then Draco stopped. He wasn't going for his wand or moving to attack. Jackson's heart didn't calm down but he could at least look calmer.

How had Draco seen it? He'd been busy in the classroom. It was gone. How could he know?! That's when Jackson caught a glimpse of his own reflection, the streak creeping toward his neck. He frantically wiped at it with his sleeve. "It's...it's nothing. Just left over. From the aconite. That's all." Poisoning he'd had almost a year ago, but he hoped Draco didn't know that. "I'm fine!" he insisted.

"Aconite?" That didn't sound familiar. What had happened, what aconite? "...that was last year, wasn't it?" He really couldn't quite remember, but he knew Jackson had had a run-in with aconite poisoning at some point, not too recently. He shook his head a bit, dismissing that train of thought, because regardless of when it had happened, aconite wouldn't produce something like that.

"It's not, and you're not. That's a curse remnant. And it will be easier to deal with if you tell me where you picked it up." Now he did start forward again, slowly, one step at a time.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about..." For each step forward Draco took, Jackson took one back. Scrambling for an excuse. He wanted to run for the door, but feared he'd trip over his own feet if he tried. He barely managed the slow steps, feeling as though on the next step, the tile might vanish beneath his feet.

"It's probably from your stupid class!" He snapped, but lacking the conviction. "That's where it started, isn't it? I'll...I'll go have it looked at! Just--JUST STAY BACK!" He spat it out the moment his back hit the wall. He yanked his wand out, pointed at Draco's chest. But it accentuated the tremor of fear in his hand. He gripped it tighter, trying to not look like he feared for his life.

Draco stopped immediately, raising his hands, eyes moving from the wavering wand tip to Jackson's face and back. "All right, all right. I'm stopped. ...Jackson. Whatever you're thinking about doing," he said softly, doing his best to ignore the way his heart had picked up and was racing like he'd just sprinted the length of the castle. "Don't."

If anyone else came in and witnessed this, a student with his wand pulled on a teacher, he'd be in immense trouble, and not the type he could roll his eyes about and add to his devil-may-care resume. "Put it down," he whispered. "I won't make you let me help you, but you need to lower your wand, Jackson."

His fingers tightened around the wand, frozen for a moment. He hadn't thought about what he would do with it, his mind blanking on any possible spell he could use in that moment. What would he even do against someone like Draco? Was there even anything that would work? Why was HE acting so scared?

"Or what?!" His voice didn't quite crack, but there was no masking the frantic quality of it. No hiding that his usual flippant arrogance had abandoned him and there would be no reclaiming it. He pressed his head back against the wall, as if hoping he could back away further. But still he didn't lower his wand.

Draco took a moment or two to at least try and harness his rampaging thoughts. It had been a long time, over a decade, since he'd last been at the other end of someone's wand, and that had been someone much more advanced than a fifth-year student, but it never got easier. The uncertainty never got easier.

"Jackson. Listen. I need you to hear what I'm telling you," he said, trying not to let his eyes move from that terrified face, trying to ignore the prickle of sweat between his shoulder blades, at his temples. "You've drawn your wand. On a teacher. But no one needs to know about this. If you put it down now."

The reality of what he was doing started to trickle through the panic. It wasn't just a tool, it could be considered a weapon. He tried to focus on the terrible things that could happen from that: kicked off the team, expelled, reputation ruined. But it was the thought of the terrible things Draco could do if he didn't. Specifically involving the word unforgivable.

Finally, as if a string had been cut, his arm fell to his side. But he didn't move otherwise. In fact, he seemed to press himself tighter against the wall, bracing for the worst. He looked like he was going to be sick, or that he might pass out. There were too many things to be afraid of, and he could no longer tell which ones were real and which ones were just in his head.

As the wand tip swung down and away from him, Draco heard a gasp, and it took a moment to realize it had come from him. He resisted the urge to swipe an arm across his forehead, keeping his hands where they were. "Breathe, Jackson. I'm not here to hurt you, I wouldn't do that. Come on, let me see that you know that."

But Jackson didn't know that. Draco was supposed to be terrible. That's what he'd prepared for, what everyone was waiting for. Wasn't that why he showed off what was on his arm? As a threat? Something to keep his wayward student from asking too many questions. At least, that's what Jackson had convinced himself of after the fact.

He just shook his head, unable to find his voice. His teeth clenched visibly, trying to ground himself. He wanted to do snap at Draco, prove he wasn't scared. But he couldn't summon his customary anger, false or otherwise, to hide behind.

Well, this wasn't anything like what he'd expected. He'd suspected that Jackson's bravado was a front for something else, but he hadn't expected this level of crippling fear. He wasn't even certain what to do with it, given that he was one of the reasons for it. He didn't show off the Mark very often, certainly, but it was no secret. Right? And no one really discussed Voldemort often, but the name was far from forbidden.

And yet, here they were. "All right," he said slowly, taking a step back. "Why don't you tell me instead what you think might happen? What are you guarding yourself from?" Because even people who weren't afraid at all could guard themselves against something. It didn't mean Jackson was afraid. He was just being cautious.

This wasn't going at all in a way that Jackson had expected. Draco wasn't even angry, he seemed almost confused. Where was the looming monster people whispered about? The unholy terror bearing the name Malfoy? No students left had seen first hand what Draco had been like as a student, but rumors passed from older to younger siblings, and then to younger friends, filtering through the classes. Especially now that the monster was haunting the halls, students were convinced it was Draco's revenge finally come to pass.

"You're..." He had to swallow before he could continue. "You're going to...kill me..." He had to force it out through his teeth. There was a strangled sob in there, trying so hard to sound like he could face this, but everything was crumbling, even his conviction that Draco was to be feared. And without that, what did he have?

That didn't leave much to the imagination, but it also raised more questions than it answered. There were several ways he could proceed from here, in fact it might be merciful in a way simply to walk out again, perhaps quietly charming the door to prevent anyone else from walking in until Jackson walked out again or let someone in, but...no. What kind of teacher would he be, he couldn't leave him like this. His student was shattered.

Draco considered his options. He could mention that he'd need to draw a wand to do that. Or make a joke out of it, a No one told me that lighthearted thing, but in the end, he opted for a simple, "Why?"

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