bigkanimaoncampus | Keep your silver, give me that gold

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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Jackson's attention snapped right to Draco's face, an offended sneer settling onto his features. He'd been hoping that incident had been forgotten completely, or at least Draco would have let it go. Jackson had shown no further signs of dark magic beyond that, aside from periodically feeling exhausted when he woke up. And there were those few times he seemed to just lose time. But that only been twice. Then there was the blood he'd found, just a few spots of it, on his bed the morning that wizard was found dead. None of this had anything to do with what happened over the summer. It could be anything.

"No," he snapped. An absolute lie. "It was one time. Why do you care about that, anyway? It's over." Almost frantically defensive. It wasn't as common anymore, so it wasn't a problem. And it wasn't hindering anything, it was just weird and annoying.

"Is it." Could Jackson feel the depths of his skepticism in the baleful stare Draco directed at him? This was worse than a failing grade on an exam, not that Jackson had ever come close to something like that, not that he ever would, the way he pushed himself. In everything. Draco was certainly familiar with that feeling, and he spared a moment to wonder what the motivation was for Jackson, compared to what it had been for him.

"Why do you waste my time by lying to me when I already know it's a lie? It's happened more than once, and it's the side effect of a curse, of course I care about that. And I am going to continue asking about it. Save us both the time and be honest with me."

To someone who didn't know him, the look Jackson gave was just even angrier. But to anyone who knew him well enough, or knew his state of mine, it was stark terror, the moment Malfoy said the word "curse." It was there just for a moment, before he was able to squash it back down and resume his usual brand of surly sulking.

He needed to tell Malfoy something. Anything. "It was..something that happened back over the summer. An accident. That black stuff is the only thing that's happened. And it's getting better. I was..." he seemed to draw into himself, more resigned and defeated. "...coughing it up, all night, before school started." He sunk deeper into his chair, as if admitting that were something horrible and shameful.

Draco didn't know Jackson very well, but he was watching closely for any reaction, and he might not have spotted the depths of that fear, but he certainly caught the glimpse. And his explanation of 'an accident' and that being the only side effect...plausible, but Draco's instincts were telling him there was more here than he could see on the surface.

He tipped his head back and stared at the dragon skeleton that still hung from the ceiling of the Dark Arts classroom, it had been there when he'd been eleven and it had made it through everything from Lockhart's pixies to the Second Wizarding War, it would probably be there forever at this point, no matter how many times it was damaged. But it didn't have any answers for him, and with a sigh he turned his attention back to Jackson.

"You know I haven't told anyone about what happened that day," he said. "I don't plan to. Do you know why? Because," he continued before Jackson could even draw breath to answer him, "you were terrified out of your wits, and I know it wasn't because of me. I'm not that frightening. You weren't in your right mind, and I should have sent you straight to Madam Pomfrey. I should do that now, but somehow I think the idea of missing classes and falling behind, even a little bit..." He trailed off, at last, to watch for this reaction.

The more Malfoy talked, the deeper Jackson seemed to sink in his chair. He wasn't even slouching, just drawing in on himself, his gaze focused somewhere to the side of his teacher's elbow, glaring as if he could bore a hole through the wall behind him. Why did Malfoy even care? Wasn't he supposed to be the entitled king of Slytherin or something? Wasn't his family saturated with dark magic? Or was all of that just propaganda? Then again, the scraps of rumors still lingering didn't exactly paint a complete or accurate picture.

Before he could answer, however, the door opened and Matt shoved his head inside. "Professor, sorry for not--oh." He was a moderately handsome Hufflepuff boy with dark curly hair and startling pale eyes. Those eyes fell on the back of Jackson's head and his eyebrows furrowed, a slightly puzzled from tugging at his face. "Sorry. I'll just...wait out here."

Draco was watching Jackson closely, marking the way he was growing smaller, and angrier, he was certainly making progress somewhere, even if he wasn't certain where yet. Then the door opened and Draco's head snapped around, eyes narrowing in irritation.

"Thank you, Mr. Daehler, I'll be finished here shortly," he said immediately, unavoidably a little cold. Most students knocked before entering, if only because it had gotten around that Professor Malfoy preferred that, but he hadn't wanted to lock the door, he hadn't wanted Jackson to feel too trapped or cornered.

But by the time Matt sheepishly closed the door behind himself, something had shifted in Jackson. He wasn't angry any longer. He wasn't even irritated. Every last emotion seemed to have been wiped completely off his face. He still seemed to be staring at that spot on the on the wall, but in a less focused sort of way.

Completely unresponsive to Malfoy, as if the teacher weren't even in the room, Jackson got to his feet, calm as ever. But there was something slightly unnatural and stiff about his movements, not at all the casual grace of well honed athlete. Leaving his bag and books behind, he simply turned and moved toward the door.

"Jackson." No response. Draco frowned, something cold sliding through him at the strangely mechanical way Jackson was moving, and stood quickly from the desk. "Jackson. Stop walking." Even direct commands had no effect. He crossed the classroom, as quick as he could without breaking into a run, and caught up with him at the door, setting a hand on his shoulder.

"I am not finished with you, Whittemore."

When Malfoy touched him, Jackson was already rigid. Not flinching or bracing at the touch, but already incredibly tense. However, Malfoy would only have a moment to register this fact as the moment he touched Jackson, the teen moved. He twisted around suddenly, grabbing for the front of the other's robes.

"LEAVE. ME. ALONE." The voice was both Jackson's and not. Two voices at once overlayed each other in eerie harmony. One snarling and angry, the other desperate and afraid, but speaking the same words at the same time. And even though his attention was directed toward Draco's face, there was still an unfocused quality to his gaze.

Draco's eyes went wide with surprise, and a little fear, but he'd been face to face with the Dark Lord's fury, he was a professor at Hogwarts, he didn't flinch anymore. He had a responsibility. His wand was in his hand before he could blink, and he pushed past the urge to cast Stupefy and instead cast Immobilus from the hip, the spell that had stopped the dark creature from the library in its tracks.

If Jackson noticed the wand, he didn't show it. His head tilted slowly, still focused on Malfoy's face, expression as impenetrable as granite.

Jackson's free hand came up, fingers rigid and claw-like but still very human, as he dragged the tips of his fingers over the side of the professor's face. As he did it, his eyes seemed to be changing. It might have been the light, but his pupils seemed to be changing shape, narrower and taller. The whites of his eyes growing darker, the veins more prominent.

"STOP ASKING QUESTIONS." The voice harsher, now. More demanding.

"That's what you want?" This wasn't a transformation he knew, Jackson was no animagus, nor possessed by any particular creature Draco could think of without looking up a list of symptoms. But he'd been right to pursue. He'd been right in thinking something was seriously wrong.

"This is a lot of effort to go to, just to ask me to stop poking my nose into your business," Draco said calmly, reaching up the hand that wasn't holding the wand and nudging that clawing hand away from his face. "It isn't very likely to work, either, while you have hold of a student."

His hand didn't budge. Those fingers on Draco's cheek didn't quite feel like fingers anymore. Long, nasty claws started to sprout from his fingertips, dragging wicked tips slowly towards the side of his neck. Something shifted in him again, his eyes clearing and getting more focused, but not in a good way. There was still something wicked and predatory in his face, and he still gripped Draco's robes tightly.

"Thank of what they'd say," his voice now his own, but mocking and cruel. "If pathetic Professor Malfoy started attacking students. All the letters. The concern over just what sort of people are allowed to teach here."

"They already send letters. That's not a threat." It was, in fact, one of the very few areas that still concerned Draco—there were still a few owls every year by concerned parents of incoming first-years, not that they didn't trust him but was the Headmistress really certain, etc. etc. She thought he didn't know, but when he asked her at the beginning of each term, her poker face was too good, it never wavered when she told him to stop being ridiculous. It meant he wasn't being ridiculous.

Was it a shot in the dark, or did Jackson—or whatever had hold of Jackson—somehow know? The claws and the strength should be more immediate problems, but it was true that he didn't want to have to use magic to separate them, or restrain Jackson, not if he didn't need to. "Jackson. I can help this. I could always help this, I still can, and I will. Let me."

The claws were edging close to his throat, and he wouldn't have much choice but to bring up his wand soon.

Tilting his head, further mockery twisted his eyebrows, as if he in no way believed Malfoy and found him utterly pathetic for it. It looked like Jackson, sort of. The type of look he'd given many fumbling first years, but on a level of cruelty that dwarfed even Draco himself in his younger days.

"You can't even help yourself. What are you going to do? Hm? Stun me? Paralyze me? For all your...involvement with the Dark Arts, you have no idea what you're up against." Even the fundamental cadence of his words had changed. Though it was Jackson's own voice, it didn't sound much like him.

"Mm." The real answer to the taunting posturing was Draco's wand coming up between them and touching Jackson's side, and the gentlest Stupefy Draco could manage, as he was already reaching out with the other arm to catch him if he crumpled at the knees the way he was meant to.

It wasn't Jackson's fault, he could see that clearly now, but he didn't like the cruel look that was twisting Jackson's face, or the tone in his-not-his voice. This was possession, it must be, and the easiest way to cure a simple possession was to remove the object from the realm of influence: knock him out.

In that moment between the wand pressing against his ribs and the spell being uttered, Jackson's whole affect change. The cruel expression slid away, leaving startled confusion in its wake. He started to utter something, but he'd barely formed the first sound of it before the spell hit and everything went slack.

Out in the corridor, unseen, Matt tucked something down the front of his robes, out of sight. Waiting patiently as if he were oblivious to everything happening inside the classroom.

Thankfully Draco had quick reflexes, although they weren't enough to prepare him for the solid weight of Jackson as he darted forward to catch him before he could slide all the way to the floor. He'd seen that flicker of consciousness regained, like waking from a dream—or a spell, a curse, some kind of possession—but he hadn't had time. At least Stupefy would have no lasting repercussions. And with how exhausted Jackson looked, it was tempting to let him sleep, take him up to the hospital wing and let him wake naturally.

But getting him there would only raise more questions, and while he did feel confident that the Headmistress was secure in her decision to appoint him, some of the words the possessing spirit had uttered had hit home.

He arranged Jackson, with a little difficulty, on the floor comfortably, and then touched his arm with his wand and whispered, "Ennervate." Better to deal with the yelling now.

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Keep your silver, give me that gold

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