𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

Chapter 11

Chapter 11: "Chapter Eleven"

The next morning, Draco made his way into the schoolroom as usual, but this time with his head lowered slightly, his shoulders rounded just a bit. He had begun to understand why Theodore always carried himself like that, as if he were in disgrace. The whisperings and barely concealed laughter and scorn had followed him since the moment he'd gone downstairs to receive his instructions from Fudge.

Rather than making the change gradually, Fudge had been determined to have it happen all at once, citing the fact that Draco needed to learn his place immediately if he was to be of any use at all. His instructions were terse, cold, and backed by fury, but the meaning was clear: you will do as you are told or you will regret it. He was to spend his day teaching the youngest students. He was not to be allowed a wand, save for those periods of time, and then he could only use it in conjunction with the lesson. Afterward, his wand would be returned to Fudge, where it would be stored in a locked box in his desk. He was a mere criminal now, unfortunate enough (or evil enough, as the consideration went) to have chosen the wrong side of the war, and he was to be closely monitored from now on.

Interestingly enough, when the shock and pain of the realization of his father's death had faded, giving way to the other part of the news - that his father had been a Death Eater - he hadn't even blinked. As far as he was concerned, the conflict had been blown completely out of proportion, and was beneath his interest. His father had never acceded to either side, but, he imagined, there may have been a time when he had chosen a side, perhaps in a moment of youthful impulse, or perhaps because of a series of events that had caused him to feel more strongly about one side than the other. But, he supposed, the fact that they had been living away from the war, without even making mention of it, suggested that his father had regretted that choice and had wanted to distance himself as much as possible. The thought that perhaps his father had fled in disgrace hadn't even crossed his mind; the way he felt about his father didn't allow him to harbor such thoughts.

The only thing he felt at the moment, aside from a heavy grief and a dull sort of acceptance, was anger, not for his own condition as much as for the fact that anyone in his situation was likely treated exactly the same way. The fury he had long felt on Theodore's behalf was now crossing over to his own situation, but in a clinical sort of way rather than being born from a sense of personal injustice. While it would have been the work of a moment to become vengeful, to vow then and there that the Dark Lord would pay for his father's death, he was very sensible of the idiocy of that idea. Instead, he was just so disgusted with the course of the war that he wanted it to be over, and soon, regardless of which side won or whether they killed each other trying, so that the utter stupidity of Wizardkind could possibly (hopefully) make way for an era of peace, understanding, and intelligence. And that is all he could wish.

His once-classmates, on the other hand, did not feel nearly the same way, and they looked at him through new eyes. Some of them regarded him with a cold indifference, feeling as though they had been misled in their assessment of him, and now considered him beneath their notice. He was the child of a Death Eater, not worth their anger or their sympathy. Some, especially the younger children, who were too young to properly understand the politics of the whole situation, looked at him in shock, amazed that the rich and fine Prince Draco could be reduced to this smudged and entirely unremarkable figure. But the large majority, especially the Gryffindors, looked upon him with contempt and hatred and anger. Orion and Zach, especially, were sadistically delighted to see him getting what they considered to be his come-uppance; they were of the mindset that all Slytherins, even those Slytherin only by birth or association, were inherently evil, and were rather proud of themselves for having been correct. They intended to take every possible opportunity to make his life a living hell. And even Harry, who had always been the voice of reason, the one not quite willing to hate Draco, now looked at him with furious coldness. While he might have been reasonable, he was a member of that group who considered Death Eaters the scum of the universe, and he could not separate the child of a Death Eater from the Death Eaters themselves. As a result, he felt an overwhelming and crushing hatred toward the other boy that was clearly visible in his frigid green glare.