'Yeah, you know that word doesn?t really have very good associations for me. Maybe I could call you something else?
Like…Nigel? Something friendly.'
Slytherin smiled. 'After this evening, you may feel differently. Do you know what I have planned?'
'I was hoping for a night at the opera, dinner, maybe some flowers, then we take a walk under the stars… you make a move, I tell you I'm not that kind of guy…'
'I do not understand your sense of humor,' said Slytherin.
'I had a feeling you were going to say that.' Draco fought an insane urge to snicker. 'I?ve got an idea. We could get sushi and not pay.'
Beside Draco, Fleur gave a frightened little squeak.
Slytherin smiled again. It was the same mirthless smile with no humor in it, a sort of reflexive muscle spasm rather than any expression of actual pleasure. 'Come with me,' he demanded, 'both of you,' and he walked out of the room.
Fleur dashed after him.
Draco followed more slowly.
They went through a series of narrow hallways and eventually emerged into a much larger room, almost circular in shape, the walls cut from the same rough stone as the rest of the castle. The room was nearly empty save for a large circle chalked into the stone floor, and a set of intricately designed tall screens against the far wall. They looked to be carved out of dragonbone, for they were whiter than ivory, and the intricate designs which adorned them were set with chips of jade, silver and malachite. They were beautiful, and Draco immediately wondered what they were hiding.
This made him glance sideways at Fleur. She was pale and looked as if she might faint.
Slytherin walked forward into the center of the room, until he stood in the very center of the chalked circle. Then he held out his left hand to Draco.
'Come here,' he said.
Very reluctantly, Draco followed him. He felt a shudder rip through him as he crossed the chalk line to stand in the circle with Salazar Slytherin. The air inside the circle seemed a good ten degrees colder than the air in the rest of the room. Draco found himself shivering, the chill seeming to come from somewhere deep inside.
'Now,' said the Snake Lord. 'Would you prefer to suffer standing up, or kneeling down?'
Draco blinked, not wanting to believe that he had heard correctly.
'Suffer?'
'Its your choice. I believe in nothing if not free will,' said Slytherin, his voice dry and cool as snakeskin. His hand suddenly whipped out with the speed of a striking cobra, and seized the front of Dracos robes. 'Do you think I trust you?' he demanded, pushing his face close to Dracos, black eyes staring into silver. 'Your little charade earlier today notwithstanding, you have done nothing but fight me since the day I rose. Do not think I don?t know you. I have taken your measure, seen your dreams, I know what you are capable of, and incapable of. Why do you think I let you go the first time we met? You were too strong then, you would have fought me too hard.
Now you are weaker. The sword has drained you of your magic as surely as your battle with the manticore drained you of strength and that wound in your side drained you of blood. If I choose to make the charade truth now, you cannot stop me.'
Dracos voice scraped his throat. 'What makes you think it was a charade?'
Slytherin released his grip on Dracos robes. 'What makes you think it matters?' he said, almost gently, and placed his hands on either side of Dracos face. Barbs ran through Dracos nerves where the cold fingers touched him, tracing the line of his cheekbones just under his eyes. 'In your own way,' said the Snake Lord, 'you?re rather innocent.'
'Oh, no.' Dracos voice was hard. 'Thats one thing I?m not.'
'Really?' Slytherin dropped his hands from Dracos face. 'What have you done? What has been done to you?'
'Everything.'
Slytherin shook his head. 'No. Not everything.' He held out a hand.
'Now give me your hand. Your left hand.'
Numbly, Draco gave it to him. He felt as if he had left his body and was floating somewhere overhead, looking down at the circle and the two people standing in it.
'I?ll ask you again,' said the Snake Lord. 'Would you prefer to suffer standing, or kneeling?'
There was a silence. Finally, Draco said, 'Standing.'
'I thought you would say that,' said Slytherin, and turned Dracos hand palm-up, pushing his sleeve up to his elbow as he did so, exposing the unmarked skin of his forearm, traced with tiny blue veins.
'Potestatem patris nostrae in tenebris invoco,' hissed Slytherin, sounding almost like Harry speaking Parseltongue, and suddenly the chalk circle flared into flames, a ring of fire burning around them.
Slytherin grinned, and this time there was mirth in his smile, and a light in his eyes, although that could just have been the reflection of the fire. 'Bruciatura!' he cried.
A white blade of pain shot through Draco as if Slytherin had driven a knife into his arm. He cried out, and much as he had wanted to stand, he found he couldn?t — his knees went as if his legs had been kicked out from under him, and he hit the floor with his hands, Slytherin releasing his grip. He writhed and curled in on himself, conscious for those moments only of the pain that speared through his arm, raced up his veins, threatened to stop his heart. Bright white agonies burst behind his eyes: stars, constellations, exploding galaxies, painted silver on his inner lids.
It stopped.
Draco lay still, his eyes closed, waiting. When the pain did not return, he opened his eyes and sat up slowly,
