Chapter 16

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Chapter 16: "Chapter Sixteen"

He was, in fact, punished for his insolence, but it seemed that Fudge was more startled than anything else by the behavior, and hadn't been able to punish Draco as badly as he would have undoubtedly liked to. He simply was told to go without meals for a day, and, as that was hardly an unusual occurrence, he managed to bear it without too much trouble.

As the days went by, he found himself becoming more and more interested in the neighbor, whom he had taken to calling the Indian Gentleman, although he certainly didn't look Indian. "I am growing quite fond of him," he said one evening to Blaise as they sat poring over a Potions tome. "I should not like him to be disturbed. I have adopted him as a friend. You know, you can do that with people you never speak to. You simply watch them, and think about them, and feel sorry for them, and they become almost like relations. I feel quite anxious sometimes when I see the Mediwizard come by twice a day."

"I have very few relations," Blaise said thoughtfully, "and I'm very glad of it. They are always attempting to criticize me, and I don't like it at all. 'Blaise,'" affecting a high pitch to his voice, "'you are getting very shaggy. You look quite like a wild pony.' Or my uncle, who is always asking questions like 'When did Glanmore Peakes slay the Sea Serpent?' or 'Who was the only man ever to survive a lethifold attack?'"

Draco laughed. "People you never speak to can never ask questions like that," he reminded Blaise. "And I'm certain the Indian Gentleman never would. I am fond of him."

He had come to care for the Large Family because they looked so happy, but he liked the Indian Gentleman because he looked unhappy. He had evidently not fully recovered from some severe illness.

One day, when he was standing in Madam Malkin's and waiting for an order, he overheard two witches gossiping about the man. "I don't quite know how to feel about the fact that he is living so nearby," said one of them, her voice breathy and excited.

The other made a soft noise like a snort. "He might be a hero of the Wizarding World, but I'd certainly not like to spend time with him," she said firmly. "Razor tongue, that one has. I don't know how Molly and Arthur put up with him."

The first leaned against the counter, biting her lip a bit. "He may not make small talk or engage in frippery," she murmured thoughtfully, "but I think I should like to speak with him all the same. Someone who can survive being under Cruciatus for four hours can't be an entirely bad person."

Just then, Draco's delivery was ready, and he had to leave without getting to hear the rest of the story.

That evening, though, he sat down with Blaise next to the window again to study history, but he couldn't seem to keep his mind on the book. He kept looking out the window, wondering about the man who lived next door, wondering what could have caused him to be put under Cruciatus for so long. No wonder the poor man always looked so weak. That sort of physical and mental drain was enough to kill most people, but slowly and painfully. Somehow, his neighbor had managed to survive it, and he found himself very impressed and awed by his strength.

"Blaise," he said suddenly, interrupting Blaise's recitation of the Tract of 1612, "how did the Dark Lord fall?"

Blaise stopped, blinked, and slowly closed the book. "Well..." he said thoughtfully, "I don't know all the specifics exactly, but apparently there was a man who was working as a spy for the Light, and actually managed to survive as a Death Eater for several years while working from within to weaken the Dark Lord's forces. He'd been poisoning him slowly, draining his magic, but so slowly that he hadn't even noticed or known to suspect. And by the time he did, his magic was weak enough so the Aurors could overpower and kill him."

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