Warnings: PG-13 AU /1 BG2
Though I've tried to keep this as canon as possible, this story is not truly HBP compliant because I haven't read the book. Honestly, I've only read books one thru three.
Get over it and enjoy the story. Or bugger off.
1/ (slash)
2BG (bad grammar)
Harry Potter grumbled next to Ron Weasley, both sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table. "It's not fair."
Ron, snapping his attention away from something, looked confusedly at his friend. "Woah?"
"I said--" Harry shook his head as Ron's gaze flickered a bit towards Lavender Brown. "Never mind,"
Ron was too distracted by attractive classmates to listen to him. All Harry was going to do was whinge on to Ron about things neither of them could fix, anyway, so he left him to alternately staring at girls and being chastised by Hermione who claimed he was being womanising.
Harry looked around him. It was the Welcoming Feast and the Great Hall was buzzing loudly with various conversations that somehow fit together to make a uniform hum. It was almost calming, being surrounded by tonnes of garbled words without being their target, as it was the beginning of the year and the rumour mill hadn't quite powered up yet. After all, no one really believed anything the Daily Prophet said about him, not since fifth year.
Harry's eyes continued to trail about the room, sticking on a flash of pale hair. Luna Lovegood, who seemed to be oddly omniscient at the weirdest times, waved at him without looking up from her inverted issue of the Quibbler. He smiled and swept his eyes behind her, eyes catching again on pale hair. This time, though their eyes snapped up at him, the person to whom they belonged didn't offer a friendly wave. Instead, Draco Malfoy's face winced in a sneer.
Harry looked down at his plate and decided again that it's not fair. Nothing right now was, generally speaking. Particularly speaking, Harry decided it's not fair that he and Draco Malfoy couldn't just be school boy rivals who spat on each other in the hallways. It's not fair that they had to be nemesis' who could potentially kill each other at any given moment.
And that's what really got Harry the most. Not the Malfoy problem, specifically, but that he knew his enemies, that many of them were classmates and most were their parents. If he were in the Royal Army he'd be fighting nameless, faceless enemies in foreign lands, who didn't even speakthe same language as he. But here, in the Wizarding World, he was fighting names, faces, personalities. Perhaps it wouldn't be that hard to fire a curse at Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew, but it would be crippling to fire a curse at Lucius Malfoy, despite the fact that Harry detested him, because Lucius Malfoy was the father of a boy who would've been Harry's friend, had they shook hands.
Harry tried to stop thinking about it. He pushed his plate away, not hungry.
Hermione nudged him. "Harry, you have to eat." She scolded.
"I know, Hermione, I'm just feeling a bit peaky." Harry eased.
Hermione went on to ask several questions about what specifically was wrong, thinking he was ill. Ron tore his gaze away from a pretty, blonde seventh year briefly to point out to Hermione that Harry didn't need her to mother him. Hermione responded by calling him insensitive, and a fight ensued.
Ginny yelled something at him from a few seats down the table, but he couldn't understand her, and smiled as a response, hoping she hadn't asked him a question.
Eventually he settled into a conversation with Seamus and Dean who were sitting across from him. Seamus was in the middle of a huge spiel about some sort of dog-pig in a bog (or something that sounded that way) when Harry got the distinct feeling of eyes on him. Normally, he wouldn't worry about it as people tended to stare at him fairly often, but with everyone currently engrossed in catching up with each other he knew he should find who it was.
It wasn't like he could pinpoint the source exactly, of course, he wasn't Luna. However, he had a gut instinct and shot his eyes over to Malfoy.
As soon as Malfoy realised he was caught, he turned away, barking at some second year who was obviously fagging for him. The boy tripped over himself trying to gather Malfoy's stuff together and once he had Malfoy's school bag packed and organised, Malfoy yanked it violently from his hands and made his way to the doors.
As Malfoy got closer, Harry noticed that his hair wasn't perfectly coiffed as it usually was and that his skin had a barely conceivable tinge of green-grey.
Something had obviously put stress on the seemingly un-stressable Draco Malfoy and Harry realised with a sinking feeling that it probably had something to do with Voldemort.
Everything usually did.
Potions was slightly more tolerable this year. Snape was no longer the professor, and Harry had the aide of the Half-Blood Prince's book. The first day of class he was rewarded for making a perfect potion, something that Hermione was still ignoring him for. Cheating, she called it.
Of course all this meant that DADA completely sucked, even though Snape was actually teaching them useful spells. Really, the fact that he was the first professor of DADA that Hogwarts had in the last few years who was actually worth a damn didn't mean anything, because he was still Snape. Miserable bastard, he was.
Herbology was as useless in Harry's eyes as ever, only worsened by the fact that he had to go to Neville for homework help. It seemed that Professor Sprout really had a thing for deadly or disgusting plants that had knacks for exploding all over Harry. He took it in stride, of course, as that was his usual luck.
However, it could be said for Herbology that the sometimes disgusting or poisonous environment was a lot more exiting than the environments of both Charms and Transfigurations combined. He was good at charms but only marginally better than acceptable at Transfigurations, just because it required focus and practised skill, neither of which Harry was really capable of these days, thanks to his life.
Voldemort was rapidly becoming more active attacking both in the Wizarding world and the Muggle world causing Harry to be more and more anxious and frustrated. It also didn't help that he had to find out this information via thrown away copies of the Daily Prophet, since Hermione somehow managed to successfully block his subscription and no one seemed to feel the need to tell him.
Malfoy was as vicious as ever, even to the Slytherins. Harry wouldn't give a flying leap about how Malfoy was acting if he wasn't affected by it. He had bruises all over his sides from Malfoy shoving him constantly in the hallways and got headaches every time the stupid, blonde git opened his mouth. And recently, he started giving Harry weird looks. Looks translated to Harry that Draco Malfoy apparently thought him confusing or disgusting or confusingly disgusting.
It also didn't help matters at all that no matter how hard he tried, nothing could be normal for him. His fucking hair, his love life, and, according to Malfoy and several Ravenclaw girls, his style--they were all crap. Sirius was dead, Hermione was ignoring him and Ron was wrapped up with Lavender Brown. All in all, everything was crap.
He'd seriously considered moving to Kazakhstan before he remembered that it was up to him, a sixteen year old, to save the world. Well, part of it. Either way, fate had something against him.
Harry jumped as a young girl with dark eyes and freckles bumped into him. Instinctively, he reached out to steady her. She giggled, apologised and thanked him before walking away.
"Bloody younger years," Ron muttered next to him. Since becoming a prefect, he let known the fact that he was older than most of the students at Hogwarts, except for the seventh years.
Harry nodded in agreement, not wanting to set him off.
"She was kind of cute, though." Ron added.
Harry mentally groaned. From what he learned in Muggle primary school, Ron was a bit old for puberty to have only just landed, but from the way he was obsessed with the opposite sex, it seemed more and more probable.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted as Ron nudged him and muttered something. Harry just ignored him, deciding it was probably just another girl that caught his interest, and wanted some sort of affirmation.
"Potter,"
Harry froze, muscles going rigid, preparing for an attack, magical or otherwise. When an attack never came, Harry looked up.
The usual haughtiness and sneer were missing from Malfoy's expression, but his face was severe, almost as if he were in pain.
Harry blinked. "What?" He asked shortly.
Malfoy's eyes flickered from Harry to Ron and back again. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. This happened two more times before he finally said, "Excuse me," with a nod. He walked off, careful not to touch any part of Harry.
Ron spluttered and Harry did a little as well.
"What the hell just happened?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head. "I was hoping you would tell me."
"Fucking kid is mental," Ron decided.
"Do you think--I mean--what..." Harry couldn't even decide what to ask. "Was that bad, do you think?"
"It can't be good," Ron conceded. "But I can't decide if that was Malfoy attempting to be less than hostile, or Malfoy constipated."
Harry's head snapped around. "What?"
Ron shrugged. "Father gets a bit weird when he's constipated," Ron explained. "He gets clippy."
Harry doubted that was it. Well, he hardly doubted it, just didn't want to think about it and dismissed it outright completely. "I don't th--"
"Parvati certainly looks good this year, don't you think, Harry?" Ron cut him off, gesturing towards Parvati Patil.
Harry realised he should have been thankful that the conversation lasted as long as it had, so he followed Ron to Potions without scolding him.
As they sat down at their normal seat, Harry started to take out all of his supplies; His Potions kit, ink, quill, parchment were all in order, but he was having a bit of difficulty locating his text, which was odd considering it was a giant book and all. After looking at each book title three times, Harry decided with a sinking feeling that he'd left it in charms.
Unlike how Snape would have been in this situation, Slughorn allowed him to go retrieve it, sans insults on his intelligence and ability to function as a human.
The Potions classroom was still in the dungeons and Harry hated himself for the long trek he was forced to make, again. He tried to think back to charms, attempting to figure out when and why he would take out his potions text. He felt a bit panicky, honestly. If any one found out about his book--
He was halfway out of the dungeons when he tripped over something in the hallway. He didn't fall, but when he recovered from the stumble, he turned to look at what he'd tripped over: His Potions text.
"What the fuck?" He muttered.
"Sorry," Harry's eyes widened at the voice. "I wasn't intending for you to actually trip on it--I thought you'd see it. I guess I forgot you're an idiot."
Harry felt like his brain or his heart, or maybe his foot, something, was about to explode with a combination of anxiety, anger, curiosity and confusion. "Actually, Malfoy, when someone wears glasses, it tends to indicate they have sight problems. Perhaps what you didn't count on was yourself being an idiot." Harry said with no little hint of indignation.
Malfoy's left eye twitched and he cleared his throat. "Right, how silly of me to assume that the glasses were there to correct your vision." He opened and closed his fists in obvious agitation.
Harry shook his head. "So... You somehow managed to steal my book and make me trip over it, just to point out that I'm an idiot and debate about the superficial denotation of wearing glasses?"
Malfoy's eyes actually widened a bit and Harry hoped it was because he sounded smart. He'd never admit it, but he'd actually just strung together several words that Hermione used when trying to relay to Ron or Harry, depending on who did what and how badly, just how stupid they were.
Malfoy had that weird, confused and disgusted look on his face again. "Perhaps the former, but the latter certainly was not planned, I assure you." Malfoy's eyebrows were suddenly knitted together so harshly that Harry thought he might get a uni brow. "Actually, my intended purpose was to get a moment to talk to you, alone. I was going to ask you earlier, but I knew your little attack Weasel wouldn't give me a chance."
Harry bristled. "Despite the fact that he's not an attack-anything, Malfoy, but a friend who cares about me, unlike your giant, hulking goons, I don't think you should be worrying about what Ron would or wouldn't let you do anyway, since it would've been me who'd say no in the first place."
Malfoy's face went from knitted to annoyed in an instant and he muttered something about run-on sentences, and monkeys. Harry thought that was completely unfair. It wasn't like Hogwarts offered any grammar courses.
Malfoy cleared his throat, quickly cast a silencing charm and stepped closer, though it didn't make much difference. Hate was a repelling force between them, like that of opposite, magnetic poles. "Potter, I know I'm a bastard, but please, just at least hear me out," he begged. "My life depends on this."
Up until that point, Harry was studiously attempting to feign a disinterested, arrogant air, but the 'I know I'm a bastard,' bit made his head jerk a little and the 'my life depends on this,' part made him lose it all together. "What?"
"My life, my mother's life--it all depends on whether or not you'll even talk to me."
Harry stared blankly at Malfoy for several seconds before letting out a barking laugh. "Oh, you're taking the mickey!" Harry coughed out a few more laughs.
Malfoy slammed his fist against the wall. When he lowered his hand a few seconds later, Harry saw that it was already bruising. "Potter, I would not come grovelling to you for a joke." Malfoy looked up at Harry, his eyes shining sharply like broken mirrors. "I would never ask you for anything if my life did not depend on it."
Harry felt like Malfoy had punched him instead of the wall, the implicit insult aching. "Malfoy, even if your life did depend on it, I wouldn't help you. You're scum, and so are your parents."
Malfoy's wand was on him so fast, Harry didn't even have time to think of grabbing his own wand before Malfoy shot a freezing spell that hit with such accuracy, it burned. "You will not speak ill of my parents!" He growled, spit flying out of his mouth. With a wide flourish, Malfoy released the spell. "I know what they've done, what they do, Potter, but they are my parents, and I love them, and I will not have you defaming them in my presence, is that clear?"
Malfoy's wand was jabbing painfully into Harry's Adam's Apple. "Lower your wand Malfoy, or I swear to God, I will snap it in half."
Malfoy lowered his wand several inches but still pointed it at Harry.
Harry jerked his right arm, dislodging his own wand from its pocket in his sleeve and causing it to slide into his hand. "I can and will say whatever the hell I goddamn please about your parents; Your mother is the reason that the last person who ever loved me is dead, and her sister cast the killing curse that did it. Your father almost killed my best friend's little sister when she was eleven, and tried to kill me in a duel last year. To me, Malfoy, they will always be scum and I would never help any of them, ever."
Surprisingly, Malfoy's wand lowered again. "Sirius Black," He said, quietly.
"He was my godfather." Harry said, even though Draco hadn't asked anything.
Malfoy nodded. "Mother stayed in her room for three days when she found out it was her fault," He said. "She still won't talk to Aunt Bella."
Harry blinked. Why would Narcissa Malfoy be upset about the death of a blood-traitor, even if he was her cousin? Malfoy was probably just lying to him. "That sounds unlikely." He said.
Malfoy looked up from the ground. "Mother isn't Bellatrix, Potter, and neither is she Lucius. Black was her cousin, family, she grew up with him."
Harry snorted. "She's a Death Eater."
Malfoy shook his head. "No she isn't! She would never mar her skin with that ugly brand of slavery! Mother would never bow to a man without a mind, without a plan!" Malfoy screamed.
Harry debated this outburst, trying to decide if it were true. While he hadn't ever actually seen a mark on Narcissa Malfoy, the fact remained that he'd only ever seen her twice, both times with a cloak on.
"She loves father," Malfoy continued, quietly. "But she's not stupid."
Harry cleared his throat, and cast a tempus charm. He'd already been gone for ten minutes. "Whatever," Harry growled, feeling a bit stroppy. "What the fuck is it that you want, anyway?"
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak but quickly snapped his mouth shut. He had a constipated look on his face.
"What? What?" Harry urged.
Malfoy looked up. "Sanctuary?" He asked.
Harry had no idea why he was asking him that so he stayed silent.
"I don't know what I want from you, Potter, or what I'm willing to trade for it. I just know that I need to keep my mother safe,"
A shadowed look went across Harry's and he made to speak, but Malfoy cut him off.
"Don't say anything about Black; Mother didn't think the information Kreacher gave her was anything, she really thought it inconsequential. The only thing she did wrong was give Kreacher the order to tell you Sirius Black was at his house if you floo'ed." Malfoy said. "She didn't expect him to be killed, Potter. He was her cousin."
"Oh, like that mattered?" Harry spat. "Have you ever been in the House of Black, Malfoy?" Harry paused, but he started talking again right as Malfoy opened his mouth. "In the drawing room on the first floor there's an entire wall covered by a tapestry depicting the Black family tree. However, there's something a bit off--I'm talking about the giant burn holes where several names used to be. Ever noticed them?"
Malfoy swallowed. "I--"
"Sirius' name was burned off by his own mother because he didn't agree with her." Harry realised he was growling, but he missed Sirius, Malfoy was an arrogant, snivelling little toad, and he was so getting a detention, even if he was Harry Potter and his Potions professor was Horace Slughorn. "That's how much family meant to the Blacks, Malfoy. The fact that Sirius was her cousin meant nothing to your mother."
Malfoy shook his head shortly and laughed, his mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. "This is why I hate you so much, Potter. You're so bloody judgemental and all-knowing." He said between clenched teeth. "Yes, Great Aunt Wallaburga was my mother's aunt, but she was a crazy old bat who brewed her tea with Firewhiskey." Malfoy huffed. "Mother was older than the Black boys, but they were close. Sirius and mother would have remained so, had father not forbade her to communicate with him." Malfoy paused for a moment, attempting to smooth out the severe lines in his expression. "Even if they weren't close, Potter she doesn't deserve to die if it can be helped."
"Sirius didn't deserve to die, either," was Harry's response. He knew nothing of Sirius' childhood, to his complete regret, but he was sure most of what Malfoy was saying was complete bollocks.
"No, he didn't," Malfoy agreed. "But I can't do anything about it."
Harry knew that was true, and even if Narcissa Malfoy was the wife of an inner0circle Death Eater and the sister of another, but she was still a mother. Harry also knew what it was like not to have one and he couldn't wish that on his worst enemy, not even Draco Malfoy. "What will you do in exchange for your mother's safety?" Harry asked. "Not that I've decided one way or the other," he quickly added.
A weird spark set off in Malfoy's grey, slate eyes and traveled through his face. "Anything, Potter. Anything." He responded, slightly squeaky.
Harry mulled it over. There were hundreds of ways he wanted to rip Malfoy apart. He could order off his left arm, his head, his father, aunt... But knew he couldn't ask for anything that would hurt the stupid boy. For God's sake, he was pleading with Harry to save his mother's life, what the hell was he supposed to say? He thought about telling him to spy and swear his allegience to the Side of the Light, but he couldn't do that. If Malfoy were caught, which he probably would be, considering it was the Dark Lord he'd be spying on, the boy would be tortured, traumatised, killed... And Harry couldn't stand to be the reason for it. He'd made enough people die already.
"I know what it's like to not have parents, obviously, and as much as I hate and loathe you, I could never wish that on you." Harry said, more to the wall than to Malfoy. "However, I'll ask several things of you in return; First, you are not to spy. It's bound to be asked that you spy on the Death Eaters, but I am telling you now, if you want anything from me, you will not spy."
Malfoy's face reddened. "Think I'll muck it up, do you?" He growled.
Harry wondered if Malfoy's temper had an off switch. "No, you idiot! What I think is that the Dark Lord is more powerful than you and that he'll find out and rip you to pieces, and I'll have to live with it the rest of my life!" Harry shouted.
Malfoy cast another Silencing charm on top of his first. "Fair enough," he said.
"Second," Harry ground out. "You are to swear loyalty to our side."
Malfoy's face strained as he attempted to hide a grimace.
"And lastly, you are to recruit the Slytherins."
Malfoy got that constipated look again. "You want me to what?"
"Recruit... The Slytherins." Harry repeated.
"Are you mad?" Malfoy inquired. "They'll kill me!"
Harry sincerely doubted that. Malfoy couldn't have the appellation "Prince of Slytherin" without having some sort of persuasive power. "You're being ridiculous."
Malfoy gave him a pointed look and shook his head a bit. "They're Slytherins, Potter," he said, as in a way that meant it should explain everything. "Think if you went back to your den lions and try to tell them to switch to the Dark Lord's camp. Then multiply their reactions by a thousand and then factor in cunning and Dark Arts."
Harry thought about it. "Fine, then try for your friends. You don't have to succeed. Just try."
Malfoy muttered on his breath, but finally said, "Fine. As long as mother is safe."
"All right, then. I'll set up a meeting for you with Dumbledore after classes have ended."
"You're going to be there, too, right?" Malfoy asked.
Harry scoffed. "What, need me there to hold your hand, Malfoy?"
"No, of course not, you idiot!" Malfoy shouted. "It's just--you're the one I've talked to! I don't want to have to explain everything again! And, besides, I don't like Dumblebore!"
"Well, you don't like me, either, Malfoy!" Harry shouted back. "You are such a little girl!"
"You're right! I am a little girl for coming to you!" Malfoy yelled. "Just forget it! I don't want your help!"
Harry sighed and grabbed Malfoy's arm before he could turn away. "For God's sake, I take it back, all right? I'm sorry." Harry dropped his arm, feeling awkward for apologizing, especially while touching Malfoy in a conciliatory fashion. "I'm glad--" He choked slightly, unable to hold it back. "I'm glad you came to me, Malfoy."
What came out of Malfoy's mouth next was so astounding, Harry almost fell over. "Thanks," he said, no hint of sarcasm to be heard. "I'll meet you by Dumbledore's office at four." Malfoy said, and stalked off.
Harry gaped, watching as Malfoy walked off, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy.