It had been a bad idea to go to Malfoy Manor in the first place, Hermione realized, heart sinking, and an even worse one to see Malfoy alone. Only, this wasn't Malfoy. She was loath to use a name of a school-boy rival, petty, inconsequential, and idiotic, to describe this creature. He was not petty nor inconsequential nor idiotic. He simply was.
Was perfectly polit and overly courteous, nearly to the point of insult. But more than anything, he was cold, frozen from the inside-out. And, oh the power! His power, his anger, was shivering below the surface, barely restrained by the paltry, breakable thing called a body. His eyes, usually a mocking silver, were storm grey. No, this was not Malfoy-this was truly Draco, the dragon.
"So, will it work?"
"I don't know. But I have to try. And so do you, I think, or else you wouldn't have let me come." It took all her willpower to make an assumption and actually say it. He seemed to defy assumption. The casual cock of an eyebrow seemed to scream at her, 'You dare to assume! You dare to assume anything about me!'
But his voice came out just as cool and calm as always. "Yes. I suppose I do. You have spoken with the Headmistress." It was not a question.
"Yes. She thought it was an excellent idea. You will be moving into the Gryffindor dorms; you do realize that. But she accepted." No, Dragon, you do not frighten me. Not enough. Though, that was a laugh. This enigma terrified her. But she was a Gryffindor. She didn't break ranks and run.
"She would," Draco murmured.
He looked like he could very easily bite her head off in one gnashing of teeth and eat her alive --teeth sinking into the bone-- and was just managing not to. "Could you?"
"Could I what?" Ice-cold.
She looked up, face contorted into an expression that she knew would make any startled deer proud. "Could you bite my head off?" The words were out before she could recall them.
"I doubt it. And I have no reason to," he responded coolly, unsmilingly, as if he was posed the same question every day. And perhaps he was… "And in any case, I am indebted to you."
"Are you?"
"Yes, solely for trying. Doubly more so should you succeed, which I have no doubt you will."
"Thank you," she nodded primly, standing up, "and now…"
But he had stood up as well. "And now you must go," he nodded, escorting her to the door. He stopped there. "Please be careful." He brushed his lips against her cheek.
"Goodbye," he stated, face expressionless.
"Goodbye," she muttered, and practically bolted outside.
Whew! What was that all about? Hermione's thoughts were swirling, Malfoy, calm, polite… albeit in a cold, icy way, but nevertheless! Did he have a personality change? Or a botched potion? But no, this was not Malfoy- this was the creature, the thing simply known as Draco, the great dragon. The creature she had never met, the creature whom she was grateful she had never met. His torments wouldn't be badges, but iron maidens.
And she had agreed to help this thing. In fact, she had insisted on it, practically leaped on the possibility. Oh God, what had she done? What nest of vipers had she released? And more importantly, what kind of person was Draco?
Oh, God, what had he done? What had he done ? He needed her help, yes, but… to be brought so low! To speak to her! Oh, give it a rest, he hissed harshly to himself. It's not like blood mattered anyway, not anymore. That was his belief. And you are not him, are you? No, I am not! Then why obey his creed? And it ishis, remember. Therefore, it is taboo. And often incorrect. Besides, if she is the only one who can help you, you shall deal with that, and you will damn well like it. And anyway, what are bloodlines worth?
What are bloodlines worth? What are bloodlines worth? What is blood worth? Well, it is your soul. Well, it is what creates you. Well, it is everything that has gone into your creation. Then what are purebloods and Mudbloods worth? What is the difference? What is the difference of their soul? What is the difference? WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE? Nothing. And what is your bloodline? What is your soul?
Nothing. But these years will be mine. My life may not be entirely my own, it never was and never would be, but this part would be. No matter what it took…
What is your soul?
Nothing at all.
"Has the idiot been convinced yet?"
"Chained to a chair and screaming, but yes."
"Thank God. Potter is a bloody imbecile."
"Well…"
"Well nothing. It's one thing to defend your friend. It's quite another to wallow in denial. And what about the potion instructions?"
"Complicated."
"Yes, I would have guessed that much. If it was simple, it would have been done earlier. Complicated how? It needs blood, I know, hair, too, and bone, I think. Is that right? That's what you told me, I think."
"Five liters of your blood. Bone from who bound you- that may be difficult."
"I will handle it. And the last?"
"Hair from someone who loves you."
"Why the last?"
She licked her chapped lips. "Well, for you to be bound to them. Then they release you from the previous binding. Sorry, but it's the only way I know how. This would undo the other bind, so you'd be free as soon as they released you."
"Ideally. Anyway, the latter doesn't actually currently exist. Well, not in a form that they'd be any help." His voice became tauter, tighter, the aura of repressed power growing. "So it must be a loved one?"
"I think so. Because of how Harry's protected. It ought to be a loved one, as far as I can tell."
Blond brows drawing together. "How is Potter protected?"
"Would I tell a Death Eater that?"
"Point made. So…"
"So, can you think of anyone."
"No. I can't. And say they don't release me? Then I'd just be trading one slavery for another. A kinder slavery, perhaps, but nevertheless… and no. I cannot think of anyone who even cares about my existence for any reason but hate. Excluding myself, and you, perhaps."
"Well, I don't know anyone who loves you, either. But there are three people who always give a damn about you. Four, really: Ron, Ginny, Harry, and me. If you try hard enough…"
"Or I could just marry any Slytherin. I'm not sure which would end up being more infinitely painful. And you realize the other three despise me."
"So do I."
"No, you view me as an interesting specimen, a unique lab rat. You don't hate me; you simply wish to use me. Not that I mind too greatly. It's better than being despised, and I'm far past the point of caring about minor rivalries. So."
"So. Do it. Find someone. Or at least try."
He nodded.
At least try. Well, that would be quite the exercise in humility. What was that saying? Ah, yes. Life is a long exercise in humility. His had not been, all in all. Except for… NO! He wouldn't allow himself to think about that. He steered his thoughts back on topic. The male Weasel (he would allow himself his petty mental torments, for the sake of his sanity, if nothing else) was out of the question. Potter would be, if not for the fact it would be simple. And I respect Potter, however grudgingly. Granger would beideal, but she would know. The Weaselette is practically a slut, and love is a hard thing to come by in sluts. She could-and would- replace me in a single bored instant. But I could try, at least; after all, it is my freedom on the line.
Well, five years of it, anyway. And for that, he would do most anything.
There were risks, of course. He risked falling in love with the subject. In fact, it was quite likely. He was an excellent liar, but his lies often became the truth to him. But in that case, he would finish the spell and run. It would be difficult, of course, but he had an immense strength of will. A last legacy from my father, Draco thought, NO! No more thoughts of my father. Not now, not ever. He suppressed the memory, but it leered at him, through doors left slightly ajar, doors concealing darkness and blood and hate. But he refused to look at the memory itself, to acknowledge it. It was another lie of his. If he never acknowledged it, it had never happened. It had never happened and would never be repeated but in the murkiest cavern of his subconscious, over and over, a broken record, marking his every movement, scarring a groove into his soul every second of his life. Creating Draco, the dragon. The true dragon, rather than what he used to be. The dragon, he thought sarcastically, or rather, mockingly, of bad faith. Draco Malfoy.
Ron gaped at Hermione. "Are you serious? You agreed to help that git? And he's sleeping in our dorm?"
I practically leapt at the chance. "Yes. It's easier for me. And Draco was the only willing one."
"Wait, when did he become Draco?" Harry interjected.
"Harry, you haven't seen him since… since he tried to kill Dumbledore. Trust me. That may have been cowardice on Malfoy's part… or courage on Draco's. Something happened to him since then, something really bad. Bad enough to change him completely. To stop him from thinking about his hatred of us, to stop him from wanting to be a Death Eater… to stop him from being Malfoy and turn him into Draco, the dragon. Oh, trust me, Harry, from what I've seen of him, he's definitely Draco."
"What happened to him?"
"How should I know? It's not exactly like we've been the best of friends for years. He'd hardly tell me. But he is being polite, at least. Very much so."
"Well, you sure as bloody hell sounded like it! And what do you mean by 'polite'? Malfoy and polite don't go together," Ron jumped in.
"Draco. I told you. Not Malfoy."
Draco was right, Harry thought. Malfoy would never have the guts to stride into Gryffindor Tower like he owned the place, nor the icy courtesy and humility to hand over his wand to Harry before he entered. 'So I don't get hit with fifty hexes at once,' he had stated in a smooth drawl. 'That wouldn't help matters much.'
Hermione had walked in first and explained mostly everything. Then, Draco- as Harry was being forced to think of him, slowly entered, head held high. Despite Hermione's warning, a dozen or so wands were out and pointed at him. He held up his hands.
"As you may see, I am not armed. Potter over there had my wand. Now, I seriously doubt you'd attack an unarmed person, even if it is me, and ruin your precious Gryffindor honor. On the other hand… who knows?" he smiled wryly. "Perhaps you are not so noble. Perhaps you shall. I should dearly like to see that." And that clinched it. No one would do anything. That would be proving Malfoy right. Harry felt a wave of unwanted admiration for the blond boy. Draco.
"Secondly, I will be in a dorm with Potter, Weasely, Thomas, Finnigan, et cetera. At their insistence my wand will be held by McGonagall before and after class. So challenges to duels, etc, are rather pointless. Furthermore, this was not my idea. I would like to stress that, though it should be painfully obvious. It is for an experiment by Granger. I do not wish to speak any more on that topic; she already made it perfectly clear. With that said, I wish you a tolerable year."
Definitely Draco.
"Well, this is going to be hell," Draco muttered.
"It's your fault for making out lives a living hell before," Harry commented.
"Yes. That was a fun hobby. But pointless. And now, I aim for everything in my life to have a point." And it had been an emblem of a different era- the Death Eater era. An era that has ended. An era that shall not be remembered in any way. And that included his petty torments. They had lost their glamour, anyway, ever since he had seen real torments. And had despised them.
"Well, whether or not you're repenting- which I have trouble believing- people are still going to remember that, you know, right?"
"I'm not repenting. That suggests that I am actually apologetic, which I am not, except for Granger. She is quite canny. Nearly a Ravenclaw. Anyway, that is just an unfortunate side effect of a generally unpleasant situation. So."
"What is it?"
"What is what?"
"Your generally unpleasant situation," Harry clarified.
Then a shudder ran through Draco's body, violent and sudden. He gasped- a light breathy sound- his mouth and throat moving convulsively to form words that simply would not come. No sound came out. He bent over the bed, chest heaving. All the color drained out of his already pale face, giving it an ashy gray pallor. His hands were fisting the bed sheets furiously, knuckles white. Two arms surrounded him, held him tightly. They held on as his body twisted and turned, a few helpless tears falling out of the corner of his eyes.
A fierce green light beneath his shirt. Another shudder. His body moving slowly and viciously. The pain. God, it hurt! Oh God, it hurt! His knees went weak, but there were arms pulling him up. Someone holding him in their arms. He clawed at them, in paralyzed with pain, heart buoyant with hope. Perhaps they were his saviour, his hero, perhaps his resurrection, his hope. His arms went around their neck, his upper left arm glowing- oh the pain! The call… it was stronger than ever before. But he had been getting weaker, and they had been getting stronger. And he was so weak now… the void was looming…
A shock of black hair. Then… "Are you okay?"
"No, not really." Rough. Gravelly. "That's what I meant by generally unpleasant situation. Were you the one…?" he asked. My saviour. It stung.
"Who carried you? Yeah," he shifted. "So… you have the Dark Mark."
"Yes, but that was obvious, wasn't it? Did Granger tell you what she was planning to do? No, or else you would have known. She wants to see if she can remove it. She believes that if it works on me, we can try with all the 'ex'- Death Eaters to stop them from ever returning."
"Oh. Well, uh, does this happen a lot?"
"Not this strong, but it was bound to. I was scared it would happen when I was alone. So thank you. I don't know what would have happened." That stung, too, but he was sick of his pride. This was fine. His pride was now useless, only hampering.
Potter looked geniunely surprised. "Why are you being so polite?
"Because if I was not, I would be overly cruel. This is a bit of automated 'business-Malfoy' politeness my father taught me. It helps numb emotions, cut off the world, you get the idea." Why am I even telling him this? Because he saved you. "Saved" is a bit strong, and why would I want to? Well, Draco, there's a thing called pain. It happens a lot to you. It also happens when you can't tell anyone anything. But I can't! So I'm being… trusting. WEAK! WEAK! And I am not WEAK! No. No, you're not. But you're not exactly invincible, either. Just a weak moment…
"Uh, okay. Uhm, you didn't make any sound. Do these happen at night or anything?"
"No. Not as far as I know."
"So… you'll be alright?"
"Yeah, fine."
The void loomed… and a hand reached to save him.