Golden Lights by Lovely_Slytheriness
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: In a Wizarding world that is on the brink of war, Draco Malfoy finds himself uncertain about a lot of things. Worlds collide and alliances shift, loyalties will be questioned, and in the end there's nothing you can do but to take the hand offered to you.
Genres: Romance/Drama/Mystery
Chapter One: Sometimes I Wish For Something More
The reflection in the water
Showed an iron man still trying to salute
People from a time when he was everything he's supposed to be
Draco Malfoy was uncertain about a lot of things.
He was uncertain about what he should do about Crabbe's collection of necklaces, for one. He'd discovered Crabbe wearing pearls in the dorms in their fourth year, an open box before him containing several glittering necklaces. ("It's not what it looks like, Draco!" Draco had then proceeded to stare uncharacteristically, before backing out of the room and considered Obliviating himself. They never mentioned this incident again, much to the relief of them both.)
Draco was also quite uncertain how he felt about summertime. On the upside, summer was light, relaxing, and the heat caused girls to remove a quite considerable amount of clothing and expose legs and collarbones. Except for that incredibly intimidating Millicent Bulstrode of course, but Draco certainly did not complain about that.
On the downside, he could sadly not spend more than an hour in that traitorous sun because that caused him to do the Unspeakable. And by the Unspeakable, he meant of course freckle. Draco did not understand it. He, who was so enchantingly dashing, should by every law of probability there were tan in the sun, like the next person. Well, except for those atrocious Weasleys. But no, Draco freckled.
And therefore he was not sure how he felt about summertime.
These were things Draco was uncertain about.
What he was certain about, however, was that he hated Harry Potter.
Draco hated him with such passion that his rants even sent his own Slytherins running off in a bemused and frightened fashion sometimes. "Honestly, Draco darling, it's been six years. Don't you think Potter would have dropped dead already if those venomous looks actually worked?"
Because Pansy didn't understand the epic and unlimited hatred that Draco felt for Potter, no one did, not really. The Slytherins hated Potter because he was the leader of Dream Team, because he was a righteous Gryffindor and because Potter was the Dumbledore favourite who always stole Slytherin's thunder whether it was on the Quidditch pitch or when it came to the House Cup.
Draco hated him because he felt that Potter did all these things on purpose just to spite Draco.
Potter, precious Potter, the orphan who had been so lonely that first day in Diagon alley that he'd had to be accompanied by that oaf but who still refused Draco's offer of friendship. Apparently Draco hadn't been redheaded or freckled enough, or perhaps he hadn't possessed some other shiny and noble Gryffindor quality like huge front teeth.
Possibly.
But Draco hadn't known this. No, Draco had been standing there, perfectly and happily oblivious that he did not meet the spectacular requirements of the ohso-special Potter, with his hand extended and his friendship offered. Potter had stared at him coldly from behind those hideous glasses for a few seconds, before he'd wrinkled his nose in slight distaste.
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," Potter had said, and Draco had never felt quite so humiliated before in his entire life.
Draco was the only Slytherin who hated him on a personal level, which only made it so much worse. None of his fellow Slytherins had been rejected like he had, none of them had to play against Potter during every single Quidditch game, none of them had to meet Potter's gaze in that moment when he caught the Snitch right in front of Draco's nose, had to see that unmistakably gloating gleam that said 'See how much better I am than you, Malfoy?'.
And Draco did, and so did the rest of the world.
It wasn't fair.
Draco excelled at Potions.
Potter saved the world when he was a baby and then he kept pursuing world-saving as his hobby for the next coming fifteen years.
How was one supposed to compete with that?
Draco couldn't beat him, and since Harry Potter, The Boy Who Did Not Take Offered Hands On Trains, had judged him unworthy of his friendship in favour of a Mudblood and a Weasley, Draco had to resort to the next best thing.
Undying and supreme hatred.
Which frankly was not that difficult to do because, well, Draco didn't have a choice.
He was certain.
Draco was also certain that he hated the Dark lord.
It was when he realised this at the end of his fifth year that life got complicated.
It had happened so very quickly. One moment he'd been standing in Umbridge's office with his shiny Inquisitorial Squad badge watching Harry Potter getting slapped around by a woman (oh, how life had smiled at him!) in the next moment Father had been arrested and thrown into Azkaban and Draco had found himself staring into the horrible, horrible snakelike face of the Dark lord.
The Dark lord had said, "You will be awarded above all others, Draco."
Draco had thought about Father and the devotion he had shown the Dark lord and the award he'd received. Voldemort had done nothing to save one of his outmost loyal followers from Azkaban, he was the reason father had even gotten arrested in the first place, and Draco would certainly not serve the man who had disgraced his family.
Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not bow down to madmen.
Draco loathed the very sight of Potter but now tables had been turned and Draco had chosen to defy the Dark lord, thus, they had a mutual enemy in Voldemort. That was why Draco had carried his head high in the beginning of his sixth year when he entered Dumbledore's office and explained the situation. He had never liked Dumbledore, frankly he rather detested the old man because of his apparent and tasteless favouritism when it came to Gryffindor, but Draco could see no other choice in the matter.
Apparently the universe had decided that after all the horrors in the form of Dark lords and Fathers in jail that had constituted Draco's summer it was about to time to deliver some good news to balance it out; because as it turned out professor Snape was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Draco had been severely shocked at this fortunate revelation – who would have guessed that Severus "My Contempt For Potter And Everything He Stands For Is Supreme" Snape would actually actively contribute to the preservation of Potter's life?
But, as it were, Snape did and Draco could not have been more pleased.
Draco and the few Slytherins who also went against the Dark lord; Blaise Zabini, whose mother couldn't care less about evil overlords as long as she had a rich man and a flask of poison nearby, Pansy Parkinson, who'd rejected her Dark Mark for reasons Draco had yet to figure out (although he suspected good old fashioned teenage rebellion) now had a trustworthy leader in the school staff.
Also, Crabbe and Goyle had quite surprisingly, along with some other Slytherins like the scrawny little Julian Higgins and Millicent Bulstrode (God help the Dark lord who'd try to demolish that force of nature, Draco pitied them, he really did) had announced the non-excitement they felt at the prospect of becoming Death Eaters In Training, and was also attending professor Snape's weekly lectures, a information and preparation class about what was happening outside of the school and what they needed to know about war to survive.
At first, Draco had disregarded the lectures as melodramatic ridicule from Dumbledore's side, but soon he understood that it was of vital importance that the students who would have to face the battles of this war sooner or later needed all the information, all the training and all the knowledge they could possibly get in order to survive. Especially Draco's Slytherins, who were now considered traitors by their families.
Potter and his Gryffindors were taught too, obviously, along with a handful of Hufflepuffs (among those Ernie Macmillan, Draco had never liked him; far too arrogant that what should be allowed when you're in Hufflepuff) in the north tower by professor Vector, while the Slytherins and a couple of Ravenclaws were taught by professor Snape in the dungeons.
Mind, Draco was still certain. He hated Potter and his faux tortured hero complex with the passion of a thousand suns, and that would not change just because they were working towards the same goal: the downfall of the Dark lord.
Yes, Draco was certain.
Draco rather appreciated the fact that Hogwarts' students were sorted into different houses. It saved him plenty of time. He knew he could find friends and allies in Slytherin. He knew that Hufflepuffs were beneath contempt, and therefore he could ignore every back and yellow scarf in the castle (except for that prat Ernie Macmillan, whom Draco often spared a scornful glare). Ravenclaws, however, he liked. Of course, they were obnoxiously boring most of the time with their books and their quills and their Don't Touch My Notes-attitude, but Draco had found a use for them.
Well, for one of them, anyway.
Draco had discovered in his fourth year that Terry Boot was not as hideously boring as insufferable as the rest of the Ravenclaws, and he had also developed a great admiration for Terry's technique of studying. The man was like a robot, Draco remembered thinking in awe. The Ravenclaw remembered just about everything and he still took notes. Now that was dedication. Draco had then decided that he would make Terry Boot his studying partner.
Terry Boot had agreed. Draco had been uncertain why, but he'd put it down to his own charm and sharp intellect.
Unfortunately, Terry Boot apparently came with a sidekick.
A sidekick called Anthony Goldstein.
Draco dreamed of strangling him slowly to death while a band played 'Goodbye, Anthony Goldstein We Shall Not Miss You' in the background.
Anthony Goldstein was short and scrawny, had huge teeth and a lisp. As if that alone was not reason enough for Draco to resent him, he had the nerve to demand spending time with Terry when it was Draco time.
Which it was right now. Draco sat next to Terry at the table covered in neat notes and heavy books, trying his hardest to focus on the book before him, but he couldn't. He glared across the table. Anthony Goldstein was humming cheerfully, apparently completely absorbed by his notes and blissfully unaware that his teeth appeared even bigger than usual today.
Draco glared at Terry. "Why is he always here?" he asked accusingly. "You know I don't like him."
Anthony made a wailing sort of noise. Terry's eyes didn't leave the notes in front of him as he said distractedly: "Now that wasn't very nice, was it Malfoy?"
Draco had made it quite clear that he preferred to keep his acquaintances on surname basis, thank you very much.
"Why do you talk about me like I'm not here, Draco?" Anthony complained.
Apparently someone hadn't grasped the concept of the Surname Rule.
"Goldstein," Draco began contemptuously, "You're a disgrace to the House of Ravenclaw. And you're whiny."
"I'm not whiny!" Anthony whined.
"Also," Draco continued airily, "No one likes you. Go away."
Anthony's watery eyes looked at him dully through the thick lenses of his glasses. Draco sighed.
"Boot, please tell Sidekick to stop looking at me like that. A face that unattractive may very possibly be contagious."
Still with his nose in the book, Terry told him calmly, "I'm quite sure it's not contagious."
Anthony's whining sounds erupted into pitiful howls, and Draco had to close his eyes and count to ten and conjure a mental image of himself strangling Goldstein.
"Goldstein, do you actively look up ways to annoy the unfortunate people, such as myself, who are forced to be around you?"
"I'm just being myself," Anthony informed him sadly.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.
Terry cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should go, Anthony. I'm sure you'll get a lot more work done in the common room."
The look on Anthony's face was priceless. "You're choosing a Slytherin over a Ravenclaw?"
For the first time, Terry looked up from the book. His eyes were wide with surprise. "Of course. Malfoy's charts are far better than yours."
Draco smirked with open glee. To diss someone's charts was Unforgivable in Ravenclaw; an unspoken rule Draco had full understanding of.
Anthony looked scandalised. "You didn't just say that," he wheezed theatrically.
Terry flashed Draco a quick smirk from behind the book.
"I believe I just did."
As Anthony Goldstein left the library under a crestfallen silence, Draco looked at Terry who was now occupied by perfecting a chart. Really, Terry wasn't a bad studying partner at all.
Quite splendid, in fact.
Draco usually didn't mind the war meetings. They were informative and necessary, and professor Snape was an excellent leader. Unfortunately, all four houses were attending today's meeting lead by professor Snape and professor Vector. The Slytherins were few compared the other houses, a drop of emerald green, staring apprehensively and rather hostile from their corner of the room, meeting the suspicious glares of the other houses.
Potter was there of course, surrounded by red-haired Weasleys and bushy haired Mudbloods like usual. They stared at each other across the table on general principle, before professor Vector cleared her throat.
"I can see you're wondering why Severus and I have decided to gather you all today," she said clearly, grey eyes wandering over the group of pupils in the classroom by the dungeons. "You've all achieved quite a lot since these sessions first started. You've learned about war; even more than you should have to know at your age." She glanced at Snape, who sat perfectly still at the end of the table, dark eyes intense between the curtains of black hair. "Still," she continued with the determination, "We need to ask for more of you. Or, more specifically, some of you. So far you've worked alongside your house mates, but this is war, and you can't allow the differences between you keep you from working together. You need to co-operate."
Draco felt Pansy tense up next to him. Pansy was one of the strongest people he knew, but also one of the most suspicious people he knew. She trusted very few, himself included, and he could sadly not see a study session between Pansy and a non-Slytherin go over very well.
Professor Vector spoke again. "Severus and I have decided a couple of things. Firstly, we need to become more organised. You all have different abilities, and we're going to group you by those from now on, not houses. We need you to work together for efficiency."
"But professor," Blaise Zabini said quietly, his eyes on Snape, "We will work better if we're among our friends-"
"Mister Zabini," professor Vector interrupted firmly, "You will work better if you ignore your differences and try to rely on the things you do have in common. This is not negotiable."
Blaise fell silent, his lips pressed into a firm line and his eyes narrowed in disapproval. Vector spoke again. "We have one team for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Your specialty will be to research dark arts, black magic and the history regarding curses. This group consists of Terry Boot, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, Parvati Patil and Tracy Davies."
The students looked grimly at each other. Draco watched the Mudblood exchange worried glances with Weasley. Potter sat stiffly in his chair, face ashen. Apparently Boy Wonder had not seen this one coming.
"The second group," professor Vector pressed on, "Will study different ways to communicate, such as Flooing, owls, Apparation. All the weaknesses and strengths they all have; what is most risky and so on. Members of this group are Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley, Anthony Goldstein, Seamus Finnegan, Luna Lovegood and Gregory Goyle."
Across the table, Weasley glowered at Pansy. Draco could practically feel the raw loathing radiating off of her, and he sneered at the Gryffindor.
"There will also be a group investigating different potions," professor Vector proclaimed. Draco waited expectantly; he would be in this group, he had to be – he was one of the best Potions brewers at the school, and he was only in his sixth year.
"The people on the potions team are as following: Theodor Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Dean Thomas, Daphne Greengrass, Padma Patil and Ernie MacMillan."
Draco stared at the Arithmancy professor in disbelief, and so did Potter.
The realisation dawned on him, and what he feared was confirmed when professor Vector said: "The two students left, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, will be assigned a different sort of mission. The rest of you may come with me, while Severus explains to you both-" she looked at Draco and then at Potter with stern eyes, "what your assignment is."
Draco sat paralysed as he watched his friends leave the room, their disbelieving looks completely lost on him.
Well then.
Wasn't this just his bloody luck.
Once again, it was him against the Wizarding world's own little spoiled golden boy.
Marvellous.
He crossed his arms over his chest as the door swung shut behind the last students leaving the room, sneering at Potter and glaring at Snape. If this wasn't betrayal, he didn't know what was. To be fair, Potter didn't seem any more excited about this new turn of events than Draco was. He looked absolutely furious, green eyes sparkling angrily beneath that ridiculous mop of hair.
Someone should really buy that miserable sod a hairbrush.
"Professor," Draco grit out, "Please, do tell me this is some sort of cruel, tasteless joke."
Snape spared Potter a contemptuous glare, and Potter scowled. "Sod off, Malfoy."
"Don't think I don't understand your aggravation, Draco," the Potions master spoke slowly. "Regrettably, I myself have experience of working with Mister Potter alone and I can tell you that it's most frustrating to work with someone so incompetent, however this is something that needs to be done. Alas, we have no other choice."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do we have to do?"
"You are going to teach Mister Potter Occlumency."
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Potter had already spoken.
"I refuse."
Draco glared at him. "No Potter, I refuse."
"None of you are in a position to refuse," snapped Snape. "You need to learn how to practise Occlumency, Potter." Snape almost smirked. "I assume you can recall last year. We wouldn't want to see anyone else getting killed because of your inability to close your mind to the Dark lord."
Potter clenched his fists. "I don't want to talk about Sirius."
Ah, the infamous martyr of the Blacks; reckless and misunderstood. Sounded exactly like Potter's type.
"This has nothing to do with your personal little crises, Potter," Snape said coldly and Draco reluctantly gave Snape mental points. "This is about the war, and it is essential that you learn Occlumency. I do not have the patience to teach you, and the Headmaster would rather see you co-operate with someone your own age."
"But why him?" Potter had the nerve to demand, staring stonily across the table at Draco.
"Are you under the impression that I'm looking forward to this, Potter?" Draco asked coolly. "Because in that case, you are sorely mistaken."
"Draco is the natural choice as he's the most skilled Occlumence in this school, after myself."
Potter glared at both of them. "I won't do it."
Draco sneered. "Oh please, Potter. Stop being so ridiculously self-absorbed. You need to learn Occlumency, and I'm the only one who can teach you. This is for the sake of others, not for you. I know it may be an alien concept for you to grasp, but in fact, not everything is about you. Get over yourself."
Potter looked like he was going to argue, but then he closed his mouth and settled for a murderous glare.
Well, Draco thought grimly. This was going to be fun.
AN: Hello, people. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Reviews are Drarry!Love. ^_~