AN: 3rd in the "Going Grey" series, this story follows immediately after "Destiny's Control". If you haven't read the first two stories, this one won't make a lot of sense. : )
"Shifting Perceptions" will have 5 chapters instead of 4.
Pairings: None in this episode
Rating: Mature for mild violence
Thank you Miyugi, RRW, & Lanfear1 for your heartening reviews of the last chapter of "Destiny's Control. I truly appreciated them. : )
xxxxxxxxxx
Shifting Perceptions
Chapter One
xxxxxxxxxx
Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express, more than ready to begin the new year. This summer had been an experience he would truly like to forget. He'd handled his 16th birthday bringing with it frustrating magical outbursts rather well - if he was asked. He'd even managed to come to terms with the curse his father had told him about. After all, his father had survived it quite well, so, he saw no reason why he wouldn't.
What he had not handled at all well was meeting the dark lord for the first time.
Draco shifted restlessly as he eyed himself in the full length mirror adorning the wall in his bedroom. He had to make sure he was immaculately dressed for this occasion. He had absolutely no intentions of embarrassing his father when he met with the dark lord for the first time - and certainly not by something so simple as his manner of dress! He knew - from his father's own words - that the Malfoys were slightly out of favor with the dark lord due to the disaster at the ministry which had temporarily landed his father in Azkaban. Draco had to make sure nothing he did reflected badly on his father and made the entire situation worse. That was the last thing either of them needed.
He nodded sharply, satisfied that he looked every inch the pureblooded aristocratic scion. Turning away from the mirror, he strode across the room and out into the hall, not bothering to pick up the bits and pieces of several outfits he'd discarded in his attempt to find the perfect ensemble. The house elves would take care of that while he was out of the room. They always did.
His father met him at the base of the stairs.
"Ready, Draco?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir," Draco replied, nodding.
With that, his father swept away, heading directly toward the apparation room.
Draco followed silently in his wake. He had long ago learned not to bother pestering his father with questions. The man only answered them when he was in the mood to explain things. Somehow, he doubted that on the way to be introduced to the dark lord was one of those times. As high a regard as his father held the wizard in, Draco knew he feared the man just as much. And from what Draco had seen of his father the few times he'd caught him directly after a bad meeting, he couldn't say as how he blamed his father for that.
Disappointing the dark lord was something to be avoided at all costs. His father's experiences had taught him that and he had absolutely no intentions of finding out what the experience was like first hand. He would be the ablest assistant the powerful wizard had, hopefully raising himself above such petty concerns as punishment.
Ten minutes later, his father pulled him into side-along apparation and the two of them appeared before a decrepit house, surrounded by ill-kept grounds. He sneered before he could stop himself, clearing his expression the moment he realized what he was doing. Sneering at the dark lord's chosen residence - or possibly headquarters - was simply not done. He knew that, and certainly had no desire to be seen doing it.
Inside, however, he couldn't stop. If the man was so all-bloody-powerful, then why was he living/working in a place like this? He wanted to ask, but didn't dare. Thankfully, his father inadvertantly answered his unasked question.
"Riddle Manor, the dark lord's family residence," he offered quietly, the faintest of sneers sounding in his words.
So, Father isn't impressed either, Draco noted mentally, then scoffed. Of course, he isn't, he continued, silently berating himself. Who would be? He rather suspected that the Weasley hovel would be pleasant in comparison. Frowning, he tried to place the family name, but couldn't. Riddle? He couldn't recall any wizarding family by that name, and he had to wonder why. His father had certainly drilled him often enough in the who's who of wizarding society. Why hadn't the dark lord's family been included? It was another question best left to another time, but it did make him . . . uneasy.
He kept his mouth shut, following behind his masked father, his own face completely bare. One did not wear the mask of a deatheater until marked. Doing so before hand was, apparently, beyond bad manners and the dark lord responded badly.
His father had shuddered slightly as he'd said it, and Draco knew he didn't want to find out what, exactly, 'the dark lord responding badly' entailed.
Ignoring his distasteful surroundings, he centered his attention on his father as they strode past the guards standing just inside the door of the home. He froze, however, as he stepped inside a large, reasonably clean room and caught his first look at the dark lord. Only a hand gripping his arm - his father's, he presumed - got him moving again. He had heard the stories, of course, but hadn't really expected the wizard to look so . . . reptilian; so completely inhuman.
The low grade nervousness that had been with him for several hours now, jumped up several levels, and it was only a strong sense of self preservation - and a desire not to disappoint his father - that kept him from trying to bolt from the room. The man was terrifying to see and Draco's legs felt like he had been hit with the jelly legs jinx.
Draco shook himself from his thoughts as he found an empty compartment and dropped down onto one of the bench seats. He sighed softly, cherishing the time alone, well aware that he would not remain so for long. Invariably, Crabbe and Goyle would find him, as would Pansy. Other Slytherins would drift in and out of the compartment throughout the train ride, but those three generally stuck close to him the entire trip. Well, Pansy didn't usually accompany them on the traditional trip to Potter's compartment, but beyond that. . . .
In the quiet, his thoughts invariably returned to his problem at hand; the dark lord. On one level, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the monster. Everything he'd been taught told him it was suicidal. On another level, the one he suspected was controlled by the curse, he felt powerful inducement to do whatever it took to keep the wizard pleased with him. Frankly, he hoped he would stumble across the way to break the curse quickly - preferably before he was marked. He highly suspected that serving the wizard in any capacity was going to be terrible, not to mention dangerous. It certainly hadn't taken much to convince him that no one was above 'such petty concerns as punishment'. The meeting he'd witnessed had proven that. It had been a very horrifying - and eye-opening - experience that he had absolutely no wish to repeat. He just didn't see any way around it, because his father had been right. The man was powerful, very powerful. He virtually radiated the stuff off in waves - and that didn't even take into account the other sorts of power the wizard wielded, such as his control over many of the pure-blooded elite, and politically powerful wizards.
Trying to distract himself, he focused his attention elsewhere, absently noting the time as he stared out the window. A quarter to ten. That was about the time that his two bodyguards usually showed up.
And right on cue, both Crabbe and Goyle lumbered in and took seats across from him. Unspoken was the tradition that Pansy would sit beside him - though, Draco couldn't be arsed to care either way. They both nodded to him.
"Didn't see Weasley or Potter on our way here," Crabbe said.
Draco snorted. Of course not, he thought instantly. That lot never gets here until the train is practically pulling out. Which was why he wasn't already on the look out for them. It was generally best to wait until the train had been moving for ten to fifteen minutes before he went to taunt the pathetic Gryffindors.
"The mudblood is already one the train, three carriages up from here."
Draco nodded, briefly considering going and taunting the mudblood early, but ultimately decided it was too much effort. It was so much more fun doing it in front of the Weasel. He always bristled and turned such funny shades of red. When the Weasel wasn't around, all the mudblood did was sneer right back at him.
Unfortunately, neither that, nor Crabbe and Goyle, held his attention for long and he found his thoughts roaming back to where they'd been stuck off and on since the night of his birthday.
Draco watched as the next deatheater stepped before the dark lord, kneeled and kissed the hem of his robes.
That can't be sanitary, Draco thought with a purely internal shudder.
"What news do you bring me?" the dark lord demanded.
"Potter was at Hogwarts briefly," the man said quietly. "And then Dumbledore hid him away at Order Headquarters."
"And just where is that?"
"I do not know, My Lord. Their headquarters' location is still protected by the fidelus."
"And who is the secret keeper?"
"I do not know, My Lord," the deatheater replied, visibly wincing as he did so. "I suspect it is Headmaster Dumbledore."
"You do not know," the dark lord echoed, his voice flat. "Crucio!"
Draco gasped, staring in horrified fascination as the man writhed under the pain curse for nearly a minute before the dark lord released the spell.
"Find out!" the dark lord snapped.
The deatheater backed away, fading into his place in the circle.
In growing horror, Draco watched as deatheater after deatheater reported to the wizard. Every report that did not meet with the dark lord's approval was met with pain. When his own father stepped forward, he was tempted to close his eyes and clamp his hands over his ears, not wanting to hear the same thing happen to his own flesh and blood.
He didn't, attempting an outward appearance of calm acceptance. He didn't know how successful he was, but at least he wasn't cringing away.
"Draco!"
Draco startled out of his thoughts, to find Pansy sitting next to him looking worried.
"What?" he snapped, hoping it would make her back off. He, in absolutely no way, wanted to talk about what was 'wrong' with him right now.
"Are you alright?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm and leaning closer.
"I'm fine," he retorted firmly, then turned to Greg and Vincent. "You two ready?"
They nodded, rising in unison.
He nodded once to Pansy. "We'll be back in a few minutes," he said and swept out of the compartment. He had some Gryffindors to make fun of.
x-x-x
As the door shut behind the retreating Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Harry grinned excitedly, turning immediately toward Hermione.
His exclaimed, "he wasn't important, Hermione!" fell right on top of Ron's angry, "what is wrong with you, Harry?"
Both Harry and Hermione turned an astonished look at Ron. "Nothing's wrong with me," Harry replied carefully. "What in the world makes you think there is?"
"Then why did you let Malfoy get away with that bollocks?"
"Language, Ron!" Hermione snapped.
Harry ignored Hermione's admonishment - Ron did as well, as far as Harry could tell. "What should I have done?" he asked, knowing full well, exactly what Ron had expected; exactly what Harry would have done last year.
"You should have hexed his arse, Harry!"
Part of Harry agreed, actually. The little ferret deserved just about anything they could dish out. "Why?" he asked, instead. Really, he told himself, the little ferret was annoying, but that's all he was; a minor irritation in the 'grand scheme'.
"Because he deserved it!" Ron exclaimed indignantly.
Harry laughed. "Sure, he did," he agreed readily. That wasn't something he cared to dispute.
Hermione shook her head. "That still wouldn't make it right, Ron."
Ron frowned at Hermione, then turned to stare at Harry, incredulous. "What? Are you trying to be a grown up or something, Harry?"
Harry's sudden smile felt like it was big enough to reach his ears. It felt amazingly good for someone to figure it out - besides Mione. She was there from nearly the very beginning; she knew what he was doing. "That's exactly what I'm doing," he replied. "Glad you noticed."
Ron gaped at him for almost a full minute. "Why?" he asked incredulously. "There's no fun in being grown up."
"You're telling me?" Harry groused with an amused snort. "It bites, actually."
"Harry," Hermione chastised.
"What?" they both responded, "It does!"
They burst out laughing then, a moment of shared, childish camaradarie bringing them back to the same side. "Well, at least you've not completely defected," Ron told him, grinning, then frowning suddenly. "Does that mean we aren't going to prank Malfoy at all this year?"
Sighing, Harry nodded. "Yes, Ron, that's exactly what it means."
"Even when he starts it?"
"Even then," Harry replied firmly, wanting to say the exact opposite.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, dropping into his seat. "There goes the year."
Things settled down after that and Harry was grateful Ron hadn't been too upset by his refusal to let Malfoy bait him. He could see, though, that Ron was going to have a difficult time with the 'new Harry'; new and 'improved', Harry hoped.
Ron pulled out his transfiguration homework. "Hey, Mione, can you help me with this?" he asked.
"Oh, Ronald!" Hermione said sternly. "Haven't you finished that yet?"
Harry shook his head and turned his attention to the scenery outside the window just as the train began to move. He had a lot to think about, not the least of which was this morning's altercation with Snape. Why couldn't he react to Snape the way he did to Malfoy just now? Malfoy's taunts had rolled off him like they were nothing, like they were completely irrelevant. If he could just do that with Snape, everything would be great. Well, maybe not everything, but it would certainly make this year easier to get through.
He couldn't help being a little riled about it, though. All the things he'd felt at the time - kept under lock and key or not - were still there, just . . . muted a bit. Outrage, anger, frustration; he felt all of them, along side the taste of the word hypocrite that he'd so wanted to yell at the man. Still not thinking through your actions, Potter? Maybe Snape should do the same thing once in a while!
Harry's eyes widened as an idea struck him. He knew just what memory to give Snape to see - if he could bring himself to do it. It certainly fit the bill as far as being humiliating. It was pretty much the most humiliating thing he'd ever had to endure. As happenstance would have it, it would also qualify as 'telling' someone about his homelife more directly than 'they don't really like me, Sir.' Thirdly, assuming the man could set aside his prejudices long enough to see the scene for what it really was. As far as Harry could see, it would be obvious to a blind man. To a 'spy', like Snape was supposed to be, it should be blindingly obvious.
Oddly enough, the longer he thought about it, the more appealing it became. Showing it to Snape was better than talking to the headmaster about it all, and frankly, he couldn't even imagine going to Professor McGonagall about something like this. As a bonus, Snape's opinion of him couldn't get any worse, and he really didn't want either the headmaster or McGonagall to think of him as weak, unable to defend himself.
Now, the only thing he had to figure out was when and how to present his apology and the memory - and whether or not he could actually do it. He didn't actually want anyone to see it. Not to mention, he had to figure out just how the hell he was supposed to ask Snape to resume the occlumency lessons.
The rest of the train ride was spent mostly in quiet, allowing Harry his thoughts. It was certainly an unusual occurence, but with Hermione reading, the blessed quiet was only interrupted by Ron's occasional question about his homework - the most that Hermione was willing to do for something that had been, in her opinion, put off for far too long, and also for a short time when the candy trolley came by.
x-x-x
Draco sat in the empty compartment, having chased out his companions. He was numb to everything around him, his mind chasing itself in circles. How could Potter have that bloody much power? That's what he couldn't figure out. The Gryffindor prat was a half-blood, tainted with worthless muggle blood. Everything Draco had been taught, told him that purebloods were better, more powerful; that muggle influence in the wizarding world would destroy magic.
He shook himself out of that line of thought. "To hell with that!" he exclaimed quietly. "My father's going to kill me!" After seeing Potter again after his magical growth, there was no way he was going to be able to follow the dark lord. The dark lord was definitely more experienced, more skilled, but Potter had more raw starting power. Not only that, Potter had great potential for political and social power as well - despite his half-blood status. Quite possibly more than a wizard who had to operate in the shadows, especially if Potter had the right sort of . . . guidance.
The prat was friends with almost all the upper year Gryffindors - adored by some of the younger ones - well-liked by the Hufflepuffs, and even respected by easily a third to half the Ravenclaws. The only house where he was persona nongrata was Slytherin, and if the dark lord was defeated, that would change as swiftly as a cloudy sky produced rain. Slytherins were nothing if not adaptable.
He could already feel the urge to approach Potter, to somehow make amends with the Gyffindor. It was a far stronger draw than the one he'd felt toward the dark lord - which had thankfully abated the moment he'd stepped inside the trio's carriage. He knew it was going to be damn near impossible to get on the good side of those three, but he kept spinning out ideas through his mind, the scenarios ranging from unworkable, to improbable, all the way to outrageously ridiculous. Frankly, he didn't have a single clue what he was going to do, he just knew he had to do something, otherwise this . . . want inside of him was not going to let him be.
With that firmly decided, he relaxed suddenly, his mind latching onto one of the things his father had told him about the curse.
"We will be able to sense what that wizard will want from us, as well as be able to answer that need, or alternately, know how to supply the person or object that can."
Obviously, it didn't mean they would always succeed, Draco thought drily, given his father's failure to get hold of whatever it was the dark lord had wanted that night they'd broken into the department of mysteries. It would still, however, be a handy skill. What he worried most about now, was his father's comments about the curse 'changing them'. He really didn't want to be Gryffindor-like in the slightest. He freely admitted that he wasn't the bravest bloke on the block - impulsively, or otherwise. Not that he had liked the idea of changing for the dark lord, either! He didn't even want to imagine what would change about him to be able to do the things that madmad would have wanted from him.
Despite that, he smirked, now knowing that he would figure out how to convince Potter to admit him into his circle. After all, it wasn't like they had to actually be friends. He seriously doubted his father held any feelings of friendship toward the dark lord, after all, or the dark lord for him, for that matter.
The main problem he could see arising at this point, was getting the trio to believe whatever it was he came up with. And if he was certain of nothing else about this whole situation, he was certain that he would have to convince all three of them. He highly doubted that Potter would go so far against his friends.
He would figure something out, he was sure, and that left him with needing to figure out what to do about his father. The man would-
Draco's smirk grew as he suddenly realized all it would take would be as simple as surruptitiously arranging for the two to 'accidentally' meet. His father would understand then, and know that he had no choice. He still didn't think the man would like it, however.
"Are you done with your 'alone time' now?" Pansy demanded as she opened the door. "We're tired of being shut out."
Draco sighed, already mourning the loss of quiet, but nodded. "Yes," he replied evenly. "I've sorted out what I needed to sort out."
"Good," Pansy said firmly, slipping into the compartment and sitting herself next to him.
Crabbe and Goyle followed, once again taking the seats opposite.
TBC
Kiristeen ke Alaya
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.
Harry Potter specific vocabulary pet peeves.
Apparition = a spirit or noncorporeal entity. eg a ghost.
Apparation = a magical form of nearly instantaneous travel.
Occlumency = a technique to protect the mind from invasion.
Legilimency = a technique to invade another's mind.