A/N: Thank you Nolita and Minute-Mist. Your reviews are much appreciated.
Again… any reviews – even the ones that tell me to start over, are appreciated.
Warning: This chapter starts off a bit slow as we finish up the exposition and some necessary background – but man does it get intense by the end. From here on things will be picking up in pace quite a bit as well.
Another Chance
Chapter Two
The great hall had changed. No longer were there four longs tables, each for a house, instead there were nearly forty shorter tables, clustered in a seeming random pattern. The staff table was still at the front of the hall, still elevated, still filled with tired, scowling faces for the most part.
When Draco finally shouldered his way through the crowd of students standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, clearly at a loss as to how to proceed, and spied the new seating arrangements, a handful of students had already taken seats.
He noticed that Potter and company had taken a table off to one side of the room – the same side of the hall that the Slytherin table had once been set up. He shook his head, realizing that it was likely paranoia that had them sitting there – doubtless none of them wanted to expose themselves on all sides. He scanned the rest of the hall for any of his… acquaintances. Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson had taken up residence towards the back of the hall, several tables removed from Potter. Nott caught his eye and sneered – he had made it clear on several occasions that he was done pandering to Draco and now thought himself to be the Prince of Slytherin – had even gone so far as to take up with Pansy to prove the point. Draco thought that Nott was welcome to any of his leftovers. Things had changed, and he was ready to move on.
Suddenly there was a familiar presence at his shoulder. He looked over to see Blaise Zabini, tanned and confident after spending the summer in Italy.
"What do you make of this?" He murmured to Draco.
"McGonagall. She never did approve of the house rivalry. Probably thinks we'll start sitting with other houses."
Blaise snorted.
"More like we'll just break into smaller cliques."
"Still…"
Blaise nodded.
"Well, shall we revert to type or set a new example?"
Draco arched an eyebrow.
Blaise had long lived by his own rules: as a foreign wizard he wasn't as embroiled in Voldemort's war or the cut-throat social circles of wizarding Britain. He became Draco's friend because he wanted to – not because his parents forced it on him. Blaise was the quintessential Slytherin, but he didn't approve of his house's racism or tendency to breed sycophants. He was a powerful wizard and from an important family; he would make a mark on the world and he would bend others to his will – but he wouldn't do it through murder and intimidation. Blaise's sense of personal honor attracted Draco, who had been raised with a very different idea of the world. They were the smartest of their year – Granger excepted – and despite several Ravenclaw's attempts to surpass their academic prowess they had made a name for themselves as two of the most brilliant students in school. They challenged and supported each other, and to Draco, it was the only worthwhile relationship he had ever formed.
The fact that Blaise still accepted him – didn't hold his family's fall from grace or his own failure against him – was perhaps the only reason he was able to return to Hogwarts at all. Well, that and the fact that his mother had forced him to. That still smarted.
"We can join Nott – " Draco shook his head at that suggestion – " sit on our own. Or…"
"I'm not going to sit with Potter," Draco said.
Blaise smirked.
"I was thinking about a few Ravenclaws – Eleanor Cartwright and Stephan Cornfoot – from Arthimancy?" Blaise jerked his head in their direction. The two Ravenclaws were seated towards the front of the hall, in the center of the room. Not a location Draco would have chosen. But….
Draco shrugged.
"Lead on. Perfect location for an attack – not a wall in sight and sixty feet from the nearest escape."
Blaise frowned.
"Stop thinking like that. It's over." He briefly touched Draco's shoulder, and the blonde was forced to look his friend in the eye and nod. Easy enough for Blaise to tell him to forget– he had been able to remain neutral during the war.
The two Slytherins made the long, awkward walk over to Cornfoot and Cartwright. The four students considered each other for a moment, and then Cornfoot gestured to the empty chairs.
"Please join us, at least you'll provide entertaining dinner conversation."
Blaise smirked as he sat.
"Eleanor, you're looking lovely. Did you have an enjoyable summer?"
Eleanor blushed and completely melted under the charm Blaise directed at her.
"It was wonderful. We went to Paris and I toured the Sorbonne's libraries – I'm thinking of attending there next fall. Their apprenticeship programs are so challenging."
"And illustrious. If you managed to secure yourself an Arthimancy post there Gringotts would fall all over themselves to hire you after your Mastery."
Eleanor nodded.
"Exactly. And you, Blaise? It seems Italy treated you as well as always."
"Indeed. Did some apprenticeship scouting of my own. Master Fiorello has consented to accepting my apprenticeship in the fall."
"Fiorello the Transfiguration expert? Impressive." This was from Stephan, whose pride was as legendary as his genius. Draco was willing to bet he didn't have such a plush offer lined up for himself, and that it was jealous, not happiness, that had him offering Blaise a mock toast from their empty goblets.
It was several minutes later before the Great Hall was filled with returning students and McGonagall had taken her place at the front of the hall.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts," she said, voice magically magnified. There was a cheer in the hall - no doubt from the Gryffindor's gathered by the far wall. "We have all lived through times of triumph and despair. This year marks the opportunity for a new beginning, another chance for all of us to move forward and embrace a new future and new possibilities." She paused and drew a deep breath before continuing. "Hogwarts has always been divided – the four houses of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor serving as homes to each student who admires the qualities of their house. And while that is noble, it is also unjust. No longer can the wizarding world afford to be so divided. No longer can we allow our differences to mark us. Now we must move forward, together, or risk another war such as we just ended. I have abolished the House tables. The dormitories and common rooms are still divided by house, but in the Great Hall, in all classes, I encourage you to forge new bonds with members of other houses. Outside these walls, the world awaits you – and it is a dark place yet. Only together can we prevent the rise of another Voldemort." She looked down briefly as the hall fell into a somber silence. "That does not mean that House Pride, the House Cup, and Quidditch count for nothing. It is simply my wish that we see those for what they are – childhood competitions. Now please rise and greet our new class of first years. After the sorting I will introduce our new staff and our prefects."
"Are we even going to eat?" Blaise muttered to Draco.
"Doesn't look like it."
The hall rose as the doors opened, ready to greet the new class with as much enthusiasm as McGongall's words had left them with.
Had first years ever looked younger and more vulnerable? Draco wondered as the timid line of students marched to the front of the hall.
"Tiny little buggers," Blaise remarked and Draco nodded at the vocalization of his own thoughts.
McGonagall gestured for the hall to sit, and placed the Sorting Hat upon the stool that each student in the hall had occupied at one point.
"Abrams, Mary." The hat called out.
Draco and Blaise shared a look.
"Guess it thought McGonagall had said all that needed to be said?"
"Likely it wants to give us the chance to eat," Draco said in response.
"Considerate of it."
"Ravenclaw!" The hat shouted. The hall applauded, and Draco was surprised that nearly all of the students – not just Ravenclaws – clapped for the girl as she stood proudly. Then there was an awkward moment as Mary tried to figure out where to go next.
Across the table Stephan rolled his eyes, then stood and whistled.
"Over here, young Miss Abrams! Come sit with the smartest students in the school!"
There was some good natured heckling at this, but Mary lit up and practically skipped to the table.
It was a good example for Stephan to set – from then on, after every student's sorting, they were "chosen" to join a table by one of their new housemates. It seemed to put the young students at ease, and it kept alive some of the House pride and competition that McGonagall had so recently frowned upon.
When at long last the students had been sorted, McGonagall cleared the stool away and took her place at the staff table. She gestured to her right, and a man wearing gray dress robes stood.
"And now I will introduce our new staff members. Master Tiberius Smith. Master Smith will be teaching Transfiguration, and joins our staff after having spent several years in Russia, working at the elite Kremlin Institute of Magic."
"Explains why he's so pale," Blaise muttered. Draco rolled his eyes.
"We can't all be swarthy Italians," he returned.
Blaise smirked and sent an appraising look at Draco's own rather pale skin.
"Too right you are, mate."
Still, Draco thought as he looked over Smith, the man was pale. His features were sharp and chiseled, and the short bow he developed to the hall before taking his seat again left a clear impression on Draco. The man was economical – he clearly didn't waste a moment, a thought, or a gesture.
"Next, may I present Master Vindictus Viridian, who joins the staff this year as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the new head of Slytherin house."
Draco turned to Blaise, waiting for his friend to make a snide comment about the new professor – and was shocked to see him looking slightly pensive, a smirk growing on his face. Draco looked back at the staff table and at the tall wizard arrayed in dragon skin pants and a thick, dark blue tunic. Clearly this wizard meant business – he reminded Draco a bit of Kingsley Shacklebolt or even Mad Eye, he looked so fearsome and intent. But he was young – certainly younger than Draco thought the author of their Defense textbook should be – and looked to be a few years younger than Snape had been. His hair was short and dark, brushed carelessly off his forehead to one side. Even from this distance, Draco could notice the startling color of his eyes: blue, paler than Draco's own, a shade so light they made him look mad.
"Blaise…" he hissed.
"What?" Blaise turned a patently innocent expression to him.
"Come off it. There's no way."
Now Blaise's smirk grew to epic proportions.
"Really? Care to lay a wager on that?"
The one truly exploitable weakness that Blaise possessed was his desire to gamble.
Draco shook his head.
"No way. I don't let my friends take sucker bets."
But Blaise just continued to smirk and turned his attention back to the staff table. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Muggle Studies has been reinstituted for this academic year – and all following academic years." McGonagall paused for a moment, and Draco felt nearly all eyes in the hall fall on him. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look ahead at McGonagall. "Professor Alice Avery will take up this post."
Blaise sent Draco a sharp look as the hall applauded rather somberly.
"Bill Weasley has consented to join our staff this year after Professor Flitwick announced his retirement, as the Charms Professor and head of Gryffindor." The red haired man stood and received thunderous applause. He had always been a popular student – and his legendary exploits as a curse breaker, coupled with his role in the war and his obvious and personal suffering had clearly garnered him popular support.
McGonagall waited until the applause had died down before gesturing to the last new face at the staff table. Dressed in dark, crimson robes, the man at the far end of the table rose slowly. His features resembled nothing if not a hawk: sharp, slightly hooked nose, piercing dark eyes, and his hair was pulled back from his face, revealing the sharp angle of his cheekbones and jaw. There was something… familiar about him.
"Lastly may I present Master Edward Prince, who will be taking over as both Potions Professor and the new head of Ravenclaw. Master Prince joins our staff after several years spent in South America, studying aboriginal magic among the Indian tribes of Brazil."
Interesting staff, Draco thought, his gaze still fixed on Prince as he tried to figure out when he had seen the man before.
"Not a Gildroy Lockhart or an Umbridge among them," Stephan said across the table.
"And Master Prince is brilliant," Eleanor added, clearly thrilled with her new head of house, "he went to Oxford with my cousin – and then he apprenticed to Nicholas Flamel, one of his very last apprentices. And I've read all about his work in Brazil – it's simply fascinating."
It suddenly hit Draco that Eleanor Cartwright was exactly like Hermione Granger – if Granger had been sorted into Ravenclaw, she would no doubt have turned out as confident and talkative as Cartwright, and being among her intellectual peers would have likely killed off her annoying need to prove herself as well. No doubt she would have done far better in Ravenclaw than Gryffindor. However, without her it was impossible that Potter or Weasley would have ever made it this far through their lives. That thought had him turning his head to study the Gryffindor girl across the hall.
She had changed over the last year – all of them had. She looked far more like a woman than a girl, as did most of the returning seventh years, and the school robes she wore looked almost perverse. Sometime over the summer she had obviously decided to cut off her hair and learn how to use a brush – her hair was now chin length, and still curled wildly, but no longer frizzed out into a birds nest. She had put on weight since he had last seen her, and it served her well. No longer was her skin nearly translucent, or her features sharp and thin. She looked healthy. Except her eyes. On the train he had noticed something – recognized the look of a forlorn animal in her eyes that he saw reflected in his own mirror every morning. Granger had survived the war, but she certainly had not come out in one piece.
McGongall cleared her throat and all eyes returned to her.
"Hurry this up, for the love of Merlin," Blaise murmured. "Some of us have to EAT in order to live."
Draco smirked at his friend's sense of melodrama.
"And lastly, before we start the Welcoming Feast, I would like to introduce this year's prefects and Head Boy and Girl. Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger, please rise."
Draco arched an eyebrow at his friend, but the Italian boy just smirked and stood.
"This year's Head Boy and Head Girl will face new challenges, and I am confident that Miss Granger and Mr Zabini are more than up to the task." There was applause – nearly universal – as the two students nodded at each other across the hall. Blaise was liked by most Ravenclaws and Slytherins, while Granger was the Princess of Gryffindor and universally adored – and feared – by the Hufflepuffs. A good combination, even if the Ravenclaws did resent Granger for her academic achievements.
McGonagall waited for the applause to die down, but when Blaise made to sit back down she gestured for him to remain standing.
"This year we will be paring down the number of prefects – only two seventh years from each house. In the interest of… recovery and encouraging the younger students to focus on their academic studies. Next year, however, we plan to return to the full amount of prefects." McGongall paused and seemed to be frowning to herself.
"Neville Longbottom and Lavender Brown will serve as Gryffindor Prefects." Draco looked across the hall at the two students. Longbottom had been one of the few to come out of the war for the better – he was more confident and proud than Draco had ever dreamed he would be. " Eleanor Cartwright and Stephan Cornfoot will serve as Ravenclaw prefects." Draco looked back at his table mates and was amused by their exchange of smug looks. " Wayne Hopkins and Susan Bones will serve as the Hufflepuff prefects." Both students stood proudly, and Draco felt himself, and the entire hall, tense in anticipation of the next two names. Draco knew that no matter who was named, people would be upset. He had overheard a lot of angry conversations on the train – most of them ending with the fervent wish that none of the Slytherins be allowed back. He knew that many thought his whole house – and he in particular – deserved to be rotting in Azkaban. He looked up at his friend, saw that Blaise too had tensed and seemed ready to defend whoever was named Slytherin prefect. His hand had even drifted down to his wand.
"And from Slytherin, our last two prefects this year are Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy."
There was a roar of discontent, and Draco was reluctant to stand. But then he drew a deep breath, reminded himself that he was a MALFOY and that everyone at Hogwarts could go and fuck themselves. He stood beside Blaise and weathered the verbal abuse that was literally hurled in his direction. He refused to look anyone in the eye, simply let his gaze scan the hall – until his eyes locked on with Granger's.
She gave him a nod, a small smile, and started to clap.
It took a moment for her clapping – so small and distant compared to all of the angry shouting – registered with anyone else. And then Blaise started to clap, and then Eleanor and Stephan. After a few more moments the rest of the hall quieted, shocked, and the Hufflepuff prefects as well as Daphne joined in. It took a furious glare from Hermione, and what looked like a muttered threat to permanently disfigure Lavender – before the two Gryffindor prefects at last joined in. And then Draco did the only thing he could think of. He started clapping himself.
The hall was literally catatonic for five minutes before McGonagall cleared her throat, silencing the ten students who were clapping and gathering everyone's attention once more.
"And now, please enjoy the feast."
There was a flourish of magic and then the hall was filled with the aroma of rich, Hogwarts food. Draco remained standing, even as the rest of the prefects and Blaise took their seats. Across the hall, Hermione Granger was still watching him. He nodded to her – the gesture so simple and yet incredibly difficult for him. Never before had Draco felt more obligated to demonstrate his gratitude, and never had he been so incapable of doing so.
He sat down and began the series business of tucking in.
"Completely bizarre, that Granger girl," Blaise commented after nearly ten minutes of silence – he was serious about being starved, it seemed.
"Good example," Stephan said from across the table.
Eleanor nodded and looked at Draco. "And the right one," she said, her dark eyes piercing.
Draco found himself unable to speak.
"Well, young Miss Abrams, tell us about yourself," Stephan commanded the first year girl. She had been looking terrified until that moment, but the chance to talk brightened her face considerably.
"My mother was American – and when Voldemort returned my Dad moved us to the States. We just moved back two weeks ago – I've been begging for years that I be allowed to attend Hogwarts. No other school can match it. And I want to be captain of the Quidditch Team, and Head Girl, and I'll get more OWLS and NEWTS than anyone ever has before."
"Whoa, sure you shouldn't have been in Slytherin, that's quite ambitious of you." Blaise sent her a rakish wink and the girl turned red.
Draco couldn't help but chuckle, and even Cornfoot shook his head in appreciation.
The rest of the feast passed in relative calm, at the end McGonagall promised to pass out their class schedules the next morning at breakfast and entreated all of the students to rest well and think harmonious thoughts. Clearly the reaction to Draco's Prefect status had been unsettling for her.
After nearly half an hour of good food and witty conversation with their table mates – and the obvious development of Mary Abrams obsession with Blaise, Draco rose from the table.
Blaise stood as well, bid the three Ravenclaws good night, and clapped Draco on the back.
"Fancy taking a stroll to the Head's room so I can rub your face in my good fortune?" He asked, cocky grin firmly planted on his face.
Draco snorted a laugh and sent an appraising glance across the hall. Blaise's intention was obvious – he wanted Draco with him while everyone settled into their rooms so that he could avoid getting caught up in a group of students eager to physically demonstrate how little they approved of McGonagall's choice.
Draco didn't even need to consider the offer.
"No thanks, maybe tomorrow after classes. I've got to unpack."
Blaise nodded, grin disappeared.
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
Draco watched his friend cross the hall to stand by Granger's table. A moment later, the two of them left the hall. Draco scanned the hall for Daphne and saw that she was already gathering the Slytherin first years. He made to walk over to her, but she looked up, caught his eye, and immediately looked at Theo Nott.
Draco followed her gaze and noticed the complacent, anticipatory look on Nott's dark face that reminded Draco all too much of Voldemort's face just before he started to torture one of his followers.
He looked around, saw that most of the Slytherin sixth and seventh years were already gone – actually, only Nott, Pansy, Daphne and himself remained from the upper years.
There was clearly an ambush prepared for him. Draco drew a deep breath and made his way over to Daphne.
"Need any help?"
"What are you doing?" She hissed. "They're going to kill you."
Draco laughed.
"I doubt that."
She shot him a look of extreme pity.
"Draco – Nott's out for your blood. He and all the other boys are – "
"Daphne, I know. You really expect me to run away from them?"
"You aren't the Prince of Slytherin anymore, Draco."
"I'm still Draco Malfoy," he said, an edge in his voice that made her blink and look away.
"Good luck, then. You'll need it. I – they're waiting outside of the common room. I'm supposed to take the first years in, then – "
"Thanks, Daphne."
Draco watched her lead the first years out, and then turned his attention to Nott and Pansy.
The pair sauntered towards him.
"Fancy some company?" Pansy asked, batting her eyelashes and looking deceptively innocent.
Draco shrugged. "Why not? How was your summer?"
The three started walking towards the Slytherin common room, and Draco maneuvered himself to be on one side of Pansy, with Nott on the other. If it came down to it, he was more than willing to push the girl into any of Nott's curses.
"Decent," she allowed, looking over at Nott questioningly. Clearly Draco wasn't following their script.
"Glad to hear it. You're certainly looking well. Got a good, tan I see. You always did look… delicious with a tan." He leered at her, somewhat gratified when she flushed with pleasure. Nott, on the other hand, looked ready to murder him.
Which was sort of how he had been looking all night.
"Well, our new professors seem intriguing, wouldn't you say?" It was easy for Draco to fall back into his role of Alpha male – and he could see that Pansy, having trained herself over the last seven years to fall all over him, was falling back into the old routine easily. Nott sneered as he noticed the change in dynamics.
Pansy opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Nott grabbed her arm and hauled her close to his side. The contact seemed to refresh her memory and she glared over at Draco.
"Vindictus looks the right Slytherin," Draco continued, knowing that keeping them off balance was key. Up ahead he could see the final set of stairs before they arrived at the common room. He imagined he could hear the heavy breathing of the sixth and seventh year Slytherins, all lying in wait for him. His own heartbeat started to increase. This was it – potentially his last moments on earth.
For all of his bravado, Draco was very aware that sixteen trained, war-weary Slytherins were more than a match for his own skills. He was doomed – but that didn't mean he was going down without a fight.
Blaise Zabini was thoughtful by nature, prone to analyze a situation from every angle before actually acting. As a child, this tendency had often led to his peers mistaking his inaction for incompetence or stupidity – they almost immediately saw the error of their ways as he surpassed them academically and socially. Blaise was gifted with natural charm, cultivated over the years in part by being Draco's friend – they liked to compete, and competing for attention and companionship was just another element to their relationship. This charm allowed him to ingratiate himself with his professors and peers alike, and he was often thought of as the only 'decent' Slytherin by the other houses.
Last year, that disastrous farce of academics, had been difficult for Blaise. He had tried to keep a wide berth from everyone – even, to some extent, Draco. His views on the war were clear: he thought Voldemort, for all of his supposed genius, was an incompetent moron who needed to read Machiavelli and learn some leadership skills. But he couldn't go around telling anyone this – Draco knew, of course – just as Blaise knew that Draco had thrown up the first time, after every time after, he had been forced to cast cruciatus on someone.
Blaise didn't see it as a weakness of Draco's, not really. Draco was more like Blaise than the blonde knew – they both preferred the subtle and well aimed verbal barb to any physical insult. Blaise saw Draco's inability to use the Unforgivables without suffering himself as an extension of this, and it strengthened Blaise's resolve to support Draco through the war and after.
And now was definitely the after. And Draco needed his support now more than ever – his pride be damned.
So Blaise decided to play the role of the better man and walked over to join Hermione Granger at the end of the Welcoming Feast, all the while watching Draco out of the corner of his eye, as well as the upper year Slytherins. It should have been clear to a blind infant that something was afoot.
Granger looked up when his shadow descended on her, eyes momentarily widening. She looked away a second later, her head turned in Draco's direction. An action that intrigued Blaise greatly.
"Hermione," he decided to add some charm to this encounter – it would help to soften her up and would add fuel to the fire that was Ron Weasley's jealous temper. "Would you like an escort to our new chambers?" He held his arm out to her and she smiled.
"Why thank you, Blaise." She placed her napkin on the table and stood.
"But, Mione –" Weasley looked nearly purple, and Blaise had to wonder if it was healthy for him to get this emotional.
"Ronald, I already told you, I'm very tired and I want to unpack before I go to bed. I will see you tomorrow. Good night Ginny, Harry."
"Careful with that one," Harry said, eyes locked on Blaise.
Blaise fought down a surge of annoyance at Potter and merely arched an eyebrow.
"I intend to be," he assured Potter. "I even promise to heal all the bruises."
Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant.
"Boys, honestly, he's joking. As in using sarcasm to goad you into acting like idiots, which you aren't. All of you need to grow up" She turned on her heel, ignoring Blaise, and stormed from the hall.
Blaise took a second to send the Gryffindor's a mock salute, and then went after, trying to look as casual as he could.
He finally caught up with her on the third floor – she must have been running.
"Granger," he called.
She stopped and turned to glare at him, arms crossed over her chest.
"Zabini?"
She was really pissed, he realized, and almost regretted baiting Potter and Weasley as obviously as he had. He decided to go for broke, knowing that she was on the verge of walking away from him.
"I need your help."
She arched an eyebrow, and the skeptical look on her face almost made him smile. She really wasn't as Gryffindor as she made out to be.
"Really? Have you run out of fodder for your jokes and insults?"
"Hardly. It's Draco."
At the Slytherin's name she lost her defiant posture and walked closer to him.
"Is he – how could he possibly need my help?"
"He doesn't yet, but in about twenty minutes he's going to need both of our help. I'm rubbish at healing charms, and he's going to need to sleep in our common room tonight."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Some of the defiance, and most of the skepticism, was back.
Blaise scowled. He hated being blunt.
"In about five minutes Draco will walk into a trap, planned rather inexpertly by Theo Nott, and he's going to be lucky to come out of it alive. Nearly all of sixth and seventh year will be there – and every one of them has a reason to curse him, and to beat the piss out of him."
Hermione had gasped at his first sentence, and by the end she had her wand out.
"Then we've got to stop them. They can't do that! It isn't fair."
"Actually, no. We can't stop them."
"What are you talking about? Are we too late? Where – the common room? I can't even get in there. Come on, Zabini, stop standing around!" She started to charge past him.
Blaise sighed and grabbed her, none too gently.
"No, we can't. And they aren't in the common room. I'll bet they're just outside of it, though. Somewhere in the dungeons. We can't interfere."
"Why the hell not? A student's life is in danger!"
"Granger. Calm down and use your damn brain. If we interfere – aside from the fact that we'll be facing four to one odds – it won't stop. They'll just attack him again, and if stop that, it will happen again. We can't stop this from happening."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" She was furious, and he knew she still thought they should rush to his rescue now.
"We hide and we wait. We can help him after, but we've got to let him fight this battle."
"But –"
"I'll obliviate you right now and go find someone else. I swear on my mother's grave that I will. Because if you rush down there you WILL get him KILLED. Maybe not today, but sometime soon the very fact that Hermione Granger tried to break up Slytherin revenge is going to put Nott in such a foul mood that he will KILL Draco – and probably you as well. You I don't give a damn about, but I won't let Draco be killed by your stupidity. Now swear to me that you will do as I say."
Granger looked torn.
"But Nott wasn't even a Death Eater!"
"Wake up, Granger! A tattoo doesn't make you evil. Nott's as bad as they come, he just wasn't valuable enough for the Dark Lord to target."
Granger drew a deep breath, her brown eyes misty with what Blaise hoped were NOT tears.
"Okay. I swear. I'll do as you say, I won't interfere with the fight. Not unless they use an Unforgivable." She raised her chin, defiant to a fault.
Blaise was out of time and he groaned in exasperation.
"Fine. But only if it's an Unforgivable. Now can we please go? We haven't much time."
Granger nodded in agreement and together they practically sprinted down to the dungeons.
It had taken far too long to convince Granger to assist him, and Blaise was worried it would be too late by the time they got there. Already he envisioned Draco lying on the cold stone floor, bleeding to death. Just like Snape.
Draco took the first punch without flinching, and managed to grin even as he felt his lip split from the hit.
"Harper, you hit like a girl," Draco said and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the sixth year.
The other boy's face went red and he charged at Draco again, this time landing three punches in quick succession to Draco's gut.
"I'm done with this slime," he then announced, kicking Draco's knee cap for good measure before stalking to the side.
Draco laughed, then coughed at the sudden flair of pain.
"That's it? You've got the staying power of a Hufflepuff, Harper. No wonder the Dark Lord never bothered with you."
With a shout of rage Harper was on him again, pushing Draco back against the stone wall of the corridor and slamming his head against it.
"You know nothing you pathetic excuse for a pureblood. You're a coward and a weakling." Harper spat in his face, shoved him again, and then walked away for good.
Draco righted himself as much as he could – Pansy had semi-immobilized him with a sticking spell after they had finally disarmed him – and offered a bloody grin to his peers.
"Well, who's next?"
He surveyed the group, thinking that, as much as they had him outnumbered, he hadn't done too badly before they finally got him. Nott was leaning against the opposite wall, clutching his freshly healed shoulder – fortunate for him that Millicent had learned the counter –curse for sectumsempra – while the rest of the Slytherin's weren't much better off. Millicent herself was still trying to figure out how to un-jinx her wand-arm – currently it was broken in at least seven places, the bones sticking out of her skin in a grotesque parody of a forest. That one Draco had learned from Bellatrix, last year, after being forced to watch her torture several muggles. Pansy he had gone easy on – boils covered her face and every visible part of her body, erupting periodically and creating new boils. It wouldn't leave permanent scars, but it would be painful and difficult to heal. Harper had gotten the worst of Draco's curses – hence his first shot at hitting Draco now that he had been subdued – and even now was limping back to stand by Nott, clutching his left thigh and letting out a hiss of pain as the slow-acting curse moved through his body. That curse Draco had learned from Voldemort himself – one of the Dark Lord's favorites. It attached itself to the victim's nerve endings and traveled it's way up the body, sending random, seizure inducing spasms of pain. Draco had watched Voldemort use the curse of Lucius, had FELT Voldemort use it on himself. He knew the pain Harper was in, and he still felt justified in the use of the curse. If his classmates wanted to play dirty, then he would gladly accept their terms. Unlike them, Draco had had a year's exposure to the Death Eaters and Voldemort camped in his HOME. His nightmares were more gruesome than anything they could do to him.
Vaisey stepped forward. Vaisey, who had craved Draco's position as Slytherin seeker since second year. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Draco.
"Well? What meager knowledge of Dark Arts have you managed to cram into your thick skull, Vaisey? Best make it good – wouldn't do to embarrass yourself in front of everyone by using Jelly-Legs, would it?"
Vaisey practically growled at him.
"Mano fratumata!"
Draco felt instant and immediate pain, surpassed only by his horror, as every bone in both of his hands splintered. He could feel each fragment stab into the skin, could feel his nerves explode in pain.
He groaned and then bit down on his tongue as hard as possible. No matter the pain, he refused to allow even a whimper to escape his lips. Seventeen years as his father's son had taught him that much – don't ever show them how much it hurts, don't ever give away the advantage of your tolerance.
But damn it all – his hands! Draco thought frantically of any counter curse for his hands, anything that would repair them as see him as good as new. He could think of nothing and he felt a well of despair start to form in the pit of his stomach. No more Quidditch. No more Potions. They might as well break his wand and kill him. He was worthless now.
It was at that moment that Daphe came back out of the portrait hole. She looked around in disgust – gagged when she took in Draco's appearance – before turning on Nott.
"Enough. The first years are sorted, you've had your fun, leave it be before you do enough damage to bring the teachers into this. Professor Vindictus said he'd be here by ten to speak with us – that gives you twenty minutes to clean up." She swept her gaze to Draco, then back to Nott. "And this stops here, is that clear? You've had your revenge."
Nott sneered at being told what to do, but under Daphe's direct gaze he relented.
"Very well. We're done here." He sent Draco one last glare and then marched into the Slytherin common room, the rest following behind him.
Daphne lingered for a moment.
"I can't help you."
He knew that, but he couldn't open his mouth or he might start screaming. The pain in his hands had intensified, and without the adrenaline rush from fighting, the rest of his injuries were catching up with him.
Daphne cast finite incantatem at him and then disappeared back into the common room.
Draco was able to hold himself up for all of ten seconds, and then his legs collapsed. He tried to roll as he fell, cradling his hands close to his body, and was only partially successful. He landed on his side, and the cry of pain he released was entirely beyond his control. And that was his undoing.
The sound of his own heartbeat, the blood pumping through his veins, the dozen or so curses still affecting him, the knowledge that after tonight his life was forfeit. It was too much. He drew in a deep and breath and clenched his teeth so tightly he thought he might dislocate his jaw. He refused to give in.
And then he heard her voice.
"You complete idiot! He's dead!"
He turned his head, caught sight of Hermione Granger running towards him, Blaise Zabini right behind her.
"Clearly he isn't dead," Zabini deadpanned as they got closer.
Granger came to a sliding stop, landing on her knees by his side and bumping his shoulder. That send a whole new wave of pain through his body and he finally gave in and let out a howl of pain.
"Oh my god. Oh god. Draco – I –" She reached for him and just as he lost consciousness Draco realized that her skirt had ridden up.
His last sight was of her red lacy knickers, and his last thought was the realization that Granger was a closet hedonist.
