With the introduction of new allies came the closing off of old ones. Draco's relationship with Crabbe and Goyle had never been much more than surface level. Hell, he still didn't even use their first names after years of wreaking havoc at family events and longer still at Hogwarts together. He'd envied others' friendships deeply, even as he scowled at Ginny crying on Dean's shoulder in the hallway, because he knew that when it came down to it he would never be able to rely on his friends for that. But it was what he had had, and meager though it may be he mourned the loss of it. He kept secrets from them, banishing them from helping him in the Room of Requirement, and it took only a few days before they noticed his isolation and began to murmur with Nott and Parkinson in the common room. He knew the weight of everything Potter and the rest were doing for him, and with him. It didn't make it easier.
By Sunday, less than a week later, he found himself wandering the halls just to keep away from the incessant murmurs. It was the first time all year he'd been free of responsibility, in the short term at least, and able to just wander without that damned cabinet hanging over his head like a shroud. Lupin had gotten a few birds through with only minor injuries and scalded feathers, and that was within two days of work. The knot in Draco's chest had begun to uncoil in earnest.
He wandered up to the owlry, hoping to hear from his mother, or maybe from a cousin at Durmstrang, or even that pink-haired woman from the meeting the other night—he was sure they were related somehow. Anyone who would offer him a kind word, even if it was only done to keep up appearances. There were a few owls huddled in the rafters with parchment strapped to their legs, waiting patiently for the next mealtime at the Great Hall to deliver their goods. In the middle of a row he spotted his eagle owl slumped against it's neighbor, content, and he cupped his hands to his mouth to call for it.
"Please tell me you don't intend to whistle," Harry Potter's voice in the doorway was all too distinct. Draco instinctively curled his face into a glower and then, catching himself, a smile, "I will regret showing that trick to Mister Weasley for the rest of my life."
Draco winced at the memory, his ears prickling.
"You're to blame for that? Figures," he turned back up and offered a small set of hoots, muffled through his hands, and the eagle owl leapt from its perch to settle nearby. He loosened the parchment from its leg, and once freed it spread it's wings and lithely took flight, soaring towards the openings at the roof of the tower. Draco went to stuff the note in his pocket for later when Harry cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat.
"Is it news? From the manor?"
He wanted to tell Harry to get stuffed. These were his kind words and no one else could have them. But no amount of soul-baring so far had washed the suspicion from him yet, he knew that, and he couldn't afford to look like he was hiding something. He fished it back out again and opened it in front of Harry, reading slowly so as to omit anything too treacly sweet. He could tell by the stamp it was from his mother.
Darling,
We here at home are proud of the work you are doing for our Lord, and our family. By your loyal actions, our name will soon be restored, and I hope to congratulate you in person within just a few weeks when you get off the train.
Your father and I will be traveling next Wednesday morning to our house in Berkshire, to find some antiques for the manor, so send any news on the cabinet promptly. We are excited for you, and don't want to miss any letters.
I love you,
Mother
Draco's mouth was as dry as stone by the end, and when he looked up at Potter he could see the concern settling into his eyes as well.
"What exactly did she mean, Draco?"
He stared at the words, scrawled carefully in golden ink as always, and tried to pin down his suddenly ragged and disjointed breathing. The loyal actions were obvious, but the rest…he shouldn't be returning by train, nor should he be expected to reply by Wednesday. That was only three days from now, far sooner than the deadline he'd originally been provided.
"It's the Dark Lord," he said, voice shaking, "He's planning to storm the castle, by Wednesday it sounds like. He's already assumed I've failed, my mother is worried about me coming home in a box."
Harry crossed the room and grabbed hold of Draco's shoulders. He wasn't aware he had been shaking, and gladly leaned against Harry's hands with all of his weight, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. Tears were flooding his eyes and his throat, threatening to burst from his head at any moment. For his part, Harry just stood silent and held Draco fast. He didn't speak when the tears did come, or perhaps he didn't notice. The owlry felt like it was spinning beneath them, and Draco became acutely aware of the stink of bird shit.
"Can we go somewhere? Anywhere?" he choked out.
"Yeah…We'll find somewhere."
Harry shifted to Draco's side and lead him down the narrow staircase, still supporting most of his weight. They marched through the corridors stoically, Draco flinching when a group of third years rounded a corner. Harry held on to him tightly.
"Don't think about them," he said, his voice low, "They can sod right off. If you're right and we only have a couple of days, it won't make much difference for us to keep up our facade. Getting somewhere we can pull ourselves together matters more."
Draco nodded as discreetly as he could and set his jaw in that old familiar way. He tried to stand upright, appear haughty. Anything to avoid accusations of weakness. Harry steered him, within a few minutes, to the Gryffindor common room, silencing the Fat Lady's protestations with a quick flick of his wand.
"How—?"
"Same way you learned how to get out of the dungeons undetected. Or smoke in the bathrooms. Or whatever it is Slytherins get up to. Students find a way to do what they please," he deposited Draco in a chair by the fire and yelled up the stairs for Ron and Hermione, "Although that move was obvious enough that McGonagall will be here within a few minutes to scold us. Saves us some time, I figure."
"Oi! Where's the fire?" Ron bounded down the stairs and stopped short when he saw Draco, pale and still shaking. He'd been locking his jaw so long his teeth were starting to ache, but he didn't make any move to relax, "What's wrong?"
Hermione appeared from another doorway, mirroring Ron's look of shock. She turned on her heel and shuttered the doors going upstairs, locking them with a flick of the wand, and then closing the curtains one by one. There was a stomping from outside the portrait and then the door was thrown aside, every inch of McGonagall angry.
"Potter! Just because you know Dumbledore personally doesn't mean you can flaunt the school's rules whenever you want and assault a portrait! I can't even—" she drew up short and scanned the room, then stared at Harry with renewed intensity.
"Voldemort is coming, Malfoy got word from home. In the next few days, and if Draco doesn't reply back with his job done they'll be coming in through the sewers, or the lake, or some other avenue. Malfoy, show her the letter."
It was crumpled into a ball in his right hand, and Draco realized with a sob that he'd torn it down the middle in the process. Every muscle on him was tight with fear. He slowly worked his fingers open and handed it over, not wanting to see the golden handwriting again. McGonagall took it delicately and skimmed, pausing halfway down the page.
"Mister Malfoy what is in Berkshire?"
"What?" he asked softly.
"They said they are going to Berkshire to retrieve antiques. In all our surveillance they have never allowed both of your parents out of the Manor at the same time, and I can't imagine something so frivolous as flower vases would change that now. They're retrieving something for Voldemort, what do your parents keep stored at Berkshire?"
He ground his palms into his eyes and let his head fall back, flooding with memories of summers in the red brick house encircled by willows. It wasn't every year that they'd been able to attend—father's business usually didn't permit vacations—but the times they had spent there were warm and full of sun, the three of them shut into a tiny two bedrooms eating out of the garden out back. The rest of the house was closed off, cloth over all the furniture and cobwebs piled up in the corners like lace. He remembered the stream outside with a stone bridge crossing it, and the high green grass out back, and traipsing through the attack in the afternoons after his mother had banished him so she could make dinner.
"Whatever it is, it's in the attic at 12 Hallow Lane. We kept everything there, spare furniture, off season silverware, and hundreds of portraits."
Harry frowned, "Portraits of who?"
"The whole family," Draco shrugged, "but mainly the spares. We must have five portraits of Phineas Black around, but you don't need more than one at the manor at a time."
"Phineas Black," McGonagall's voice was cold and sharp, "There's a portrait just like it in Dumbledore's office."
She swept her arms around the three Gryffindors, herding them towards the door, and gently tugged on Draco's shoulder as if asking him to follow. He stood, still numb, and mumbled an unlocking spell on the dormitory doors before shuffling behind her out into the main hallways.
A dozen people milled around the atrium holding Dumbledore's desk, and Harry felt nostalgic for the times when it had been just him and the old headmaster, speaking privately in low voices about secrets only Harry could be trusted with. Now, there were teachers and Order members fighting over the exact wording of Draco's letter home, while Draco himself sat quietly in an armchair, eating the toffees Dumbledore had passed his way as soon as he'd arrived. Harry exchanged a meaningful look at Hermione, who was perched on a windowsill, and she rolled her eyes in response.
With the letter sorted and sent out the window on Draco's eagle owl, the professors turned their eyes again to the teenagers scattered around the room.
"This certainly speeds up our timeline, but with this warning we should be able to handle the assault. It's important we all be appraised of the specifics," Dumbledore said, meeting Draco's eye before continuing, "Draco, your parents will be leaving Wednesday morning. We included in our response that I will be gone from the school until Wednesday afternoon, which will force Voldemort to wait until at least then to send through the cabinet. Once your parents have arrived, they will be met by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks who will take them back to Grimmauld Place. I imagine some force will need to be applied to gain their cooperation, but trust me when I say they will not be harmed. Only kept captive so that they cannot warn the other Death Eaters, until you three can be reunited. Miss Granger and Mister Weasley, you will join Professor McGonagall tomorrow as she places protective charms on each student dormitory. On Wednesday after classes we will be confining the students to the lower levels to avoid any harm coming to them. Professor Lupin has only barely gotten the cabinet working, so anyone who comes through may be a bit singed, which means that Draco, you must be cautious not to draw their ire. Go ahead with the plans they make as if nothing is different. When you charge into my office, we will be waiting and the intruders will be taken into custody. Do you all understand?"
"What am I doing Professor?" Harry knew his voice sounded whinging and aggravated, but it was all he could do to keep from spitting. He would not be confined to Grimmauld Place again, or anywhere else for that matter.
"Harry," Dumbledore's voice was low, kindly but giving warning, and Harry bit his tongue, "You will be coming with me away from the castle. We have an errand to run that is of grave importance."
With a wave, the headmaster dismissed them all and the crowd dispersed. As they filed out the door Harry lingered, hoping to be told more, to be brought back into the atrium so they could speak privately about the errand. The memories from the pensieve still swirled in his head, Tom Riddle asking Slughorn about horcruxes with barely restrained delight, his eyes flashing tempestuously as Harry had seen them do mere inches from his face in the past. He could only hope this errand was in pursuit of a horcrux, and the means to begin erasing those pieces of Voldemort's soul from the earth.
Instead Dumbledore's gaze was still leveled at Draco, and he spoke quietly, as if Draco were made of spun glass.
"Mister Malfoy, when the time comes in this tower, keep a brave face. You should not be the one to kill me, a boy your age does not need that on his soul, but it's in your best interest to appear to try. I trust you."
Splaying his hands across the leather on his desk top Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking weary and old. He had been gray and wizened as long as Harry had known him but somehow it had intensified this year. His face sagged and Harry could see dark circles like bruises behind the rim of Dumbledore's glasses. He fixed Harry with a complicated look.
"You may both leave, now, Mister Potter."
With a shuffle, Malfoy rose and headed for the door, Harry following with his tail between his legs. It would be more silence and secrets, then. When they got past the griffin and into the hallway, Draco stopped short, bringing a hand up to clasp Harry's arm.
"Could you come with me? To the room of requirement? I don't want to face anyone in my common room right now, not looking like this."
He stared straight ahead and Harry took a moment to appraise him. Tears had stained his cheeks, which were still a ruddy scarlet, and his eyes looked much the same. His crying had been quiet and reserved, and while they had all known he was upset Harry hadn't realized just how drained the last hour had left him. He placed an hand on top of Draco's and nodded, then when Draco didn't see the affirmation, he gently led him in the direction of the staircase.
The room of requirement looked much the same as the last time they had visited, minus the cabinet in the corner. More food appeared on the table, this time a brothy soup and loaves of bread all piled up on a tray. Harry led Draco to sit on one of the couches and then got comfortable on his own. Draco dug his hands into the arm of the sofa, trying and failing to look dignified, as Harry spooned out their meal into bowls and passed one over
"It's alright to be upset, Malfoy."
"It's useless," Draco spat, "I'm useless. I'm having to rely on people who wanted to gut and skin me as of last month, and the only thing I can do in this situation is let the Death Eaters in and then stand in the corner firing fake curses while other people have it out. God knows what those brutes will do to my parents, they're only civil to me because I'm being compliant."
His words were acidic, and Harry hid a shiver that ran up his shoulders. It wouldn't matter much what either of them did that day, he knew that. They were door-openers, errand boys, the ones whose main contribution to the effort was simply being a warm body. He didn't mean to be so resentful, but he shared in Draco's anger even when he didn't wear it on his face. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Compliant is what they need right now, believe me. I've given them quite their fill of defiance. If it weren't for the prophecy, I think a few of them might rather send me off to Durmstrang for the duration."
"That's not true and you know it, Potter."
"I know they care about me," Harry rolled his eyes, "But they'd do it all the same. I've screwed up everything that's fallen to me so far, and spent a lot of time shouting at meetings. They keep saying I'm too young to be involved in something I've been involved with since I was one year old, and it frustrates the hell out of me."
Draco smirked, and stirred his soup absentmindedly.
"Ah yes, the infamous boy who lived. Funny how you get credit for just laying there and failing to die."
Harry knew the words were intended to hurt, but he just shrugged his shoulder and ripped a chunk off his bread.
"Believe me, I've had the same thought."
They ate in silence for fifteen minutes, the fireplace crackling and popping to punctuate their brewing thoughts. Finally Draco sighed heavily and shoved his empty bowl back onto the coffee table.
"I'm tired of being such a bundle of nerves," he said, "Letting everything just happen to me. I want to be able to save my family from this, I want to be able to keep our name in the noble place it deserves to be, I want to be able to stand the way my father does—or used to—with his back straight and proud and self assured. The first conflict I've dealt with in my life and I folded like a house of cards in front of you in a fucking lavatory."
Harry snorted.
"Your first conflict? Not to say this isn't bad, but Merlin are you spoiled if this is the first real problem you've ever had."
Draco grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it at Harry, who ducked his head to the side with a smirk.
"I do not need your insane competition of suffering," Draco said, "You want me to say you're an abused, put-upon arsehole, fine. That doesn't make Voldemort's ugly presence blackening my childhood home unimportant, you selfish git."
Harry opened his mouth to reply and then closed it. It didn't help anyone for them to keep this rivalry between them going. Hell, Draco had asked him to come here, ostensibly for comfort and company while he pulled himself together. A door blossomed just to Harry's left and Draco went to open it, revealing a washroom. He splashed his face with water, letting the sink run over his hands.
"Tell me about your parents," Harry asked. Draco paused where he was and looked at Harry sideways, "I only met your father in passing. I don't think I met your mother at all."
"They're good people," Draco said quietly, "My mother loves me so deeply, I'm able to tell her everything. It's not something most people in Slytherin can say about their mothers, and I've seen how lucky it makes me. My father has always been strong and steady. If I asked him a question, he had an answer, for everything. It always made me feel safe, like I knew exactly who I was."
He came out of the washroom and slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, hands tangled in his hair. It looked dingy and unwashed.
"We thought you were going to be the new Dark Lord, did you know that?" Draco didn't look up and Harry's face froze in place, "That's all anyone talked about when I was little, when mother and father's friends would come over. No one was sure why you had lived, or where you had gone after the day the Dark Lord died. Of course most of the people in public called you a saviour but the prevailing theory, at least among the adults I knew, was that the Dark Lord had raised himself using you, and that when you came of age it would herald in a renewal in pureblood values. The first day of school, before I got on the train, my father made sure every button was done just so, and my stupid little hat was covering my ears, and he told me to make a good impression with you. To impress you. None of it worked out how I thought it would. Nothing in this school ever does."
Harry felt a heat rising in his face, angry and violent. How could he ever be compared to Voldemort? How could anyone think that's what he would become? The memory of the sorting hat rose to the surface of his thoughts, along with the unanswered question of what the hat had seen in him to almost place him in Slytherin, and the churning feeling in his head get worse.
"I wasn't off somewhere being trained, if that's what you all thought. I was with my aunt and uncle all those years. Muggles. Mostly I was just starving and cleaning, they didn't like me much. I go to Ron's for summers now, but for a while I didn't have a choice but to go back there during breaks, and then they'd lock me in my room," his vision got blurry as tears built up behind them, "Do you think… that Dumbledore wondered the same thing about me? Thought I might go dark? And that's why he left me there?"
Harry heard Draco blowing out through his teeth, a low hissing sound. He was afraid to look at him.
"Who the hell knows what they thought? Some noble sacrifice bullshit probably. Hell of a way to treat a saviour though," he snorted suddenly, and Harry whipped his head around in surprise, "My father would have wet himself if he knew that back then. A boy should learn about his heritage!"
Draco's imitation was eerily good and Harry caught himself laughing along.
"Sometimes I think that there are a million choices that I could have made differently, that would have led to a different outcome," Draco said, "But more and more lately I think that's a lie. All of this was building anyway, with or without either of us. I hate it, being so powerless, but I think I am. Other people decided which side of the war I would be on. Other people will decide if I live, and who wins. Other people will save my family, and decide if our name is worth anything."
"I don't know," Harry said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, "You could have blown my face off in the lavatory instead. I appreciate that choice."
They both laughed, in a desperate and eager way. They needed to laugh, the hurt that clouded the room was beginning to suffocate them.
"You know if you still don't want to go back to the dungeon, I could sneak you into the Gryffindor common room. Ron has a whole pile of sweats from Fred and George's shop stashed under his bed, and I'm sure we'd all like the distraction tonight."
"No," Draco sniffed, "I should probably show my face tonight, I've been avoiding the dungeons too many days in a row. Have to keep up appearances for two more days, at least."
"Well, if you change your mind, you can always tell the Fat Lady you need to speak to me. She'll tell me you're there so I can meet you in the hallway."
Draco nodded, and then stood silently. He slipped out of sight to run cold water against his face again, and then swiped a loaf of bread from the table on his way out. The door clicked closed and then Harry was alone, thoughts still churning like angry waves.
