Chapter 7
Autumn hadn't quite set in yet and this was another warm, sunny day with a clear blue September sky. Harry, Ron and Hermione were lying in the grass by the lake next to an old willow tree. Harry and Ron had quidditch practice in the evening both Saturday and Sunday, but they had the rest of the weekend off. Ron had brought wizard's chess with him and Hermione had finally conceded to let him teach her how to play.
"I think something is up with Malfoy," said Harry.
Hermione looked up from the chessboard.
"You do?"
"Doesn't he seem a bit… off to you?"
"Not at all," said Ron. "He's just as big an idiot as usual."
He looked at Hermione, who shrugged.
"I don't know, I haven't really been paying attention to him."
"I ran into him right outside the common room last night."
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Really? What was he doing there?"
"He wouldn't tell me. He said he had a fight with the other Slytherins."
"Fat chance, they all adore him. Do you think he's plotting something?" asked Ron.
"I don't know."
Hermione frowned.
"I don't see why he would be plotting anything."
"Revenge," said Ron. "On Harry, for killing Voldemort."
"He can't want revenge, Harry saved his life. And I don't think Malfoy was all that fond of Voldemort…"
"But why would he be sneaking around the entrance to Gryffindor?"
"Did he say he knew that he was near our common room entrance?"
"Well, no, but he was looking right at the portrait of the fat lady."
"That is weird. But it could have been a coincidence."
"Doesn't sound very likely," said Ron.
"Look, I know I was wrong about him in sixth year, but the war probably took its toll on him too, so it would make sense for him to seem different this year."
"Yeah, maybe…"
"What I don't get," said Ron, "is how he managed to avoid Azkaban."
Harry looked away, down towards the lake where some frustrated Hufflepuff-kid was apparently trying to teach his classmates how to play football. He hadn't told Ron and Hermione much about Malfoy's trial.
"They did switch sides," he mumbled. "Right at the end."
"Yes, but how is that enough to get him off for attempted murder, cursing and probably torturing people, being pals with Bellatrix Lestrange and having Voldemort hanging around his house? If I were on the Wizengamot I would be thrilled at a chance to lock him away."
"But Malfoy hated being a Death Eater, didn't he? And he was very young when he joined." said Hermione.
"Oh come on, just admit they made a mistake when they let him go. He has Voldemort's mark burned into his skin, they can't let him off just for saying he's sorry. At least they could have forbidden him from ever coming back to Hogwarts. Right Harry?"
"Yeah."
"It wouldn't make sense for the Wizengamot to clear him of charges and then not allow him to finish his education."
"Well we can't all live in a state of heightened moral understanding, and I know I would be a lot happier with being back at school if I didn't have to see his face in the hallways."
Hermione sighed.
"I probably would too. Okay, so how did the knights move again? Can I do this?" she asked, and took out one of Ron's bishops.
"Oh. Yeah you can, I hadn't seen that."
She grinned triumphantly.
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The warmth lingered on and they stayed outside for the rest of the afternoon. Dean, Seamus and Hannah Abbott joined them under the willow later on and overall it was very pleasant, except Harry felt like they might have dismissed the issue of Malfoy a little too quickly. He didn't bring it up again, but he couldn't stop worrying and their apparent carelessness annoyed him. When they went to the great hall for dinner, he kept an eye on the Slytherin table as it filled up. Malfoy wasn't with Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, or with Tracy Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, who came in shortly after the other two. In fact he didn't show up until the food had already appeared on the tables, and when he did he was by himself.
"There he is," said Harry, when Malfoy came through the doors.
"Hm?"
"He's on his own so he could have been telling the truth, but what do you think they could have fought about?"
"I don't know," she said. "Will you pass me the quiche?"
Malfoy ate quickly and as far as Harry could tell from across the great hall, he wasn't talking to anyone. But he didn't leave until Pansy Parkinson and Tracy Davis stood up first, and then he followed them out. He was about to point this out to the others when he caught Hermione looking at him disapprovingly.
"What?"
She shrugged.
"Nothing," she said and returned to her food.
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After dinner Harry, Ginny, Ron and Dean headed down to the quidditch pitch. Hermione came with them too and Seamus said he would walk with them some of the way because he and the Weasleys had been immersed in a debate about the British quidditch teams. But before they even reached the hallway, the discussion had become exclusively Ron and Ginny's. Dean and Seamus were sending each other significant looks behind their backs as Ron started accusing Ginny of disloyalty:
"Of course I'm still a Cannons fan, I'm just saying-"
"I thought you were all about the Harpies now?"
"Well, obviously they're the better team, but it's not like I can't support Chudley Cannons too. And no matter how much you like them it's obvious they made a mistake with Crowley as seeker. Cho agrees with me."
"Cho is a Tornados fan."
"That's just a family thing, like you and Bill with the Cannons, that doesn't mean she can't be objective – and I don't even know why you're defending the Crowley decision…"
He felt a hand on his arm.
"Harry?" said Hermione.
He turned to look at her and didn't hear the rest of Ginny's sentence.
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Sure."
He fell into step beside her.
"What is it?"
Hermione shifted her bag onto the other shoulder in a half-shrug. She didn't say anything until the others had gotten a few feet ahead, and when she did she spoke quietly.
"The Malfoy thing," she said, "I think you should drop it. I can tell you're about to get yourself really worked up about it, and I honestly don't think there is anything going on. Nothing serious and nothing that concerns us anyway. If he's having a fight with his friends, then fine, let him."
"But what if he's up to something?"
"I really don't think he is. I think you're bored and you're trying to make up problems where there aren't any."
"Yeah, I wouldn't do that."
She shrugged.
"Okay, good. Obviously if you do see Malfoy trying to feed poison to first years you should tell us, just don't spend all your time stalking him on the Marauder's Map or anything."
"I'm not an idiot," he snapped.
They had stopped, the others disappearing out of sight ahead of them.
"Sorry, I just thought I'd say something."
He rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I appreciate it."
"Why are you like this?" she was still almost whispering. "Is this because you aren't sleeping? You look tired all the time."
"I'm sleeping just fine."
She crossed her arms.
"Okay. Good. We're all trying to readjust, you know."
"You're not my mother."
"No, I'm your friend and-"
He waved dismissively.
"I get it, but it's fine. Don't worry. We talked about everything over the summer, right? I have to get down to practice now, but I'll see you later."
"Fine," she said, but she still looked concerned.
Harry left her there and walked down the hall after the others.
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After practice, Harry stayed behind as the rest of the team went back to the common room.
"I just want to fly a bit longer," he told Ron. "I'll be up in an hour or so."
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It was easier for him to fall asleep when he was exhausted, so he repeated the trip from the night he ran into Malfoy, and flew over the forbidden forest. The size of it was amazing and he thought there had to be some sort of magical way to keep it off muggle-maps like there was with Hogwarts. He wanted to ask Hermione or possibly Neville about it, and about whether wizards had hidden the forest or if it was its own magic. Of course it had to be big if there was an entire herd of centaurs in there, a herd of tame thestrals, a nest of acromantulas and still enough space left that Hagrid had been able to hide Grawp. And since none of those places had been too far a walk from the school grounds the forest was probably folding space within itself as well, like Hermione had theorized that the room of requirement had done.
He flew over the forest the next night too, and the night after it, and for three days he felt better. Less anxious, less angry, less out of place. Then on the night between Wednesday and Thursday, his nightmares came back. He woke up gasping for air and covered in sweat. For a second he had no idea where he was, looking frantically about in the total darkness, scrambling for his wand and feeling his heart pounding hard and hectic under his ribs. He could still sense the screaming, see the snake and the inhuman face, the graveyard, the bodies. His fingers closed around the handle of the wand tucked away under his pillow.
"Lumos."
He was at Hogwarts. He was safe. They were still alive.
"Nox," he whispered.
The darkness returned. He lay back down and closed his eyes. The restless feeling didn't leave his body. Every time he drifted off to sleep he would jerk awake when he felt the dream starting over, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore that night. Slowly he drew back the hangings around his bed, which meant the sounds of rain pattering against the windows outside could reach him. He pulled the Marauder's Map out of his suitcase and crept back into bed.
"Lumos. I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
He wondered if the swear would still work if it wasn't true when you said it. He honestly couldn't remember if he had ever used the map without going against either school rules or with the deliberate intent of not following someone's advice. He tried not to think about what Hermione had said earlier and he tried not to feel silly. He wasn't being silly – he just couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep and the creeping sense of coming disaster had returned. He felt that if something did go wrong this year, it would be his fault. If Malfoy was plotting something or if death eaters were breaking into Hogwarts or Voldemort was somehow coming back to life, he was the one who had to stop it. Not that he really believed any of those things were happening, it was just a feeling. He knew what Ron and Hermione – and Ginny and probably everyone else – would say if he told them. But it didn't matter that it wasn't rational, it didn't make it go away. So he found the Slytherin common room on the map and he checked and double-checked, and his heart rate picked up when he realized that Malfoy wasn't in his dorm. Since all the other students were clustered around the common rooms, it didn't take long to find the dot labelled Draco Malfoy, which was on its own, out of bounds and headed towards the owlery. Harry took a deep breath and for a second tried half-heartedly to dissuade himself from what he knew he was about to do anyway. Then he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, got dressed in a hurry, and left his dorm with the marauder's map in hand.
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Draco Malfoy was making his way to the owlery. A breath of cold air brushed against his skin as he reached the top of the stairs, the scent of coming winter was in the air and mixed with the smell of the owls. It was too dark to see any but the nearest birds, but the soft rustling of their feathers gave a sense of the hundreds of animals in the room. They were swooping in and out the glassless windows, hunting on the Hogwarts grounds and returning with their prey. He crossed the straw-covered floor and headed towards one of the openings in the wall, an empty archway facing the lake. He had only just sat down on the ledge when he thought he heard the sound of footsteps. Someone else was coming up the stairs. He swore under his breath. Of course he didn't expect to be the only one who had designated this particular corner of the school to be their place of privacy, but no one was supposed to be there now.
He kept an eye on the top of the staircase and got just a glimpse of magical light before it was extinguished. Draco tensed – whoever it was, they had no reason to try not to be seen if they thought no one was up here. Soundlessly he lowered his feet back onto the floor and crept a few feet along the wall. From where he stood, he would see the person on the stairs before they saw him. He drew his wand and watched as the figure appeared. Then he recognized the silhouette.
"Potter?"
The other boy started. It took a second for his eyes to seek Draco out, and Draco sighed inwardly. This was getting ridiculous – it was the third time he had run into or Potter in this way. He straightened up and relaxed his pose.
"What in the world are you doing up here," he called. "Are you stalking me?"
Potter glanced down at a shabby piece of parchment he was carrying and hesitated a second too long.
"You are!"
"I'm not!"
"What is wrong with you?"
"Why are you up here?" Potter shot back at him, the second of embarrassment already past.
Now he was back to being the self-proclaimed protector of Hogwarts, which to him apparently meant dedicating his time to making Draco's life as shitty as possible.
"That is none of your business," Draco spat. "Why do you even care?"
"I don't," he said. "And I'm not stalking you."
Draco was rapidly loosing his patience.
"Then I don't know what it is you think you're doing," he said, "because usually, when you follow people around to spy on them, that is considered stalking."
"Don't act like you haven't given me reason to!" said Potter, stepping towards him. "You're the one who's acting suspicious, suddenly not talking to your friends and skulking around outside Gryffindor tower in the middle of the night."
Draco sneered.
"What are you on about?"
He saw Potter's grip tighten around his wand.
"You know what I'm talking about," he said.
"No," said Draco. "I honestly have no idea."
"Fuck you, Malfoy. I swear, if you're plotting anything-"
"Plotting? Are you serious? I'm done spending my time doing stupid shit just to piss you off, alright, I'm not a kid anymore. And the war is over, I'm lucky to not be in prison, you think I'm about to throw that away on some stupid revenge-scheme?"
"I don't know, are you? Doesn't look like you've changed much."
"Well, the whole wixen world knows you have terrible eyesight."
"Just tell me what you're doing."
"You are aware that I am an excellent liar, right?"
"I can probably get some veritaserum."
The threat came almost casually, but Draco was oddly certain that he wasn't bluffing. Saint Potter was actually considering poisoning him to get him to – do what, exactly? Spill his evil plans of taking over the world and become the next dark lord?
"You owe me," Potter continued. "I saved your life in the room of requirement."
Draco wanted to hex him just for bringing that up. He hadn't told anyone but Pansy about it. He could just imagine what his mother would make of it. She had already forgiven Potter for everything he had done to their family, and if she found out that Draco owed him his life, she would never let him live it down.
"I am aware of that," he said coolly. "You also left my friend to die."
Potter glanced down at his wand.
"It was his own fault," he said. "He started the fire."
Draco was surprised to hear regret in his voice. He hadn't thought Potter cared.
"I saved your life too," he said. "Back at the manor. If I had told them it was you, the Dark Lord would have killed you all."
He wanted to hex himself for bringing that up. It was stupid. He'd just wanted some leverage and now Potter was looking weirdly at him.
"Yeah," he said. "I know. I mean, I thought you recognized me, I wasn't sure. So why didn't you tell them?"
"Because I was scared," Draco heard himself say, and he didn't sound the least bit like an excellent liar.
"Scared?" Potter repeated sceptically. "Of what? They would have rewarded you for being the one to hand me over."
"Well, I didn't want that! I didn't want to have the Dark Lord in my house, I didn't want to see you dead or fed to that awful snake, I just wanted out."
"Why did you stay there, then?"
"Why do you think?"
"I don't know," said Potter. "I have no idea, actually. I know you think being a Malfoy makes you better than everyone else and you hate muggles and you're a spoiled brat, but there's still a long way from being a prick in school to murdering and torturing and trying to destroy the wizardring world. I don't know why anyone would want to be a Death Eater in the first place unless they were as mad as Bellatrix."
Because he had wanted to be important.
"You wouldn't understand," he said.
"Dumbledore offered to protect you and your mother. You could have gone to the Order of the Phoenix or you could have stayed at Hogwarts in the room of requirement or-"
"You think they would have let me into the room of requirement? Really? I didn't have a choice, Potter."
"We always have a choice."
Draco scoffed.
"That's a nice thought, but coming from the Chosen One, who has lived his entire life according to a prophecy and some silly, old man pulling the strings, it sounds a bit hollow, doesn't it? You waltz around with all your morals and heroic deeds and you might have sacrificed a lot and saved everyone, but you were pushed in that direction. When we were 14, you didn't make the decision to defy the Dark Lord, even if you think you did. You were Dumbledore's puppet, and you had all those order members pointing you in that direction, telling you "this is the right thing to do", and you believed them, because that is what kids do: They believe the things adults tell them."
Potter was staring at him, and Draco looked away.
"So there's that," he said. "When I realized I might want to get out, it wasn't an option anymore."
"I was at your trial," said Potter quietly.
Draco's eyes snapped back to him, but Potter was looking past him with a strange, uncomfortable expression on his face, as if he had just confessed something very embarrassing.
"I know," Draco lied.
In fact he hardly remembered anything from the trial. It was all very hazy. He didn't even have a sense of how long it had lasted, though in his head it seemed to be stretched out for days. He remembered his mother holding on to him with fingers like claws and sobbing into his shoulder when it was over. Had Potter seen that? He must have been there as a witness, in which case it seemed an even greater miracle that Draco hadn't ended up in Azkaban.
"I hardly recognized you."
"There were dementors."
They weren't looking at each other. Draco was growing more rigid by the second. The cold wind coming through the openings in the walls was biting at his neck and face as if to remind him what the creatures had felt like.
"Right," said Harry. "Well, I saw you and I realized I hadn't actually talked to you for a whole year or something. Not that we've ever actually talked, but I had the thought that… you know, lots of things have changed, so…"
Potter's voice trailed off.
"What is this, Potter? A peace-offering?" he said with disbelief.
Potter shrugged.
"I don't know."
And there it was again – pity. Draco felt anger curling up inside him again, sharp and acidic, like vomit rising in his throat.
"You hate me!" he said sounding indignant and childish, and hating himself for it. "You've hated me for no reason since our first day of school. You decided you were better than me because of something that happened to you when you were a baby, and you chose Weasley over me just to spite me, thinking you could do whatever the hell you wanted because you were Harry Potter."
"What are you talking about?"
"And now – now you think I will come crawling to you, the saviour of the wizardring world, and ask for your forgiveness because you think I need you?"
The corners of Potter's mouth twitched as if his face couldn't decide which folds to fall into.
"You think you changed something, don't you?" he continued, knowing he was being an idiot and still relishing in finally getting to take his frustrations out on someone.
It felt like pressure had been building inside him ever since he came back to the school, and for the first time he had found a way to release it. He hated Potter. He hated him so much.
"You think our world is different now, because of you."
"It is," said Potter.
Draco smirked.
"Really? House Malfoy might have lost most of its political influence, that is true, but who do you honestly expect to take its place? House Longbottom? I would say Zabini or Greengrass are both better guesses: Both ancient and noble houses with a rather more significant political history than any of the ancient houses tied to Gryffindor. Both houses are also known blood purists. I can count on two hands how many seats have opened in the Wizengamot now that you've flushed out the Death Eaters – one hand, probably, depending on how you define "open". Soldiers don't do politics, heroes rarely do politics, which means that outside of wars heroes and soldiers don't have much power. Has it completely escaped your notice that that the wizardring government is an aristocracy, not a democracy?"
"So what?" said Potter aggressively.
Draco saw his wand twitch, but he kept speaking.
"So you might have defeated the Dark Lord," he said, "and sent my father to Azkaban and stolen my legacy. You might have stopped muggleborns from being murdered in their homes and Death Eaters from terrorizing the school, but it's still the same elite group of people who hold the power in this country, which means that everything is just as it has always been. You might receive an Order of Merlin and your friends might become aurors, but one day my children will be sorted into Slytherin along with the Parkinson's, the Selwyn's and the Zabini's and they will continue to rule."
"You're wrong," said Potter.
"You know I'm not."
"But they've kicked you out, right?"
Draco hesitated.
"You're nothing to them," said Potter. "You don't matter to anyone anymore."
Draco's hands curled into tight fists.
"It seems we got side-tracked," he said coldly. "I believe that I have answered your initial question by now. To summarize: I am not up to anything. The things that go on in Slytherin are nothing but what has always been going on in Slytherin. I would appreciate it if you would stop stalking me and do something more productive with your time so that I can at least confine the time I am forced to spend with you to the classrooms. Goodnight."
He pushed past Potter and made his way to the stairs.
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He was halfway to the dungeons before he had calmed down enough to realize that he might have made a mistake. It had been clumsy and halfway unintentional, but Potter had offered him a truce. It was not what Draco wanted, he didn't want any more favours from Potter, but it was valuable. Getting Harry Potter to change his mind about house Malfoy was very valuable. It could be a gateway to Potter's faction, and even if they didn't know how to use their status, he certainly did. The Slytherins had counted him out and he didn't have many cards left to play. Saying no to this one might have been more than he could afford. The thought was nauseating.