Disclaimer: I'm not Jo, as you know. Mostly everything belongs to her.
A/N: I do love this chapter. It has to be one of my favorite so far. Originally, was part of one chapter with 37, but I wanted to write too much and I just decided to make them two. It was easier this way, not so much information all crammed into one big chapter.
Put together, 36 and 37 were originally planned to be smaller, but they just spiraled out of control and suddenly there was so much to be said, so much to be done.
I mean, let's just say, in this original chapter Draco didn't have even one line. And, of course, he plays a lovely part in the final cut.
So I hope you enjoy!
The day faded into black, small lights emerging from the darkness. Twilight approached, a beauty that rustled even the hardest of souls. The day had come and gone, but to no avail. After the mornings events even the more diligent of searchers were left empty handed.
Max Connors was nowhere to be found.
Harry was uncertain there was any place she could be, and he'd had his eye on the Marauders Map all day. In class he'd constantly be skimming it, jumping up the moment he saw her name. He'd run as fast as possible to the place where she was supposed to have been, but despite his wildest efforts she was gone before he arrived. A cycle had formed. Searching, running, escaping.
Harry had skipped lunch and now dinner in search of her, but she was avoiding everybody. There was a delicacy about her, her temper and emotions teetering. One wrong word and she would no longer settle with speaking. If there was one thing Harry knew about Max it was that she preferred action over words, and often spoke and acted without thought.
A small smile played at Harry's lips. For years he'd thought he'd known Max, and in turn thought he'd known Mallory. It was not up until now that he was proud to say he knew neither. He knew a mix, maybe, the girl she was mixed with the girl she had become. He was surprised to say he liked her, too.
When Max let down her guards and dropped the bitch attitude she was strangely pleasant. This wasn't to say that she wasn't snarky and difficult-sarcasm had become a permanent part of her character. She was still opinionated and harsh, but no longer without reason. Harry had learned about her facades, and ever how she sometimes tired of them, and how she didn't truly judge those on their house or blood.
All those things she was taught to judge on were still evident, but Max was independent. Max was her own person and this exited Harry. He spent hours of his time analyzing her, debating over their relationship, just downright thinking about her without getting bored. She was a challenge, an adventure, but she was a person.
And Harry was addicted.
A part of him-the more logical part-knew this was wrong. The Hermione in him screamed in protest, constantly trying to beat sense into him. There should have been no excusing the cold fact that she was a Death Eater. An enemy. He shouldn't trust her, talk to her, should stray far away for the dangers that accompanied her.
She'd always been dangerous.
Yet, he couldn't manage to ever see her as one of them. She'd explained once, in a letter, and Harry marveled at the fact that even though it had only been a few weeks since they first started talking it had felt like forever.
Oh, Harry, don't you get it?
When you say Death Eater you think of us as all the same, but it was never that way, was it? Can you compare me to Bellatrix Lestrange in all her glory, or even me to my father? What about Snape? He could never compare to the Malfoy family, however similar they may be.
The thing is, you are right in hating us. You, who are the poster boy for rivaling against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, have every right to hate those of us who have chosen this path. There are some of us who are devote in their ways, who would never dream of betraying their master. It is the kind of devotedness I admire because it is something I could never accomplish. My allegiances lie in-between and I know I could never fully come to one side.
There are those who follow the Dark Lord because they believe in him. They have the same desires his has, the same yearning to please him, and the same belief in purity of blood. He's taken into action what every respectable family has dreamed of for years-Muggle extermination. Because muggle are petty and useless, aren't they? Part of me agrees with those above me; our lives would be far easier without them. But does that make them lesser people? I can't be sure.
Then there are those who follow out of fear. The Dark Lord holds power, you know. Despite the hate you hold for him he has control that I also admire. I do enjoy being in charge and that is a quality he and I share. To hold control in such a way as he does is imaginable. It's do or die and there are those that hold their lives ahead of self-respect and morale.
And then what is left to the rest of us? Those who are born into this left are left without choice. Our fathers and forefathers have been following the Dark Lord's footsteps for years now, and some of them maybe even influencing him as a young boy. Can you imagine him as a young boy? I can not. What other choice is there then to follow him?
So we live our lives the way we have been raised, vicious towards those beneath us and all of us with the intentions of becoming a Death Eater. We do not think about what we are going to do, whether or not it is the right decision, because it is easier this way. Without thinking about it we feel good about ourselves, because while people like you may discriminate against us, those who we have always grown up with are proud. The way my father has learned to look at me is something I will never be able to experience anywhere else.
So you understand why it is hard. I started thinking, considering, and now I'm wavering. It's strange and not what I expected my life to be like. It's wrong, but it is right. Being in the middle is a difficult place to be. I don't know what to do. It was easier when things were planned out.
I've never been a follower, always a leader, and maybe this is why I'm wavering. Rebellion runs clearly in my blood. And I'm stronger than my peers. I'm not afraid to have opinions and thoughts.
But I'm so afraid.
Part of him understood exactly what she was trying to say to him. Though he knew he was on the right side, the idea of doing things for other people was a concept that was not lost on him. His intentions of defeating Voldemort were always of his choice, but he could not deny that the urgency of it was because of others. It was them he wanted to please, not just himself.
That was why Harry let Max be the exception in his hate for Slytherins and Death Eaters. He believed, despite her actions, that her heart was in the right place. Her desires were not those of Death Eaters, but those of a human. She wanted what was best for everybody and it was not her fault that she was born into a family of such distorted opinions.
Her situation, her allegiances, the mark on her arm, was not her fault. Those who follow do it blindly, and at least Max had found her sight by now. It wasn't too late for her, was it?
Harry was sure she had not yet risen on the Death Eater chain. She was of a low status, her only chance of approval by the Dark Lord coming from her father, the closest she would ever get to a true, devote follower. Especially if she continued to hang around Harry, he was sure she'd fall below the line of acceptable. Rejection and danger was sure to loom in her future.
With this thought in mind, Harry quickened his pace, burying his head into the Marauders' Map. He had to find her, to help her, because if her own kind was to shun her he had to be there for her. She had to become part of his kind. He could save her, this was for certain.
Harry was so engrossed in finding her that he did not watch his footsteps as he turned the corner. Incidentally, he found himself on the ground, the hard floor of Hogwarts pressing bruises into his back.
"Sor-"
"Potter," the voice seethed from above him, obviously having enough balance to stay on his feet. Harry jumped, eyes flashing up in anger. He searched for his wand frantically, quickly pulling it out and brandishing it before him as he came to his feet. The Map lay forgotten on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, racking his brain for an appropriate curse to throw at the dark figure before him.
"This isn't just your school, Potter, I can go anywhere I please," Malfoy drawled, paying no attention to the wand before him. He lazily leaned against the wall, a fierce glare in his eyes.
"I swear, if you're looking for her-if you even think about going near her-"
"Near who?" Malfoy teased, shrugging innocently. "Don't think I've done anything to any of your girls yet, but it's a lovely idea. I might give it a go-"
"Max, you idiot! Leave her alone!" Harry exclaimed, pressing his wand harder against Malfoy's chest. His hands were white already from clenching it so hard, the anger brewing up inside of him faster than lighting.
Malfoy's eyes darkened, his expression losing the light sarcasm and turning serious. A strange look flickered quickly over his features before the smug smile returned.
"That," he started, placing his hand carefully on the wand pressed against him, "is none of your business."
"She's my-" Harry froze, searching for the right word to describe her. Malfoy took this opportunity to shove Harry's wand arm forcefully, watching as it fell limply to his side.
"Friend?" he suggested, his tone mocking. "I didn't realize you spoke with Slytherins."
"I don't-"
"Or Death Eaters."
Harry did not respond, finding no words that could explain exactly the way their relationship formed, exactly why he trusted her. Even if he could say something, it would not be in a language Draco Malfoy could ever understand. He spoke only in hate and violence, and Harry doubted he could ever comprehend a friendship not based on lies.
Not that he was sure his and Max's wasn't, of course.
"Shove off, Malfoy."
A chilling laughed echoed throughout the corridor, Malfoy's face formed in pure hatred.
"She was mine before she was ever yours, Potter, remember that," he whispered, letting the laughter fade as he stood blankly ahead at his enemy.
"You say that," Harry started, choosing his words very carefully. He did not know what Max had allowed Draco Malfoy to know about her, but was not taking the chances of exploiting her. If he knew something about their past then he'd make sure Harry knew. "And you may even believe it," he continued with a laugh. "But there are things you don't know. We're in the same boat, you know, hating her until this year, I mean. And it never was like Max to tell anybody everything, was it?"
"And you don't think the same holds for you?"
Harry laughed once more, pleased by Malfoy's obvious loss of control over the situation, his clear lack of confidence.
"I know the same holds for me, especially. But that's what makes her, well her. If she told the whole truth it wouldn't be as fun."
Harry did not know what part of him was controlling his vocal cords, but it was no longer the sensible part. He'd never consciously thought about those things he voiced allowed, but truth rang in them so loudly that not even Malfoy could deny it. The two enemies stared at each other blankly, befuddled by their sudden realization. Harry had been right. They were in the same boat.
Because it was then that the two of them realized and accepted that they both cared for Max Connors far more than they should. They both was out to find her, help her, figure out what exactly had happened in the Great Hall. Both of them wanted her on their own side.
But it was also then that they realized she was keeping something-something different- from each of them. And that that something was extremely pivotal, dangerous, and could change everything forever for the both of them.
Max Connors was a liar. She alone held the whole truth, letting others have only bits of it, releasing information piece by piece, never slipping up and letting too much out. It didn't help that she didn't know everything herself.
But, Harry found he didn't care. His only concern was finding her, making sure she was okay, and then he'd decide where he stood from there. Where both of them stood.
And that was his one fault, his one weakness, his one mistake.
"So you're looking for her, then?" Malfoy questioned casually, dropping all previous accusations and belligerence.
"Yes," Harry responded honestly, shrugging helplessly.
Draco laughed, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "And you think you're going to find her?"
"I'm hoping I will," Harry muttered hotly, eyes crinkling in concern.
"Haven't you learned anything, Potter? When she doesn't want to be found she might as well be lost. If she doesn't want to be found I doubt even you could find her."
"Well," Harry mused, picking up the Map from off the floor, "that may be true, but then again, maybe I have some recourses you don't."
"Don't test me, Potter. I will not hesitate in cursing you-"
Harry did not hear the rest of Malfoy's sentence, though. He'd spotted her name and in the one place he should have just waited in the first place. How could he have been so stupid? She was on the roof, probably waiting for him. It was no wonder he couldn't find her until now; she'd been mimicking the first time she told him who she was.
It was their place, had been their place, and there was no denying the fact that she was awaiting him patiently, only willing to speak after the sun set.
"See you later, Malfoy," Harry muttered, turning on his heel and heading off in the direction of the highest tower. Finally, he'd get to speak with her. Finally, he'd hear the truth.
Or what was left of it.
--
That night Draco Malfoy could not sleep. He lay restless for hours, tossing and turning in his bed. It had been a strange day for him, one of the strangest he'd experienced in a while. Even stranger than the day he'd decided he wanted Max Connors on his side-and in more ways than one.
It was only appropriate that it was she keeping him up.
Finally, the blonde boy gave up, retreating down to the empty common room to think. He was long overdue in this particular subject, having not really stopped to consider the sudden turn of events his life was taking.
He'd found it strange, at first, that his girlfriend was willing to give everything she'd built for herself up just for Potter. He knew of her mission, though, and knew that Max knew what she was doing. There was a reason she'd always been called the Slytherin Queen, and that reason being the simple fact that Max never lost control of a situation. You could think you have a hold on her, but suddenly she turns around, flashes a smile, and you're on the receiving end of one of her vicious attacks. It wasn't safe being her friend, but it was even worse to be her enemy.
Together they'd planned every moment of their argument, fabricating a perfect break up for all the world to see. There had been a plan and Max had berated him constantly on sticking to it. It had been important to her and Draco had filled out his purpose.
It was she who messed things up. He was not sure why, but somewhere in-between the yelling and lying she'd trailed off the script. She was supposed to prattle on about not sneaking off with Potter and at least tried to fight off the accusations, but instead she'd defended him.
Draco remembered that exact way her voice lowered, a dangerous hiss he'd heard often before. He also knew what it meant, that she was really angry. He was almost certain it wasn't something she could have duplicated. Her defense had ended their fight and their relationship, but Draco wasn't sure who was acting anymore.
He'd seen in clearly in her features; she was genuinely pissed off as she spoke the words that ended it all. After seeing this, Draco felt it was only necessary to be pissed off right back at her. When he'd spoken those words-it's over-a small bit of him had meant it. If she was going to go against their plans, defending blood traitors, and betraying him than maybe they shouldn't be together in the first place.
So what was the reason she'd been so angry, then? Had she simply riled herself up, gotten caught up in the moment, and gone back to arguing for the sake of arguing? Or did she not believe him capable of pulling off the façade and therefore planned to leave their script, making him angry enough to stop acting.
Because it couldn't possibly because she actually had any feeling for Potter. She hated him and made it clear at every possible moment she could. Well, at least she did hate him, because now Draco wasn't so sure.
He'd looked for Max all day, but had not found her. He wanted answers to her mysteries, the truth behind her lies, but instead he simply found Potter and this only opened up more questions.
When he'd told Potter that nonsense about her being his he hadn't actually meant it. He was in a rotten mood and said a lot of things to Potter that weren't actually true. He just enjoyed riling up the stupid prat, and grasped the chance to vent his anger off on an unwilling victim.
So it was a total surprise when his response got Draco thinking far more than he should be.
How could he have missed it before? How could Potter figure it out before him, the idiot?
Max was hiding something from him-from Potter too-but they were on the same side. What secrets did she hold that she could not tell him? How exactly was he to trust her as easily before now?
What Draco could not figure out, though, is why Potter didn't seem to care. Did her lies have something to do with him? Was it not Potter who had far much more need to distrust Max for she was against him in all sense of reality. So, if this was true, and if it was also true that Potter knew of secrets and lies then why was he so easy to trust her?
He was surely not that naïve. If anything, Potter would have the sense to discard his quality of blind trust with the first signs of war. Draco knew he'd forgotten about that long ago.
So it was plain that Potter knew something he did not. She'd said something, done something, to him to convince him of her loyalty, despite the knowledge that she could never reveal the whole truth. There was something about their relationship that Draco did not know nor understand. He couldn't figure out what would cause the way fit so easily as friends, even when they were meant to be enemies.
He couldn't figure out why Potter strived to protect her so, defending her against all those who striked out against her. Even he had not shown that amount of devotion. Then again, Draco reassured himself, he was not a Gryffindor and certainly not as foolish to be acting like one.
With a slow curiosity brewing inside of him, Draco finally let himself drift off to a light sleep, searching for some rest before morning broke. He vowed to himself, that night, that he would not simply let Max's secrets rest. He would fight hard and dirty to figure them out, whatever they were, and he'd start tomorrow.
If only he could find her. Because what reason did she have to avoid him?
Unless, of course, she was hiding something.