Chapter 10: Confidence and Confiants

The following Friday afternoon, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy were on their way to the common room after their lessons, but they'd no sooner stepped into the entrance hall than they noticed a large group of people hovering around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment and chattering excitedly. Blaise, the tallest of the three, elbowed his way through the crowd to see what the fuss was about.

"They're starting a dueling club!" he said eagerly as he made his way back to Draco and Pansy. "The first meeting's later tonight."

"Oooh, I've always wanted to learn to duel!" exclaimed Pansy, eyes alight with excitement.

"I'll bet people think whatever's in the Chamber can duel," said Draco, cutting his eyes across the crowd in front of them.

"Yeah, but it could come in handy anyway," said Blaise defensively.

"Relax, I think we should go," Draco told him, unable to stop the smirk spreading across his face. "Honestly, are you ever going to learn to take a joke?"

"Shut up," muttered Blaise, but he gave a hint of a grin and smacked Draco lightly on the shoulder as they crossed the entrance hall toward the common room.

They made their way back to the Great Hall a few hours later to find that the House tables had disappeared, replaced by an enormous golden stage framed by lush, violet curtains and lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. By the look of it the whole school had turned up, and the whispers of anticipation were deafening.

"Who d'you reckon's teaching us?" asked Blaise, craning his neck in an effort to see behind the stage.

"I have a guess," muttered Theo, eyes cutting across the resplendent stage. Blaise looked confused, but Draco understood.

"Why would you say that?" he groaned, but Theo's prediction came true before anyone else could speak. Gilderoy Lockhart strode out onto the stage, clad in robes that matched the curtains precisely. He was followed a moment later by Snape, who looked as though he wished everyone in the room an excruciating death.

"Gather round, gather round," he called, waving an arm for silence. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions-for full details, see my published works."

Draco and Theo rolled their eyes at one another; Blaise snorted, earning himself a very stern look from Pansy.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart went on. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry-you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Draco thought he'd die from holding in his laughter. Lockhart was grinning stupidly around at them, oblivious to exactly how seriously Snape seemed to be considering murdering him. They probably wouldn't learn much about dueling, he thought, but at least they'd get a spectacular show out of it.

Lockhart turned and gave an elaborate bow, with a great deal of ridiculous twirling of his hands; Snape jerked his head irritably. Then, they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Draco whispered to Theo, who hid his face at once, shaking with silent laughter.

"One...Two...Three…"

Snape and Lockhart swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at one another. Snape cried "Expelliarmus!" With a dazzling flash of scarlet light, Lockhart was blasted off his feet and flung, as if from a catapult, against the back wall. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a very long moment during which time appeared to be suspended. Anxious muttering broke out across the crowd as Lockhart slid away from the wall and collapsed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Do you think he's all right?" hissed Pansy anxiously.

"Who cares?" scoffed Blaise.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet, now looking comically disheveled.

"Well, there you have it!" he cried, stumbling back onto the stage. "That was a Disarming Charm-as you see, I've lost my wand-ah, thank you, Miss Brown-yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

Nobody was trying very hard to be quiet any longer. Half the crowd was chattering anxiously and peering intently at Lockhart; the other half shook with raucous laughter. Perhaps Lockhart had noticed, for he clapped his hands sharply.

"Enough demonstrating! Kindly pair off, now, and then we'll begin!" A few rows away, Hermione waved to Draco. He slipped through the crowd to join her, ignoring Blaise's indignant shout from behind him.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Draco gave his best imitation of Lockhart's elaborate bow.

"Oh, stop it!" cried Hermione, but she giggled nonetheless.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart went on. "When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponents-only to Disarm them-we don't want any accidents-one...two...three!"

At once, Draco felt his wand fly out of his hand. He turned and caught it, invigorated as the thrill of competition flooded through him, and with it...something else. It was that same jolt again, the one he'd felt when she'd shown him how to hold skipping stones. As quickly as he could, he turned on his heel and returned the Disarming charm. Caught off guard, Hermione stumbled back slightly as her wand flew from her grip. She scrambled and caught it, turning back to face Draco. The ill-concealed grin on her face told him she was enjoying herself as much as he was. Most of their classmates, on the other hand, were not.

"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart's voice, now full of panic, rang out over the crowd. A haze of greenish smoke hung in the air. Ron Weasley was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus Finnegan, apologizing profusely for whatever his broken wand had done. Blaise was clutching at a large gash in his cheek and staring incredulously at Vince, who looked indifferent as usual. Neville Longbottom lay whimpering on the floor, which was unsurprising even if there was no obvious cause.

"Dear, dear," murmured Lockhart. "I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells. Let's have a volunteer pair, shall we? Ah, Harry-up you come, now, there's a lad! Now, let's see…" Snape leaned over to whisper in Lockhart's ear then. Catching sight of the glimmer in his dark eyes, Draco felt a shiver go down his spine. He was fairly certain he knew where this was going. He shifted slightly behind Hermione, staring down at the floor and hoping he was wrong.

But, of course, he wasn't.

"Mr. Malfoy," sneered Snape. "Let's see what you make of the famous Harry Potter." Beside him, Hermione bit her lip. Making every effort to shut out the sounds of the crowd, Draco joined Snape on the platform.

"Lovely!" cried Lockhart. "Now then, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, do this." He attempted an elaborate sort of flourish and dropped his wand. Draco laughed, but Snape was standing close behind him.

"Concentrate," he snarled. "Do not let Potter get the better of you." Lockhart, who had recovered his wand, was stepping back to give them room.

"Three-Two-" Draco didn't wait to hear "one."

"Stupefy!" he cried. The spell struck Potter squarely in the chest and he stumbled backward, stunned. The moment he recovered he scrambled to his feet, wand raised and eyes narrowed furiously.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco felt the charm hit him like a large, blunt object. The floor seemed to shift out from under him and he fell as his wand flew out of his hand. Anger rose in him then, so suddenly it almost blinded him. With a scoff, Snape wrenched him up by the back of his robes and shoved his wand back into his hand.

"Is that the best you can do?" he hissed. The anger turned to white-hot fury, burning his insides, demanding to be released. He raised his wand and heard himself scream the incantation in a voice so full of venom he scarcely recognized it as his own.

"Serpensortia!" He didn't have to look to know he'd done it. The snake shot out the end of his wand and landed heavily on the floor, hissing, raising its head, preparing to strike.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, watching the proceedings impassively, though satisfaction glimmered in his dark eyes. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" cried Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake. There was a loud bang and the snake shot ten or twenty feet into the air, then fell back on the floor with a deafening smack. Enraged, it reared its head again and slithered toward the crowd, hissing furiously, fangs exposed. Quite a few people screamed. The crowd shrank back, desperate to get away from the snake. Draco supposed he ought to feel satisfied; Potter was standing at the other end of the platform, motionless, clearly frozen in terror. Instead, however, he felt sick and angry.

He should've known Snape had plans for him ever since he managed to conjure the stupid snake. However he might feel about getting the better of Harry Potter, he did not appreciate being used as a prop in whatever grudge Snape had against him.

Draco noticed, quite suddenly, that the screaming had stopped. Potter had broken his paralysis and was charging toward the snake, and as Draco watched, a low hissing sound escaped him, a sound Draco thought he recognized even though he had never heard it before. A glance at Snape's shrewd, calculating expression told him he was right. Parseltongue.

Without taking his eyes off Potter, Snape stepped forward and vanished the snake in a puff of black smoke. There was a moment of ringing silence, and then the hall broke out in low, ominous muttering, which turned into a tidal wave of sound as groups of friends put their heads together, talking furiously, and a hundred pairs of feet stampeded for the door.

Draco scarcely heard any of it. He felt as if he were moving through water, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. The rage that had built inside him was entirely gone, and he felt perfectly, impossibly serene. He glided smoothly through the roiling crowd, vaguely aware that, somewhere behind him, Blaise and Pansy were talking very fast, no doubt processing what they'd just seen. Draco knew that he, too, had quite a bit to think about-but that could wait. At the moment, what he really wanted to do was practice flying. Alone.

He'd no sooner left the Great Hall, however, when he nearly collided with Theo. He'd clearly been waiting, and was looking at Draco as though he'd never properly seen him before.

"How did you do that?" he asked at once.

"No idea," said Draco flatly, pushing past him.

"Where are you going?" Theo called after him, but Draco didn't slow or look back as he slipped out the oak front doors.

Crossing the grounds in the evening was always a risky proposition, particularly with the school on high alert after the attack on Colin. Hermione mentally rehearsed a cover story about visiting Hagrid as she went, but she met no one on the path down to the Quidditch pitch. She'd looked in the Great Hall and the library, even lurked outside the Slytherin common room until a passing third-year told her, none too politely, that Draco hadn't been there all evening.

To her great relief she found him soaring above the pitch, looping in and out of the goal hoops and practicing what looked like a complicated combination of evasive maneuvers.

Unable to help herself, she lurked for a few moments near the entrance to watch him. Though she might be bored watching Quidditch, this was different. She admired the way he seemed to melt into the air, as though he belonged there more than on the ground. In short, he looked like an artist.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been watching when he spotted her and pulled into a very steep dive, stopping himself just before he hit the ground and slipping gracefully off his broom.

"I thought you were Madam Hooch," he said crossly. She hadn't thought of that.

"Sorry," she said briskly. "But listen, I've got to talk to-"

"Hold on a moment," he interrupted. Before she could say another word he looped around her and took off once more.

"Draco!" she cried, but he ignored her and sped off across the pitch, so fast he quickly became nothing more than a blur. A few minutes later he returned and landed next to her once again.

"Had to catch this," he explained, showing her the Golden Snitch in the palm of his hand. "It's impossible once it gets dark outside."

"Where did you get that?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"Nicked it," said Draco casually, tossing it up into the air and catching it again before slipping it into his pocket. "Hey-d'you want to fly with me? The sunset's really beautiful from up there."

He looked so carefree and happy that Hermione wondered, briefly, whether she'd imagined the Dueling Club.

"No, I don't," she said firmly. "Now would you put that thing away? I've really got to talk to you." Draco sighed.

"I'd really rather fly," he told her. Truly impatient now, she grabbed him by the arm, physically dragging him from the pitch over his stammered objections.

"All right!" he snapped, wrenching his arm from her grip. "Stop it, I've got to put my broom away."

"All right, but be quick," she warned. He rolled his eyes and disappeared into the locker rooms, emerging a moment later.

"We'd better use Disillusionment Charms," he said. "I don't fancy being caught out here." Hermione nodded.

"Good idea."

Seconds later, both had vanished. Hermione started to walk back toward the grounds, but quickly realized Draco couldn't see her.

"Er-shall we walk down by the lake?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, let's," he agreed, and she felt him come up beside her. They walked for a few moments in silence as Hermione fought to organize her thoughts.

"How did you do it?" she blurted finally. "Conjure the snake, I mean. I've asked Professor McGonagall before and we aren't meant to learn how to conjure animals until N.E.W.T. level at least, and even then it's much smaller animals, snails and the like." She was aware that she was talking very fast, but couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Snape taught me," Draco told her, with the air of discussing the weather. Hermione frowned, her confusion mingling with a vague feeling of dread.

"Wha-why would Snape teach you magic you're not meant to learn for years?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" asked Draco, a slight edge entering his voice now.

"Well, obviously today he used you to put Harry into danger, so-"

"Oh, please, not another of your mad theories about Snape," groaned Draco.

"It's not a theory," she said, a tad stiffly. "I just don't think it's right for him to take advantage of you that way."

"What d'you mean, take advantage?" snapped Draco, and Hermione sighed slightly.

"Well, think about it," she told him. "We both know Snape doesn't like Harry, so he picked you to duel him on purpose. And he knew you couldn't resist showing off a really powerful spell against Harry-oh, don't start, you know it's true," she interjected, as Draco made an indignant sound in his throat. "He probably rushed to teach it to you the moment he knew the stupid Dueling Club was happening."

"Or maybe," Draco retorted, "not everything in the world is directly related to famous Harry Potter."

"Why did he teach you the spell, then?" Hermione demanded, exasperated. Draco was quiet for a few moments.

"You'll think it means something," he muttered finally. Hermione paused, perplexed.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean you'll think Snape's up to something again and you'll rush off and tell them, and-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Draco," groaned Hermione. "Will you just tell me?" Draco sighed.

"If you must know, he's asked Slytherin not to go around talking about the Chamber business," he said matter-of-factly. "Obviously I broke that rule when I told you about the girl who died, and he caught wind of it and wanted to teach me a lesson, I suppose." He paused. "I don't think he expected I'd manage it, but I did." A note of something like pride crept into his voice at the end. Hermione, however, felt ill.

"Draco, I-that's horrible," she said fervently.

"What's horrible?" said Draco at once, and he sounded defensive again. "There's been loads of worse punishments at Hogwarts, Hermione. Remember the forest? At least I actually learned something this time."

"Yes, but-" she broke off, realizing she couldn't explain why this particular punishment felt different. Besides, he was right, wasn't he? They'd been in serious danger in the Forbidden Forest. Was it so bad, really, teaching someone a bit of complicated magic?

"You're right, I suppose," she admitted with a sigh.

"Thank you," said Draco shortly. "Besides, that's how my father taught me to do magic." Hermione froze as an unexplainable feeling of dread crept up her spine.

"Er...what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." She couldn't see Draco's face, but she could tell from his voice that he'd have given anything to take back his last few words.

"Draco," she said slowly, "your father didn't...try to teach you magic without a wand, did he?"

"So what if he did?" he sounded defensive now. Hermione didn't have a name for the strange, unsettled feeling worming its way through her stomach and chest.

"Well, it's against the law," she said quickly. She heard her voice go up quite a lot higher than normal, but she was powerless to stop it. "I mean, wouldn't the Ministry know?"

"How?" asked Draco. "Didn't you ever make anything happen when you were younger?"

"Of course, but-"

"So did every other kid in the Wizarding world," said Draco impatiently. "The Ministry hasn't got time to keep track of all of that."

"Weren't you tired?" she asked, thinking of the very frustrating afternoon she'd spent in the park a few years ago, trying in vain to replicate the way her mother's purple dahlias sprang into bloom in September after she'd touched them. Draco was quiet for so long that Hermione began to worry he'd slipped away.

"I-yeah." He sounded subdued in a way Hermione had never heard before. It simultaneously scared her and broke her heart. "Did you ever try?" he asked, after a pause. "To do magic on purpose, I mean?"

"I only managed it a few times," she said softly. "Of course, I didn't really know what I was doing, and it was nearly impossible. I was exhausted."

"I couldn't always manage it either," Draco admitted, so quietly she had to strain to catch what he was saying. "And even when I did...well, with my father...everything's got to be perfect, and then once it's perfect he wants more, and-" he broke off abruptly, and Hermione felt as if she'd been punched in the throat.

"And what?" she prompted, fearing the answer.

"I-didn't your parents ever teach you anything?" he asked, a hint of something raw, close to pleading, in his voice.

"My father and I invented a game when I was small of asking one another trivia questions every evening at dinner." She didn't know what on earth made her say this. It had long been one of her favorite traditions, but at the moment it felt trite and infantile. Draco, however, seemed fascinated.

"You're allowed to ask him questions?" he asked at once.

"Of course."

"And what happens if he answers them wrong?"

"Usually nothing. We used to play for pocket money, but not so much anymore." Hermione heard the words leave her mouth, but felt as if she were watching the conversation rather than experiencing it.

"And what happens if you answer them wrong?"

"Nothing. It's honestly just a game." Draco was quiet then, and Hermione desperately wished she could see his face. Seized by an impulse she couldn't explain, and with a fair amount of difficulty, she found his hand and took it in hers. She felt him stiffen slightly, but after a moment he relaxed. They made their way back up to the castle in silence, and as she climbed up the many stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione's mind chased itself in circles for an entirely new reason. She'd told Harry and Ron that it wasn't Crabbe and Goyle who Draco spoke freely to, which any idiot should've known. What she hadn't understood-though she now realized it had been staring her in the face all along-was that the person Draco talked to, the one he shared his thoughts and his secrets with, was her. He'd put an enormous amount of trust in her tonight, and in return, she was plotting with two of his least favorite people to trick him into revealing a bit of information she now knew he would've voluntarily given her, if she'd bothered to ask.

She felt positively sick with herself, and she knew now that there was no way she could go through with the Polyjuice Potion. She must find Harry and Ron right away and do whatever it took to call off the plan, for it wasn't only underhanded and despicable, it was unnecessary. Draco had told her everything he knew about the attacks, she was certain of that now. If there really was more, he would have told her, and she had to trust him at least as much as he trusted her. Otherwise, how on earth could she profess to be fighting for good and justice in the world?

And so, pausing for a moment outside the portrait hole to steel herself for what she was sure would be a very unpleasant conversation, she stepped into Gryffindor Tower.