Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Harry Potter. Author's notes at the end!
OooOooO
Rule number thirteen: There is no hole bigger in a disguise than the hole of perfection.
Draco didn't want to go down to Hagrid's to resume detention after the holidays. The half-giant knew too much. Draco had told him too much, like some sniveling first year who spends the first night at Hogwarts crying themselves to sleep, but it wasn't as if he could simply skip detention. He was going to have to obliviate the groundskeeper. There was nothing else to be done. He knew he was relying too heavily on memory modification charms to erase his poor decisions, and that he wasn't always going to be able to obliviate his mistakes away. There'd come a time when he was stuck with his choices, and he needed to start making the right decision the first time around.
He spent Boxing Day muttering to himself in recrimination while he researched giant biology. Magic behaved differently on giants, and memory charms were already tricky. He'd need to make adjustments for Hagrid. He spent the entire night reformulating the spell, and when he finally finished, there was at least an eighty percent chance the spell would work without any negative side effects. There was a ten percent chance he might wipe Hagrid's memory completely.
Draco scowled at his lunch as he heard Bill's voice in his head, rambling about ethics and morality. 'It wouldn't be right to harm Hagrid. He had been nothing but kind to Draco. This was no way to treat a friend.'
In truth, Hagrid didn't really pose a threat to him, not the way that Warrington and Nott had when he'd erased their memories. Even mind-wiping Blaise was defendable because if Blaise let it slip that Draco had saved him, his cover would be blown. Draco would be in actual danger. Wiping Hagrid's memory would be a purely selfish act. Draco wanted to stop thinking about Lukas, and to stop thinking about Hagrid thinking about Lukas. And he wanted Lukas to be a secret again, something he could tuck away and ignore and only bring out when the occasion suited. But it wasn't as if Lukas himself had been a secret. Not many people knew about him, but there were records of Lukas' parentage in France, and there was a gravesite with his name on it. Lucius paid for flowers to be kept there, exchanged out for a fresh bouquet every week.
If Draco were honest with himself, it wasn't really Lukas that Draco wanted to erase from Hagrid's mind; it was his own sharing to telling the story. What impression must he have given in that moment? Someone emotionally distraught and grieving? Someone completely out of control and crazed? Or worse, someone vulnerable; someone pitiable?
Draco didn't mind using emotions to get his way. He often 'flew into rages' or 'caused a scene' when the result was beneficial. Hell, he did it sometimes just to let off steam. But this was vastly different. It was unacceptable.
He shoved his lunch away from him with a curse and stormed out of the hall, pleased at the way the other students quickly fell silent, not daring to look his way. Even the professors looked down. That was how it should be. People should fear him, be intimidated by him, not concerned or sympathetic, not pitying or compassionate.
He pulled on his winter gear and stomped outside, wand clenched in his hand. The air was cold against this face. The sky was clear and bright. Draco couldn't keep the pace of his march, not when it had snowed again and it was drifting over his knees. He swept out with his wand. "Ventas!"
The wind spell swept in front of him, easily clearing the snow for the first few steps, but then he had to cast it again and again, each consecutive spell getting stronger than the first until he was caught up in a veritable blizzard and he had to stop because he couldn't see anymore. He paused in the unintentional white-out and tipped his head up to watch the snow dance around him. It was like he was standing in snow globe. There was something soothing about watching the snow settle, the flakes swooping around him, twirling together, but always falling, ever so slowly, to the ground. He pulled in a breath and felt his anger follow the snow, settling into something calmer.
Logic returned to him. Obliviating Hagrid was risky. It wasn't a guaranteed success, and even if it were successful, the charm could still be discovered. That would threaten his cover as an E student, which was more important than taking the memory away.
Besides, said the voice that sounded like Bill, Hagrid's proven he can be trusted. And it's not so bad to hang out with him, is it?
He ruthlessly squashed the voice and started out again, trudging slower through the snow and pocketing his wand. He found Hagrid standing in the thestral pen with Midnight. He was grooming her while she nudged at his coat, obviously looking for the treats he had stashed there.
"'Lo, Draco," Hagrid said easily. "Did yeh 'ave a good Christmas?" There was nothing pitying in his expression, nothing tentative that said Hagrid was going to ask prying questions.
Draco felt the last bit of pressure ease in his chest. He clamored up to sit on the fence and shrugged. "Tolerable, I suppose. How about you?"
"Can't complain," said Hagrid. "Say, do yeh know 'how ter train thestrals?"
Draco shrugged. "I rode a few in competitions. Why?"
"I was wonderin' if yeh would like ter help me get some of 'em ready ter show."
Draco cast a quick eye over Midnight. "She's too old."
"I was thinkin' 'bout Orion."
Hagrid gestured up in the air, and Draco turned to see a young thestral in midflight. Even from a distance, he could see that the thestral's figure, a long neck, wide wings, and good posture in the air. Hagrid stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. The thestral whinnied back, and then swooped down to land inside the pen, the wings flicking up the top layer of snow.
"'ere, boy," Hagrid greeted, tempting the thestral closer with a strip of jerky. The thestral pranced in place for a moment, clearly spirited, but then approached to nip the meat out of Hagrid's hand. The animal was close enough for Hagrid to slip a loop of rope around his neck. The thestral seemed used to this and snuffed for another snack.
"Have you saddle-trained yet?" Draco asked.
Hagrid nodded. "'e has some good days and bad days with the saddle, but 'e's gettin' used ter it."
"Training would take longer than the rest of break," Draco said.
"I was sorta hopin' yeh might come down on weekends."
Hagrid shifted on his feet. When Draco didn't answer right away, Hagrid pulled off his cap and began twisted it nervously in his large, rough hands. Draco noted, with a good deal of surprise, that Hagrid was afraid he would refuse.
"Yeh don' hafta," said Hagrid hastily. "Yer prob'ly busy an' all with school and…,"
Draco tuned him out as he continued to ramble, his brain whirling through all of the possibilities. He liked thestrals. He enjoyed training them and riding in competitions. He had won quite a few medals doing it. It was a challenging sport, so naturally he enjoyed it. Had it been anyone else, Draco would have said 'yes' in an instant, but Hagrid was Hagrid and there were reputations to be upheld. Rule number twelve, after all. Appearances had to be maintained.
But there were ways of helping without looking like he was helping. A well-timed detention block should do the trick.
"-an' I understan' if yeh don' –," Hagrid continued, but Draco cut him off.
"Yes."
Hagrid looked surprised. "What?"
"Saturdays, after lunch. Is that agreeable?"
"Yes," said Hagrid, still looking surprised.
"And if anyone asks, it's detention."
"What?"
"Detention," Draco repeated, loudly and slowly.
"But yeh don' have detention."
"Not yet."
Draco hopped down from the fence and approached Orion, hand out, fingers flat, and waited for the thestral to sniff him. Orion did for a moment, but when he realized he had no food, turned back to nuzzling Hagrid's coat again.
"Let's see how he takes the saddle today," Draco said.
It was not a good day for the saddle. Orion bucked and bolted and canted about the pen, refusing for the saddle to be cinched around his middle. But he never flew away, suggesting he found the situation humorous. It said something to his spirit, and Hagrid laughed loudly and frequently, even when the thestral bucked him into a snowbank. Draco couldn't help but smile himself.
After an unsuccessful couple of hours, Hagrid let him go with a shake of his head. "We'll hafta try again tomorrow."
The rest of Draco's detentions were spent training Orion, much to his satisfaction. Orion allowed the saddle to be placed on the second day after some fussing, but on the third, he didn't even shy away from it. Draco showed Hagrid a few tricks of re-enforcement with the thestrals and walked through the qualifications of a show. He doubted Orion would be ready in the year, perhaps not even next year, but to show a wild thestral at a competition… well, that would be worth the wait.
While Draco enjoyed having the run of the castle to himself, he was still relieved for the holiday break to come to an end. He could focus on his own projects well enough, but it was easier when there were enforced deadlines, easier when there was the expectation of productivity, easier – sometimes – when there were people around. For as much as Slytherin house could fall into competition, there was usually a decent amount of comradery. Draco could enjoy an afternoon listening to Millicent and Agathe gossip about the drama in the other houses, or enjoy an evening playing chess with Nott or Warrington. He didn't mind it when Zabini would plunk down next to him to work on a grueling assignment together, or when Pansy would curl up next to him, just looking for an hour of quiet, maybe some light petting.
Draco sat by the fire on the Saturday after the students had returned and watched a few of the Slytherins mingle with each other. There was some conversation, some laughter, some exhibition of Christmas gifts, but then the Pureblood divide settled in – helped along by Nott practically shoving Blaise away from his table. Draco didn't say anything, not when Blaise looked his way, wondering if he might intercede, not when the students drifted back into their divisions, not when Pansy sank down beside him.
She kissed his cheek. "Love the shoes, darling. But if you think that wipes out your debt, I'd say you're not the financial genius you claim to be."
"Do you want me to pay you back?" Draco asked, turning to her. "Wouldn't you rather have me in your pocket, use me as some form of immunity or escape clause if needed?"
Her face settled into seriousness, matching his mood. "It is the best use I can get out of you."
"You don't want me to do something about this?" Draco gestured out at the common room. He knew that the divide made Pansy's job all the more important, but it also made it dangerous.
Pansy gave him a long, pitying look. "Draco, I don't doubt your confidence. But this," she looked about the room, "you can't fix this. You're not that powerful."
Her disbelief didn't irritate him. If anything, it was a relief because if anyone were to find out about his genius, apart from a certain Runes professor who'd overheard a drugged confession, it would be her.
"If I could, would you want me to fix it?"
Pansy's lips pursed. She looked away and shrugged. The wrap she wore over a strappy satin shirt slipped down, baring her shoulder and the few freckles that were sprinkled over her skin. Draco traced them with his finger as she thought. Her skin was soft.
Pansy spoke quietly. "Loyalty, as much as it is a Gryffindor trait, is not without merit. We've known our classmates for six years now. While I wouldn't mind seeing some of them brought down a peg and securing my own future, I don't know if I wish lasting harm on anyone." She settled against him and glanced up at his face. "What about you? Fixing the divide suggests some form of compassion, does it not? How does that fall in line with your Malfoy values?"
"I was asking from a business perspective," Draco said.
"Of course you were."
Draco cast an eye about the room. "I can think of a few people I wouldn't mind harming."
"You were always the vengeful sort."
"Pragmatic."
"If that's what you need to tell yourself."
Draco flicked her shoulder and then surveyed the room once more. One side would be victorious; the other would be defeated. It would be easy to join Warrington and Nott, and snuff out Blaise's paltry rebellion. It would be more difficult to join Blaise's and wrest control away from the Pureblood group. Of course, any decision he made here would have consequences once he left Hogwarts, and that future was already decided for him. The only third option was inaction, which he had chosen up until now, and that had its own dangers. He could see Warrington glancing at him from across the room. He was wondering why Draco was hesitating. He was wondering if Draco was weak, and if now was the time to dethrone him. Draco was going to have to do something. He just didn't know what.
Monday returned the students to their classes and it was easy to slip back into the school routine. Draco kept a careful eye on Claire Jameson in Arithmancy, certain she was a Death Eater, or at the very least in the employ of the Dark Lord. She didn't behave like a Death Eater though. She was a gentle teacher, soft when she needed to be firm, and quiet when she needed to be loud. Her hair was always pulled back in a bun or a twist and her teacher's robes were worn over an old-fashioned skirt-suit, typically in a demure tweed. Her voice still had that intonation that grated on him, the elongated vowels and lilting questions that made him think of Narcissa and her seductions. It wasn't a surprise that half the boys in class, and a couple of the girls, had a crush on her.
No one else seem suspicious of her. But even if there hadn't been a vocal clue, and even if Draco hadn't stumbled upon her trying to open the old Potions classroom, he would have suspected her of something. She was too mild, and her hair and wardrobe were too cliché. It was like she had a stylist who was dressing her for an acting role. And she never broke character. She never got short or irritated or overwhelmed. She didn't seem to have a personality apart from her career.
Rule number thirteen: There is no hole bigger in a disguise than the hole of perfection.
Still, her act seemed enough to fool everyone else. Draco was a little disappointed in the Gryffindors; they really should have noticed by now. And they really should have figured out that the horcrux in the school was Tom Riddle's trophy.
He spent Debate Class that Wednesday night running through a list of pros and cons of informing the Order what the horcrux was. He was surprised to discover that there were very few cons. As much as his service to the Dark Lord was already promised, he felt no inherent loyalty to him. That was partially due to Lucius, who always treated him more as a tool instead of a god, but there was still a hesitation in taking deliberate action against the Death Eaters. Purebloods, his father repeatedly informed him, were responsible for maintaining the sanctity of wizarding culture. Mudbloods couldn't understand or appreciate their values, and Halfbloods were sullied with their Muggle connection.
"They're traitors!" Nott exclaimed, thumping on the podium he was standing behind. "Marrying a Muggle? It's like marrying a dog and should be criminalized!"
The students on the Pureblood Superiority side cheered. Those in the Neutral group seemed troubled.
"Criminalized how?" asked Isobel McDougal, one the neutral students.
"Exile," Nott said.
Isobel picked up a piece of paper. "Current population statistics show that fifteen percent of married magical citizens are married to Muggles. You would be exiling fifteen percent of the population."
Draco knew what she wasn't saying. The nation couldn't survive a loss of that magnitude. The economy would crumble.
"So be it!" Nott proclaimed. "Unless they recant, they aren't welcome here! They're betraying their blood, their inheritance. They're betraying magic itself."
The Purebloods cheered again. Draco saw the Neutral students confer together, clearly unconvinced, and though he was technically part of the group, they left him out of the conversation. They assumed he was a spy.
He considered Nott's claim. Was it a betrayal to marry a Muggle? Lucius certainly thought so. He'd been angry when Lukas had announced it; struck almost dumb with shock and rage. But he hadn't had a chance to respond. The killing curse came too quickly. That, Draco knew, was not what Lucius would have done. Disownment, certainly. But not death.
Draco wondered who Lukas was going to marry. He had a sudden burning curiosity to know what girl, what Muggle girl of all things, could have caught Lukas' affections so completely. Was she exceptionally beautiful or incredibly intelligent? Was she well-read and sophisticated, or was she grounded and kind?
Lukas should have been allowed to marry her, Draco was certain of that. But if Lukas was allowed to marry a Muggle, then other wizards and witches must be afforded that same right. Logic demanded that. But if that premise was accepted, it led to a trickier question. Marriage was assumed to be a partnership of equals, suggesting that Muggles were equal to those with magic. At the very least, if the marriage was upheld, it would entitle Muggle spouses to the same rights as their partners: the right to inherit, the right to make legal decisions, and the right to parent any children that may result from the marriage. And then logic demanded that those Half-blood children be treated equal to Pureblood children.
And if Muggle spouses had the same rights as their magical partners, then what about Muggle-born wizards and witches? Were they to be denied those same rights simply because they were not married? And what if they did eventually marry? Would they suddenly gain those rights following their marriage vows? What if they divorced? Would they lose them again?
Draco's head began to ache. It always did when these thoughts arose. He pushed them away because they were a distraction from the true question: should he tell the Order about the horcrux?
His main hesitation was not wanting to pick sides. He didn't want to be bound to either group. He could side-step that by sending the tip anonymously, but that led to another concern. If the Dark Lord lost his horcrux, he would be angry, and when he was angry, he got violent. Draco could be endangering his father by helping the Order.
There was a voice in his head, one that sounded like Bill, that said a good leader wouldn't torture people. Torture, as a concept, was wrong and reprehensible, and following someone who used, taught, and encouraged torture was condoning the practice.
Draco frowned. That was the second time in as many weeks he'd had such thoughts. Rational thoughts, yes, but indisputably more aligned with Bill's values than the ones that Draco was raised with. It was irksome.
But however irksome it was to have Bill's voice in his head, that didn't stop him from eagerly looking forward to their runes work together. As soon as Runes class let out, Draco was getting up to join Bill as he pulled out their various scrolls and parchments. He returned the smile Bill gave him without a second thought.
"How was your break?" asked Bill.
"Endurable," said Draco. "Yours?"
Bill paused. His face scrunched. Draco put the papers back down, suddenly wondering if everything was okay. There could have been a Death Eater meeting, or maybe one of his family members was ill.
"It was a dichotomy," Bill finally settled on. "It was wonderful to see my family again, and at times, it felt like my childhood – fun, loud, happy, chaotic. And at other times… well, I've been away from my family for a while. People are growing up in ways I didn't expect and growing apart in ways that worry me."
"And you immediately wanted to fix it," Draco said, spotting the look on Bill's face.
Bill laughed. "Well, yes. But unfortunately, it was also a busy season for Death Eaters, so I had to leave few nights. Although, the meetings were… more casual than I expected."
"A lot of the Death Eaters are related to each other," Draco said. "Because there's competition in the families, it's sometimes better for them to have their holiday gatherings in a public setting. It can cut down on the cursing."
"Huh." Bill tipped his head and seemed to replay some of the Death Eater meetings with the new context. "That makes sense."
Draco began sorting the texts back into the order they were before break. Idle curiosity had him asking, "What's a Weasley Christmas like?"
Bill launched into a description of the holiday that could have been pictured on a Christmas card or written in a book. Christmas breakfast as a family, stockings piled high with knick-knacks and inside jokes, presents underneath the tree, opening them all together as a family.
"Fleur spent a few days with us too," Bill added.
There was a particular note in his voice that made Draco glance over. Bill's eyes were bright. He was smiling widely.
Draco rolled his eyes. "So when are you popping the question?"
"How did you –,"
Draco smirked. "Have you looked in the mirror when you talk about her?"
"Well, no."
Draco found the stack of Germanic runes they were last studying and pulled them out. "It's a complete give-away. Anyone with a half a brain could see that you're nuts about her."
"That doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to ask her to marry me."
"But you're going to."
"How did you know?"
There were dozens of reasons: Bill valued marriage and family. Bill had experience dating and had figured out what he wanted in a partner. Bill was clearly in love and Fleur was smart, beautiful, and capable of weathering the chaos of the Weasley family. She was also calm and composed, something that Bill himself exhibited. They were a good match and the timing was right.
Draco didn't say any of that. "I'm a genius. So, when's the lucky day?"
"Valentine's," said Bill. "She's coming up then."
"Utterly sappy and romantic. Where's the Rischlin Scroll?"
Bill handed it to him. "Do you think she like it?"
"Like what?" Draco asked, even though he knew what Bill meant. Bill gave him knowing look, so he answered. "She'll love it. She's a romantic at heart."
"How well do you know her?"
Draco shrugged. "She's friends with Pansy. They write each other from time to time."
Bill nodded. "Last question, what do you think about an engagement ring that isn't a diamond?"
"If you were from an old, wealthy family and your match was predetermined, you would need a large diamond, preferably one that's been in the family a long time. But alternative gems are considered trendy right now, so you'll be fine."
Bill let out a breath.
"Can we get to work now?" Draco asked.
Bill laughed, but then joined him in re-organizing their reference charts.
"Oh, I'm going to need a detention," Draco said.
Bill raised his eyebrows. "Detention?"
"Preferably a couple in a row. Saturdays. After lunch."
"Do I want to know why you need detention?"
"I'm helping Hagrid train a thestral for show riding."
"And you need an excuse," Bill said, catching onto his train of thought. "Consider it done. You were taking notes out of my test book and you now have ten Saturdays of detention."
"Sounds Slytherin enough."
"You and Hagrid must have got along if you're going to keep helping him." There was something smug about Bill's voice.
Draco raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Sounds like someone told Hagrid a sob story about my life to get him to be nice to me." A little bit of the old anger returned, and his expression got colder.
Bill winced. "I only shared what was already public knowledge. I just… highlighted some of the details that otherwise go unnoticed."
"Which is the way I prefer it."
"But it's harmful."
"Harmful?"
"You now have an opportunity to train a thestral, which sounds like it's something you enjoy. Removing yourself from relationships means missing out on like opportunities."
"So you're forging relationships on my behalf?"
"I'm doing my job as a teacher to look out for the interests of my best student."
Draco paused a moment, because there was an unexpected flash of warmth at being called Bill's 'best student'. But that didn't negate his presumption. "You gossiped about me."
Bill put down the papers to face him. "Professors are meant to talk in constructive ways about their students. If one teacher realizes that a student is having a hard time with reading comprehension, they'll inform the other professors so we can all offer adjusted assignments. If a teacher thinks that a kid seems off in class, they'll ask around and see if anyone else has noticed because it could indicate an underlying issue. If a teacher feels a student is being misaligned or mistreated, they'll point it out to the faculty to watch for any negative stereotyping."
Draco supposed it was a fair point. He still gave him a look. "Well, don't defend me to anyone else, alright? I have a reputation to maintain."
Bill smiled, but there was a pinch about his eyes.
"You told someone else about me?" Draco demanded.
"Not you specifically," Bill was quick to reassure him. "I just may have mentioned that many of the professors seem ready to prove your guilt instead of assume your innocence, and that such assumptions aren't fair to our students, especially because we're a bunch of adults and you're still a teenager."
There it was again, that strange feeling of warmth. Draco pushed it away. "Who'd you tell?"
Bill rubbed the back of his neck and his voice dropped. "Dumbledore."
"You told the Headmaster I was being treated unfairly?"
"It may have been a bit of a lecture." Bill looked outright uncomfortable at that, like he still couldn't believe his presumption.
Draco couldn't help the grin that slid onto his face. "You called out Dumbledore, seriously? When?"
"Right after the vampire attack."
The satisfaction faded and confusion took its place. "Bill, we weren't even –," Draco very nearly said 'friends' but shied away from that term. "We weren't even working together then."
"And?"
"You yelled at Dumbledore before you even knew me?"
"One, I did not yell at him," Bill corrected. "And two, I knew that you needed someone on your side. Even if you hadn't wanted to work with me, you still deserved that."
Draco's jaw worked as he tried to take in that piece of information. He'd known that Bill was a good person, but sometimes seeing the proof, benefiting from the proof, was a little staggering. He wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. 'Thank you', perhaps? It felt somewhat insufficient.
The door opened before he had a chance to respond. Draco jerked around as Claire Jameson entered. She pulled up at the sight of them.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize anyone was still here. I think I left some papers in the desk."
Draco turned to Bill in question. Claire had her own room; why was she using Bill's desk?
"I didn't see any, but you can sort through if you need," said Bill.
Claire approached, glancing curiously at the pair of them. Draco immediately felt on edge. He was sure she was a Death Eater, or somehow allied with them, and that meant she'd be suspicious of seeing Draco with Bill.
"Thanks for letting me borrow your classroom again," she said to Bill, slowly walking by, eyes flitting between them and the work spread between them. "Peeves really did a number during the 5th year class."
"I got chased out by him earlier in the year," Bill said. "Minerva says it's tradition."
Claire finally made it to the desk. Draco made a point of huffing as he sorted through the papers, trying to look frustrated and confused. Claire began sorting through the papers on the desk, but slowly. She was stalling; Draco was sure of it. He felt his muscles tense. His fingers flew in his 1 to 2-4-3-5 pattern. Was this about him? Or was it about Bill? Was it pure coincidence she'd come in now, or was she eavesdropping on their time together?
Bill read his tension and turned to Claire. "Need a hand?"
"Oh, no, I found it!"
Claire pulled up some papers and gave a satisfied smile. She walked over to glance at the work between them. "What's all this? It looks complicated."
"Draco's summer program didn't cover all the runes he needs for class," Bill said, lying easily. "We're sorting through the ones he needs to catch up on."
Draco kept a sullen expression on his face and knew their ruse had worked when she nodded and finally left the room. The door shut behind her. Draco threw up a silencing charm, just in case she was listening at the door.
"You don't trust her," Bill said.
"She talks like my mother," Draco said shortly. He could see the confusion on Bill's face, so he elaborated. "Like a whore."
Bill blinked at his bluntness. "I don't think that's appropriate language to be using with a professor."
Draco let out of a breath of laughter. "You're spying on Death Eaters who are trying to take over the country. We don't need to stand on niceties."
"Wait, you think she's a Death Eater?" Bill sounded incredulous.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"First, as I've just said, she talks like my mother."
Bill shook his head. "I'm going to need some context for that."
Draco put the papers down. "My mother is a known philanderer. She spends most of her time in the company of her paramours, both old and new, and every conversation they have is some form of flirtation or innuendo. It's become her primary language, and she can't turn it off, even when she's talking about the weather. There's always a note to her voice, like she's trying to seduce you. Claire talks like that."
Bill squinted, like he was trying to recall her voice. "It could be an accent or an inflection style. Maybe her parents spoke English as a second language, or maybe she grew up outside of England."
"There's also the matter of her wardrobe," Draco added.
"There's nothing wrong with her wardrobe."
"Exactly. All of her clothes are new –,"
"A lot of people will buy new clothes for a new job."
"But not an entire new wardrobe. And all of her clothes are completely modest."
"Which could just be her style."
"Yes, but pair her voice with her wardrobe, and it doesn't fit."
"This is a matter of your opinion," Bill said. "Your assumptions are based on personal history. You can't judge people based on your own experiences."
"Next time she talks to you, picture that she's in bed with you and you'll see what I mean."
Bill pulled back, his face reddening at the suggestion. "I'm not going to… to fantasize about a coworker in a compromising situation."
"Fine." Draco rolled his eyes. "A date then. One with candlelight and she's wearing a strapless dress, and her hair is down, and she's making moon eyes at you." Draco raised his voice into a falsetto, mimicking Claire. "'Oh, thank you so much for letting me use your classroom, Bill.'"
Bill's face got redder, but this time there were more anger in his expression. "I'm not comfortable with this conversation. You should stop."
Draco felt his own flare of anger. "Stop being such a prude. Just because you have a girlfriend doesn't mean you have to be celibate."
"I'm starting to believe that we have very different views when it comes to moral values." There was a good amount of reproof in Bill's eyes.
"We are not here to talk about my morals," Draco said, his words coming out faster, harder. "So what if I think that marriage is an excuse to shag four times a day and a way to reduce income taxes? The fact is that Claire Jameson has everyone believing she's a saint when she's a seductress."
Bill shook his head. "Draco, you are one messed up kid."
The anger flared. Draco didn't know if it was due to Bill's continued disbelief or his pitying words.
"Well catching your mother banging 'Cousin Richard' in reverse cowgirl on the kitchen table tends to do that to a seven-year-old!" Draco snapped. "I can't help it if you're too blind to see what she really is, or maybe you refuse to see it because you fancy her prettier than Fleur and wouldn't mind meeting her after class for some extra-curricular activities!"
Bill left his chair and stalked over to his desk. Draco could see him pull in a couple of breaths, trying to compose himself, and he immediately felt a pang of remorse. It was a juvenile thing for him to say. And he knew it was particularly spiteful to Bill because Gryffindors valued loyalty. He'd been trying to get a rise out of Bill, maybe even hurt him, and wasn't that just an idiotic thing to do? Hurt the only person who seemed to like him?
Draco looked down at the papers spread across the desks, trying to focus on something other than the guilt, but the scripts seemed suddenly illegible. He wondered how upset Bill was but couldn't bring himself to look over. He was going to have to say something, apologize maybe, but the longer the silence stretched, the harder it was to think about the words. Draco swallowed hard.
Bill walked back, his footsteps marking his path even though Draco couldn't look at him. His cheeks felt hot.
Draco heard Bill sigh and sit back down. "You said 'First.' What's second?"
Draco had to rewind the conversation in his head. He had said 'first' when Bill asked why he didn't trust Claire. Bill was asking for him to continue the conversation. He wasn't asking for an apology or looking to give him a lecture. It was a relief. Draco was always better at ignoring a conflict than resolving one.
Draco let out a breath and risked a glance at Bill's face. It was a little blank, but not outwardly angry, or worse, disappointed. He swallowed again. "Second, someone tried to break into the old Potions laboratory over break."
Bill's eyebrows furrowed. "I heard that the alarms went off. Dumbledore had me check to make sure the wards were still up. He said one of the students was found sleep walking nearby."
Draco hadn't heard that piece of the story. "Was it one of the Ravenclaws?"
"Yes."
"Professor Jameson stayed behind over break to fill in for Flitwick. And someone using a masking potion deliberately tried to bypass the wards and get in. The student was a decoy, someone to blame if it didn't work."
Bill sat forward. "You're sure about that?"
"I saw her. Well, I saw a figure in shadows. But who else would it have been?"
"Professors are given blank passes through the wards. Any one of the professors could have returned. And I'm willing to be a clever enough student could sneak back in as well."
"Occam's Razor, Bill."
"Muggle philosophy, Draco?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
Bill leaned in. "What about the Potion's lab is so important?"
For a moment, Draco didn't want to tell him, not when Bill was discounting his arguments against Claire. But then he remembered what had prompted him to share in the first place: Bill had defended him to Dumbledore, before Bill had any cause to do so. Whatever squabble they'd just had was negligible compared to that.
"The old Potions Laboratory was used when Tom Riddle was a student," he told Bill. "He was Head of the Brewers Club and would have spent a lot of time there. We know that he left a horcrux in Hogwarts, now someone is trying to break into a place that is a favorite of his. What does that tell you?"
"They're looking for the horcrux."
"And…?".
"It's likely an object personal to him."
"How about a certain trophy for special services that isn't in the trophy case?"
Bill gave him a long, assessing look. "Sure you don't want to join the Order? This is twice you've helped us."
"Three times," said Draco. "I'm serious about Claire."
"I will take your warning into consideration."
"When it all blows up in your face, I'm going to be insufferable," Draco warned.
"I don't doubt it. Now how about we actually get to work on these runes?"
"Finally," Draco groused.
They turned their attention to the runes in front of them, parceling out the start of a comparison heuristic that should help them begin the translation process. They worked a little later than usual, but neither of them seemed to mind.
"Good work," Bill said, when they finally started packing up.
"You too," said Draco.
Bill snorted. "Got a busy weekend ahead of you?"
"I've got a test to just barely pass." Draco slung his school bag over his shoulder. "It's amazing how much studying has to go into failing a test."
"Have fun then."
"Loads," said Draco, voice thick with sarcasm.
He was practically out the door when Bill called out again. "Thanks for the books!"
Draco halted for a moment. "You're welcome," he said, and then continued on his way.
oOoOo
Bill packed up for the day, his head full with the information Draco had provided. It was interesting how easily he'd given the information on the horcrux, but then again, Draco seemed to be loyal to himself first. Persuading Draco not to join Voldemort might be easier than Bill was expecting; persuading Draco to join the Order… that was going to be more difficult.
He made his way into the teacher's lounge, spotting Claire at her usual spot, a corner armchair, with a cup of tea on a side table. She was reading through a stack of essays, her nose scrunched as she marked the pages. She looked up when Bill entered and gave a shy smile.
"Thanks again."
"Hope Peeves didn't do too much damage," Bill said, dropping things down in the spot he'd claimed for himself, a sofa next to the window. He was shameless about piling the entire length of the couch with parchments and scrolls while he worked, which kept anyone else from joining him.
Claire shook her head. "Filch got it straightened in an hour. Still, your help was greatly appreciated."
Bill liked Claire. She was quiet, studious, and gentle. She was, perhaps, a little too retiring, a little too modest at times – not just in dress, but in manner as well. Like right now, consistently thanking Bill for letting her use her room. Bill knew many insecure people who felt the need to over-thank a colleague, and hadn't thought anything of it, but now that Draco had put the thought in his head, he wondered at her sincerity.
"You don't have to keep thanking me," he told Claire. "I'm sure you'd let me use your room in an off-period if I needed."
"Of course!"
"See?" Bill grinned. "No big deal."
She ducked her head a little.
"How were your holidays?" Bill asked. "I know you had to stay at school. That must have been disappointing."
"My family was never much into the holidays. It was nice to have some time to myself."
"Surely your boyfriend missed you. Or girlfriend?"
"Oh, I don't… that is… I'm not seeing anyone." Claire looked flustered, ducking her head and tucking her hair behind her ears, but there was something about the actions that seemed off to Bill in that moment. He pushed harder.
"Really? A smart, pretty witch like yourself?"
"No."
"No one you're interested in then?"
Claire now reached up to cover her face. "No, I don't… I get awkward around people."
Bill finally realized what struck him as odd about the whole thing. Claire was fair-skinned, not quite as pale as the Weasleys and certainly not as pale as Draco, but pale enough that she should be blushing right now. If she was as embarrassed as her behavior suggested, her face ought to be bright red. But there was no blush on her cheeks, no redness on her neck or ears.
Bill gave her a grin and settled back with his papers. "Well, let me know if you ever want a wing-man. I'll help."
"You're very kind," Claire said. She slowly pulled her hands away from her face, like she was afraid Bill might say something else embarrassing. When he didn't, she resumed her work, her face as even-toned as it had been when their conversation began.
Bill turned to his work as well, but he wasn't looking at the papers. The lack of a blush wasn't enough to convict her of being duplicitous, but it was strange. There were innocent explanations that could explain it though. Make-up or charms were often used by witches, and some wizards, to keep their skin from getting blotchy and it could hide a blush. Or it could be that Claire was pretending to be embarrassed because she felt the need to play a role to fit in at Hogwarts. Or, it could be that Draco had a point after all.
Although, if what Draco had said about his family was true, he could very well be projecting his own issues on the teacher. Bill frowned as he remembered what Draco had said about his mother. It sounded scarring. Not that Bill's own introduction into human sexually hadn't been similarly abrupt. Bill remembered being a young boy and walking through a door that should have been locked. He remembered a lot of bare flesh and his parents panicked faces. It was those faces that told him he shouldn't be there, even if he hadn't understood what was happening. He'd run away and a few minutes later his parents had found him and explained how babies were made. Nine months later, the twins were born. It was similarly awkward to Draco's story, although significantly less dramatic.
Bill stopped by the library after dinner and then made his way up to Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster waved him in and then waved at the dish of lemon drops. Bill took one and settled into what was becoming 'his' chair in front of the desk.
Dumbledore spotted the book in his hand. ""Is that an old yearbook?"
"I thought of something over the past few days," Bill lied, covering up Draco's involvement. "When I was at those Death Eater meetings, Voldemort mentioned his horcrux a few times. But the language he used seemed particularly possessive. I've been looking through these," he held up the yearbook, "for a hint of what might be important to him. After talking with my brother about the Chamber of Secrets, I thought of the trophy that Tom Riddle received for special services to the school. But when I looked through the yearbook, the trophy wasn't pictured, and there's no mention of him winning that award."
Dumbledore nodded. "It did seem a difficult thing to celebrate, considering the loss of life that occurred during those events. And it was even more difficult because I knew that Tom was lying about the creature responsible. The award was kept secret."
Bill nodded. "And the trophy isn't in the trophy case."
"Funnily enough, you are not the first person to bring that up to me today."
Bill sat forward. "Really?"
"Professor Stevick gave some Hufflepuffs a detention for talking-back in class. He set them to polishing the trophies, and they stumbled upon the plaque for the trophy issued to Tom Riddle. When he came back to check on their work, and saw the missing trophy, he assumed they had broken it or stolen it. He came to me to verify their tale. I confirmed that the trophy had been lost for several years now."
"Do you know where it is?"
"I have an inkling."
"And if you find it?"
"I was considering making a duplicate," Dumbledore said. "If I return the copy to the trophy case, we might be able to catch a spy in the act of stealing it."
Bill smiled. "I'd love to help you with those wards. I know a few that can spring a trap to catch a thief."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I was hoping you might."
oOoOo
Author's note: So, what has changed in this chapter? A lot. I've brought over the bit of thestrals into this chapter, which fit well here. I also added in more about Draco's thoughts about Death Eaters. Something that I want to really highlight in the revisions is the struggle that Draco has in changing his belief system. He is aware that Pureblood superiority isn't necessarily a logical argument, but he's been told it, over and over and over again. It's become habit for him to think that way, and habitual thoughts can be mistaken for the truth. Draco's also trying to combat the fear that is so insidious in the Death Eaters, the fear that if they lose power, their country is going to crumble. The fear is unfounded, of course, but it is believed and passed down from generation to generation. The fear is bolstered by a side effect of that belief. If Purebloods are truly the only ones who can preserve their country, it suggests they're somehow better than the rest – which strokes their ego. I also let Draco think about Lukas in context of equality. Someone he loved and admired was going to marry a Muggle. That makes this line of questioning a little bit more personal for him. Also, we have the big debate coming up, so I wanted to lay some ground work.
Plot wise, I showed my work in how the trophy is determined to be the horcrux. In the first draft, I just said it was the horcrux, and that was that. Which… yeah, was a little anticlimactic. This is an important part of the story and needed to be developed more. I also showed how the trap is being set and I worked in some more clues about Claire and Stevick being possible suspects. I also showed how the suspicion got diverted to Stevick at the end.
The one change I made that I questioned awhile before making is taking out the end dialogue that Bill and Draco had, the bit where Bill poked fun at Draco's story about his mom and 'Cousin Richard'. I really liked that bit, as it showed some of the camaraderie between them, but it just didn't seem to fit this time around. And the tone of this chapter is a bit more serious anyway, so I wanted to preserve that feel. Anyway, let me know what you think!
