A/N: Sorry all! I know it's been a while, but I got distracted. I'd like to thank all of you for being patient with me and everything. This chapter is dedicated to the development of Draco's character from what it seemed to be in the last chapters to what I meant it to be all along.
If you like him, let me know and also keep your eyes open for the short thing "A Child's War" which should be along soonish. Thanks to everyone for coming this far with me.
Here's a big thank you to all of you who've reviewed: Remy, Marionette, Celestinne, TheEvilReveiwer, Whippy, Kat, Maya/Sharon Armstrong, Drusilla, Lee-chan, TwistedSlytherin, the Anonymous Reviewer Person, Sheron and Val Mora. You people rock my world! Later days!
- words of a hypocrite - (Harry is about to unlearn everything he knows.)
Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded.
But I see, see through it all, see through, see you.
'Cause I threw you the obvious
To see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel,
Eyes of a tragedy.
A Perfect Circle, "3 Libras"
The hands of the clock (shaped long ago to resemble two intertwined snakes) pointed defiantly to 8:45.
Draco could have ground his teeth together. Draco could have chewed his nails. Draco could have thrown the tantrum to end all tantrums. Fortunately, Draco had more self-control than that.
Still, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that a single (cursed) letter could bring the focus of his entire world down to the movements of a clock! And a suspiciously un-Wizard like clock at that.
It wasn't fair. He wasn't a slave to his curiosity; he wouldn't let himself be.
In search of distraction, any distraction, Draco grabbed his Potions text and began to read.
Parkinson tittered.
Draco stiffened and glanced at the girl seated across the Commons from him. "Did you have something you'd like to say?"
"Not particularly." She replied. "It's just not often one gets to see you this nervous."
Draco frowned. "I am not nervous." He snapped icily.
She smiled sweetly. "Pull your claws back, kitten. I didn't mean anything by it. You've just been wildly out of character seen Potions, is all."
Draco had never understood (and prayed fervently never to understand) Parkinson's undying fascination with his 'character' as she termed it.
Tonight, though, he had to agree with her.
That letter (that stupid, fucking letter) had flapped the unflappable, riled the unrilable and sent the usually collected Draco Malfoy flying off balance. It was disconcerting at best, and, to Draco's oddly militaristic mind, it counted as a weakness he couldn't afford.
Leaving Parkinson's shot unanswered, Draco glanced up at the clock over the fireplace.
Surely it's 9:15 by now.
8:50, the clock read.
Stupid clock.
Draco slammed his book shut and got to his feet.
"Something wrong, hon?" Parkinson simpered.
"Of course not. I'm just going for a walk."
Parkinson bobbed her head. "Want some company?" She leered suggestively.
It was to Draco's credit that he didn't look ill. "No." And he walked out of the room so fast he didn't see Pansy reach under her seat cushion and pull out a horribly Muggle walkie-talkie.
"Beautiful Blonde is on the move." She whispered.
"Roger that. Wonder Boy is in position," came the response.
Pansy grinned broadly, clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and hurried after Draco.
--
Draco made short work of the stairway, taking the steps two at a time and humming to himself tunelessly.
Arriving twenty minutes early, it turned out, would play to his advantage. Walking blind into unknown (and possibly enemy) territory was just begging to be ambushed. An ambush leads to defeat, defeat leads to disgrace, and disgrace leads to a drop in reputation.
In Draco's world there was no excuse for that kind of lack of preparation or information. To let one's self be sucked blindly into such a situation was like giving up the upper hand before an upper hand even existed.
Draco had actually considered dragging Crabbe along to secure the upper hand, but in the end decided that would be overkill. It was probably just some little girl who'd been encouraged by his abnormally good mood since the Quidditch game.
Mmm… I'm slipping. Not to self: be more offensive.
Always be a moving target. Oh yes.
He reached Charms class and paused with his hand on the doorknob to calculate time.
5 minutes to get out of the basement, 5 minutes to get up here. So it's about 9 I'd wager.
A fifteen-minute head start was more than sufficient. Nearly happily, Draco opened the door and froze.
In the classroom, perched boldly on Flitwick's desk, sat Harry Potter.
"Potter!" Draco yelped before he had a chance to think.
Potter jumped and stared at Draco.
Wonderful, just wonderful. I better get rid of him before what's-her-name shows up.
Then Draco had an idea, an awful idea that made his insides turn to ice. What if…
Draco shook his head. THAT was just to scary to think about. Yet… Alright! Time for an emotional roll call. Draco peered closely at Potter who had yet to say a word or move a muscle.
A dread, like the one Draco was feeling, had taken up residence on Potter's face, and rooming with it were nervousness and suspicion. Nothing out of the ordinary. But, in Potter's clear green eyes was something Draco was not expecting: relief.
"Potter," Draco repeated with a controlled dryness. "Did you send me that letter?"
"Uh…" Potter glanced warily around the classroom, anywhere but at Draco. "Yeah."
For the first time in his life, Draco didn't know what to say. "Oh." Oh… oh god.
Potter jumped off the desk and began to babble. "I knew you wouldn't come if you knew I sent it. And I really need to talk to you."
Reflexively, Draco leaned back against a desk, managing to look calm even though inside he was screaming.
Harry – fucking - Potter likes me? Or was that just a ploy to get me here? Am I that predictable?
No. NO! Always be a moving target.
"What… did you want to talk about?"
Potter's eyes bounced from the ceiling to the floor to Draco's face and quickly back to the floor. "I wanted to talk about yesterday."
"Yesterday." Draco repeated. Potter was watching his feet silently, so Draco sighed. "Alright, yesterday. Yesterday, 230 years ago, The Battle of Brandywine ended. Yesterday, 204 years ago, French forces defeated Russians. Yesterday, 85 years ago, the US First Army drove deep into German territory. Yesterday-"
"No. No! God, do you always have to be such an ass?"
Draco smirked. "Have to? No. Want to? Oh yes."
Potter made a disgusted face and turned away.
Oh. Never turn your back to an enemy, Potter. And make no mistake, I am your enemy. Part of Draco chided silently, while another part was busy planning.
What to do… What to do. Play along with Potter's game and retreat? Or corner him and get some of my questions answered, like what the hell was up with that letter.
"Ok Potter. Let's dance."
He turned and blinked. "Wha?"
Draco sighed. "Ask your questions."
"Yesterday," Potter cleared his throat and shifted his weight, "during the Quidditch game, you, uh, li- licked me," Draco smirked but Potter persevered. "Um… why?"
"That's it? That's your important question? Easy. I needed to shock you so I could grab the Snitch and win the game. See, easy." Draco snapped his fingers for emphasis.
"Alright," Potter said. "Alright. But couldn't you have hit me or something instead?" I mean li-"
Draco tilted his head. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
"Will you just answer the question?"
"Mmm… no."
"Oh come off it!"
"Come off what?"
"Can't you drop this act for a minute?"
Draco's smirk disappeared. "What act?"
--
In the dim, dusty, cobweb-filled secret room, two students crouched close together. Heads pressed together, Dean and Pansy sat listening in silence, until…
"Ouch! Parkinson! Be careful where you put that elbow."
Dean pushed Pansy away and sat defensively in front of the illusionary brick, trying hard to hear what was happening in the other room. Not caring that he'd pushed Pansy hard into a wall.
Pansy could have (should have…) shoved back, telling him it wasn't fair for him to hog the hole. That she had a right to listen, but something was gnawing at her. Something that felt like guilt.
But… But, it couldn't be. Never in her short life had guilt plagued Pansy. It was foreign, something that happened to other people.
Lying, cheating, extortion, blackmail. Pansy had done it all and had felt… nothing.
Why now? Why the crash of conscience now?
But she knew.
What's changed?
She knew that too.
Draco.
Draco. She'd met him when she was barely nine, at his ninth birthday party. Even then he was cool, collected and so much stronger than she knew she could ever be. Of course, back then that didn't matter to Pansy. He was a boy. He probably had cooties. She wanted nothing to do with him.
Unfortunately, her mother had other plans. The Parkinsons had never lacked money, but they'd never had prestige. They were new money with no history and no respectability in the cut-throat social world. But with a Pansy Parkinson Malfoy in their ranks? It would have made all the difference in the world. But friendship, her mother had preached, would have to come first… After that marriage would be a sure thing.
Pansy hadn't cared. But now? No, a new variable had been introduced to the equation: love.
I never meant to fall in love.
And yet, it had happened. And how. She was absolutely devoted to him: his style, his strength, his mind, his reputation, his beliefs, his entire being. She'd move her world to be with him.
And he would run away.
It didn't matter. She would protect him and she would love him whether he knew it or not.
And maybe one day, maybe, he'll know. And he'll understand. And he'll… feel.
Epiphany hit, and Pansy looked up. "We need to go."
Dean turned sharply. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You, me." Pansy pointed. "We shouldn't be here. We've got to go."
"But we've hardly got to hear anything! After all the work I did to switch the letters!"
"It doesn't matter. This wasn't meant for our ears. Draco wouldn't want us to know."
Dean's expression softened, but only barely. "You really adore him, don't you?"
"Completely."
"You have no taste, you know?"
Pansy cordially ignored him. "Don't tell, though."
"Sure." Dean rolled his eyes. "If you're so head over heels for this guy, and may I say ick again, you should say something."
"My love," Pansy smiled wistfully, "is like a vampire from Florida."
"Bah?"
"She loves the sun, but she know if she ever sees it it'll be the death of her."
Dean watched her for a long moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then, he got to his feet. "We need to work on your metaphors Parkinson. But, just this once, I will do you a favour."
Pansy grabbed Dean by the arm and leaned her head against his shoulder as she led him out the secret door. "See! I knew you weren't a complete jerk. I suppose there's a little good in everyone."
--
"Don't play dumb!" Potter shouted. "You can't be such a complete jerk!"
Draco was dazed. Act? ACT? Cautiously, he stepped back, letting his fingers run along the reassuring surface of the desk behind him.
My balance…
"What are you talking about?"
"You! You can't honestly tell me all this isn't an act! No one is this nasty in the real world!"
Draco's lips twisted up. "What do you know about the real world, Potter?"
"I know that there's a little good in everyone!"
"Everyone?" The "even Voldemort?" was left unsaid; it didn't need to be.
Potter paled and looked at his feet. "No. I suppose not everyone."
"So there." Draco's smile soured. "If you're wrong about that, then maybe you're wrong about me, eh?"
"No." It was said so quietly Draco couldn't quite hear it, but then Potter looked up, green eyes shining, and repeated, "No. I can't be."
"Hn. Do you really believe that?"
"Yes."
"More the fool you then."
"Give it up, Malfoy." There was an edge in Potter's voice now.
"Give what up?"
Calmly… Don't lose control here. Don't lose. Not here. Not to Potter.
"Fuck! What do you want from me?" Potter flung his hands in the air.
Nothing, everything.
"I try to give you the benefit of the doubt! I try to be civil! I try to ignore you!" Potter continued. It was a sure sign of his anger that he was swearing. Harry Potter hardly ever swore. "This has been going on for 6 fucking years, why can't you be satisfied?"
Because I'm so empty. Draco shook away the renegade thought and frowned. "You want to know what I want from you?"
"Yes!"
"Victory, that's what I want. Can you give it to me?"
Harry, no Potter!, looked startled. "Victory?"
Way to go, boy. What ever happened to keeping this little plan secret?
"Yes, victory. I want to beat you."
"You're crazy."
"Quite likely."
Again, Potter looked shaken. Obviously the conversation had got away from him; obviously Draco's answers were forcing him to re-examine things he'd always taken as truth.
"Malfoy… Is this your father's-"
A little bit of anger welled up inside Draco. "This has nothing, nothing, to do with Lucius. Can't you except that maybe I'm exactly who I seem to be, by choice?"
"No." If Potter was anything, it was certainly stubborn. "I can't. All these things you say about… about…"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Mudbloods?" He offered.
"Muggle-born." Potter corrected irritably. "You can't possibly hate them like you seem to. You can't be that… racist."
"Hah! Hah!" Draco laughed loudly, turning his back to Potter and looking at the empty classroom. "I never knew you were such a hypocrite, Potter."
"Hypocrite?" Potter exploded.
Draco spun, stalked up to Potter and poked him in the shoulder. "You think I say Mudblood with any less hatred than you say Slytherin? All Mudbloods are idiots and not worth being nice to, I say. All Slytherin are vicious and not worth being nice to, you say."
"I-" Potter paused, flustered, and rang his hands. "I don't."
"Ok, let's pretend you don't." Draco turned his back again, ignoring Potter's quiet protest of 'I don't!' "Weasley certainly does, and he's your best friend. Quite a double standard you have."
"I- I- That's not the same!"
Draco looked over his shoulder, smugly. "Sure it isn't. Hypocrite."
"Fine. Ok. I don't care. That doesn't justify your behaviour. That doesn't justify how you've treated Ron and Hermione. That doesn't justify joining with Voldemort and trying-"
"What?" Draco interrupted in complete surprise again. "Joining with Voldemort? Since when!"
"Since…uh… ever?"
"That's another thing about you, Potter. If someone doesn't like you it can't possibly be that they just don't like you, no, they've gotta be working for the bad guy. There are no moral absolutes!"
Not in wartime, and when have you or I ever lived in peacetime?
"But you always say things like-"
"I lied, get over it."
Potter glared fiercely. "Alright, but if you aren't part of the Jr. Death-Eater club why are you always so fucking horrible to me and my friends?"
Draco sighed dramatically. "I told you already. I want to beat you, I always have. Just you, not the whole wizarding world. Just you," always just you.
Draco frowned. He'd always promised himself that this ambition of his would be secret, and now the one person who should have never known knew. He should have just let it go after the first slip.
Hunh. You're just pathologically unable of letting things go.
It was too true. Draco felt the little spark of anger in his stomach explode.
"Augh." Potter groaned. "You're impossible to talk to! I don't know why I tried!"
"Don't ask me! I thought it was a stupid idea from the beginning."
"I hate you!"
"Aw… You're just saying that to make me feel better."
Potter's green eyes met Draco's silver-grey ones. The sparks flying were almost visible.
--
"Shit," Seamus' foot hit a stair, "shit," he bounded across two and hit the third, "shit, shit, shit." Finally he reached the top of the last flight, sweating and looking slightly frightened. Dean finally wants to talk and now I'm late. Ah man, he's gonna kill me!
Seamus raced down the hall and around a corner only to come face to face, and nose to nose, with Dean.
"Dean!" Seamus exclaimed, for the moment completely missing Pansy's existence, but only for a moment. "Parkinson? What are you doing here?"
Pansy shrugged and grinned. "Just along for the ride."
"Unh-hunh." Dean said slowly and shifted his gaze back to Dean. "Dean, man, I'm so sorry I'm late."
Dean lifted an eyebrow haughtily. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Seamus swallowed; telling himself it was because he was still out of breath not because angry Dean made him nervous. "You know, the letter you sent asking to talk? I know I'm 15 minutes late, but still…"
Dean laughed shortly. "Why the fuck would I send you a letter? And why would I want to talk? I've said everything I wanted to say."
It took about five seconds for Dean's words to process and in that time, three thoughts passed through Seamus' mind:
Jeez, Dean sounds pissed. What did I do?
And then,
He didn't write the letter? Wow, I feel dumb.
And finally,
Well fuck him! Stupid asshole!
"Yeah, yeah." Seamus sneered. "You made it pretty clear alright. You work alone. 'Cept for your little slut here." Seamus gestured at Pansy who reared back, insulted.
"You're one to talk!" Pansy spat.
"Leave her out of this." Dean warned.
Seamus stuck out his tongue. "Sticking up for your giiiirlfriend? I didn't know you were such a fucking gentleman, Thomas. Bet you're a lousy lay, though!"
The thud of fist hitting cheek thundered through the acoustically advantageous hallway. Seamus' head whipped back and stayed frozen there in shock.
Dean hit me. I can't…believe he did that.
Seamus wasn't sure whether to scream or cry. He felt like doing both.
Like fuck I'll cry in front of Dean. Luck's really not on my side tonight…
But, Luck brought Lavender.
"Dean Thomas! How dare you!" Lavender stormed down the hall to stand between Dean and Seamus, her hands on her hips. She glared hotly at him and then whipped around, her curls flaring in all directions. "Are you okay Seamus?"
"Yeah, I guess." Seamus rubbed his cheek and glared over her head at Dean. Dean looked back, his near-black eyes cold and emotionless. Like a black hole, a void.
"Here," Lavender said, "I know a back way into the kitchen, we can get you some ice."
"Yeah, okay." Seamus let himself be dragged off by Lavender, without a backward glance.
I won't look back, I won't. Dean doesn't need me; well I sure as fuck don't need him.
--
Hair? Washed and styled, check. Face? Helpless, pouty but not irritating, check. Tears? Ready and waiting, check, check, check.
Ginny stared into her mirror and took a last deep breath: it was time to put phase one of Operation Overlord into action. She spun on her heel and stalked out of the girl's dorm.
In the Commons, students were spread in tiny clumps, finishing the last of their homework. A quick scan of the room and Ginny had spotted her victim; she moved in for the kill.
"Colin!"
"Alright, Ginny?"
She took his hand and gripped it tightly, staring into his eyes with all she was worth. "I need your help! I've heard something awful!"
Colin's eyes widened to a nearly impossible size, a loving tribute to the acting ability of Ginny Weasley. "What's wrong?"
"I- I can't talk about it in public. Can I speak to you alone?" Colin looked doubtful so Ginny let some tears brim and tried again. "Please! I need to talk to someone I can trust. I know I can trust you, Colin!"
"Uh…" Colin looked hesitantly at his friends, most of whom grinned encouragingly. "Alright, I guess. I'll help anyway I can."
Ginny had to stop the smug grin that tried to worm it's way onto her face. She nodded and pulled him into a more secluded corner of the Commons.
"What's wrong?"
"It's- Oh! I heard something awful about the new Quidditch balls!"
"What!" At the word Quidditch, Colin's face became 200 percent more worried than it had been. Colin really loved Quidditch.
Naive bastard, Ginny thought with a mixture of disdain and pity.
"Yes!" Ginny sobbed. "I heard Malfoy talking today! He says his father is the one buying the balls for the school! He said he's going to rig them so that Harry never wins again! Imagine!"
"Oh my god!" In a private corner of her mind, Ginny was howling with laughter. "What are we going to do?"
"Well…" Ginny wiped her tears away. "I was thinking we sneak into the broom shed after the delivery and destroy the new balls."
"But…" Colin looked torn. "Then there will be no balls to play with!"
Ginny took up Colin's hands again. "It's a small price to pay to ensure Harry doesn't lose again, isn't it?"
Colin looked back at her. "Yes," he breathed.
Ginny did smile this time; she had him.
--
"Ouch!"
"Don't move." Lavender instructed. "I want to see how bad it is."
"It's not that bad, honestly!" Seamus protested, shifting in his seat as the house-elves hovered anxiously around him.
"Unh-hunh…" Lavender drawled. "Then why do you keep saying ouch?"
"Uh…"
Lavender pressed the crushed ice against Seamus' cheek and he yelped again.
"Honestly, you can be such a baby." She blew a curl away from her face. "All your going to have is a big bruise… Dean is such a jerk. He shouldn't have punched you."
Seamus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You don't even know what was going on."
"Doesn't matter." Lavender snapped. "Nothing you could do can excuse his behaviour!"
Seamus reached up and touched her hand. "Thanks Lavender, I appreciate it." Lavender's inside turned to goo and she blushed. Seamus didn't notice, he was wading too deep in self-pity. "I just can't believe what an idiot I was…" Seamus sighed.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I got this mysterious letter earlier."
"Yeah?" Lavender asked excitedly.
"I was so sure Dean wrote."
The world stopped. For one horrible second, everything around Lavender froze in a mocking pantomime of reality.
"You – thought – Dean – wrote it?"
Seamus laughed self-mockingly. "Yeah, I know. What was I thinking? Dean's not like that. I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part.
Lavender's head reeled; she threw down the ice and got to her feet. "Wishful thinking?" She asked in a squeaky voice. "Oooooh! I hate you Seamus Finnigan!" She whipped around and stormed out.
"What'd I say?" Seamus called vainly after her.
--
It was kind of funny, the feeling brewing inside Harry's stomach. Anger mixed with hate, a liberal dash of irritation, but spicing it was apprehension. Or was it excitement? Harry couldn't tell.
His pulse was pounding against the skin in his neck, so hard he wasn't why it hadn't broken through his skin yet. And he couldn't find his heart; it seemed to have migrated from his chest to his throat. Maybe that's why he was having trouble breathing… Maybe it was Malfoy's searing gaze that was making Harry's skin feel like it was burning…
This is silly. I'm being ridiculous.
Malfoy took a step forward, his eyes (like mercury, liquid and metallic, Harry thought distantly) burning into Harry's.
As naturally as night follows day, Harry took a step back.
Malfoy advanced.
Harry retreated, and retreated, and retreated until his back was pressed against the stone wall of the classroom.
Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips. Part of him dreaded what he knew was going to happen next and part of him refused to believe it, but a part Harry hadn't noticed before couldn't wait.
"I hate," Harry whispered in a husky voice, his eyes tracing Malfoy's lips, "how you always get the last word."
Malfoy smiled a smile different from his usual smirk. "I know."
And their lips met in a tangle of teeth and tongues and saliva.
--
Nearly Headless Nick floated through the corridor faster than usual. He was nearly bubbling over with excitement, although it wouldn't have been obvious to someone who didn't know him well.
"Baron! Please wait, Baron!" He called to the wispy figure ahead of him.
The Bloody Baron paused and turned. "Good evening, Nicholas."
Nick grinned. "Guess what I've seen…"
The Baron looked at Nick's grin and groaned. "I don't think I want to know."
"Guess."
"Malfoy and the Potter boy?"
Nick's smile widened and The Baron sighed theatrically.
"You win the pool then."
"Yup!" Nick carolled and the two floated down the hall.
"We better go tell the others. The Fat Lady will be so disappointed, she only missed by another three hours."
Nicholas nodded as they disappeared from sight through a wall.
Ghosts live in the past, not the present. Soon, very soon, the night's observations would slip from their memories.
They would never be able to tell what they saw in Charms class.
- end part four -
