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Reviewers: Thank you! Both of you! I love you! I had another job interview that went well. Cross your fingers for me! $20/hr! But only 8 hrs/week! Still, I have meager expenses, and this would give me time to write my great American novel! (Har har)
Ch. 13: Invitations and Preparations
Harry did such a good job of convincing himself of the importance of focusing on the War (as opposed to Malfoy) that he almost immediately went into overdrive. Friday morning breakfast conversation with Ron and Hermione consisted almost entirely of pumping the latter for details about recent disappearances (Hermione, unlike most students, actually bothered to study the Daily Prophet). It only required a short while of questioning for it to become apparent that the greater impact on society was coming from Minster Fudge's reactionary measures. In the name of security: curfews had been issued; bans had placed on a number of multipurpose curses, potions, and magical items; a rash of not entirely justified arrests had taken place; a number of civil rights had been revoked; and the death penalty had been reinstated (since the Dementors had left Azkaban to side with Voldemort).
"Do you think Fudge is working for You-Know-Who?," Ron asked nervously; Harry was wondering the same thing.
Hermione shook her head. "No. But I do think that he may be the bigger threat He's using Voldemort as the excuse to declare martial law and become dictator. It sounds far fetched, and it will be a while before it comes to that, but there is certainly precedence to this pattern. Just look at Bush in the US."
"Who? What bush?," Ron asked bewilderedly.
"He's the corrupt and backward president of the United States," Harry explained offhandedly, his mind occupied by the Fudge matter. "So what you're saying is that even if we defeat Voldemort, things still won't be alright. 'Cause Fudge will have completely ruined our way of life."
Hermione nodded. "Voldemort's the best thing that ever happened to that asshole."
Harry rubbed his forehead and stared down at his unappetizing meal. "This sucks."
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At the Slytherin table, the War was a strictly taboo topic, whichever side one happened to be on. Instead, the table was alive with talk about the party planned for the next day – Saturday. DM was a little disappointed that no one seemed to have taken seriously his proposal to invite select individuals from the other houses; except, well. . .
Goyle turned his head abruptly to blink at the thin, strange boy sitting next to him. He waited silently, and stilly except for the occasional blink. It took a moment for DM to respond to the convention by turning his head to give his bulky "friend" his full attention. "Yes?"
It took a moment for Greg to muster a response, and when he did it was voiced in a near whisper. "Were you serious about inviting other people?"
DM blinked in surprise, but his blank expression never faltered. "Yes. Why?"
Greg actually blushed, which would have been a surprise to anyone else, but Malfoy had known the bloke for six years and was well aware of his more sensitive side. "Well, I was, uh, thinking of inviting this, uh, Ravenclaw from, uh, Divination."
DM's lips twitched in an almost-smile, and he purposely asked in his most teasing, obnoxious voice, "A girl?"
Greg nodded vigorously.
"Who?" Now DM actually was smiling, and though it was an amused smile, it wasn't mocking or malicious.
Greg leaned closer and cupped a hand to DM's ear to whisper, "Luna Lovegood."
DM had to repress a completely uncharacteristic and irrational urge to shriek in mirthful and good natured laughter. Instead a large, Cheshire cat grin plastered itself to his face. DM hadn't felt this good. . . well, ever. "That's great, Greg. I think you two will get along splendidly. And yes, I was serious. I am planning on inviting a couple of people myself, so that crazy bint Lovegood won't be the only one."
Goyle may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew Malfoy's mannerisms well enough to pick up on DM's attempt at humor (after all, Malfoy and DM had a lot more in common then the latter would like to admit). "You're the crazy bint, Malfoy," Gregory insulted pleasantly, before stuffing a toast into his mouth. "Slo, who yah gonna infite?"
Now it was DM's turn to lean closer conspiratorially. "Granger and Potter."
Goyle promptly spewed out his food, spraying chunks on Crabbe who sat across from him talking pleasantly with Parkinson. He looked over and gave his friend a glare, picked off a few of the more conspicuous chunks, then returned his attention to Pansy's mouth and, uh, breasts (he really wasn't in a position to complain, as both he and Greg were notorious for eating like hogs). Greg wiped his mouth with his hand, then frowned worriedly at DM. "Why?," he asked stressfully.
DM put great effort into acting nonchalant. He took a small bite of a scone, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed before replying calmly, "Because You-Know-Who wants me dead. I won't side with him and I know too much to be left alive. So I need to explore my options. Besides, Potter and Granger would make powerful friends. The party is a perfect opportunity to feel them out on my territory."
It was definitely a risk for him to be bringing the topic up with so little preparation, especially considering the fact that the Goyles had made it very clear that they had a Death Eater future planned out for their son. Still, DM was counting on the fact that Malfoy was much closer to Greg than his own parents had ever been, and that Greg had relied (successfully) on Malfoy time and time again to lead the way through treacherous waters.
Goyle looked at his old friend doubtfully for a long moment, before finally saying, "Well, I guess if Luna is friends with them, they aren't too bad. . ."
DM smiled with relief and impulsively reached out to grab his friend's arm and give it a squeeze. "Don't worry, Greg. Go ahead and invite Lovegood. I'll make sure everything is okay." It was unexplainable, but he was felt like he could do anything. Maybe it was time to give magic another try.
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After Transfiguration DM told Parkinson, Millicent, Zabini, Goyle, and Crabbe to go to lunch without him, and sauntered over to confront the Golden Trio, who were packing their bags and chatting leisurely.
"Potter, Granger," he spoke with complete decorum.
The three Gryffindors turned around with some surprise.
"What do YOU want?," Ron spat distastefully.
DM ignored the Weasel completely and kept his gaze trained on Hermione and Harry (who were both grimacing with embarrassment at their fiery friend's behavior). Harry was intentionally dulling his reaction, and Hermione gave him a quick, confused glance before stepping up to fill the awkward silence. "Malfoy. How can we help you?"
Ron sputtered and was about to speak, but DM beat him to it, an obviously artificial but polite expression of friendliness on his face. "The Slytherins are hosting an inter-house party tomorrow night at ten, to which I hereby invite you, Hermione Granger, and you, Harry Potter. I don't imagine many of my housemates will bother to invite anyone, but I'm pretty certain a few Ravenclaws will be there, and I personally guarantee that no one will mess with you while there."
Both Hermione and Harry were stunned, and Harry's mouth actually fell open in surprise.
Ron exploded angrily, "They would never be caught dead with the likes of you or any of your disgusting friends, you psychofuck!"
DM's eyes narrowed dangerously, his muscles suddenly clenching, and a physical altercation was clearly on the verge of breaking out. As though sharing each other's thoughts, Harry and Hermione acted in unison: the latter jumping in front of Ron to block his access to the blond, while the former stepped forward to address him warily. "Why should we?"
DM arched a very Malfoyish eyebrow. "I have no reason, I just invited you. Come if you want, if not. . . we're completely capable of having a good time by ourselves. You're the only ones who would be missing out."
Harry tried to size the blond up objectively. Was this his attempt to add a few bricks to the bridge of friendship that was tentatively being built? Surely nothing too dangerous could happen with the Hogwart's walls (though he was well aware of the dangers of that assumption). And what of his vow to focus on more important matters? On the other hand, what sort of focus would he be able to achieve on a Saturday night anyway? Maybe this would be a good opportunity to do some reconnaissance into enemy territory. Yes, reconnaissance into enemy territory sounded very. . . appealing.
He had been on the verge of saying yes, but the sudden influx of lust made him reel back. "I don't know, Malfoy. Getting drunk with you lot doesn't sound like the safest way to spend my Saturday evening. Some of us have better things to do. Like win a war."
DM's eyes flashed wrathfully. He had gone out on a limb assuming that the Gryffidors would leap at the chance to further their crusade to persuade him to their side, and those bleeding fucks were refusing him?! "I hate you, Potter," he hissed and spun around on his heal.
Hermione didn't know what was going on with Harry, but she wasn't going to let him blow Operation Malfoy without knowing why, so she called out in an effort to salvage the situation, "Malfoy!"
DM turned around slowly, guardedly, to see an unhappy but determined Potter, a Weasel on the verge of a speechless, rage induced conniption fit, and a Mudblood who appeared to be the only one with her head screwed on properly. She barreled on over Ron's noises of protest, "Can Ron come?!"
"Hermione!," Ron growled. "I wouldn't go if my life depended on it!"
Both DM and Granger ignored him, as they both ignored a glaring Harry Potter. They stared challengingly at each other before the Slytherin finally spoke, "Yes. If he is capable of restraining himself. But if he even steps a toe out line, I won't even try to stop my housemates. Actually, that goes for you and Potter too. All I can guarantee is that as long as you don't throw the first punch, no physical violence will take place."
Hermione nodded diplomatically. "We may swing by then."
DM held her gaze for a moment longer before turning to Harry, who was so conflicted he didn't even know how he felt and was looking distinctly awkward. "Disappointing, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Very disappointing. . . Don't go doing me any favors." And with that, he stalked off.
"WHAT WAS THAT?! WHY DID THAT FUCKING FERRET MALFOY JUST ASK YOU TWO TO A FUCKING PARTY?!"
Luckily for Ron, McGonagall had long left the Transfiguration classroom, or else he would have certainly received a detention for his language. Hermione completely ignored his yelling and turned on Harry. "What the hell was that?! I thought this is what you wanted?! You're the one who wanted to make friends with him, and now that he finally makes overtures in our direction, you punk out!"
All this yelling and tension was beginning to get to the conflicted Harry, and he snapped. "I don't know! I don't know what I want! I don't what to do! Just – ah! – just leave me alone!"
Harry stormed off to go eat lunch with Ginney, Dean, Seamus and Neville, leaving Hermione with the very unpleasant job of explaining the situation to Ron.
"Ron, calm down. Harry and I have been trying to get Malfoy to come around to our side for the last week. Ever since the incident during Charms. You saw him. That kind of power could really come in handy. And with his father dead and him out of favor with Voldemort, this is a fabulous opportunity. I don't like him any better than you, but wouldn't you rather have him with us instead of against us? And really, he's not as bad as he used to be. A little crazier maybe, but less evil. . . "
It took a lot more convincing.
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Hermione waited until that evening, when Ron was out on the quidditch pitch being taught the principles of football by Dean, to confront Harry about his behavior. "What happened this afternoon? I thought this is what you wanted?"
They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, pretending to work, but really just fretting about the situation the world was in. Harry didn't know how to answer Hermione's question. The truth was out of the question and he couldn't think of a lie that would could be delivered both believably and guilt free; and he refused to make up some incriminating fallacy about Malfoy.
In the end, he responded by banging his head against the table.
"Harry! Stop! For Merlin's sake, what's wrong?!," Hermione looked pretty upset and Harry felt bad about worrying her.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry 'Mione. I just have so much on my mind right now without thinking about Malfoy. You have to admit, he is a lot to deal with."
Hemione's expression was conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to sympathize with her long time friend; on the other hand, she was beginning to feel like she was dealing with everything that Harry didn't want to. "Harry," she began carefully. "I know you have a lot to deal with right now. That's why I've taken on the responsibility of organizing DA, and that's why I've taken steps towards making a connection with Malfoy. But I can't do it alone; so you have to set your priorities so that I can help you with what matters. Do you want us to give up on Malfoy and concentrate our efforts elsewhere?"
Phrased like that, it sounded bad. Harry didn't want to give up on Malfoy, not when he was finally showing progress, and especially not for a stupid fucking reason like having a transient infatuation with him. That wasn't Malfoy's fault, whatever other faults the Slytherin had – which Harry had apparently been willing to overlook earlier.
Harry sighed with frustration. "I don't know, what do you think?"
Hermione replied with emphatic conviction, "I think you were right to pursue him. I was skeptical at the time, but now I think that we really might be able to get him to come around. Just. . . being around him, I can't explain it – he crackles of magical energy. Whatever his problem manifesting that energy is, he clearly is still capable of magic. I think he could be a powerful ally." And, as an afterthought, she added, "He really isn't that bad, I guess."
They looked at each other for a long moment before Harry voiced his defeat, "You want to go to this party, don't you?"
"Yes! Aside from Operation Malfoy, it's like a sociological investigation! A opportunity to understand a demographic we have always considered evil and inhuman!"
Harry raised both eyebrows in a display of cynicism. Given the reputation of the Slytherin parties, Hermione would be able to well indulge any voyeuristic desire she had to investigate drinking, dancing, doing drugs, and having sex.
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Saturday morning, DM and Hermione were two of only a dozen students in the library. They picked up where they had left off Wednesday evening by studying together, though this time without the pretense of not studying together. This lack of pretense allowed actual conversation on the subject matter, and Hermione was pleased to note that DM's questions were insightful and coherent, and even added something to her own perspective. Indeed, it was becoming increasingly obvious that the assistance Malfoy required was in the form of interaction, which allowed him to overcome his severe attention deficit, and not an inability to understand concepts. Academic discussion came easily and the topic of the party was avoided completely. Hermione had considered bringing it up, for she wanted to excuse Harry's behavior, but DM was very business-like in his study demeanor and steadfastly refused to provide an opening.
DM was aware of the anxious looks she shot at him every once and a while, but he was too preoccupied with other matters to deal with what she had to say. He was mildly resentful of Potter's conduct the day before, but really he was more concerned with other matters. The party, originally his suggestion, had become more distressing as it neared. He was well aware of what sort of behavior went down at Slytherin parties, and what sort of behavior would be expected of him, and he was highly aggravated by the thought of having to spend the entire time both brushing of the advances of his housemates and restraining his anger at the indignation that such rejection would surely create. Not that they weren't entitled to their indignation – Malfoy had, after all, fucked a good portion of them for reasons that had nothing at all to do with love or attraction.
Malfoy and Parkinson had been fucking quite a lot since second year: she was his fiancée and it was expected. Crabbe and Goyle he had both fucked as a way of strengthening their ties to him: it wasn't viewed by any of the three as sex, but as a personalized form of ritual bonding. Zabini he had fucked because the Italian boy would do anything to avoid letting word get out that he had bottomed for anyone, and Malfoy was not the type to pass up on juicy blackmail material. Bulstrode had been a pity fuck for which she would always be grateful and indebted to Malfoy.
The list went on and on to include every single 6th year, most 7th years, and almost all of the 5th and 4th years. Malfoy had considered the youngest years sufficiently terrified of him not to require being fucked into submission. Sex with adults was a different matter, but one Malfoy had also deliberately and craftily engaged in. Sex, after all, was power, if executed properly, and Malfoy had acquired power at any cost.
But DM was not going to be the same person. No sex, no torture, no cruelty, and ABSOLUTELY NO KILLING PEOPLE.
DM shook his head vigorously, earning himself a questioning look from his study partner, which he ignored completely, for that had been the large can of worms that DM was trying to avoid by not talking to Hermione about Harry Potter and the upcoming Slytherin party. Calm down, DM, whatever happens, no one will be dying tonight.
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Because I know the Party chapter is so juicy, I have posted it at the same time as this chapter, so read on! But not without REVIEWING FIRST! I am good to you, so please be good to me.
