Disclaimer: Not mine.
Reviewers: THANK YOU! No long spiel this time. Though plz indulge my need to brag for a moment: I got a job, nahnee nahnee nah nah! Mwahahaha! Doesn't pay much, it's definitely exploitation of the worker, but who cares? I'm in no position to stand up for workers rights. . . I wish I was. . .
Ch. 16: It's Not Me
Harry and DM agreed to meet the next evening in the Room of Requirements (the direction to which Harry detailed) to make their first attempt at. . . whatever it was that they were attempting together. It would have to be late, because Mondays were the usual time for the Gryffindor team to practice Quidditch; and all plans were, of course, subject to DM not receiving a detention for the night (though still not a sure thing, the chances of that were much higher than they had been only two weeks earlier). For Harry, Mondays consisted of Charms, Potions, double Transfiguration, then Care of Magical Creatures.
Malfoy had a similar schedule, except that he took Divination instead of CoMC (and, on Wednesdays and Thursdays, took Arithmancy with Hermoine, whereas both Ron and Harry, who were only taking five classes to their six, had free periods). [A/N: I was getting a bit mixed up with the schedules, so I have posted a weekly calendar at the end of this chapter.] Malfoy had had virtually no interest in either Herbology or CoMC (or in plants or animals for that matter), as there was no immediately apparent advantage or relevance to the knowledge; DM hadn't actually formed his own opinions on the subjects, but he had figured at the beginning of the year that his life was in turmoil enough without trying to belatedly change specializations. Besides, he kinda liked all his classes, though one would never guess from his lack of attention.
Charms went the best, because it was first, and his attention reserves were full. He actually managed to take notes on most of the class, though there was extensive doodling from when the rest of the students had been trying the charms with their wands. His drawing was distracted, and he was a little upset to look down and realize that he had been sketching the kind of corpses that resulted from various curses. There was a skeleton, left over from a defleshing curse; a pile of ash from an incineration curse; the gaping, oozing wounds created by a bloodletting curse; and of course, the stiff, almost lifelike body of an Avada Kadavra victim.
Potions went satisfactorily as well, for several reasons, the most important being that most potions can be made without the use of overt magic, but also because Malfoy's talent for potions was ingrained beyond his personality; and, of course, it never hurt that Snape always went easy on him. If he could just pay attention long enough not to mess up, then it was easy. Though it was still a relatively big 'if': he had melted a number of cauldrons since the beginning of the school year, and had even blown up two, placing him about on par with Longbottom. Pansy, however, was there to talk him through it, not unlike how Granger had done with their homework, so they were actually able to earn 20 points for Slytherin for making the best potion. In a couple of facial expressions that had to go down in Slytherin history, DM had grinned like a fool, and even Professor Snape had looked benevolently pleased.
Lunch was manageable. In what was becoming a noticeable pattern, the deterioration of DM's attention and self-control didn't become pronounced until after lunch, and today the lucky class was: Double Transfiguration. Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall had the least sympathy for the boy. As far as she knew and was concerned, Draco Malfoy had either been driven mad by or was acting out because of the death of his father and the hospitalization of his mother. Until lately, she had been leaning in favor of mental instability, but his recent (and seemingly miraculous) improvement lent evidence to the other side; and McGonagall was not amused.
It was not unlike watching a train wreck. First she yelled at him for doodling (and rather obviously not paying attention), then she took ten points off for catching staring out the window (and even more obviously not paying attentions). Still, he almost made it to the end of the two hours when he found himself nodding off without even realizing it. One moment he was listening to her lecture about the dangers of changing living things into inanimate objects, then he was imaging turning her into something that couldn't talk, a large coat rack maybe, and then his mind just floated away. . .
THWACK! He cried out more in surprise than pain as McGonagall brought her wand down forcefully on his hand and he was startled out of reverie, only to get an almost immediate grasp on the situation. He looked up dejectedly at the strict woman glaring down at him. Oh no, please, please, I tried, I really did, please don't give me a detention. . .
"Too bad you couldn't wait another ten minutes to take your nap, Mr. Malfoy. Detention tonight, with me." And then she strode away, clearly not making much of her punishment; after all, what was one more detention to the boy? He had spent the majority of the evenings since the beginning of the year in detention with someone.
But this detention didn't feel like the others. DM felt that he had let himself down, and that he had let Potter down (yes, a quick glance over at Potter revealed a disappointed frown). It should have been a relatively easy task, right? Just avoid getting a detention? This failure far outweighed the earlier success in Potions, and DM spent the rest of the class berating himself for being so inept and useless. If he couldn't even bloody pay attention, what hope did he have to do magic?
Potter made to approach him while everyone was packing up their bags, but DM waved him off. He waited for the class to empty out then stood in front of the Professor's desk.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?," McGonagall asked somewhat peevishly.
DM hated that it had come to this, but he tried desperately to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Please, Ma'am, don't make me serve the detention today. There is someone I'm supposed to meet tonight."
McGonagall looked down at her desk and began shuffling through the homework there. "Well, you should have thought of that before you fell asleep in class today."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I tried to pay attention, I really did." He tried not to beg, but a noticeable strain had manifested in his voice.
"Trying is not good enough, Mr. Malfoy." Still, he had never objected to a detention before (well, not since last year; the 'old' Malfoy had objected to every detention he had ever received), and the old woman was a little curious. So she looked up and peered at the pale boy before her. His hands were clasped before him, gripping each other so tightly that McGonagall could see the indentations of his fingernails digging into flesh. Indeed, his whole body was rigid with tension, so rigid that it looked as though he might start shaking from the pressure. McGonagall studied him for a moment, then decided to give him a chance to convince her. "Tell me, who are you so eager to meet with that would justify a decision to suspend your detention?"
DM relaxed slightly. "Potter, Ma'am."
Now McGonagall stared at him even more critically. "Potter? I hope this isn't a duel date."
"No, Ma'am. He's, uh, going to see if he can help with my magical performance. . . Either that or we're going to train together. It's a bit undetermined, if you know what I mean, Ma'am."
McGonagall took a moment longer to scrutinize the nervous young man before her. Perhaps she had been overly harsh on him. If he was willing to work with Potter, then maybe he really was trying, and perhaps so many of the nefarious qualities that had been attributed to him over the years didn't deserve as much weight as she had been giving them. Though she would never admit it outright, she was as guilty as most of the public of viewing Harry Potter as the Wizarding World's savior. Despite her valiant attempts (and largely successful) at impartiality, anyone who associated with the Boy-Who-Lived did deserve special consideration.
Finally, McGonagall nodded. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Your detention will be held tomorrow instead." Her decision was rewarded by a well heard sigh of relief and even a faint upturn of the lips. His thank you was packed with genuine gratitude and the old professor spared him a rare smile.
As he headed out of the classroom, she added, "Oh, and Mr. Malfoy. . ." He half turned around. "I hope things go well with Mr. Potter."
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Divination would have been a disaster if it had been any other class than Divination. DM didn't pay any attention at all, but he was too wound up to doze, and that was enough to coast through Trewlany's ramblings and half-assed predictions.
After class he ran up to the Owlrey to send a note to Potter telling him that they were back on for that evening. His first instinct was to use his Loki, his petite and elegant Northern Hawk Owl; but then a mischievous smirk materialized on his face and he turned to Thor, his gargantuan Great Gray Owl. With a wingspan of 142 cm [A/N: about 55 inches] and a height of 70 cm [A/N: 27 inches], Thor was used almost exclusively for long distance trips and for carrying heavy packages that would weigh down any other bird. Potter would never know what had hit him. A plan began to take shape in DM's mind.
Thor was told to wait to deliver his scroll wait at sunset, when most of the students, Potter included, would be at dinner. Sure enough, around 5:45, Thor swooped down on the Gryffindor table to the startled screams of many of the younger kids. He landed with great force right in front of Potter, stepping in his plate and knocking over several glasses of pumpkin juice. Harry hurriedly retrieved the scroll from the extended leg amidst the outraged shouts of his housemates. Ron was cursing the fact that once again he was covered in sticky juice, and Hermione was trying impatiently to shoo away the large owl. Thor took off the moment he was free of his light burden, a little peeved for having been put in such demeaning position anyway. Harry read the letter then glanced over at the Slytherin table, where everyone (fully recognizing the distinctive bird) was laughing hysterically. Though not quite as uninhibited as his housemates, DM was also looking markedly amused.
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After Quidditch practice, Harry had to rush through a shower to make it to the Room of Requirements by 9 pm. When he arrived, DM was already there, holding his wand with some trepidation, and looking disheveled and frustrated enough to suggest that he had already tried to use it several times. The room, on the other hand, had decided to equip itself with padded walls.
Harry took one look at him and his unsightly piece, and blurted, "I really wasn't thinking that this would involved your wand."
DM sighed, glancing longingly at his disfigured magical stick. "No, I wasn't expecting you to think that. I just wish. . . I mean, it would be nice to be able to use it."
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "As you are probably aware, normality is not for the likes of us." Though in truth, he was feeling significantly more normal than he had the day before. It was a relief not to be so. . . out of control, and for a moment he empathized with DM's predicament. "Look., about yesterday, I'm sor-"
"Don't," DM interrupted tiredly, almost as though he was reading Harry's thoughts. "I of all people am in no position to judge irrational behavior. I don't apologize for my lunacy, don't apologize for yours. Besides, I got you back at dinner."
Harry smiled shyly at him. "Thank you. For taking it so well, I mean."
"Think nothing of it. Now, shall we get to work?"
Harry wouldn't have minded a bit more chitchat, perhaps the opportunity to express his admiration for Malfoy's impressive owl, but he nodded anyway. "Ok. What you got?"
DM smiled cynically. "Not much. A wand that backfires, and some wandless magic that manifests when I get really pissed off."
Harry had been logically considering Malfoy's predicament for most of the day, and the first question he had come up with had been, "Well, you obviously didn't have the wand problem before this summer. Were you able to do any wandless magic before?"
DM shook his head. "Not a single iota."
"Well, I don't mean to pry, but it might be helpful if I knew how what had happened had contributed to miraculous new ability," Harry responded with mild sarcasm.
"And I can honestly say that I don't know what the connection between those events and my miraculous new ability is," DM retorted, looking very much as though he was unwilling to say any more on the subject.
Harry decided not to press the issue at this early point in their working relationship. "Okay. Well, I guess the first step would be to piss you off then."
DM rolled his eyes. "That shouldn't be too hard."
Harry wanted to giggle at the near joke, though it didn't quite warrant a laugh, and Harry was too much of 'man' to actually giggle. "No, it shouldn't be, you ugly albino ferret. . . You're so pale, I bet you have pimple puss instead of blood."
They regarded each other stoically for a ridiculous moment before DM dignified the insult with a deadpan response. "You're going to have to do better than that."
Harry couldn't hold back his laughter this time, and he loudly gave sound to his amusement. Even DM chuckled a little. To be honest, he was rather relieved (and a little surprised) that the previous day's tension had evaporated so easily. "Do I have your permission to seriously piss you off then?," Harry finally asked when he was able to do so without a goofy smile of his face.
DM regarded him warily for a moment, then nodded.
Harry's normally benevolent expression mutated into something bitter and wrathful. "Good, because you are a no good piece of Slytherin trash, nothing more than your father's spawn and as deserving of your mother's fate as she was. I'd kill you just as soon as I would kill Voldemort, and twice as easily. And I would feel good about it, because your soul is required in hell. [A/N: last six words must be credited to 'New Jack City']"
Harry was himself a little shocked at the raft of hatred that had spilled so readily from his lips; it had been unexpectedly easy to get in touch with his dark, spiteful side. DM, on the other hand, was as tense as guitar string and obviously well on his way to being royally enraged. "Continue," he growled challengingly.
"Nobody gives a shit about you, MALFOY. You are no one, less than no one. You are your father, he might as well not even be dead, you have inherited all his money, and the guilt for all his crimes. You talentless, useless, harmless, pathetic excuse of a wizard-"
Sure enough, Harry could feel the shift in the atmosphere, as magical energy pooled around DM in direct connection to his mounting fury; so Harry pressed on. If he had been thinking a little more, and feeling a little less, he would have been rather horrified by the perverse and vicarious pleasure he was receiving from the poison that was flowing so effortlessly. "And did I mention what a disgusting product of incest you are? Oh, I didn't, well let me elaborate on how your mother was such a whore-"
He didn't get any further. DM lurched towards him, face contorted unattractively with rage, but he didn't even manage to touch the Gryffindor before a magical wave as solid as a wall slammed into his target, throwing him clear across the room to slam into the padded wall. The stuffing saved him from a fate worse than a mere winding, but DM was physically advancing on him, and he used the opportunity to gasp as loudly as possible, "Mal-Diem! Control! Try to cast a spell!"
For a long moment DM was clearly torn between uninhibited fury and a more restrained course of action, his hands clenching spasmodically and his teeth bared ferally. Finally, something rational clicked into place and he twisted around and roared, "Exuro!"
Most of the adjacent wall immediately burst into angry flames.
Harry's mouth dropped open, and DM's rage died in the face of such a shock, and they both stood staring at the conflagration for nearly fifteen seconds before Harry snapped to and shouted, "Finite Incantatem!"
The vigorous flames took the rest of the minute to subside. Harry was eventually left staring at DM, as the latter continued to stare unbelievably at the burnt remains of the wall.
Wow. Holy bleeding wow! He had done that! Slowly, DM turned an unreadable face to Harry. "I guess you really know where it hurts too. . ."
Harry grasped for something to say, but nothing was forthcoming. Slowly, an inscrutable grin manifested and DM leaped into the air and gave a loud and very unMalfoyish whoop. "Bloody hell! Did you see that!? Talentless?! Harmless?! Take that, Potter!"
Harry found himself grinning at DM's jubilation, as DM laughed loudly, then hollered in release. "Merlin be damned, Potter! That was great!"
"Yes, fabulous. So now we know you can defend yourself if you are pissed off to the point of madness beforehand, which we kinda already knew. But can you call that power without that somewhat inconvenient rage?," Harry posited reasonably.
DM sobered at the thought. He almost immediately tried recapturing his anger to fuel another spell. He turned towards Harry, who flinched as he yelled, "Stupify!"
Harry felt quite stiff for a few seconds, but the effect quickly faded. He grimaced, "Sorry. It almost worked for a few seconds, but not really."
DM looked mildly disappointed, then shrugged. "Oh well, I can hardly expect miracles on the first day. It's taken months to get me this far."
Harry approached the Slytherin; it felt so natural to admire the blond wonder. "I agree. Rome wasn't built in a day and all that rot. That was still pretty impressive."
DM was beaming proudly. "You seem to be awfully impressed with me lately, Potter," he teased, a little shyly perhaps?
"I am impressed with you," the Gryffindor replied earnestly. "And it's Harry. . . Diem." He almost immediately berated himself. Merlin, he had hoped that he had gotten over this. . . But Malfoy, Diem, whoever, had been quite impressive in his rage, magic flowing uninhibitedly, body straining, eyes flashing and wild. . . Stop!
DM wasn't sure how to interpret Harry's words, but he decided (wisely, and in both their interests) to take them without any of their larger context and implications. "Yes, it is. . . Harry."
The rest of the session was spent with Harry showing off his Patronus and various other spells; and, towards the end, with some conversation.
"What did you tell your goupies about that swelling on your cheek?," DM asked casually, smoking a cigarette lazily as they sat against the padding opposite the scorched wall. There was no trace of remorse, as he honestly did not feel bad about reacting to Harry's attack (advance?) the way he had.
Harry reached a hand up to the tender side of his face, and he flushed a little with embarrassment. "I told them that I was practicing that engorgement spell we're practicing in Charms. It backfired, exploded, and threw me to the ground."
DM smiled wryly. "I doubt that's even possible. Surely Granger didn't believe that excuse."
Harry mirrored his wry smile. "No, I don't think she did."
"Smart girl."
There was a prolonged silence in which DM smoked and Harry took sidelong glances at the Slytherin. God, how he wished he wasn't so. . . appealing.
Finally, DM stubbed out his cigarette and he tuned his body so that he was grasping his knees, leaning his right side against the padded wall, and studying Harry. "Where did that incest comment come from, Potter?," he eventually asked guardedly.
Harry blinked; he had forgotten that he had said that, and he certainly hadn't intended to. "I dunno," he blurted. "I just tried to think of the most insulting things that I could." He had no idea how convincing he sounded, and DM wasn't sure he believed him.
"Do you know something I don't?," he asked with trepidation, not really wanting to know if there was another issue to add to his currently rather hefty collection.
"No more than what you know that I don't," Harry finally added with some hesitance, but the truth was somewhat obvious from his hedging answer.
DM quashed the panic that wanted to flare up and forced himself not to care. "I don't give a damn. I hate this disgusting body anyway. Its problems aren't mine."
Harry now scooted his body around so that he was facing DM, rather concerned by the handsome boy's response. DM's eyes were closed and he was rubbing his face with his palms. Damn him for saying this . . . "I. . . I don't think your body is disgusting. It's, uh, beautiful even."
DM opened his eyes, and the expression on his face was so mournful that Harry immediately regretted his words. "So have said most of this school, and Voldemort, and many of his death eaters. . . but Harry, it's not me."
Harry nodded slowly, for he did understand. "And the Boy-Who-Lived. It's not me either."
DM smiled sadly, and the two boys leaned their heads against the wall in a minute of silence for the boys they weren't.
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Mon: single Charms, single Potions, double Transfiguration, single Divination :: (Gryffindor Quidditch)
Tues: double Potions, single Transfiguration, single Divination, single Arithmancy :: (DA)
Wed: single potions, single Divination, double Charms, single Arithmancy :: ('remedial Potions')
Thurs: double Divination, double Arithmancy, single DADA :: (Slytherin Quidditch)
Fri: single potions, single Arithmancy, double DADA, single Transfiguration
Sat: sometimes Quidditch games
For Harry: Care of Magical Creatures instead of Divination, no Arithmancy
For Hermione: Care of Magical Creatures instead of Divination
PLEASE REVIEW. Constructive criticism is appreciated, testaments to the fact that you are reading are welcome. Sorry for a boring couple of opening paragraphs, but I had some difficulty transitioning. More of other characters coming up.
