Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.
Harry looked around the common room. He was settled in one of the chairs near the fire place, trying to keep warm in the few remaining minutes before he'd head up for dinner and he'd been torn from his silent thoughts by the deafening quiet. There was the occasional scraping of chairs or rustling of papers. And some of the students were talking in low voices, but for the number of people there, it seemed like there should have been more noise.
Shifting in his seat, he shook his head slightly. He liked the quiet, but it was hard to lose himself in thought when there was nothing to be lost from.
"Hey, Draco, Xavier was scratching at the window."
Looking over, Harry was a little startled to see a large, evil-looking, red-eyed owl. It had light tan feathers with deep brown freckles across it's crown and chest. It's ear tuffs were turned back, giving the impression of horns, and the round, red eyes peered out of a snide face. If there was ever an unfriendly owl, it was definitely this one.
"Oh, umm, thanks," he said, taking the bird from the other boy. "Hi there," he said softly. He wasn't sure if he should take the letter or not. He figured if he didn't whoever sent it might be suspicious when it showed back up. However, he didn't want to read Draco's mail.
Xavier hooted impatiently, sticking his leg out at Harry.
With a sigh, he began to untie the letter, muttering, "Sorry, sorry. Pushy thing, aren't you?"
Hooting again, the bird nipped Harry's fingers affectionately, as if to say, "Yes, but you love me anyway."
Unable to resist smiling, he pulled the letter away and stroked Xavier. The puff of feathers on his chest was soft and downy. He was obviously a very well-groomed bird. Feeling slightly guilty, Harry had to remind himself that he did not neglect Hedwig. The lady at the pet store said owls didn't need much outside attention as far as grooming. Any pampering this owl got was just another sign of Draco's "best of everything" up bringing.
"I bet you want to go back up to the owlry, huh? I'll take you outside when I go up for dinner." As he stood up, Xavier hopped onto his shoulder, perched with his wing brushing against Harry's cheek. He went up the stairs, careful not to tip too much so the bird didn't feel the need to dig it's long talons in his shoulder to stay put. Once he'd put the letter in the top drawer of Draco's dresser, he started towards the Great Hall.
Taking Xavier off his shoulder, Harry held him on his arm, like he was more use to doing with Hedwig. " You're very nice, you know," he said in a conversational tone. Since there was no one in the hall, he figured he'd be safe showing some signs of affection. "You don't look it though. But looks can be deceiving, right?"
Not having time to go all the way up to the owlry, Harry simply stepped out into the fading light of the sun. "There you go, Xavier. Sorry I can't bring you up all the way, but I have to get to dinner so I can be to Snape's office on time."
Hooting softly, Xavier tightened his grip on Harry's arm briefly before taking off, his wings moving smoothly through the air as he flew to the highest tower. His strong stride was unbroken by the cool evening wind that swept through. Watching him fly, Harry realized how beautiful the eagle owl was, even if he did have a very affronted expression upon their first meeting.
At least he seems to be decent to his owl, Harry mused, pulling his robes more tightly around him as he went back inside. He wouldn't seem so sweet if Malfoy treated him badly.
The Great Hall was full of people milling from table to table, catching up on the day's news before the trays of food were sent up from the kitchen. Walking to the other side of the Hall, Harry glanced longingly at Hermione, who was sitting alone with her face stuffed in a book. He'd give anything to go sit by her. Instead, he looked down the Slytherin table and was half pleased, half worried when he didn't see anyone Draco usually sat with.
Well, I am Draco Malfoy, he told himself. I can sit where ever I want and if someone doesn't like it I'll ...hex them. I'm a Malfoy, I can do that.
Harry sat about half way down the table, away from the rest of the students, so he had a good view of where Hermione sat. He wanted to keep an eye out for how Draco acted towards her when he came down for dinner. For herself, she looked rather bothered about something. She was clenching the sides of the book the same way she did when she and Ron were arguing.
Looking farther down the table, Harry watched Ron eating for a moment. He was with Dean, who looked as if he were trying to hide being annoyed. Very unsuccessfully. Every now and then, Ron would stop eating and talk for a few minutes, his freckled face flushed bright red.
He must still be mad at me and I bet Draco's not doing anything to ease that. Scanning the crowds for any sign of Draco, his eyes stopped by the door. There he was, walking in with Ginny. They looked serious about something until she made a comment and they both started laughing. That could have been good or bad.
As the pair moved down the table, Harry was slightly alarmed to see them sit a ways off from Hermione. What happened?! What could Draco have done to hurt their friendship? Maybe he just thinks he should sit with Ginny because she's my friend too, he thought hopefully. He's use to being popular and sitting with a bunch of different people, so he just doesn't understand the concept of sitting with the same people every day.
Hoping against hope that that was what it was, and that Hermione was just angry with Ron's behavior, Harry turned his attention to the Head Table. Dumbledore was looking in Draco's direction with a dark, thoughtful light in his eyes.
Does he suspect? He can't. With something like this he would have said something sooner if he knew.
"You're getting paranoid," he told himself under his breath. Why couldn't he relax and enjoy the fact that he wasn't the one Dumbledore was looking at with concern? Draco obviously didn't seem to mind what was going on.
Harry poked at his chicken. It had been days since he'd had more than two bites of anything and this just didn't look good. His current situation wasn't helping. And to make matters worse, in about an hour, he'd be at Snape's mercy. Shaking his head, he pushed the plate back a little and looked around. As he was standing up to leave, he glanced up and saw Snape looking down at him with emotionless eyes.
He told me to eat something, Harry thought. But I can't. Climbing over the bench, he headed to the door. He needed a walk or something. He needed to relax. It had only been one day and he was already losing his mind.
Wandering down the hall, Harry let out a small sigh. If it weren't for the Snape thing, he thought he'd be in a better mood. As good a mood as someone stuck in Draco Malfoy's body could be.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Recognizing the deep, smooth voice, Harry stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly, he looked up at Snape, who'd just come out of the Great Hall and was walking towards him. And this is my death, he thought. I'm going to die in Draco Malfoy's body. "Yes, sir?"
"Since you've finished early, we can get started."
"OK. Sounds good."
The two walked down to the dungeons in silence. The clicking of Snape's measured steps and the scuffing of Harry's shoes were the only sounds echoing through the torch-lit corridors and stair wells.
How do I start? What do I say? Umm, 'Severus...' Severus? That was going to sound so weird. He couldn't remember ever saying the man's first name for any reason.
All too soon, they were stopping in front of Snape's office. "Emerio," he said in a low voice. They stood for a second before the door opened, gesturing for Harry to go in first. "I have a couple potions Madame Pomfrey needs made which I do not like making, along with example potions for class tomorrow. You can start by lighting four fires over on that table."
"Yes, sir." Harry walked towards the work table where this whole mess began. He said the incantation for self-burning fire and set the first one on the table. Repeating it three more times, he listened to Snape's even breathing behind him. There was a scratching of a quill and then a rustle of papers.
"Potter."
"What?" he yelped, turning quickly, almost dropping the final fire on the floor instead of the table.
"I was just looking over the class work and I'd gotten to Potter's right before dinner."
"How'd he do?"
Scowling, Snape said, "You know I don't discuss students' grades with you or anyone."
"Except the whole class," Harry muttered.
"Sometimes a light admonishment in the presence of peers does more good that silent criticism." Snape looked over. "The cauldrons are in the store cupboard. Use the silver ones. I have trace-sensitive ingredients in one of the potions."
Doing as he was told, Harry brought out four of the small silver cauldrons. They were thick and heavy, straining his muscles as he carried them. When he'd placed each one on a fire, he thought, All right. It's now or never. "Umm, S-severus?" The name sounded too weird in his brain, but luckily it came out naturally enough in Draco's drawling voice.
"What?" A huge, dusty book open across his desk, Snape was studying several lines of faded text.
"I was wondering if we could talk about, umm, my father?"
"What about him?" he asked absently, still not looking up.
"Well, I just sort of...I mean, I don't miss him, I just...Well, I just...I..." That wasn't what he wanted to have said.
Looking up, his eyes as expressionless as ever, Snape said, "Are those fires up to temperature for healing potions?"
"I don't know," he admitted quietly, turning back to look at the flames. This wasn't going well. He needed to find something to say to get the man's attention. Something that would make him stop what he was doing. Testing the flames, he said, "I think the first three are, but the last one isn't heating very fast."
"Good. We want one at a slow boil. You can put water in the first two. I have actaine to go in the third. It's on my desk in the classroom. I'll be right back."
"OK, you either do it now," Harry told himself after the man had left, "or you won't be able to." Pouring water into the first cauldrons he thought, Something meaningful. What the hell does Draco Malfoy have or think of that's meaningful? he sneered to himself. All he cares about is his money.
Suddenly struck by the thought, he stopped trying to think of the situation from Draco point of view and looked at his own life. OK. It's third year, he told himself. You just got out of the Whomping Willow. Sirius...
His thought faltered as he created the picture in his mind. It felt like just two days ago that he watched the haunted but joyful grin on Sirius' face when he agreed to stay with him. He took a deep breath.
Sirius is there. You just found out you get to leave the Dursley's and live with your godfather. But there are dementors. You look over and see them swarming around him. They're going to take him away from you. If I were in a position when I really thought the dementors were going to take my father and destroy his soul, what would I say to someone I trusted to talk about that with?
The office door opened and Snape walked back in with a large container of sickly, green liquid. "You'll want to put that last one--What's the matter?"
"Severus, can we please talk?" Harry asked. Snape wasn't the person he'd have chosen to talk to about how he felt when Sirius was on the ground, whimpering, about to be taken from him, but he could pretend he was someone else. He's...Hermione, he told himself. A really ugly Hermione.
Setting the actaine on his desk, Snape walked closer to him. "Sure." There was no kindness in his voice, but there was no malice, either. It was a neutral offer from a friend to listen. Muttering a quick spell, Snape put the fires out. "Why don't we sit down in here?"
Nodding, Harry followed the man back into his private rooms. When he walked through the door he was surprised to see how familiar it looked. It wasn't the average home of anyone he knew, but it wasn't the dark dwelling of an evil Death Eater/Potions Master either. The room was small with two doors off to the side, most likely leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. There were two arm chairs in front of the medium hearth and a low couch pushed against the far wall. A small table stood between the chairs and the couch was covered with papers, as if Severus had gone straight from collecting tests to sitting, exasperated, in his room.
Harry could see him very clearly walking in, dropping the pile of study questions on the couch, and sitting, annoyed and tired of the students, in his favorite chair by the fire, a cup of steaming tea materializing on the small table.
It was a room he'd never been in, but it felt familiar in the way that all lived-in rooms felt familiar. The feeling surprised him, but not in an uncomfortable way. What was he doing? Oh yes, Sirius.
"Have a seat. Tea?" Snape made no effort to hide the untidy pages or to clear the small pile of books off the table. He was comfortable in Harry's presence. No, Draco's.
With a sudden realization, as if Severus and Draco's relationship had just been put under a magnifying glass, Harry saw with clarity what he was doing. He wasn't stepping out of Draco's personality. He was stepping into it. This room, with Severus Snape, was Draco. His safe haven. The reason the boy had been so anxious about Severus finding out he'd heard something he shouldn't, invaded a personal spot located somewhere even father back than this room, suddenly made perfect sense.
"No, thank you." Harry sat in one of the chairs, looking into the fire as Severus conjured two cups of tea and set them on the table.
"Give it a minute to warm up." He sat down in the other chair. "What's been on your mind?" Severus's tone was soft and patient. There was no amount of comfort there, but there was something.
This wasn't someone who would coddle him and tell him everything would be all right. That nothing was his fault. This wasn't Remus, or Hermione. He would never bring Draco breakfast every day, especially when he'd been yelled at for no reason. Neither would he leave Draco to stew in a dark corner for months without trying more than once to get him out.
Harry looked sideways at the man, the fire light dancing on his pale skin. He opened his mouth to say something about how he was afraid he'd never see his father again. Maybe mention being sad that his father might be executed, but it wouldn't come. All he did was sit there with his mouth open for a second before he closed it.
"It should be hot now."
Absently, Harry took the tea cup that was closest to him and sipped at it. It was very hot. And very strong.
"I graded your study questions earlier today. Marco Danego?" Severus raised an amused eyebrow.
Not understanding the question, Harry just shrugged a little.
"Yes," he said, sipping his own tea. "That's sort of what I thought." There were a few more seconds of silence in which Harry realized he didn't have to say anything, because Severus cared about Draco. The man would sit there all night, just staring into the fire, not saying a word or expecting him to say one, if he thought that was what Draco needed.
"Before this is over, a lot of people are going to be dead, aren't they?"
"More likely than not. Does that bother you?"
"Yes." There was another moment of silence. "Do you think the sacrifices are worth it?"
"I think if a sacrifice is made for a good reason it's not only worth it, but it's cleansing, in a way. There are people who do terrible things and they pay for them with a great sacrifice, and then they can die in peace."
"Do you think Father is going to die?" The question came out with less emotion than he'd meant it to, but Severus didn't seem to notice. Perhaps that was the way Draco always spoke about his father.
After a few moments of thought, he said quietly, "Draco, your father has done many terrible things."
There were several more minutes of complete silence, the only sound coming from the crackling fire. Harry sipped the tea once more, just to be doing something. He was thinking of his own situation. Sirius blamed himself for my parent's deaths. Maybe he thought saving me was a sacrifice that would free him of that guilt.
"He loves you."
He did it because he loves me, Harry thought before he realized Severus had even said anything. "What did you say?"
"He loves you."
He did it because he loves me. No, we're talking about Lucius. Anger suddenly swelled in Harry's chest. Lucius Malfoy didn't know love! Someone who loved couldn't murder people and torture people on purpose. They couldn't follow Voldemort. Wear his mark on their skin like a trophy!
Unable to hold back the flood of emotions he was feeling, Harry spat out, "He doesn't love. He doesn't love anything or anyone but his money and his power. He doesn't care what happens to anyone except himself! Even if he thought he loved, it doesn't mean anything. I hate him! I hate people like him. People who can hurt other people and laugh about it! I hate everyone who's like that!" His hands were shaking so badly that his dropped the tea cup and it shattered on the floor by his feet.
"Draco."
There was a terrible moment when he thought he'd blown it. He shouldn't have said all that. I should have stuck to the "I miss my daddy," deal, not gone off on the Death Eaters. When that terrible moment suddenly passed, he realized he didn't care any more. He didn't care.
There was a painful hurting inside his body. He just wanted to curl up inside himself. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since that day in Dumbledore's office, right after he'd fought Voldemort. He wanted to break something. To have something fragile and helpless and break it into a million pieces because that was all he could do to mirror what he was feeling.
And suddenly, something did break. Something that had been there for the passed four months, growing, and snapping at his friends and the people he loved, just broke. And a deep, anguished sob escaped his throat. Harry clamped his hand over his mouth, not wanting to let it out. Not wanting to be weak because that wasn't what he was suppose to be! He was Harry Potter. He wasn't suppose to be weak.
Feeling small and embarrassed, ceaseless tears streaming down his face, Harry pulled his legs up to his body. Everything that hurt for the passed four months seemed to convulse in his stomach and radiate through his whole body like some poison that had gotten into his blood stream. Every fiber of every muscle hurt as the toxic hate and humiliation washed through his veins, and he could feel each wave as clearly as if it were the only sensation in his body.
From some distance place outside of the ball he'd pulled himself into, Harry heard a soft voice, deep and steady, whispering to him. "There, there. There, there." It was a warm voice. It wasn't kind and it didn't promise him that everything would be all better, but it was steady and it promised to be there for him as long as he needed it.
Several minutes later, or several hours--for all Harry knew it was several days--the pain subsided and the last of the choking sobs died away. He was still curled in the chair, his head resting on the over-stuffed arm. He noticed that the fabric smelled like citrus and smoke. Beside him, Severus was leaning on the arm of his own chair, one arm stretched across the small table, stroking Harry's hair out of his face. Every now and then he'd whisper something so softly Harry couldn't make out the words, just the deep tones of his voice.
When the crying had stopped all together, Severus stood up and knelt beside Harry's chair, his long fingered hand smoothing the fabric of Harry's robes down his back in long, massaging strokes. "There, there."
Harry looked away. He couldn't stand to look into the man's eyes. Not after what he'd just done. Crying. Wasn't that the one thing Draco said not to do? And he, Harry, certainly didn't cry.
Well, a nasty voice mutter to him, obviously, you do.
"Do you feel better?"
Harry opened his mouth to say no, but realized that wasn't true. His body felt empty and all the pain and poison that had been building up was gone. There was a slight sense of embarrassment, but he didn't feel hate any more. He didn't hurt. He was just there. Empty and numb, but clean. "Yeah, I think I do." He sniffed a little and wiped his nose on his robe sleeve.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yeah." Wiping his eyes, he sat up a little, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair.
Severus disappeared through one of the doors for a minute and when he came back he had a plate of sandwiches and a goblet. "Pumpkin juice," he said, setting the goblet on the table. "And ham," he set the plate down, " no lettuce." There was an ironic smile on the man's face that told Harry the "no lettuce" was significant.
Harry smiled as well. "Thanks." Feeling more hungry than he had in days, Harry ate three sandwiches while Snape moved to the couch and sorted through the papers.
"First year essays quizzes," he said by way of explanation. "I read the first two and gave up for the day."
"Did you ever think that if you were nicer and helped the students more, people would do better in your class?"
"Potions is not a subject for nice. It is a dangerous subject which requires constant focus and attention. Personally I don't see why they make it mandatory. While it is important, you take one talentless, clumsy oaf like Vincent Crabbe and you could have the whole school blown to the moon."
Harry couldn't help but smile, peering around the back of the chair at Snape. Shuffling the papers and talking about Crabbe as if he didn't like him--which he probably didn't--Severus was almost amiable. Almost.
"What time is it?"
"Passed lights out, I assure you." Standing up with the papers stacked in his hands, Snape walked over and set them on a second table, which was slightly bigger and higher than the side table. More of a dining table for one. "I have to patrol the upper halls for the next few hours. You finish that last sandwich and get off to bed."
"Severus," he said, stopping him as he approached the door.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry about the potions I was suppose to help you with."
"No bother. I have a free double period tomorrow during which I can do them." He started to go, but stopped again. "You get some sleep. And there'll be no excuses for not being in class, understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good night."
"Good night." Harry finished off the sandwich, too hungry to bother about the fact that he did like lettuce, very much, actually, and left through the office. He wished he were going up to Gyffindor Tower, where he could lay in bed and look out at the moon, knowing his best friends were with him. However, exhausted as he was from that purging session, he had to admit he could probably sleep anywhere.
In Draco's dorm, he changed quickly, pulling on a pair of clean socks, then crawled under the warm blankets. Aside from special sheets, Draco's bed also had an extra comforter thrown on top. Tucked deep under the covers, too tired to dream, Harry drifted off into an unbroken sleep.
There was a quiet dark room in some hidden house. Shades were drawn over the windows and Silencing Charms had been cast everywhere. At first Draco was surprised to find himself in this place. He'd never been there before, and it was a minute before he realized that he was dreaming. He tried to look to the left, but he turned right instead, looking at the closed door. He felt impatient, and angry.
They're late, he thought. They should have been here hours ago.
Who was he waiting for? He wasn't sure, but whoever they were, they were very late and that was not acceptable.
The fire that was lit in the hearth popped and one of the logs slumped forward in the flames. It air was thick and dangerous. Unspent energy crackled in the room. And he waited, pacing.
They should have been back. The replacements should have been set. Malfoy, Knott, and Gambler.
Mr. Knott and Mr. Gambler were caught with Father, Draco thought. What replacements?
There was an odd feeling of knowing and not knowing. As if some part of his brain understood the thoughts, but still most of it did not. What a weird dream. He hadn't dreamed about his father in months.
Just as his patience were wearing unbearably thin, the door opened and five men walked in. There he was, Lucius Malfoy. His skin was pasty, his cheeks sunken. His wide eyes were hollow and haunted. Two of the other men looked in equal states, while the rest were in Ministry uniforms.
Of all the things Draco wanted to say to his father, what he said was, "You're late."
"We're sorry, my Lord. There were unforeseen complications," one of the Ministry workers said, bowing low to the ground. The rest of the men followed suit, Lucius and the other sick-looking men falling completely to the floor.
"My Master," Knott groveled, clutching at the hem of Draco's robes. "You are truly great and noble."
"To my faithful followers. But you three have failed me." A distinct feeling of anger filled the impatience as he spoke. "You did not retrieve the prophecy."
"We tried, my Lord," Lucius said in a choked, scratchy voice, his thin, dirty fingers reaching forward as well. "We did all we could--"
Draco kicked his father's groping hand away from his robes. "Insolent! You let a group of children defeat you! I expected more from you, Malfoy."
Who am I? Draco wondered. My Lord...that would be the Dark Lord. Dreaming he was the Dark Lord wasn't a good sign, especially since he didn't particularly like the man.
"My Lord--"
"But that is not a matter. Things that are in the passed, are, of course, in the passed. Though punishment is not beyond point. Should I kill you slowly, or let you die quickly?"
Horrified eyes stared up out of shallow sockets, yellowing skin pulled taunt over bone in fragile-looking faces. "Please, we will not fail you again! We have sworn ourselves to you and we will--"
"Slowly it is, then," Draco said soothingly, a grin stretching across his face. "Crucio."
There was screaming. A loud, terrified, pained screaming ringing in his head. It was a moment before Draco realized he was the one screaming.
"Harry! Harry, wake up!"
Draco's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. Pain starting at the scar on his forehead shot through his body. Looking around wildly, wondering where the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were, he was shocked to find himself still in the dorm room. Longbottom was sitting beside him and Weasley peered from between the hangings on his bed, concern shining in his eyes.
"Are you OK?"
Draco just shook his head. OK? How could he be OK?! He just watched... He shook his head. He didn't want to think about what he'd just seen. But then he remembered exactly what he'd seen. His father, being murdered...
The door opened and Dean Thomas walked in followed closely by McGonagall.
"Back away, give him some room!" she order, pushing Longbottom to the side. "Are you all right, Potter?"
"It--it was just a bad dream--"
"Come with me. We'll get you something warm to drink. Can you stand up?"
The pain was subsiding with the exception of the stabbing in his forehead. "I think so." Being helped to his feet by a firm hand on his upper arm, Draco closed his eyes for a second. It was just a dream. Then what is she doing--
Harry, it could just be Voldemort trying to get you to do something...rash.
The Dark Lord...Harry sees inside the Dark Lord's head?! The Occlumency, the reactions he kept getting when Harry's scar was mentioned--it all made sense. But that meant what he saw was real. That it would really happen! Or it had happened already...
As the thoughts raced around his head, McGonagall brought him down the hall towards Dumbledore's office. She said the password and they went up the stairs.
"Ah, Minerva. Harry."
Did he never sleep?
"What is the problem?"
"Harry had another one of those dreams."
Looking at Draco, Dumbledore had a schooled, flat expression on his face. "Was there anything I should--"
Dumbledore was interrupted when the fire in the hearth suddenly burned green and Severus Snape stepped out. "Albus there is--" He stopped when he saw Draco.
"Please, Harry, have a seat and tell me what you saw."
Shaking his head slowly, Draco wasn't sure what to say. If he told the truth they wouldn't care. It was just a couple Death Eaters. But it wasn't! It was his father! "My--my father..." he said weakly.
"Let's rephrase that, Potter," Severus said evenly. "Did you see anything relevant?"
I'm having nightmares about my father dying and all they can ask is if I saw anything relevant! Sure, they didn't understand, but wasn't Potter their little pet? Didn't they dote on his every breath? He had earth-shattering nightmares that woke up half the castle and they don't care unless it gives them information about the Dark Lord?
"Relevant?" he repeated numbly. "I saw my father being murdered and you ask me if there was anything relevant?" His body shaking, Draco stood up and glared at Dumbledore for a moment before looking at the other two teachers. "What is wrong with you people?"
"Harry, Severus didn't mean it the way sounded."
"He meant it exactly the way it sounded! He never says things he doesn't mean!" he yelled. "Is that all you care about? This nasty scar and those horrid dreams?"
"Please--" McGonagall reached towards him.
Slapping her hand away, he said, "Don't touch me." Draco backed towards the door. "Don't ever come near me again."
"Harry, please--"
"Don't talk to me! You know what, I'll get back to you when I see something relevant." He opened the door and walked out, ignoring the surprised look on McGonagall's face. Numb, Draco walked down the stairs and up the hall. He had to go somewhere. He had to do something. But what? His father was dead by now. If those visions were happening right when he was there, all three of the men were dead by now.
Half way up to Gryffindor Tower, Draco leaned against the wall. Oh God, what's Mother going to say? Sinking to the ground, he was as close to tears as he could ever remember himself being. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his arms.
"Harry?"
Looking up slowly, he saw Hermione standing down the hall in a pink bathrobe. Her eyes were concerned, but guarded.
"What do you want?"
"Ron told me what happened. Are you OK?"
Draco's shoulders dropped and his mouth hung open for a few seconds. "How the hell am I suppose to be OK? Do you know what I saw? My father. Being murdered. And I was the one who killed him! I saw him. He was looking up at me--"
"No! It was Voldemort who did it. Not you. You were just in his memory, or something." Hermione walked closer and sat next to him. "You didn't do anything."
Back-pedaling a little, realizing he'd probably said more than he should have, Draco just shook his head. His father's pained screams filled his mind once more. I didn't do anything. If I was there, in his mind, why couldn't I stop him? Why couldn't I do something? Clenching his fist so his nails dug into his palm, he said flatly, "You're right. I didn't. I didn't do a thing."
Sighing, Hermione reached over and rubbed his shoulder a little. "You should go back up to bed and try to sleep."
"Why do you care? After what I said to you?"
"How many time do I have to tell you? I love you. And love means you take everything about a person. The shiny, winning Quidditch moments." She rolled her eyes to show she didn't really care about Quidditch. "And the painful, I-wish-I-were-anywhere-but-here moments."
Draco just looked at her for a second.
"I know I shouldn't have done that. When I kissed you. I know that threw you off some. I was just...I don't know. I didn't know what else I could do to make you feel better. Nothing was helping."
Smirking, he said, "So no make out sessions any time soon, huh?"
She laughed a little. "Probably not."
She really does love him, Draco thought. She's the only one who sees him as a human and not just some tool to kill the Dark Lord. He wasn't sure what Harry would have done in that situation, so he just had to go with his own instincts, and they were telling him a thank you was definitely in order. Leaning towards her, he kissed her cheek. "Thanks. For everything. I know I've been a jerk."
"Yeah, you have. But I forgive you." Hermione smiled. "Think you can get back to sleep?"
Suddenly reminded of the dream, Draco rested his chin on his arms. Father... "Yeah, I think so," was all he said.
When he got back upstairs, Draco was met with several uncertain stares. "What?"
"Is everything OK?" Weasley asked.
"Yeah. Better than it's ever been," he sneered. He lied down for a minute then restlessness over-took him. He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to go back to that room. He wanted to get out of this body and sleeping wouldn't help him. Draco got out of bed and picked up Hender's Essential Antidotes. He had the beetle eyes, and anything else that might be missing he'd just sneak into the store cupboard for. He knew Severus's password.
Pulling the potions kit out of his trunk, Draco marched into the bathroom and closed the door. The fleesewood seeds needed to cure over heat for five hours. He could start that now. He'd find a good spot to brew the potion first thing after the fleesewood was finished.
Draco spent the rest of the night up, slicing weeds and bottling the prepared ingredients.
When the first streaks of light drifted lazily through the window, Draco was already packing his things back into the case. He knew of one spot that would be perfect to brew the potion. There was a small cove in one of the dead-end corridors by the Slytherin common room that no one ever went to, except for himself.
As he emerged from the bathroom, he saw Longbottom standing up and stretching. "You're up early, Harry."
"I have things to do today." Setting the book and kit on his bed, Draco got dressed quickly. Shrinking Harry's cauldron and tucking it in his pocket, he left the room. If he got down there early enough he wouldn't run into anyone. People seeing Harry Potter sneaking around by the dungeons wouldn't be the best thing in the world. He still had a day and a half in this body and he didn't feel like getting a detention, or doing something else that would slow his progress.
The halls were cool with dull light from the sun rise streaming in. With the on-set of fall, the mornings were starting to get colder and the dawn less bright. White clouds could be seen drifting lazily over the grounds. It was one of those mornings Draco would have gotten up early for anyway, just to sit outside and watch the day wake up. Far from being the aesthetical type, he mostly enjoyed not having anyone else around him.
Turning down the last corner before the final stairs, Draco pulled his robes more tightly around himself against the draft that blew up from the dungeons. A minute later, he ducked down the dead-end hall, grateful to have gotten down there before Severus got up for his morning stroll around the castle.
Draco whispered the spell to light a small fire on the stone floor. He wanted to get it up to temperature before he tried to set up the cauldron. He sat next to the fire and opened the dragon hide case, pulling out several jars and sealed dishes. Unshrinking the cauldron, Draco was forced to notice, not for the first time, how temperamental Potter's wand was.
"Stupid thing," he muttered, tapping the cauldron, which had grown several times bigger than it needed to. "It's original size." Draco poured the cured fleeseweed seeds into the cauldron. They were still warm and bubbled a little against the cold pewter. When the fire was hot enough, he put the cauldron on it and started mixing in the rest of the wet ingredients.
Draco checked the book real quick.
Let simmer two hours. Add dry ingredients (except hinky punk hair).
"I need to get hinky punk hair," he muttered, giving the potion a small stir. It was starting to change to a light blue as the different parts blended, thickening slightly. "Two hours. I'll wait for Severus's class to start then get the hair while he's busy."
Shifting back so he could lean against the wall, Draco was left with another hour before he expected Harry to wake up. He needed to tell him about his father. He could just imagine what the boy would do when Severus went to him with the information about his death. He'd probably start whining, Draco sneered to himself.
It wasn't so much that Draco was annoyed with how Harry would react. It was more that he knew he wouldn't react that way. Draco wouldn't cry, or whine. He hadn't. It bothered him. It made him question the decision he'd made to join the Dark Lord. He was expected to, of course, but it was his father who expected him to. And now that he was dead, Draco felt a sharp sense of freedom that he hadn't had before. He could choose if he wanted to get marked. Or if he didn't. Or if he wanted to just not choose at all. It was very liberating in an acute, quiet way.
He still had to wonder what his mother's reaction would be, though. Would she be upset? Would she have Severus visit the manor so she could cry? Would she decide to cut ties with the Death Eaters? Probably not.
Draco stretched, the lack of sleep starting to fog his brain slightly. Get use to it, he told himself harshly. You aren't sleeping until you're out of this body. No more dreams. No more weird stints to the Dark Lord's mind. That was a place he never wanted to go to again.
Rolling his head back on his shoulders, Draco dozed for a minute until the sound of students' voices floated down the hall to him. The Slytherins were beginning to stir, and that meant it was time to see Potter.
Standing up and straightening his robes, he checked the fire temperature to make sure it was still even, then stirred the potion one last time. It was dull blue with the consistency of thin gravy, just like it should have been. Good.
Walking up the hall, he peered around the corner to make sure no one would see him coming from the passageway. That was all he needed. Someone to find Harry Potter brewing unsupervised potions. Severus wasn't stupid. He'd put it all together and figure out what was going on.
"Excuse me," Draco said politely, walking up to a first year. The younger the better. They're easier to intimidate.
"What?"
"I need to give Draco Malfoy a message from Professor McGonagall. It's about his Transfiguration make ups. Could you get him for me?"
"Sure." Strolling down the hall, he disappeared around the corner to the entry hall.
A few minutes passed before Potter emerged, his blond hair loose around his face.
I look awful! Draco thought. His clothes were slightly wrinkled and his tie was crooked.
"Oh, you. What is it?"
"I needed to talk to you." Draco pulled Harry down the hall and into the passage where he had the cauldron simmering. "I started the potion early this morning. It'll be ready to take tomorrow around lunch time. I'll meet you down here at one."
"All right."
"How did detention go?"
"Well, I'm still alive. And so is Snape."
"Good. Anything happen or get said that I should know about?"
"Not really. It was more tea and staring at the fire." Harry shifted his weight to one side and seemed interested in studying the bubbling potion.
"You're a bad liar, Potter," he sneered.
"Look, we're all alive and this side of the world hasn't blown up. And Snape doesn't know I'm not you. We didn't say anything you need to be made aware of. Is that better?"
"You made me cry, didn't you?"
"No."
He raised an eyebrow at the other boy.
"I swear! I didn't." He'd stopped fidgeting and was looking straight into Draco's eyes.
"OK. Well, something happened to me last night that I think you should know about."
"That doesn't sound good."
"I got to pay Dumbledore a midnight visit. When I went to sleep I had a dream about the Dark Lord. I didn't know it was him at first--" Draco stopped when he saw a green tinge come to Harry's pale face. " Anyway, long story short, I ended up at Dumbledore's office with Severus and McGonagall. Those people, by the way, are sick. You should drop them and start doing independent work. But anyway, they ended up thinking I'd just gotten trapped in the Dark Lord's memory of the night your parents were murdered."
"Why would they think that? What did you see?"
Schooling his features and taking on the tone of someone discussing the weather, he replied, "I saw him kill my father and two other men. Mr. Knott and Mr. Gambler. Mad that they didn't get a prophecy, or some other thing."
Tense silence filled the room. "I'm sorry--"
"No you're not. You're just glad that there are three less bad guys to have to play boy-savior with. I know. It's fine."
"It's fine? You saw...that, and all you can say is, 'It's fine?'"
"What do you want me to say? He killed my father. And I saw it. I did it--"
"Draco--"
"Don't, Potter. I don't need your sympathy. The only reason I'm telling you is so you won't over-act when Severus tells you."
"Over-act? Voldemort killed your father!"
His green eyes flashing angrily, he snapped, "I noticed. You don't need to remind me." Stepping closer to Harry threateningly, he said, "I know your Gryffindor, 'cry to Mommy' instinct is kicking in right about now, but tone it down."
His cheeks glowing pink, Harry seemed extremely offended for a second. "Fine. I won't do anything too un- Malfoy."
"Good. Tomorrow, one o' clock."
"Yeah." Draco turned and started to walk away when he heard Harry muttered, "Cold-blooded jerk."
Looking back at him, he replied, "Yes, I am. How about trying not to ruin my rep?"
"Sure thing."
Draco walked around the corner, annoyed with Potter for being so stupid about it. It was a fact that Lucius Malfoy was dead. And that was to be dealt with as all facts were: you take them, know them, and then put them into a convenient file drawer for later use. It wasn't anything to get worked up over.
Any cool that had been worked to the surface was slowly fading as he got farther from the cold dungeons. He wasn't going to class. He wasn't going to do anything. He'd get some breakfast, then go back and do some studying or something while he waited for the potion to be ready for the next ingredients.
Just as he turned the corner, Draco had to freeze in his tracks to keep from running into Severus, who was marching towards the stairs.
"What brings you down so early, Potter?" the man asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Why do you care?" he snapped, last night's comment still fresh in his mind.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for that cheek, Potter. Now answer my question."
"I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to have anything to do with you at all."
"As long as you are a student at this school you will have as much to do with me as is seen fit by Professor Dumbledore. Once you leave, you may go, on that happy day, wherever you like and have nothing to do with me ever again and I assure you I will be none the sadder."
"Me neither." Stepping around Severus and walking a few steps down the hall, he couldn't help but turn back to him and sneer in a falsely happy voice, "Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and the Dark Lord will finish me off. Then," he went on, "you can just cut my head off and have my fucking scar on your mantel. That's the only part any of you care about anyway."
Severus studied him for a minute with dark eyes before his said, in a measured voice, "No, Potter. I don't have that kind of luck, I'm afraid. And that will be another twenty-five points for your language." With that, he continued on his way down the stairs.
Harry tapped his feet on the chair leg, trying his hardest not to fall asleep. Binns was on a roll and was showing no sign of stopping. With nothing worthwhile to think about, his thoughts wandered to his conversation with Draco. He couldn't be as cold as that. No one could be that way about their parents.
Trying to imagine what it must feel like to know your father then lose him, Harry began to wonder if it would have been harder if he could remember his own parents. Sirius... Yes, he thought. It's much harder when you actually know them. I wonder what's going to happen when everyone finds out about Lucius. Harry recalled the cool voice--his, yet so unlike him:
You're just glad that there are three less bad guys to have to play boy-savior with. I know. It's fine .
It wasn't fine. All the things he'd said to Snape the previous night came flooding back. All the things about how he hated Lucius. And people like Lucius. Was it true? Did Draco hate his father? Of course, if he was upset, I'm not the one he'd go to talk. He must be dying to talk to Snape. That's probably why he started the potion so early.
The bell rang suddenly, signaling the end of the eternity of boredom. Thank God, he thought, standing up quickly and nearly falling over the chair in an effort to get out the door.
"Draco, can I ask you a question?"
Looking back at Goyle, who was stumbling his way up the aisle, Harry sighed. He'd hoped the fact that Draco's friends had been sitting away from him meant they didn't like him any more. Apparently not. "What?"
"It's about Millie."
Just the, Crabbe plowed into the boy's side and said quickly, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you first!"
"Umm, all right."
"No, me!"
Me!"
Figuring they weren't going to stop until he did something leaderly, Harry glared at them "You, talk," he said sharply, pointing at Goyle. He had been first to get there and start talking, so it was only fair.
"I was wondering what you do to make girls, you know, like you."
Taken aback by the question, he thought for a moment. What would Malfoy say? Something about how everyone just naturally fell in love with him the moment they saw him because he was just so wonderful? Maybe not something that grand. Looking at the eager expressions on the boys' faces, Harry decided an honest piece of good advice was a good idea. "I don't know. I suppose you should be nice to them. Maybe buy them something for Christmas. Ask them to go to Hogsmeade with you."
"Yeah, but what if they like someone else? How do you make them not like that person any more?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. The two times he'd been kissed it had been completely unprovoked, unless yelling and throwing fits counted... "I'd just act nice to her and maybe she'd see that I was better than whoever she liked. Why?" The idea of Crabbe or Goyle liking someone, or, still more odd, having someone like them, was strange and piqued his curiosity.
"Because Millicent likes someone But I don't want to say who..." The two gorillas fidgeted and looked away from him.
"Well, then I guess you should just tell her you like her and see if she likes you at all. She probably doesn't have a chance with whoever she likes anyway. If it's not one of you two," he added before thinking about how mean it would sound.
Crabbe and Goyle thought for a moment and, whether they knew he'd insulted them or not, they both grunted and nodded their agreement. They stood for a second before hurrying off towards the small group of girls that were headed out the door, Pansy and Millicent included.
As he watched the two boys' clumsy entrance, Harry winced in sympathy. Before he turned from the scene, Pansy looked up and caught his eye. For half a second Harry thought she was going to smile at him, but then she glared instead, her pink lips curling in a disgusted sneer. She looked back at the black-haired girl who was talking quickly. Crabbe and Goyle were still skirting the group, waiting for a good time to break in and declare their love.
Rolling his eyes, Harry just walked passed them and down the hall. A little bit of lunch and he'd be ready for DA. As he made his way towards the dining hall, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore strolling in his direction, his usually sparkling eyes distant and thoughtful.
"Good day, Mr. Malfoy."
"Good day, Professor," he answered automatically, feeling guilty at the worry on the man's face. Obviously he'd already heard about Draco's unwillingness to go to Occlumency and it was wearing on his mind.
With a dark glint in his eye, the man bulked for a second as if he wanted to say something, then just smiled and nodded a slight good-bye and continued on his way up the hall.
Maybe he knows about Lucius Malfoy, he thought suddenly. Snape probably knows about it and told him. I wonder if they're going to tell him soon. Harry half hoped so and half hoped not. Draco probably didn't need to be told again that his father was dead, but he also didn't know how he would react if it was mentioned while he was in the other boy's body. Harry walked into the Great Hall and dropped onto an empty spot on the bench with a troubled sigh.
"Knut for your thoughts, if you care to share." It was Pansy.
"Not really."
"You know, I'm still angry with you."
"Then why are you sitting next to me?"
"You look like you could use a friend. And besides, Vince and Greg are drooling in my usual seat. I wish Millie would just tell them to go away and get it over with."
Harry smirked a little. He found the thought of Millicent Bullstrode being picky about guys extremely amusing. "And just who is she saving herself for? The frog prince?"
Smirking back at him, Pansy said, "Yeah. You."
"You aren't serious."
"No, I'm lying. She's madly in love with Harry Potter and she's just waiting for him to grow up and notice her feminine charm."
Slightly sickened, Harry's sneer fell and he looked at her with mild horror. Cho kissing him for no reason, he could do. Hermoine? A little weird, but sure, fine. Pansy? The jury was still out, though it didn't look good. But Millicent Bullstrode? No. Definitely no. And with the luck he had at getting out of being kissed by random girls...
Pansy laughed suddenly. "You thought I was serious? Of course she likes you. Who doesn't?" she added, bumping her knee against his.
A small snort of laughter escaped him before he could stifle it completely. Like that'd ever happen.
"She is very sweet," Pansy said. "And since I told her we weren't getting along she thinks she has a better chance."
"Yeah. If by better you mean none."
"You're being very mean."
By the flirting smile on her lips, Harry would have to say she didn't seem to mind that he was being very mean.
She leaned close to him. "I sort of like you mean." Pulling away and looking passed Harry, Pansy sighed a little. "Snape's coming, so I guess we better behave."
And there was ever a question of that? he wondered, grateful that she wasn't leaning on him any more. She really did wear too much perfume.
"Mr. Malfoy, when you've finished," Snape gave Pansy a short look out of the corner of his eye, "I need to speak with you in my office."
"Yes, sir." If it weren't for the fact that he was really hungry, Harry probably would have gotten up right then. Taking a roll and some turkey, he ate quickly.
"Are you in trouble again?"
"Not that I know of."
They ate in silence for a couple minutes before Harry got the distinct feeling that he was being stared at. Glancing sideways, he started when he saw Millicent looking at him, her muddy eyes clouded over, a dreamy smile on her face. He opened his mouth to tell her off for looking at him, but decided he didn't have the energy to be mean at the moment.
As he peered down at his food, he thought of the potion far away in in the dungeon hall, bubbling away happily. It couldn't be done soon enough.
TBC