TITLE: Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Nine
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Draco/Ginny
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
BETAS: Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix
SUMMARY: The unthinkable happens, and it looks like Voldemort has gotten to Harry. What can Ginny and Draco possibly do when it's already too late?
DEDICATIONS: To Nori, as always.
Chapter Nine: Draco Malfoy, Potions Genius
Ginny purposely sat beside Harry at breakfast, trying to gauge his mood. He was so unpredictable these days, and it paid to be on one's toes. Across the Great Hall, she could see a puffy-eyed Draco Malfoy seating himself fastidiously at a corner of the Slytherin table, his hair in a state of disarray. He claimed that anything but the best natural boar bristles were too rough on his scalp. She was really going to have to talk with him about his extreme wussiness.
"So, Harry," she said brightly, and forcing her smile to persist in the face of his suspicious glance. "How are you feeling today?"
"Like crap," he said succinctly. "I had another dream. Are you happy now?"
Her smile wilted. "No. I'm sorry; I didn't know you were still having nightmares."
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, already puffier than Draco's. "Well, I am. Fat lot of fun it is, too. I told Dumbledore, and I told Snape, and I told McGonagall, so there isn't anyone left to snitch to, all right?"
Ginny's mouth snapped shut. "You're a right royal pain in the arse, you know that? No consideration for other people's feelings, no admission that they might be looking out for your best interests, you just go—"
"All right, All right already! I get the picture! Crikey. Give me a break, would you? I'm operating on something like six hours of sleep, total, in the past five days. I know you're trying to help and all."
Ginny took a deep breath. "What was your mother like?"
He glared at her. "Dead. Very dead. At an early age. Pretty much all I can remember of her, all right?"
She rolled her eyes. "What did he say about her, then?" she persisted.
"Nothing! And I'm not supposed to talk about it! He just said her name, as far as I can remember." He pushed his bangers about his plate, looking as though he'd like to strangle them.
She sighed. "What about the rest of your family? What did he say that led you to think he was talking about them? Did he say their names? Their descriptions?"
"What, fat, horrible Muggles? No! He just said something about my mum's family and their house on Privet Drive, okay? Is care and share time over, yet? Are you through harassing me? Can I go back to sulking over my breakfast in peace, without intolerable little witches scrutinizing my every move? Huh? God, why don't you go away and bother those oily Slytherins you seem to like so much?"
Offended, Ginny slammed her seat back and swept up her things, marching angrily away. Where did he get off, anyhow? Why couldn't he try just being polite for five seconds at a time? It seemed like he was driven to make people want to kill him, and the Dark Lord was going to have to wait in line if this kept up.
"Oy! Ginny?" she heard him call in a less antagonistic, more uncertain voice.
She stopped, counted to ten, and turned around. "Yes?"
"Um. Are you staying over Christmas, then?"
"Yes. Mum and Dad are…really busy," she affirmed.
He grinned. "Oh. Good. So am I. So…see you around, then?" He continued grinning at her hopefully, and she opened her mouth, shut it again, and stalked away, shaking her head. You don't get to be in any house but Gryffindor, with nerve like THAT, she thought.
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"Goddamit! Stay away from him, Ginny, or I'll tell Mum!" Ron roared, stomping away. Ginny was following him, gesturing angrily and (though she'd certainly deny it if approached) crying just a little. Tears of anger, frustration, definitely not sadness or weakness. Draco would never be stupid enough to mistake them for that.
He sighed, trudging back into the depths of Hogwarts, hoping against hope that someone would buy him a new set of sheets, a wide arrange of hair care products, a down mattress and a new wardrobe for Christmas. Another day, another scene with Weasley and his sister. It was getting old quickly. The worst bit was that Ron wasn't even the tip of the iceberg; she had five others at home. It was starting to give him nightmares.
They'd been reduced to meeting in secret most of the time, slipping each other notes, skulking about the castle in the dead of night like some sort of criminals. The cloak and dagger aspect was nearly the only good thing about it, as it was rather exciting. Ginny insisted the time be spent doing research, and not snogging, although that happened now and again, too.
And on top of everything, now it had to go and be Christmas. On the whole, Draco didn't have anything against Christmas; it had always meant an unbelievably large hoard of new playthings for him, in the past, and he didn't particularly object to good will towards men so long as he didn't have to participate. It was just that this particularChristmas was going to suck great big goose eggs.
He probably wasn't going to get a damn thing from his family, for starters. After several months of having been separated from them he thought he might even have appreciated a good whack from his father's cane. You knew you'd been whacked, with a cane like that. And one of his mother's fake kisses near his cheek at night would have been really welcome. He wondered if he was, indeed, a masochist.
Instead of the usual lovely spread of greed and gluttony the Malfoys put on every year, he'd be stuck here, in with the misfits and rejects. It was unthinkable. And even worse was the fact that Ginny's brothers were coming to visit, as some sort of contradictory way of 'cheering everyone up.' Everyone, of course, being Ginny and Ron and Harry. Well, and Hermione, too, Draco supposed, although she'd never seemed terribly fond of them in any case.
Draco certainly wasn't overly fond of them himself. He had a shrewd idea that if Fred or George caught him kissing their little sister, he'd be receiving a highly embarrassing disease for Christmas, and if he was lucky, that would be all he got out of it. No worries, there, then, a nasty little voice in his head piped up, as she certainly won't be kissing you. If you stuck a big branch of mistletoe over her head, she'd probably yell, 'Where's Harry?'
Ginny wasspending far too much time around Potter recently. Trying to get him to 'open up,' supposedly. Draco didn't want Potter to open up any more than he had. He'd prefer it if Potter would do him a favour and simply implodeHe could almost hear Ginny chiding him for his lack of Christmas spirit. He should be nice to Potter. It was the season of brotherly loveAnd…various other bollocks. He'd tried to explain to her that no matter what, he and Potter were always going to hate each other, and would loveto see each other mauled by rabid Catholic priests. But would she listen? She just got a hurt, sort of worried look on her face, and wandered off muttering about compromise. How irritating.
Speak of the freak boy, Draco thought as he caught sight of Harry plowing through a group of fourth year girls towards him. "What a dreadful way of treating your poor innocent fangirls," he remarked with a smirk, as Harry stomped up.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, shoving his glasses back up his nose.
"I see you're in one of those moods again. You really ought to see Professor Snape about how to whip up a P.M.S. Potion."
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry repeated. "What d'you think you're doing, hanging about Ginny like that? If I ever catch you putting your hands on her, I'll spill that pure blood of yours all over the castle, you got that?"
"Potter! Stop starting fights in the hallway like some sort of pathetic Muggle delinquent," a deep voice growled. Snape was bearing down on them.
Draco merely spread his hands to indicate his helpless in the matter, and smiled as Snape swooped in and chased Potter off. Then he made himself scarce. There was no direct evidence linking the Potions Master to the fire in his dorm, but that didn't mean the man hadn't done it. After all, Snape would have been smart enough not to leave any.
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"…and I do hope you all have a happy Christmas, and much thanks to Messiers Weasley for joining us on this festive occasion! As an aside, Professor McGonagall will not be joining us this evening, as her sickness is terribly virulent and resistant to Madam Pomfrey's potions, but I'm sure you will all keep Minerva in your thoughts until she recovers from this dreadful case of flu. On one other sober note, I urge you not to act up this evening," here the Headmaster seemed to give a sharp look down the table, "As I will be visiting the Minister, and not able to put out any fires. This means you, Weasley and Weasley. While we're all very grateful for your contributions of wit and games, I ask you to restrict yourselves to sport within the bounds of human decency, if you would. And if there should be any problems while I am away, please discuss them with Professor Snape, as he will be in charge while the Deputy Headmistress is incapacitated. Now, then, tuck in!"
Harry let out a snort, probably at the idea of going to Snape with problems. Ginny supposed that was only natural. After all, the only problem Snape would agree to help Harry Potter with was if Harry wanted multiple body parts removed, and the only sort of problem Harry would approach Snape about would be if Harry had a particularly large projectile and needed someone to aim it at.
Ginny watched with a growing sense of guilt as Draco listlessly stirred his soup. He was seated at the other end of the table, and hadn't met her eyes all evening. She couldn't really blame him, and tried to stifle a depressed sigh. It wasn't a very cheerful Christmas feast, although her brothers were trying to liven things up. To her left, George was crowing, "And they never found the head!" and he and Fred banged their mugs on the tables, laughing just as hard as anyone who hadn't told the joke at least a bazillion times. Under the table, something connected sharply with her ankle.
"Stop that," Ron warned in an undertone, sitting across from her. She gave him an innocent, questioning look, but he merely jerked his chin towards Malfoy and glowered at her. Then he gave a nod at Harry, beside her, who was almost asleep in his first course. Obviously this was supposed to be her happily ever after. What a crock.
She'd passed Draco a note earlier about how she didn't think she could get away from her family tonight, and that she was really sorry. He hadn't sent her any notes back or said anything in response, but his weary, hurt silence spoke volumes. He wasn't even responding to Parkinson, chattering away and giggling about how he should invite her back to his room, so they could really set the bed on fire.
Ginny considered cursing the girl. She couldn't, though; what on earth could she do to the annoying Slytherin to make her worse than she already was? Besides, even as she watched, Draco was rising from the table, abandoning the meal, saying he was going to retire early. She followed him with her eyes, feeling awful. She was ruining his holiday, she knew, but if the twins found out about them, they'd be sure to ruin it worse.
Partway through the meal, Ginny tried to strike up another conversation with Harry. "What do you want for Christmas?" she asked.
"Oh, I dunno. Five minutes without someone trying to kill me would be favourite," he said wryly. "My dead godfather brought back to life? A real family? A full night's sleep?"
Ginny gave him a sad smile. "I know. I wish I could give you those things. That's why I pry, you know. So I can look for ways of helping that maybe you haven't spotted. I'm really not just trying to drive you insane."
Harry looked uncharacteristically cowed by this, and nodded slightly. "I just hate having to think about it all the time," he said. "No one ever seems to want to talk about anything else, and when they try, it sounds so fake."
"How about this, then? I'll ask you a couple of questions that I really want the answers to about the important stuff, and then we'll talk about other stuff, because I'll have gotten the answers I wanted and won't care any more. See?"
"Er…I guess so," he replied warily. "What did you want to know?"
"I know this is upsetting, but I'd like to know every little detail you can remember from your dream. Please, Harry; it's terribly important!" She gazed up at him with pleading eyes.
He looked like he might burst a seam for a moment, before struggling to get himself under control. "It's…it's really sketchyokay? I only got bits and pieces when I woke up. I don't remember dreaming about a snake, okay? If you heard it, you heard it, but I don't remember any snakes. I remember him saying something about Lily's family, and Privet Drive. And…I don't know. He was laughing. He said something like, 'A drink to the end of Potter,' or something stupid like that."
"Huh. That's really very interesting. So. What do you want to talk about? The weather? Quidditch? Lavender's so-called assets?" She arched a brow sardonically.
Harry turned pink and laughed nervously. "Oh, that. I was just. Er. We were just. Um. Nev—never mind. Quidditch? Quidditch is good. You know, you're a lot better as a Chaser than you were as a Seeker, and that's really saying something."
Ginny lowered her eyes modestly, but before she could respond, Fred beat her to the punch. Literally. "Here, Harry; secret recipe," he said with a wink, handing Harry a cup. "And the reason Ginny, here, is any good at all is the influence of two other stellar players in the family. And how could she not have learned something from them? They were bloody magnificent."
"Well, that's true; Charlie was pretty fantastic and Ron is developing into a pretty good Keeper," she interjected.
"Gah! The slight! Did you feel that, George?" he called over his shoulder.
"A terrible burning sensation," George replied immediately. "Make her ears fall off, Fred," he advised.
"Don't," Ginny insisted.
"So, Harry, what do you want for Christmas?" Fred was inquiring. "A girl? More punch? Something stronger? You can go into the kitchen any time, and if you give the house elves sweets, they'll practically be your slaves."
"They already are, aren't they?" Harry asked, looking nervously round for Hermione.
"Oh, aye," George said, coming to join the fun. He plopped down on Harry's other side. "But Hogwarts rules say they aren't allowed sugar. Gets 'em all barmy. It's fun."
At this, Ginny shook her head, got up, and began edging out of the room. She really wanted to go check on Draco. It was Christmas, and he shouldn't have to spend it alone. And after all, if she really liked him, she'd do better to get it over with and let the twins have their fun now. She was sure to get him back in one piece when they were done. More or less.
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Draco was half-heartedly scribbling something about the scales of black snakes in the use of infertility potions when he heard feet scuffling towards him. He glanced up to see his study partner entering the room. "What are you doing here? I thought you were saving Potter from himself and making sure the gruesome twosome didn't somehow turn us all into iguanas."
Ginny arranged herself beside him, shrugging nonchalantly. "They seemed to be doing all right on their own. They were preaching the virtues of corruptible house elves and cheap liquor to Harry when I left. And I got what I needed from him, or at least, what there was to get."
"Aren't we ruthless? Did you remember to toss his lifeless husk of a body in the lake once you'd sucked him dry?"
"Very funny. We just talked a bit. He was actually very courteous this evening."
"Wonder how long that'll last," Draco muttered darkly.
"Anyhow. What are you doing here? I thought you said you weren't feeling well, and that you were going to turn in early."
"Yes, well. Parkinson was making me ill, but after getting away from her disease-ridden clutches, I found myself much improved. Malfoys have got a strong constitution, you know. So I figured I might as well hole up in here and see if I couldn't find something useful."
"Good idea! Here, hand me the list, would you? We've only got…about two dozen more books to go."
"Great," he said glumly. "Isn't the rest of your insane asylum going to come looking for you once they realize you're missing?"
"I'll check back in on them shortly. Maybe. I'd…sort of prefer to stay here with you," she finished quietly, and Draco looked up, slightly astonished.
A little colour in his cheeks, he looked back down at his paper. It was pitifully short on actual leads. "So…what did Harry have to say, then?" he asked casually.
"Not much," she divulged with a sigh. "Just what he could remember from the dream. He doesn't even remember a snake, and that's the one thing you and I can be sure he did dream about! All he remembers is You-Know-Who saying something about Lily Potter's family, and the Dursley's house on Privet Drive."
"Mmm. Helpful," he remarked. Draco's stomach interrupted the conversation with a loud injection.
Ginny laughed. "Shouldn't have left without even eating the first course, should you?" she said.
"Tell me about it," Malfoy responded, rolling his eyes. "And I'm already faint with hunger."
She hit him on the head with her own scrap of paper, where she'd written down everything that Harry said. "You are not that delicate," she said. "On the other hand, I didn't get past the soup, either, and I'm still pretty hungry. Madam Pinch is still at the feast; think I have time to nip down to the kitchens and get us a snack?"
"Please don't forget the pate," he begged. "And just a little watercress sandwich or two? Oh, and some lobster bisque would be just the thing with some—"
"All right already. Let me go and maybe I'll make it back before dawn," she leaned down and pressed her lips briefly to his, tasting creamed asparagus and faint surprise. "Be right back," she said, almost skipping away.
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In the kitchens, Ginny was surprised to find there was something of a celebration going on amongst the house elves—or at least a couple of the house elves. Or at least Dobby seemed really happy, and was wearing a sparkly hat, and kept trying to convince another, rather more nervous-looking house elf to wear one as well.
"Never did Dobby think that Dixie would be freed as well! And now Dobby and Dixie can work at Hogwarts for GOOD wizards, and they can help the wonderful Harry Potter and—"
"Yes!" the other house elf, seemingly female because of its long eyelashes, suddenly squeaked. "I is wanting to help Harry Potter, too! I is wanting to give him presents for Christmas!"
"Oh! Dobby knows where Harry Potter is, and Dobby is giving him presents, too! Dobby is making Harry Potter mittens this year!"
"Um, excuse me, Dobby," Ginny broke in, before the good will and blatant Harry-worship meant that she'd have to retch. "Could you just whip me up a really light snack that I can sneak into the library with me? Thanks." She smiled at the unfamiliar elf, and said, "Pleased to meet you," in the interim, which caused her new acquaintance to start sobbing happily.
"Here you is!" Dobby said happily, bobbing in front of her with an enormous tray balanced over his head. "You is a Wheezy, isn't you? Wheezys are kind! Wheezys are—"
"Yes, thanks again, Dobby," Ginny cut him off, staring at the army ration of food. "I've got to go now, but it was really great seeing you and your…friend. Happy Christmas!" She hurried out of the kitchens, shrinking the platter to palm-size and rushing up the steps towards the library. As she rounded the corner, she ran smack into another body with a loud, 'Oof!'
"Watch where you're going, would you?" Harry said angrily.
Ginny was taken aback. "Jeez. Sorry," she said. "What's your problem now?"
"What's my problem? Aside from your felonious brothers dumping punch down over my head?" he snapped, clearly still irritated.
Ginny peered at him closely. "I don't see any punch," she pointed out.
"It's disappearing punch," he replied sullenly. "Like disappearing ink, only more so. Their latest gag. They just had to test it out on me."
Ginny shrugged. "It could have been a lot worse," she pointed out. "The spelled Ron's very first broom to turn into a snake mid-air when he was eight. Mum almost murdered them."
Harry gave her a look. "I should have known not to go looking for sympathy from you," he muttered.
"Yes, you should," she said, completely unabashedly. "I've had to live with them all my life. Where are you going?" she asked as he pushed past her down the stairs.
"I'm gonna winkle a drink from one of the house elves, because I reckon I deserve it," he said. "What're you going to do about it, nosy? Oh—and by the way, it was really great of you to say you were going to use the loo and then just disappear on me," he added.
Ginny felt a flush of guilt, but rolled her eyes and walked away. Had she said she was going to the restroom? She didn't even remember, really. She thought she'd just left. Mentally shrugging, Ginny thought, 'Oh, well. I've got more important things to think about.' When she reached the library at last, Ginny found Draco staring at the paper she'd left behind. "What is it?" she asked uncertainly, setting the platter before him.
He stared for a long moment, his hand held up to indicate silence. "Potter said the dream was about his mum. You said it was about his mum's family. Lily Potter's family. That was his mum's name, correct?"
"Er…yeah," Ginny said cautiously. "Lily Potter."
"Lily." He scrambled in his cloak, pulling out a much-loved set of flashcards and flipping through them quickly.
"What're those?" she asked, perplexed.
"My 'Diabolical Doses Deck,'" he said. "Lily's family…Lily's…family…Lily…family…here. Here it is," he said, pulling out a card with a picture of a cluster of yellowish-white flowers on it. "Death Camas. Also known as black snake root, it is a member of the lily family. It's a poison, Ginny. It's not a snake at all, and it doesn't have anything to do with Lily Potter; although I suspect the Dark Lord found the name rather elegant. He's going to poison Potter." Draco looked up at her, eyes gleaming as varnished silver. His mouth was a grim line of triumph.
"Good grief! He's going to poison Harry?" Ginny repeated, and swallowed hard at Draco's nod.
He flipped through the cards again. "And yes…here it is; Ligustrum vulgare—the privet hedge. The entire plant is poisonous, particularly the berries."
"We have to tell Harry."
Draco hesitated, then nodded. "Right. And then Dumbledore. Because Potter's not going to listen to reason; he never does."
Ginny was already racing from the room, Malfoy hot on her heels. "But Dumbledore's probably already left, and Professor McGonagall is really sick," she said. Her feet flew as they headed back towards the kitchens.
"I say, do you know where you're going?" Draco questioned. "Because last I saw, Potter was up at the party, mingling with his admirers, and—"
"He came down to get a drink; I saw him when I was getting the food," she told him breathlessly. They were almost there. Almost there, and then they could warn Harry, and the mystery was solved, and it would all be over.
"But who do we tell if we can't tell Dumbledore? Snape is—Oh. No," Draco said.
Harry was staggering towards them, arm outstretched. His breathing was laboured, and before he'd gone two steps, he fell to his knees, and then collapsed on the floor.
Partially obscured by the long shadows in the hallway, Harry Potter lay prone, sprawled and seemingly lifeless on the cold stone floor. Ginny rushed to his side and knelt beside him, grabbing his wrist. "So cold," he whispered, and then fell silent.
"Oh, my God, Draco, I can't feel a pulse—I can't feel a pulse!" she gasped. "I…think…Harry's dead."
