Chapter 21: Trust and Deception

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A/N: I'm back!

Exams are finally over, the evil cruel sadistic things, and all I need do now is wait till the results come out and then cower beneath my blanket and refuse to go collect them for fear of getting the worst marks ever recorded. Which I won't, touch wood, but everyone's still terrified of it anyway.

Apologies for uploading this a day late, but it was a rather important sleepover, being the last one we'll have before two of my friends leave my school… To make up to you for the lateness, I'll teach you this really fun-yet-messy thing I learned at the sleepover. You will need one cup of hot chocolate and a Penguin bar or similar biscuit (a biscuit coated in chocolate). Bite off diagonally opposite corners of the Penguin, dip one corner in the hot chocolate and the other in your mouth and suck the hot chocolate up through the Penguin like a straw. As soon as you get a mouthful of hot chocolate, tae the Penguin and eat it very quickly before it disintegrates. Tastes gorgeous.

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed Cursed and He Was Brave Enough, which are both in my profile should you wish to read them. And now, onto the chapter – enjoy!

Adversity does teach who your real friends are.

Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign, 1999

Draco couldn't say that breakfast had been his favourite time of the day before his mind had switched from Fallen to human, because to have a favourite time of day you needed emotions, and Fallens has none. But breakfast, surrounded by his allies and minions in the Great Hall, had always been a productive time. He had been able to speak with the other Slytherins and plan small acts of evil – the kind that would go unnoticed, or be taken for normal schoolboy actions, so that he wouldn't draw undue attention.

Now, with his mind human and his house against him, breakfast was a very different affair. He ate at the far end of the table, his choice of seat carefully balanced; it had to be far enough away from the proper Slytherins, yet not too close to the neutral group. A few places to his right, Ellen was sitting, chatting to the neutrals. She kept glancing at him with a small frown on her face as if trying to figure him out, to assess his good and bad qualities.

Draco disliked this casual assessment – it felt like the mental equivalent of a rough file being scraped over the tips of his teeth and fingernails. But when he turned his head and looked the other way, he encountered Blaise Zabini, who kept looking towards him with a little frown on her face whenever Pansy wasn't engaging her in conversation.

Unaccountably annoyed, Draco turned his mind to the first lesson of the day, Transfiguration. The previous Monday, they'd been doing advanced magic, combining more than one spell in order to produce an otherwise impossible effect. Transfiguration had very subtle rules, but they were always logical, and if there was one thing Draco felt at home with, it was logic. He chose two items at random – a hairbrush and a lump of haematite – and attempted to reason out the method for transfiguring the one into the other.

Five minutes later, his concentration was broken by the arrival of the post. A whole flock of owls swooped into the Great Hall, carrying dangling letters and parcels and books, circling above the tables and spying out their owners. Draco felt an oddly warm feeling, as though a candle had been lit inside him, when his mother's owl glided gently down and settled on his shoulder.

'Morning, Raphael,' he greeted the owl, giving the tawny bird the corner of one of his pieces of toast and feeling the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, completely out of his control. After a few moments spent fighting the unwanted smile down, he carefully untied the letter from Raphael's leg and opened the parchment, looking both left and right to be sure he wasn't watched.

Delphine,

Thank you for lending me that book; I'm merely a quarter of the way through it and already I can tell it's going to become a favourite of mine. Do you happen to know if that author has any other books? I'm intending to go to Diagon Alley next Saturday, by which time I'll have finished this one and, hopefully, will be spoiling for more! I particularly like…

Draco's forehead furrowed. Had Raphael delivered the letter to the wrong person? Delphine was the name of Pansy's mother, who his mother was fairly good friends with, and he couldn't see any coded meaning in his mother's words. But Raphael had never failed to deliver a letter correctly before…

However, as the first strains of confusion coiled through him like faintly choking mists, the letters on the page blurred, coiled in on themselves and reformed.

My darling Draco,

Firstly, I must apologise: both for taking so long to reply and for confusing you with the letter addressed to Delphine. Your father is the reason behind both these things; I fear he knows that I knew when you became human (the memory still brings a smile to my face!) and that I helped you escape before he could discover it. He's been reading all my letters and it's taken me this long to research the spell I used to hide this from him.

The charm has a simple concept. It involves two letters: the real letter and the false letter (such as my letter to Delphine.) Place the fake letter on top of the real letter, touch your wand to the middle of the parchment and say, 'cela usque ad animi motus'. The letters will merge, and the false letter will appear to be the real one until the person holding it experiences an emotion, and change back once you let go of it. Thus Lucius only read my letter to Delphine – not this one.

Use this charm when you reply to me, because your father will read the incoming owl (Pretend to be Delphine – she is a close friend and I've told her I'm using her as a subterfuge). I've been trying to discover what Lucius is planning, but with little success. He was at a Death Eater meeting a few days ago, and I tried to find out what was said about you, but all I could discover was that Lucius is intending to get someone at Hogwarts to spy on you. I don't know who, but Draco – be careful!

I wish more than ever that I could be with you now. It is difficult for anyone to love someone that is incapable of emotion, that can never recognise that love nor love back – but I do love you, and I have for many years. It feels like your letters can never tell me enough. I've known you all your life, but as a Fallen, not as a human, and the only glimpses I can get of the real you are through your letters.

Are you coping alright? Do you need help? You mentioned asking Hermione Granger for help in your last letter – did you? I don't know much about her, I must confess, except that she's almost always top of your year. I hope she can help, or if not her then someone.

What emotions have you felt? You've only told me about the negative ones so far; what positive ones have you felt?

Forgive my incessant questioning – I'm desperate for news of how you're coping. Write back: quickly and at length.

Your loving mother.

He came to the end of the letter and realised he was smiling again; and his stomach tingled as though he'd drunk some warmly bubbling potion. Frowning, he forced the unwanted smile away. It was the oddest thing, for his expressions to change without him consciously changing them. He wasn't used to it, and it meant he was broadcasting his feelings to anyone who should chance to look at him.

Which wouldn't do if there were a spy watching him. Draco frowned, reading that paragraph of the letter again. But all I could discover was that Lucius is intending to get someone at Hogwarts to spy on you. I don't know who, but Draco – be careful!

He would have to be. As long as he remained human, his father was the enemy. Draco glanced around the Hall, as if he could catch the spy openly staring at him, scribbling notes about his behaviour, but obviously, no one was doing so.

Draco gave Raphael another stroke, then sent her to the Owlery to rest, before taking another piece of toast and sitting back to read his letter again.

Their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons had proven to be both very interesting and very tiring. For the first part of the lesson, Professor Delaney would describe the spell they were learning that day, telling them the history, the incantation and wand movement, the uses and weaknesses of that curse, and various other important bits of information. Then the rest of the lesson was spent practicing.

Delaney seemed to be living up to his promising beginning; he was excellent at explaining complicated ideas and could hold the class' attention with remarkable ease. He was seemingly capable of teaching anyone to do anything: even Neville, who usually struggled learning new things, could get a spell to work within his first five tries, and with patient and kind correction from Delaney, could master it within the lesson.

There was only one thing Hermione would like to change about him; he never chose her to answer questions as much as she'd like, never more than once or twice in a lesson. But she ignored that, feeling it was an easy price to pay to have a teacher who wasn't a servant of Voldemort, trying to get Dumbledore thrown out, or a self-obsessed idiot. Besides, she answered questions too often anyway – it would do other people good to take their turns answering them. Delaney had probably noticed that and adjusted his questioning accordingly.

The end of the lesson came to the sound of Ron's stomach rumbling noisily, more than ready for lunch in the Great Hall. Quickly, they threw their things into their bags and scrambled to their feet.

'Mr Potter?' came Professor Delaney's voice. 'Could you stay for a minute?'

Harry nodded as the rest of the class hurried out of the room. 'You two can go, if you want,' he said to Ron and Hermione.

'I'll stay,' Hermione offered, still putting her things away rather more carefully than the others. Ron looked torn, but eventually agreed to wait for Harry too.

'Professor Delaney was gathering his various books and parchments into a pile on his desk. 'So, I heard the first meeting of your Defence Association was last night?' he said, giving Harry a wide smile. Harry nodded. 'I think it's an excellent idea, with You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters… tell me, how did it go?'

'It went well, I thought…' Harry said. 'We were really just doing basics, seeing how many people were interested…'

Delaney nodded, regarding Harry with an interested gaze. When the light caught his eyes right, they were a deep brown, but in darker areas like this one they appeared as black as the pupil. 'What kind of things are you planning on teaching?'

Hermione's concentration began to drift as she absent-mindedly put the last of her things into her bag. After all, she'd discussed this same topic with Harry and Ron more times than she could count…

What was really interesting her at that moment was Draco.

They'd arranged to meet in the library again at the end of the day. Hermione was rather pleased to see that Draco, who had repeatedly refused any offer of help, was now accepting it.

She didn't like the way their last conversation had gone. He hadn't spoken directly about what was wrong, what he was having problems with, but instead their conversation had twisted and turned between normal everyday things and sudden rather sharp glimpses of exactly what it meant to be a Fallen.

'I think it might be a useful one to teach them,' Harry was saying, now deep in discussion with Professor Delaney while Ron loitered by the door, 'because I don't think many of them are going to be hunting out Death Eaters, but they're likely to be attacked, and that's when those kinds of spells are useful.'

Hermione leant against the wall and returned to her thoughts. Every time she talked to Draco, she seemed to realise more and more how impossible it was to understand what he was, how completely this affected him. The big things were obvious, if difficult to grasp – he'd never felt love, or hate, or anger, until his mind had shifted.

But it was the little things that threw her, and in some ways frightened her more than the large things. He didn't have a favourite lesson, for example, didn't know which ones he liked and disliked. What about the Slytherins? They'd pretty much shunned him now, she knew, but before that he'd been friends with them just like anyone else, talked and done homework and argued and laughed… and he hadn't cared for any of them, hadn't felt anything for any of them. And they didn't even know that he hadn't.

She tried to imagine it, finding out that Harry or Ron had only been pretending to care all those years, and found it impossible. True, she doubted the Slytherins would have achieved such a level of friendship with Draco Malfoy, but it would still be a horrible thing to discover for anyone. Did any of the Slytherins even know? Would they ever know?

'I've kept you and your friends far too long, Mr Potter,' came Delaney's regretful voice, 'you'd better go to lunch. And remember, if you need any help finding suitable spells, just come and find me, I'd love to help.'

Almost in a daze, Hermione picked up her bag to the sound of Harry's thank-you and followed the two boys out, heading towards the Great Hall. Halfway down the corridor, she frowned and shook her head, as if trying to shake herself back to the here-and-now, and joined in Harry and Ron's conversation about spells and curses and hexes to teach the DA. She'd see Draco that night; there was plenty of time to think about him then.

'Well the first three years aren't exactly going to be going out and hunting down Death Eaters, are they?' Ron was saying. 'If they end up fighting it'll be defensive, because they're being attacked.'

'Yes,' Ginny replied with some exasperation from where she was sitting half on Dean's lap, 'but defensive spells alone won't do much good, will they? And the best defence is offence, anyway. What if the Death Eaters use Unforgivables? They can't defend against them.

The redhead's temper was rising; her eyebrows were drawn together over eyes that were an unusually dark shade of her usual brown. Her freckles were standing out vividly, and it rather annoyed Dean. She'd been discussing and arguing about the DA since they'd come in, and Ginny was, after all, his girlfriend.

'Yeah, but offence won't do much good against them either-'

'Yes it will!' Ginny insisted, getting rather flushed. 'They won't be able to cast an Unforgivable if they've got bats flying out of their nose, or their hair transfigured into Devils' Snare, or-'

Dean tangled his fingers in Ginny's hair, and was quite upset when she irritably pulled the gingery strands away from him, not even looking at him, ignoring him in favour of the argument.

'Or they're breaking out in boils the size of teacups!' she finished, looking rather as if she'd like to give Ron said boils.

Dean didn't mind the argument. Ginny, who had been rather shy and quiet in her first few years at Hogwarts, had become very passionate about things and would argue her point until the unfortunate second party either gave in or left. He liked that about her.

What he didn't like was that she was paying more attention to her argument than she was to him. She was half-sitting on his lap, of course, but rather than feeling comfortably boyfriend-and-girlfriend it made Dean feel like a sofa.

And maybe he was jealous of Ron and Hermione and Harry and Ginny, simply because they were all such close friends. They didn't realise it, but they were… closer than a lot of other friends. Perhaps fighting evil did that. Perhaps saving each other time and time again from You-Know-Who and Death Eaters and gods knew what else made bonds between people that couldn't really be broken.

And he wanted that, to be that close to someone. He remembered second year, when the Heir of Slytherin had taken Ginny into the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry had saved her. He knew nothing more about it than that. Ginny had never told him anything about it; he'd never asked, knowing she wouldn't tell him. He wished it had been himself who saved her; perhaps then he'd have that bond with her, and wouldn't be forgotten.

'Ginny,' he said, cutting into the flow of argument without even realising he had spoken. 'Why don't we forget this and… I dunno, go for a walk outside or something?' He had the sudden impulse to be alone with her, to have her all to himself and not have to share her with brothers or heroes.

'But Dean, this is important,' Ginny protested. 'You can't leave the younger years completely ignorant of curses and hexes, Ron, they need…'

Dean tugged on her hand. 'Ginny,' he pleaded, because suddenly he couldn't bear to be ignored any longer, 'please? You can talk to Ron later…'

Harry interrupted from his seat in a large and comfortable armchair. 'I think Ginny's right,' he said. 'The younger ones need some basic offence; especially ones that will help stop Death Eaters. Like impedimenta.'

Ron considered this. 'I still think defence is more important…' he said warily. 'Maybe a little bit of offence…'

Ginny shook her head. 'More than a little bit. It should be half and half.'

'How about two thirds defence and one third offence?' Harry suggested, and neither one of them could argue with that. 'I was thinking of teaching some offence anyway…'

Ginny settled back comfortably into Dean's chest, smiling happily, but Dean still felt like furniture. 'Changed your mind about that walk?' he asked, and slipped his arms around her waist as if trying to claim her as his own. On the opposite sofa, Ron scowled – he still didn't approve of his sister dating.

But Ginny ignored Ron and gave Dean a smile and a tiny kiss on his jaw, which made Dean feel better than he had all day. 'I think I could use a walk. Just let me get my cloak,' she said, slipping out of his arms and heading for the dormitory.

Ron's gaze narrowed, but Dean didn't care. He might not be able to claim that Ginny was his and only his, but she would be for a while, and that would be enough.

For a while.

This time she arrived in the library before he did, so she slipped into her favourite chair and waited for a few minutes until he arrived, and spent the time tracing patterns of knots on the wooden table with one finger, thinking about emotions and what it must be like to lack them. It occurred to her that a human felt emotions more often than they realised, but Draco, who had never felt them before, would be constantly beset by new feelings, new experiences. Of course by now he should be getting used to a few of them, but still…

Hermione concentrated on herself for a second; trying to pinpoint any emotions she was feeling at that moment. She felt worried for Draco: a large fuzz of emotion that shifted aimlessly inside her chest banging against her ribs. She felt the sharp prickling of impatience, because she wanted him to be here, now, so she could see how he was for herself. She felt frustrated at being unable to do enough to help him, and annoyed at him for not talking about his problem as much as he should, and increasingly alarmed at the sheer number of things she was feeling without thinking about it.

She was so absorbed she didn't notice that Draco had arrived until he slid into the seat next to her and spoke, his tone almost weary, very simple and t-the-point. 'My father is spying on me.'

She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, and then seriously hoped she'd misheard him when she realised what he'd said. 'What? Spying?'

'Yes.' Draco said shortly, crossing his arms on the table and leaning on them, looking up at her, and Hermione thought he looked afraid and somehow vulnerable, as though he were suddenly younger than his sixteen years. 'My mother wrote to me this morning…'

Hermione frowned. 'What does he want to know? Do you know why…?'

Draco shrugged. 'I don't have a clue. I know he wants me back on his side,' and his tone left no doubt in Hermione's mind that Draco was referring to Voldemort. 'Half-Fallens are… naturally gifted at Dark Arts. Curses, hexes, spells to hurt people – that kind of thing.'

'How gifted?' Hermione asked with some trepidation. Mention of the Dark Arts made her uneasy, conjuring up memories of old books from the back shelves of the library. She'd read about the things the Dark Arts could do.

Before the conversation and his sprawl upon the table had made Draco appear young, almost childlike. At her question, his face seemed strangely old, work – except for his grey eyes, which shimmered with uncertainty. 'I cast my first Unforgivable,' he said, slowly and carefully, and Hermione shivered, 'when I was eight…'

'Eight!'

'Yes. Eight. Not on a human, though… I started on mice.'

His face seemed closed, but there was an odd hint of something else below the surface, something that rippled and vanished when she looked for it or possibly wasn't there at all.

A horrible feeling gripped her stomach as she asked, 'You haven't ever… used one on a human, have you?'

'No,' he said, after the merest second's pause, with the merest waver to his voice that said it might be a lie, but for her own sake she told herself she was imagining it. Draco changed the subject deftly. 'So I'm quite valuable to Voldemort's cause, as you may imagine…'

'And they want you back.' Hermione mused. 'Do you know who the spy is?'

Draco shook his head. 'I'll keep my eyes open.'

A/N: And now I'm going to go get some ice cream and get to work on the next chapter. I'm going to be busy next week – work experience! I'm working in a local school, including screaming five-year-olds and a riveting school trip to a farm. You know what would really keep my spirits up when I'm trying to persuade the children that really, pulling on the baby chicken's head is not a good idea, don't you? Reviews!