Reaching Maturity
Disclaimer: see previous
A/N: I failed placement.
A/N 2: in the next 3 weeks, while I'm off uni for Christmas, I'm considering posting slightly more often…
A/N 3: I know, I know, I said I'd post yesterday – but although I knew I was going out dancing with our Morris and Clog side, I forgot that because of the location we wouldn't be back until nearly midnight and that by the time I got back I'd be absolutely knackered and not want to anything except go to bed.
IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T YET KNOW: HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE IS OUT ON JULY SIXTEENTH. That's official.
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Chapter 8: Snow Day
Draco had got up at five-thirty that morning – the manor grounds were extensive and would take most of the day to cover. At least it hasn't snowed so far, he thought. Such an occurrence, depending on the quantity of snow, could potentially make his task impossible. Even a light snowfall could still make things hard.
He looked out of the window in his room at that point and shivered – there was snow after all, and it was thick. He sank back down onto his bed, groaning in despair. This was the worst thing that could have happened right now. Why couldn't it have waited one more day? he thought angrily as he curled up under the bedclothes and tried to get back to sleep. The coldness in the room was penetrating, though, chilling him to the bone, and he lay shivering violently. There was no fireplace in his room, as it had originally been a storage room, where fires were never needed. And, thought Draco bitterly, it would be too much for Father to arrange for one to be installed, simply because it wouldn't directly benefit him.
He soon gave up on trying to sleep – he was far too cold – so at six o'clock, he got up and dressed quickly. The house-elves, when Draco appeared in the kitchen, were startled to see him up so early. "Master Draco is up early!" one of them squeaked.
Draco nodded brusquely. "I have a lot to do today. Toast and a mug of tea will be enough for me."
"It is six and a half hours until lunch; is Master Draco sure that he will survive on so little food?"
Draco gave a half-smile. "I'll probably come down part-way through the morning for a snack," he answered. "Like I said, I have a lot to do today."
Ten minutes later, a slice of toast still in his hand, he went up to the floor that his own room was on. No point in searching that – at the start of the previous summer holidays, he'd invested in a device that recorded the name of anyone entering his room (or, if it wasn't human, the species) and a description of their activities. The only things that had been in between summer and Christmas were the house-elves (to clean) and a rat, which had briefly sniffed around the room before leaving again.
He doubted that the bathroom on this floor (his own personal one) had anything significant in it, but he searched it anyway. He'd checked his parents' bathroom the previous day and found nothing. The only thing he got from searching his bathroom was a sore head from where he'd hit it on a low shelf that held some towels.
It was still only about eight-thirty, so he moved on to the meeting-room. As he opened the heavy oak door, an ear-splitting, high-pitched wailing alarm went off. Draco froze momentarily, then slammed the door shut. The noise promptly stopped, and he leaned against the wall, ears throbbing painfully, heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He suspected his father would know about this incident already – Lucius Malfoy had all sorts of security devices throughout his manor home, most of which Draco had no idea whatsoever about how they worked.
He moved onto the three storage rooms next. The first one was dark, with only one tiny window at the top in the corner. The window was so dirty it hardly let any light in at all. A quick glance around the room told Draco that there was nothing in the room at all, apart from some dust.
The second room contained only a broken table and three broken chairs. The table had no drawers, and the chairs were solid wood with no cushions on the seat, so there was no point in conducting a full-scale search of the room. A murky painting hung on the wall, and Draco recalled some of the adventure stories he'd read when he was younger – there was nearly always something hidden behind a painting hanging on the wall. A new hope, along with excitement, flooded through his body, and he hurried over to the painting (which, upon closer examination, was of a night-time mountain landscape) and pushed it to one side. It swung violently back towards him and he only just ducked in time to avoid adding further injury to his already sore head.
As quickly as his hopes had risen, they fell as a blank wall appeared behind the picture. There was nothing jammed into the frame, either. "This is not happening!" he moaned as he leaned against the wall, drained. Once again, nothing. He was growing more and more disillusioned with his increasingly fruitless search. Is there any point in continuing? The only rooms where he was likely to find anything at all were carefully protected by a complex web of security spells that Draco had no hope of breaking – and certainly not without drawing unwanted attention to himself.
The door of the third and final storage room was slightly swollen with dampness, and Draco wasn't strong enough to force the heavy oak door inwards by himself. He looked up and down the hallway, but there was nothing that he could use to wrench the door open. The only thing that he could see was a small pot plant on a delicate, spindly table – which was of absolutely no use whatsoever. He didn't know any spells that were likely to work – the door was stuck, not locked, and that meant that Alohomora wouldn't have any effect at all. Granger would probably be extremely useful in this situation, he thought wryly.
He stepped back, hands on hips, and surveyed the wall in front of him. The second storage room's door was open and he could just see one of the chairs inside it. An idea hit him – he could perhaps use a chair. He hauled it out of the room and, mustering as much strength as possible, ran straight at the door and rammed the chair hard against it. The door didn't budge, although it shuddered slightly form the force of the assault. Determined, he gritted his teeth and launched another attack. Again, nothing happened.
However, Draco Malfoy wasn't one for quitting (when it suited him), and he continued to relentlessly assail the door with the chair. Unfortunately for him, though, the door was as stubborn as he was, and refused to give. After about half an hour, Draco let the chair fall from his grasp and he slumped to the floor, sweating and gasping for breath, every part of his body aching from the exertion. He was still no closer to succeeding in opening the door. He sat there unmoving for a long time as he recovered.
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That afternoon, Harry got permission from Dumbledore to go to Hogsmeade to see Sirius. Ron had wanted to go with him, and had gone off in a huff when Harry had said that he wanted to see his godfather on his own. Mood somewhat dampened by Ron's behaviour, Harry pulled on his Gryffindor scarf and hat, and his winter cloak, and left the school to meet a large black dog in The Three Broomsticks pub. The landlady, Madam Rosmerta, had been informed by Dumbledore of the situation, and she now allowed Sirius to stay (secretly) whenever he was in Hogsmeade. Being a publican, Rosmerta was also in an excellent position to overhear conversations and pick up snippets of information that could potentially be useful for the Order. She'd been doubtful at first, but, like many people, trusted the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
She greeted Harry with a warm smile as he walked into the pub. "Come on through," she said, showing him out to the back rooms, into her own living quarters, where Sirius was sat on the sofa, reading the paper (in his human form). He looked up as the door was shut. "Harry!"
Harry returned Sirius' hug enthusiastically. "You look really different!" he marvelled, looking at his godfather.
Sirius grinned. "Dumbledore pulled a few strings. Arranged for Pomfrey to come up here and sort my hair out – to say it needed doing is something of an understatement. And Remus went down to Diagon Alley a few weeks back; I gave him some money to get me some decent clothes and robes – and there was some left over (deliberately, I might add) for him to get himself some decent robes."
"You look great," Harry told him. "Definitely an improvement on before!"
Sirius grinned wryly, glancing down at his now-reasonably presentable self. "Not that that was difficult. Anyway, what do you need to talk to me about so desperately?"
"Can I not just want to see my godfather?" teased Harry.
Sirius playfully whacked him round the head. "I'm assuming this has something to do with Marie-Jeanne Lenoir and Malfoy?" He sat back down on the sofa.
"It does." Harry sat down beside him. "His mother's gone missing – you probably already knew that; it's been in the Prophet often enough – and he's found these letters from when Narcissa and Marie-Jeanne were penpals. And Lucius isn't exactly the most wonderful of fathers, either. He's hit Draco several times and bullies him really badly. No matter how much Draco boasts, I'd say it's pretty obvious he's putting on a big act."
Sirius nodded. "Lucius Malfoy's always been an arrogant bully. He was in his seventh year here when I was a first-year. Slytherin, naturally. He'd ruled the roost from pretty much his first day as a first-year, from what I can gather." He scowled contemptuously. "Anyway, I can't say I really understand the reasons behind this sudden truce between yourself and young Draco."
"Lucius wants him to become a Death Eater – basically become a mini-Lucius. Draco, however, doesn't want to. And he's absolutely terrified of his father," explained Harry.
"Ah. I see."
"Whenever he comes back to school after the holidays he's always got a few cuts and bruises on him. I always assumed he'd got them in fights or Quidditch practice – it's a reasonable assumption." He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled sadly. "You just don't think, do you?"
"No. You don't," agreed Sirius quietly.
"I don't suppose you've been able to find out anything more, have you?"
Sirius nodded grimly. "Oh, I've found out more, all right. Pettigrew's staying with Malfoy – Lucius, I mean. Amazing what can be discovered if you try hard enough. I wasn't seen – I daren't risk Pettigrew recognising me. Oh yes, he's well in there. Before you were born, Pettigrew went out with our French artist for about four months, late 1979. Personally, I'm surprised they lasted that long."
Harry digested this information slowly. He really didn't like the way this was all panning out. "So what do you think happened to Narcissa?" he asked eventually.
"I don't know, Harry; I really don't," Sirius sighed. "I'd bet my innocence on Lucius having a hand in it somewhere down the line, though. He generally does. But it'll be flawlessly covered so that there isn't any chance whatsoever of him being implicated."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, Sirius flicking through the sports pages of the Prophet.
"Sirius…"
"Yes?"
Harry paused. "Do you have any idea where Voldemort is?"
Sirius put down the paper and sighed heavily. "Since Hallowe'en, neither hide nor hair of him has been glimpsed. I honestly have no idea. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's being harboured by either Marie-Jeanne or Malfoy. I don't like it one bit; it's unnerving, not knowing what the hell is going on – which I imagine is the point. It creates more panic and fear – the kind of environment he thrives on. That's the whole point of terrorism – half the time you don't actually have to do anything; you just have to let them know you can."
Harry agreed fervently. "A lot of people are paranoid that he either already has, or is about to, infiltrate the school somehow."
Sirius shifted uneasily on the sofa. "About that…"
"Yes?"
"I – er – heard a rumour…It's being said that there's already a loyal Death Eater inside the school. Nobody knows who is, if it's anyone a all."
Harry stared at him in horror.
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Draco barely registered the information in the letter Hedwig brought him the next day. He hadn't been able to sleep much at all the previous night, sick from fear of what his father might do to him if he had found out about his son's search. Draco had been up since six and was currently wandering aimlessly outside in the thick, swirling snow that was tumbling from the grey-purple sky. He had been too tense to eat any breakfast and, heading inside at midday for lunch, felt distinctly lightheaded and dizzy, ignoring the penetrating, bone-chilling cold dampness of the snow. He had worn a winter cloak but not a hat, scarf or gloves, but he didn't care any more. The emotional and mental pain inflicted on him by his father was far worse than anything physical. He wasn't sure why it had all suddenly hit him – but the fact remained that it had done.
He was just sitting down to a lunch that he had no appetite for, when Lucius swept into the dining room and sat down. Draco ignored him and put all his concentration into trying to force food down his constricted throat. It wasn't working.
"No 'welcome home, Father', Draco?" Lucius inquired pleasantly, an underlying sneer just detectable for those that knew him.
"Welcome home, Father," Draco responded automatically. He stood up. "I'm going up to my room. I'm not hungry and I don't feel well."
"Go, then," said Lucius irritably. "I shall be up to deal with you later."
Draco silently left the room, pulling the thick woollen cardigan tightly around his thin body in an attempt to get a bit warmer. He went up to his room, shut the door firmly and lay down on his bed, curled up tightly in a corner of the four-poster double bed. He did feel ill, shivery and yet hot, probably as a result of being out in the snow. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a light, restless sleep from which he was woken about half an hour later by his father entering the room. Groaning quietly to himself, he forced himself into a sitting position.
"I thought I told you to keep out of the meeting room?" inquired Lucius, dangerously cold and quiet. "You weren't…looking for anything by any chance, were you?"
Draco shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Just my old piano music. Some of it's kept in there, remember?" he prompted his father in an exhausted voice.
Lucius nodded slowly. "If you say so." He whirled round on his heel and swept out of the room, letting the door slam behind him, causing Draco to flinch, and the teenager shivered from his father's voice. He knew an unspoken threat when he heard one.
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TBC
Author thanks:
(for chapter 6):
MagickalStar135: Patience!! This fic is over 30 chapters long! You're asking me questions I can't answer without giving the whole plot away!!
For chapter 7:
AshleyPorter
Actionmaster: what if Draco doesn't know who that man is?
Lucidity: I'm taking the "little minx" comment as a compliment!! I'm not telling you if the stranger was Voldemort or someone else, but there are more than a few hints as to his identity!
Frisbee400: I did consider having Draco turn to Snape, but from Draco's perspective it would have been too risky – he knows Snape bears the Dark Mark but he's not entirely sure which side Snape's on; with Harry he does. If you're not convinced about the letter, then I'm not going to tell you! And regarding the Jason Isaacs interview on the CoS DVD, that's what I'm going on, Draco being actually scared of Lucius.
Samhaincat: the plot does indeed thicken. And I aim to please!
AJ: Wow, LONG review!! (blushes redder than Weasley hair) That's a serious compliment! Wow. I feel incredibly honoured that you think I'm that good. I'd love to be as good as JKR, or Tolkien, or any of the really good authors – which is my ultimate goal – although I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm anywhere near that (yet). And choosing between and revising is just sooooooo hard…! ;)
Ruperts-a-Honey: Glad to see someone's willing to be patient!
The Lady Quotes: Awaiting is good! I imagine you're not going to like the last chapter of this fic because it'll mean no more Reaching Maturity???
Evanescent Dawn: oooh, another long review! I like! I know a lot about what makes a good story stand out and how to keep a reader hooked (a lot of it comes naturally, but I've learned a lot more as well). I'm not telling you whether the Fidelius Charm is actually in operation here or whether the stranger (whose identity I will neither confirm nor deny) is merely bluffing. Just because someone attends/attended Beauxbatons, it doesn't necessarily make them one of the 'good' guys. Marie-Jeanne is the same age as Narcissa, who I'm assuming is about 4 or 5 years older than Sirius (and therefore about the same age as Lucius). And no, Draco isn't the only one reaching maturity in this story; a lot of people will be – hence the title; it was originally called "Vicissitudes", but Reaching Maturity fitted far better.
Rinkurocks: read some other reviews for chapter 7 to see who other people think the stranger is (there's at least 3 on the right track!). (blushes) Thanks for the compliment; my writing is one of the very few things I've never lost confidence in.
Atana: I assume you have suspicions as to the identity of the stranger…? I was describing the manor as I see it, seeing as JK's never taken us there. Draco's always struck me as a character who prefers the darkness (like Snape) because he's been brought up in darkness – but there's a difference between darkness and pitch black. Until I went back and reread that part, I didn't realise the symbolism in the strength of the darkness for the different characters.
