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Ch. 18: Day Nine, Part II: Russian Roulette
Ad Trans came to an end and Draco packed and left quickly to avoid being cornered by Potter again. After a brief visit to his room to drop off his book bag, he headed to the Quidditch field for practice. He was captain this year, and he had some particularly nasty (and clever) tricks up his sleeve. They might not win, but they'd pulverize those Gryffindors even in their infernal victory, and make them limp away with their trophy.
"Don't look so miserable!" Draco barked. "It's just a little wind! Use it to your advantage!"
The weather had deteriorated quickly from the afternoon, so that the Slytherin team took off into a cold bluster that made flying difficult. Draco released the practice balls, designed for the short mock games that started off each practice, then took to the air on his broom. A few strands of Draco's hair escaped the gel to whip around his face as he ascended higher, while circling swiftly, to observe the other players and scan for the snitch. With speed came adrenaline, mixing with the chill, the wind, the flying, the exerting, the yelling –
"Tork! Nott! Are you blind or just jerking off! Bulstrode is completely open!" The two boys moved quickly to block Bulstrode, but it didn't stop Crabbe from hurling the Quaffle to her. Given the absence of the seventh year Slytherins from Hogwarts, it was no surprise that almost half of the team was composed of sixth years. Next year, his class too would be gone, drafted into the Dark Lord's ranks.
The mock game ended twenty minutes later, everyone's skin numb and insides burning. Draco then ran them through a series of strenuous drills to practice midair reversals and dodges, combination lay-ups (aka scoring), and strategic take-outs of key positions (with the seeker being the preferred target of course).
Practice ended with the usual recap of what had been the day's strengths and weaknesses, followed by a break to the showers. His teammates washed and dressed quickly to catch the end of dinner, but Draco was reluctant to leave the hot spray of water that beat numbingly on his back. He liked the way he solitary presence filled the empty changing room. It had been a long, angry day, and the heat hitting his skin relaxed his muscles, and calmed the adrenaline that constantly rushed through his veins. Alone once more, fatigue was finally allowed to seep in. . .
"Malfoy?"
Blast. Bloody Potter again. He tried to ignore him, hoping that he would go away, but of course he had no such luck. The Gryffindor's footsteps sounded close now – right outside the cubicle.
Draco slammed off the shower and grabbed his towel, hastily drying his body, shaking his head to splatter the water from his sopping hair.
"Malfoy, I know you're in there."
Draco snorted softly, irritably throwing his towel to floor and grabbing his pants. "What are you doing, Potter?" he sneered. "Stalking me?"
"I didn't get to say all that I wanted to last time," Potter's voice replied.
Draco rolled his eyes, pulling on his shirt. "I'm sure you didn't."
"Yeah, well. I wouldn't bother if it wasn't important."
The Slytherin crouched to put on his shoes. "You should bother even if it was."
He grabbed the rest of his stuff, then flung open the door to reveal a very determined Harry Potter. "We need to work together to fix things."
Draco pushed past Harry towards the mirror, where he began to straighten his clothes and tuck his hair behind his ears. "Don't you mean that you need me to take us back to the way you want?"
It took Harry a moment to conceive of the situation from that point of view, but how typical of the real Draco Malfoy. Following the blonde over to the mirror, he said, "If we get back, then I can help you."
Draco was donning his tie, but jerked his face around to spit, "I don't need your help, Potter. Things are going well, if you haven't noticed."
"No, I hadn't," Harry barreled on. "Going well for who? For you? For your father in Azkaban? For Voldemort?"
The name made him flinch, provoking the familiar onslaught of fear and anger and hate. "Yes," he hissed, spite scrunching up his face. "The cause is going well, and you will be dead soon."
The words and the hostility made Harry blanche, and Draco noticed and maliciously pressed, "Two parents and a godfather have been picked off. There's only a couple more before its your turn."
Frustrated and upset with the turn of events, sickened suddenly with fear for his two best friends, Harry jumped to the heart of the matter, if only to escape the topics he made a habit of not thinking about. Just stay human. "How can you say something so horrible? How can you follow in your father's footsteps after all that he has done to you?"
"Shut up!" Draco shouted, punching Harry in the gut just as Father had always done to him. The Gryffindor must have known it was coming: he took the harsh blow and immediately retaliated by grabbing the offending hand and pulling them close. "You should hate him –"
Tense and braced against each other, Draco snarled, "You have nothing to offer me! I have already chosen my side, and there is no turning back!"
The words sent a new chill to Harry's core. "Let me see," he demanded coldly.
"Fuck you, Potter," Draco said, ripping himself away from the intensity of the deep green scrutiny; but again he had underestimated the other boy. Potter moved with him, tackling him to the ground in a frenzy of bitterness and slamming him to the stone floor, mounting him so that his knee rested on Draco's upper rib cage and his leg along the length of the firm torso. The Slytherin tried to struggle, but Harry's hand shot out to strangle him, and the pressure on his chest was terrible and painful, and Harry's foot dug into his groin. Harry single-mindedly grabbed at his left arm with his free hand and ripped back the sleeve.
Sure enough, there it was, dark and hideous and evil, staining and claiming its bearer. The Dark Mark.
After an extended pause, the disappointment and sense of betrayal finally sunk in. Harry released the arm, and it fell to the ground; he shifted his weight off the limp body and stood to watch it cough and retch for breath. Was it too late for the Malfoy heir? Was it too late for him?
Long seconds ticked by as Harry let Draco recover, studying him as though he was complex chess setup that he felt ill-equipped to attempt. "At least explain it to me," he broke the silence when Draco glared at him and moved to sit up. "Explain to me how you can knowingly support something so cruel and horrible."
If there had been any doubt before, it was clear now from Draco's burning eyes that he truly wanted Harry dead. If a look could kill, Harry would have been eviscerated; as it was, his gut clenched in fear as hope of gaining Draco's cooperation vanished completely.
"Because I can, Potter!" Draco yelled hoarsely. "And because I'm bloody good at it! I'm caught up in this war no matter what, and anything worth doing is worth doing well! I chose my path, and Malfoys never turn back!"
"That's the worst argument I've ever heard!" Harry returned furiously. Malfoy was so stubborn, it was like arguing with a brick wall!
Draco struggled to his feet, eying Harry defensively while still trying to stand proudly. "It's the truth."
They glared at each other for a beat, before Harry sighed and took a step back, grasping for any strategy other than physical confrontation. The Slytherin leaned unsteadily against the wall. "Look, Draco. I don't want to fight. So you chose your path and now its too late to back out, I can get that. But what if you could chose your path all over again? Would you still pick this one?"
Draco digested the question, understanding Harry's point immediately. In Harry's supposedly original time line, Draco Malfoy had made crucially different decisions – ones that had had, over time, significant impact on the world around him. That other Draco Malfoy had belief in his cause, had friends, even had followers; had taken on responsibility far beyond anything he could realistically fulfill; and that same Draco Malfoy was had tried to terminate that existence with the infernal Quaero Tempus, which Potter had fucked up.
But a part of him was tempted to go back, he could tell. He could have easily ignored it and charged down his path, but he had complete control of his actions, and he didn't really want to ignore it. It felt like. . . Opportunity.
In this other world, he had a chance to work Harry Potter, and that changed everything; it was a chance to fight the Dark Lord and Father, and to save the Slytherins –
Having been long ignored to oblivion, but not yet dead, the part of him that wanted these things again suffered Draco's attention. Last time he had considered these matters, they had not fared well and had been forsaken. How would they fare this time, with almost a decade of retrospective?
These matters, these matters, these bloody awful matters. He still cared about them, still wanted them, but they had no outlet or future in this world, he would make sure of it. It was too late for him, but not the other Draco Malfoy. The other Draco Malfoy was in a predicament (though weren't they all?), but the opportunity posed by Potter might be just the break he needed to make the right decisions.
None of his thoughts helped him reach a conclusion, but they had passed time as his breath steadied and his bodily pain receded somewhat. Harry had backed away to sit on a locker bench; he looked as tired as Draco felt. Then he glanced up and made eye contact, "How 'bout it, Draco? Got an answer?"
"Maybe. . . ," Draco muttered, pulling on his robe, and resigned himself to delaying and leaving his options open. "I'll think about it, so you'll just have to wait and see. Now, if you would please stop stalking me. . ."
He walked out of the changing room to empty Hogwarts halls, closely followed by Harry Potter – who quickly darted in front of him. "Wait and see? That's it?"
This time it was Draco's turn to sigh. This was really getting old. "Enough already, Potter. Bugger off!"
"What about this!" Harry demanded, lunging forward to grab Draco's head and kiss him harshly, as Draco had done to him. Draco struggled for a moment before pushing him off, an agitated gleam in his eye. He raised up his left arm, the ripped sleeve exposing the hideous Mark.
"What about this?" he growled, shoving his arm in Harry's face. Harry cried out in agony and recoiled backwards, stumbling and gripping the scorching agony in his scar.
"Fuck Merlin!" Draco hadn't expected that reaction, but he wasn't displeased. It was quite a revelation.
He just stood awkwardly, watching Potter gasping in pain and fighting back tears, like a wounded giant. It was fascinating really. "You're a real bastard, Malfoy."
"So I've been told."
"Don't you want to be more than that?" Harry returned, lowering his arms and fixing Draco with a penetrating gaze.
"Don't start with that again, Potter." Then he strode away, leaving Harry to slowly make his way to Madam Pomfrey.
! BREAK !
After yet another blasted encounter with Potter, the last thing Draco wanted to do was meet with Severus Snape, but it came with being in Slytherin, and with being allied with Father and the Dark Lord.
He winded through the dungeons, taking a quick twisted path to Snape's poorly lit corridor and his rough, oak-solid door, upon which he sharply rapped twice.
"Who is it?" came the muffled bark.
"Draco Malfoy, sir. I wish to speak with you about a prefect matter."
Of course, Draco had to wait a full ten seconds before the door finally opened, not because Snape was slow (which he certainly wasn't!), but because he was a right arsehole who purposely frustrated anyone he could.
Draco entered immediately and saw Snape inspecting the contents of a steaming cauldron set up in the corner of the room. Ordered, stocked, and dim, it was just what would be expected of the greasy Potions Master. Draco stalked over crossly and peered in the cauldron – dark green, smelling like pine. . . definitely a healing potion.
"Were you able to accomplish your task?" Snape asked easily, his attention never wavering from the slow stirring.
"Of course," Draco sneered, his own attention being drawn in by the potion. After the crap day this had been, a healing potion would be the perfect pick-me-up.
"Let's see it then."
Draco dug a little felt bag out of a hidden pocked into his robe. After untying the bag's ribbon, he poured its contents into his palm – a smooth, misshapen stone on a leather cord. Snape finally stopped stirring to take the amulet and inspect it carefully, then after a moment he conceded that it was in fact, precisely the amulet that Draco had been set to retrieve. The greasy git was reluctantly impressed: it had proven impossible to determine exactly who was wearing the charm, just that its presence had set off the wards; Malfoy must have searched the student population one by one. It was quite a feat to have been accomplished in only two weeks, but someone like Draco Malfoy would have his ways.
Draco quickly grew impatient. "Well?"
Snape placed the amulet in his pocket and turned his attention back to a cauldron that was now threatening to boil over. He knew that he was playing a perilous game, because he knew that this Slytherin was every bit as dangerous as his father. Either one would betray him the moment it became convenient; which is why he didn't feel so bad about manipulating his godson. "Well what? You did as required of you. Do you call for praise?"
"No. Just further assignment," Draco snapped.
"I'll let you know," this Head of House replied, dismissing him.
But Draco didn't leave. Standing there in front of the cauldron, bickering with Snape – it felt more familiar, and more comfortable than it should have.
Snape had put out the hearth and was staring at him expectantly.
"Sir. . . did you care for me as a child?" Those childhood memories were so foreign now, and this dark man before him was suspicious and duplicitous, and most certainly up to something.
Snape studied him for a moment before raising an eyebrow, "I suppose that I must have."
How was it like to be friends with this man, to be his protégée? Considering it for even a moment was enough to trigger the adrenaline, and with it the distaste and hostility that spiced his life. He turned to leave before the reflexive sneer could be seen by his Head of House.
"Let's leave it at that then."
! BREAK !
Harry didn't return from the Infirmary until late, but that didn't spare him an ambush from his two incorrigible friends. He had barely stepped into the common room when Ron called from his place on the sofa, "Harry."
The room was empty except for a sleeping fourth year in a far chair. Harry approached the oddly smug-looking Ron and the shrewd-looking Hermione. "Sorry I'm so late. I went to the Infirmary after supper."
"Get into a tiff with Malfoy, did you?" Hermione commented calculatedly.
Harry was a little stunned by her insight, and smiled faintly. "Actually, now that you mention it –"
"Oh Harry. Why this again?" Hermione asked pityingly.
"Calm down, 'Mione. I'm just passing back through, everything'll be fine tomorrow." Or not, Harry silently added.
"Don't listen to her, mate," Ron grinned, and clapped Harry's shoulder briefly. "I think it's wicked that you stood up to that tosser. Did you get in a real brawl with him? What happened?"
Harry grinned a little wider as the memory flushed him. "Pretty much what you would expect – violence, threats, accusations, a few dirty words."
"Eh. You really don't need to smile so when you say that," Hermione muttered distastefully.
"Yes, he does," Ron replies, his anit-Malfoy sentiments aligning with his natural inclination to spar with 'Mione. "It's wonderful. If I had been there, I'd've pounded his snotty face, and broken that snotty nose."
Even Hermione chuckled slightly, though of course she tried to hide it. They went to bed soon after, without Harry being further hassled, but he knew that, in her bed, Hermione was also up worrying about what tomorrow would bring.
! BREAK !
In the end, he probably did it for the same reason the original Draco had made the Quaero Tempus – because he was a gambler, and quite fancied a game of temporal Russian roulette.
! CHAPTER END !
PLEASE REVIEW. What do you think: should I end this story next chapter or keep it going? I haven't been getting many reviews, so I guess people have gotten tired of this story. I might be wise to end next chappy instead of taking it farther and losing everyone's (including my own) interest. Let me know.
