A/N: Chapter fifteen: more clues about Harry's secret, and a secret plot is discovered.
This is Harry/Draco, post-Hogwarts, though the slash content is extremely light. There are very vague suggestions of other relationships as well.
I've got this all written out, and am posting one a week. There will be 23 chapters total. All that's left is the editing.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: To Foodie, who still betas me despite my predilection for slash, and for FionaFawkes, who read and reviewed every single chapter, and gave me such excellent feedback. Also, for everyone who's read and loved my Harry/Draco. This one's for you.
-----15
Harry and Draco watched a movie alone that evening. Draco found himself watching Harry more than the movie, and was hard-pressed to recall what it was called, or even what it had been about once it was finished. Whatever was going on with Harry needed to either stop now, or he needed to tell Draco what he was on about, because this was simply getting far too old.
Harry turned to him and asked about the movie, but Draco shrugged. "My mind was on other things."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Is something the matter?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, actually. I've been trying desperately to understand what's been going on with you. You practically ignored me all afternoon, then made my favourite meal for dinner, and even made sure we got 'alone time' together tonight… I just want to know why. I—I realize that with L—Remus here, and my father, and the way you managed to get the Minister to allow it, that you've been rather busy, but…" he sighed. "I just don't understand what had you so upset today. And don't tell me you weren't. I've certainly known you long enough to know your moods by now."
Harry closed his eyes. "It's nothing you need to worry about, Draco. It's my problem. Nothing you have to worry about. I shouldn't have let it affect me as strongly as I did…"
"Damn it, stop that! I don't know what you're dealing with because you won't tell me. I'm not the age I look, Harry. Please, talk to me. I—" He swallowed roughly over the lump that had formed in his throat. "I thought that maybe we were friends now. Was I wrong?"
Harry smiled sadly. "Of course not, Draco. If it would help things, I'd tell you. But believe me when I say there's nothing you could do to help. You'd probably be disgusted…" His mouth turned down in a frown, and he looked away. "Just trust me. You want nothing to do with this."
"So, you're older, so you know better, is that it?" Draco asked petulantly. "You're starting to sound like my father. I never appreciated it from him, but I hate it from you, Harry. I might trust you, but there's only so far trust can stretch."
"Draco…"
"No, damn it! I need you to realize that I'm not what I look like. I may look two thirds your age, but you know me. We were in school together for six years. Whatever this is, I'm sure I can handle it."
"You don't understand. You don't want to understand, Draco. If you did, you'd already know what it was about, okay?" Harry stood up, and Draco jumped to his feet to prevent him from leaving. He wasn't Harry's size yet, but at thirteen, he'd begun to grow into the frame he'd had by the time he was sent to Azkaban. He might not be able to look him in the eye, but Harry wouldn't just be able to push him out of the way, either.
"You say I should already understand, but how can I? You keep talking in riddles, and now you're never even around! What am I supposed to understand?"
Harry's pupils were wide in the darkness of the room, only a thin rim of green surrounding them, and he moved close to Draco, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "Fine. You want to know why I was angry? Pansy. That's why."
"Pansy? Why on earth…"
"She'll drag you down with her, Draco. She's not even trying. Didn't you hear her? She looked startled that you seemed so happy with your results. She's worse than your father, and I didn't even think that was possible."
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Draco snarled. "Pansy is my friend. Maybe she just doesn't like me being here with you. Have you ever considered that?"
Harry snorted. "If she doesn't, she's smarter than you, Draco."
Draco felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means maybe she knows I'm closer to you than she'll ever get. Especially if she fails."
"She's not going to fail, Potter. She's been getting consistently good grades in each test, or so Shacklebolt has said."
Harry closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. "I'm…sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to—pick a fight." He sighed. "She rubs me the wrong way, but I know you're fond of her, and that worries me, okay?"
"Harry, Pansy—she's practically a member of my family. We've been friends since we were infants. And we've been betrothed forever. I can't imagine her not being in my life. I can't just abandon her. I wouldn't want to. I don't think you'd like me at all if I were the kind of person who could."
Harry nodded. "True." He sighed. "She's not who you think, Draco. You've changed. She hasn't. I don't think she wants to."
"How do you know that? From one bloody meeting at the Ministry?"
Harry closed his eyes, pinching his nose in frustration. "It's complicated, okay? We're both tired, we should go to bed."
"No. I want to know what's wrong with my talking to a long-time friend? What makes her different than Blaise or my father?"
"Because Blaise will let you sink and fail on your own merits. I could see that he wasn't going to force you one way or the other. And as much as your father hates all this, he knows it's his only way out. He's hardly going to prevent you from taking the same route."
"But Pansy doesn't have my best interests at heart?"
"Pansy wants you where she is, Draco. So that whatever happens, you'll be with her!"
"And you don't want the same?" Draco shrieked. The silence in the room echoed for a long moment after that, and wide-eyed, Draco watched the blood drain from Harry's face. He swallowed. "Harry…I…" Harry pushed past him and hurried from the room, and rather than chasing him, Draco collapsed on the couch. What had he said? Did he really think that Harry wanted him that way? And if so, how did he feel about it?
It was a long time before he got up and went to bed.
◦♦☼♦◦
Harry avoided Draco for days after that. He wasn't unkind or unavailable, just not up to talking much. And he made sure they were never alone.
One afternoon, Draco received a letter from Pansy, and Harry scowled, but left the room rather than discuss it and start another argument. She said she was doing well, and if they only lasted a bit longer, they might be able to plan an August wedding. Just reading the words made Draco's stomach plummet. Sure, he'd always assumed he'd be married to Pansy—someday. It was different when someday was nearly upon them, though. He wrote to her telling her that they should wait at least a full year after their release, so that more of their friends and family, many of which were people who hadn't even made it into the program yet, would be able to attend. Then he sent it off, and tried to push the subject from his mind. He was confused enough as it was. He didn't need the thought of an impending wedding muddling things more.
There was also the day when Shacklebolt appeared, saying that Ernie McMillan had requested a visit with him. Draco was puzzled. He hadn't even spent any time with the other boy in school, let alone known for sure that he was a Death Eater before he'd seen him the day the Chrysalis program had been announced. What on earth could they possibly have to say to each other? But he acquiesced. Right now, any excuse to get out of the house was a good one.
McMillan was staying with the Finch-Fletchleys, which Draco found rather odd, since most of the people in the program were actually living in Wizarding homes, but the house itself felt surprisingly familiar. He seemed to recall hearing that Finch-Fletchley's Muggle family were similar in rank in the Muggle world to his own, and the house didn't seem too much less opulent than the Manor was, really. Just more Muggle.
When they entered the home, they were greeted by McMillan and the Finch-Fletchleys, minus Justin, who was apparently feeling a bit ill that day. Shacklebolt sat with Finch-Fletchley's parents while Draco and McMillan went to the far side of the room—actually quite a good distance, Draco noticed—so that they could talk.
"What did you want with me, McMillan?" Draco asked when he was sure the adults could not hear him.
"I wanted to find out—" the boy glanced around before turning back to Draco. "I heard that you got an O last testing time. I wanted to know how you managed it. I mean, Parkinson has only managed an A, and Zabini an E. What's your secret?"
Draco looked at the other boy for a long moment. Was he asking what Draco thought? He decided to go with the simple answer, and see how McMillan took it. "Hard work," he shrugged.
"Ah, come on, now. You can tell me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll back you, once you're free, if you'll only tell me."
"Back me? What do you mean by that?"
McMillan shushed him. "Calm down. I just meant, well, you and your father are together, aren't you? I heard that you were. And since you'll be leaving the program before he does…" He shrugged. "I've been working on Finch-Fletchley. He's an idiot. Thinks we're friends. Always has been a bit of a dupe, to be honest. But if I could get in on the ground floor with whatever you're planning on when you're released…"
Draco tried to keep his breathing steady. The Death Eaters wanted to rally around him? Why would they do that? Sure, he had the Malfoy name, and whatever monies his father had managed to hide from the Ministry, but they couldn't be sure he was even on their side. Best to play along for the moment, and see what else he could find out. "Working on Finch-Fletchley? What do you mean by that? Converting him to our side?"
McMillan snorted. "Hardly. As I said, he's an idiot. He always has been. As I see it, I'm putting him out of his misery."
"I see," Draco managed through clenched teeth. "And you didn't think anyone would notice?"
He snorted. "Nah. The parents think he's just got food poisoning, or something. Sent him to the Muggle hospital, they pumped his stomach. He's upstairs right now, sipping on a new brew I'm trying out on him. I think, if you'd give me a chance, I could replace that traitor, Snape, as your Potions expert. I'm pureblood, too. Much better than his filthy blood."
Draco restrained himself from slapping the other boy. "You are an idiot. If you kill one of them, who do you think the Ministry will believe? The Muggle doctors, or their own scans? Because the moment Finch-Fletchley dies, the Ministry will arrive en masse to take you back. And you won't get a second chance. Or didn't you read the contract you were signing?" he snarled.
McMillan looked at him, wide-eyed. "I…uh…" He swallowed. "That hadn't really occurred to me."
"Did you plan this alone?"
McMillan looked at him, confused. "What?"
"Was this your idea, or did someone encourage it?" Theo was out now, he knew. He couldn't see Greg doing it. Beyond his capabilities, really. Perhaps Blaise, though…
"We—well, we don't use names if we can help it, really. We just share comments on the tests, and scores. So that we can all improve. Sort of a round-robin owl, really. We sign with nicknames."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "And what is yours, McMillan?"
The other boy flushed unflatteringly and mumbled something.
"What was that? I didn't quite catch it."
"Prefect's Pride," he grumbled.
Draco rolled his eyes. "And who are the others?"
But McMillan seemed a bit suspicious now. "Shouldn't you know? They're your friends, Malfoy."
The lie came to him easily. "They've gone behind my back. I need to rein them in. Tell me what names they use. Now."
"I…"
"McMillan, do you want to be on my side or not?" Draco growled.
"I can't! We swore an oath. On paper. We all signed."
"What about a copy of these letters, then? Surely you have at least one of them left?"
McMillan stared at him for a moment, horrified. "I—well, I was supposed to destroy them or send them on…"
Draco stood up, glowering. "Fine. I'll figure it out on my own. As you say, they're my friends. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard…"
"No, wait, Draco…" Draco glowered at him for using his given name without permission.
"Yes, McMillan?"
"I…I think I have the last one that just got sent about. But it hasn't got everyone on it yet. "
"Get it for me?"
McMillan nodded, and hurried to a desk in the far corner of the room, returning with a sheet of parchment in his hand. "Here, Malfoy. I'm supposed to send it off soon."
"You won't be. Write to the next one. Tell them it got caught in a fire or something." He rolled the scroll up and placed it in his pocket. "And whatever else you do? Ease up on Finch-Fletchley." Then he turned and moved back across the room to where Shacklebolt was sitting with the Finch-Fletchleys. He turned to Mrs. Finch-Fletchley. "I hope your son will be feeling better soon," he said with a slight smile. "I'm ready to go whenever you are, Shacklebolt."
The Auror nodded and stood, shaking Mr. Finch-Fletchley's hand, and nodding to Mrs. Finch-Fletchley before guiding Draco from the house.
Draco waited until they were settled in the car before he turned to Shacklebolt. "McMillan and some of the others are trying to cheat the system."
Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"He wanted to know how I'd gotten an O on my test."
"How do you know he's not doing that for his own information only?"
"He said that he'd heard it from my friends, and then he told me how. They've been sharing answers." Draco dug into his pocket and pulled out the letter McMillan had given him.
"Why are you telling me?" Shacklebolt asked, looking quite surprised at Draco's honesty.
"I got my mark on my own merits. If they want to turn me into something I'm not just for their own plans—I won't have it. I don't know that I wouldn't have joined them had they approached me in the first few months with Harry, but now? It's not about ethics so much… I just…"
"Harry would disapprove?" Shacklebolt asked.
"Maybe," he said quietly.
Shacklebolt unrolled the parchment. "Code names?"
Draco nodded. "McMillan is 'Prefect's Pride.' Not sure about the rest. If I had to guess, I'd imagine that Theodore Nott would be involved. Maybe Blaise Zabini." He looked out the window. "They're my friends, but I can't let them ruin this for those who might actually want to reform. Even if it means they drag me down with them, I'm not going to let them hurt others' chances."
Shacklebolt was quiet for several minutes. Finally he cleared his throat. "Did you look at this at all?" Draco shook his head. "Good. We might need your help interpreting the names, though. You know them better than we do."
Draco nodded. "Anything I can do to help." He was silent for a moment as Shacklebolt started up the car. "Oh, one more thing." Shacklebolt looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "He's been poisoning Finch-Fletchley. Possibly the parents as well, given that they're Muggles, but that's why Finch-Fletchley is sick. You'd do well to get him out of there as soon as possible."
"It's a good thing I told the boy's parents I'd send over a healer once I'd gotten you back home, then. Gives me a good excuse to be there when they find out it's potion-induced and to take in McMillan without getting you directly involved."
Draco ducked his head. He hadn't even thought of that. What would they all do when they found out he'd ratted on McMillan? Would they care? Still, that was far less likely, now. "Thank you."
"No problem, Malfoy."
