muffinsnail - Thank you for the French-beta, I did try and get one off of my friend, but we bow down to your superior knowledge. My own French, despite a pass at GCSE is really quite bad, but it's better than my Spanish or Italian (nonexistant). Apologies to the hoard who got annoyed with me on this topic, but it is now changed.
Chapter 6 – The Unravelling of a Mystery
After Harry was safely ensconced in the study, Severus grabbed a glass and dashed some liquid into it, before taking a sip and placing it on the table. Then he spotted Harry's bag, and with a swish of his wand, banished it to the study. Harry jumped as it appeared behind him. Then, apparently satisfied (as far as the young teen could tell from his small vantage point), he walked to the door and opened it forcefully. Snape relaxed minutely, but Harry's view was blocked by the edge of the door and the older wizards' back.
When he could finally see the guest, Harry felt ice run down his back. Draco Malfoy, uniform pristine despite the late hour, walked in, taking a seat opposite Snape's armchair.
The older man didn't even glance towards the study, as he picked up his glass once more and moved towards the cold fireplace.
"Draco, is this important?"
The teen looked up. "Yes. It is actually. Why – did I interrupt something?"
"No," Severus lied calmly, taking his drink. "However, it is not wise for you to be down here too often."
Draco snorted. "And it's safer to be in the common room? Yeah, I know the rules. But this you need to hear."
Severus gestured for him to continue, glancing with hooded eyes to where Harry was hidden for a split second, before turning back to Draco, disguising the move easily by shifting his posture.
"There's been some talk recently in the dorms – not much, and nothing important. A little bit of Dark propaganda, the usual."
He grinned, "You'd have thought they wouldn't be stupid enough to talk about it really. The real Slytherins are us who keep our heads down and work against it.
"But just today Nott and his cronies were gathered in the common room – some sort of meeting. Luckily I had one of these," he dug a familiar flesh-coloured piece of string from his pocket, "and heard enough. There's going to be an attack, in Diagon Alley. Word is the Dark Lord wants some select Slytherins to work here, so that Dumbledore and the Order don't get involved."
Harry sat, frozen with shock. He couldn't believe his ears – Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, was working for the light? Draco Malfoy was a spy? Forcing down his own thoughts, he quickly retuned his mind to memorising as much of the conversation as possible.
"Interesting," Severus replied thoughtfully. "I shall inform the headmaster. You will need to keep up the work as usual."
"Of course," the blond replied easily. Then, equally casually, "Why is your son hiding in the study listening to every word I say?"
There was a moment of silence. Harry scuttled away from the door. He'd been seen? He pushed himself into the shadows and tried to find a way out.
In the other room, Severus' eyebrows rose, his eyes cool and calculating.
"And why would you say that?"
"I know he's there - I can feel him," Draco replied cryptically. Severus froze, his eyes widening minutely. He glanced sharply at the blond.
"He's…?" he said in a low voice. Draco nodded.
"Now, I asked a question," the teen replied, standing and walking across to the study. Panicking rather more now, Harry searched the shadowed, book-filled room frantically for somewhere to hide just as the door swung open, leaving him facing his rival.
"Well," Draco continued eventually, his pale face almost – friendly? "It's quite a change. Do join us Potter, or Snape, or whatever you're called now."
Dumbly, Harry did as he was told. He walked slowly into the other room, one hand instinctively going to his wand in his pocket, and keeping a good distance away from the other teen. He perched uneasily on the edge of the sofa. What in Merlin's name was going on?
"So, this is fun," Draco started lightly, a glint in his eye Harry hadn't seen before except when they'd had one of their more memorable fights. He glanced between father and son, unable to keep the small smile that lingered from his lips.
"How do you know who I am?" Harry asked guardedly. Looking vaguely surprised that the green-eyed teen had spoken first, Draco replied, almost politely. It was almost surreal.
"Easy. I'm a Slytherin, remember?"
'I'm sure there's more to it than that,' Harry thought quickly, opening his mouth to voice it. He was interrupted by another voice before he could however.
"What are you going to do?"
Draco laughed slightly.
"Well I'm hardly going to hand him over to Voldemort, am I Sev? And who would believe me – Harry Potter is Snape's son?"
Harry barely even flinched this time, but Draco noted it quickly anyway, his sharp eyes noting the fleeting expression and filing it away for thinking later.
"And other than that, how else could this information be played to my advantage?"
"Indeed," Severus remarked, still seeming to be cool with his house student.
"So we're supposed to just trust you with this?" Harry asked, glancing between the two people he was supposed to hate.
"Well, short of Obliviating me, which I would object to, yes, I guess you will," Draco replied, trying to gauge his reaction.
"And you're on our side?"
"Yes," he replied simply, showing through his clear grey eyes his openhearted honesty. Harry couldn't bring himself to even doubt the other teen at that moment – everything felt right after being wrong for too long. Part of his mind, however (sounding vaguely like Ron), was also screaming at him a list of all the things he had done, all the things that had happened.
It was all a bit much for one night – he could feel a rather nasty headache uncurling in his mind, bringing with it promises of thumping agony and a restless night. Covering a wince, Harry glanced at Snape.
"I have some homework sir, can I go to my common room?"
"You'll have to see the headmaster first – otherwise everyone will wonder who this new Gryffindor is," the dark wizard remarked dryly. Harry flushed and nodded sheepishly.
Standing, opened a small black box Harry hadn't yet noticed on his mantelpiece. He took a pinch of the powder and threw it into the flames, calling the headmaster's name.
Stepping out, the elderly wizard glanced around, and noted Draco's presence calmly.
"Harry wishes to return to the Tower," Snape said evenly, and Dumbledore turned to Harry.
"What a good idea. We don't want you missing homework because of these meetings," the headmaster agreed thoughtfully. "Lets see…"
"Instauro praealtus incantatem!"
With the sickening feeling of shrinking, his bones remoulding and muscles contorting, Harry felt his old body return. It was strange – he must've only been in it for half an hour to an hour, and yet that body seemed much more natural than the familiar 'James Potter' clone he was now. Noticing the way the world had turned foggy, he dug his glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on, the world coming into focus with a jump.
"All done?" the headmaster asked. Harry nodded.
"Right then. I'll see you to the Entrance Hall Harry, if Severus, you could stay here with Draco. I'm sure there are things you wish to discuss."
Harry was even more puzzled by this, but the headache seemed to be spurred on by the change, and it was fast approaching migraine status. Silently, he followed the elderly wizard, bidding him goodnight at the foot of the stairs, and making his way up on his own. It must've been after curfew, but he didn't meet anyone.
Wondering briefly if only Snape and Filch bothered to patrol the corridors at night, he slipped into the empty common room, and up to the dorms. Deciding to do his homework tomorrow when he wouldn't have a headache, he collapsed into bed, before realising with a quiet groan that his pain-relieving potions were across the room.
He felt too achy to move – and his bones seemed suddenly to be made of lead, but nonetheless, he stretched out his wand hand and summoned one across, downing it quickly. It didn't seem to do a lot of good, but he dropped it to the floor, and closed his eyes, still fully clothed.
Eventually, he fell asleep.
"What?!" Ron exclaimed the next morning as the three walked into Charms. "Malfoy was there?"
"Sh!" Harry said hastily, digging him in the ribs with his elbow. "He's on our side – I told you, remember?"
"Malfoy, on our side?" Hermione said with some suspicion.
"Yes. He said so, so did Snape and Dumbledore."
That satisfied Hermione a bit, but she still looked doubtful. Harry didn't blame her, but his continuing headache was shortening his already snappy temper. It bothered him that it still seemed to be hanging around from last night, but with all the strange events going on, he brushed it aside as a nuisance and had explained most of the story over breakfast. Now he was getting the Hogwarts version of the Spanish Inquisition.
"And you believed him?" Ron asked disbelievingly.
"Yes, I did," he sighed. "You weren't there – he was telling the truth."
"Huh, must be a first," the redhead muttered, before slinging his bag onto a desk next to Hermione.
"We shall be working with a partner today class!" Flitwick called from the front, and there was a sudden rush as people moved, desperate to be with their friends. Hermione and Ron looked unhappily at Harry, but he waved them off, smiling.
"No, you go together."
They watched as he walked to the back of the room, and, to their amazement (and the shock of the rest of the small class), stopped by the back table, where, habitually, sat Draco Malfoy.
"Can I sit here?" he asked, and the class went silent as the blond replied.
"Sure."
Moving his smart leather satchel out of the way, Harry dumped his bag by the side of the chair, sitting down. Ignoring their audience, they waited patiently for Flitwick to call the class to order. Which took some time, as the small gnome almost fell over when he saw the two together.
"Now, today chaps, we'll be studying the Language Charm – the incantation is fecunde linguas. Now, say it with me – fecunde linguas!"
"Fecunde linguas!" they chanted obediently, sounding more than a little bored.
"Well done! Now, who in here knows how this charm works?" The usual hand shot up. "Miss Granger?"
"It is a charm to grant the user the ability to speak a language fluently for fifteen minutes. The first language they hear besides their mother tongue after the incantation is the language they speak."
"Excellent – 10 points to Gryffindor! Quite excellent!" Flitwick enthused, unconcerned by the disturbingly familiar routine. "Now, who in here knows a second language?"
Four hands were raised, until Draco poked Harry in the torso and muttered to him.
"Parseltongue."
Harry flushed a little, but raised his own hand, flashing Draco a small, if wary smile.
"Excellent. And good, you're all in separate pairs. Now, is there any one in a pair without one of these people?"
Glancing around the room, nobody raised their hands – the group was happily small enough that they were able to start straight away.
After seeing Ron and Hermione start the spell work near the front, Harry turned to Draco.
"I'm not here because I trust you," he started in a low tone, "but because I think I should try."
Draco smiled for a second, before the mask fell back, and they started. Harry went first, pointing his wand towards himself and saying the words.
"Fecunde linguas."
Taking his cue, Draco smirked, and started to speak. "Ah, Harry – parlez-vous le français?" Ah Harry – do you speak French?
"Oui," Harry replied, the words moving from English in his head, to French on his tongue. "Je parle le français. Il est trés bien!" Yes. I speak French. It's very good!
"Tu m'énerve," Draco replied easily, earning a small scowl from Harry. You are very annoying.
"Et vous? Tu m'énerve aussi!" And you? You are very annoying as well!
"Oui, mais pas autant que toi." Draco smirked. Yes, but not as much as you.
"Finite incantatem," Harry said, ending the spell. "Your turn."
"Fecunde linguas."
"Ssayeth crassiess syesster," Harry hissed, to the slight surprise of Draco. Parseltongue beats frog-man. It wasn't public knowledge after all that Harry had mastered his ability to speak parseltongue. Everyone had thought that he needed to see a snake in order to do it. Just one of the many things he didn't know about Harry.
"Syesster?" Draco replied, wondering why the word 'French' translated into 'frog-man'. "Ssayeth estis lysusiath. Msas estis frasthes losuises." Parseltongue is not what is natural (weird). But it is very like the sun on your scales (cool).
"Syeth." Harry laughed, more like a hissing noise than real laughter. Yes. "Usieth lla esties losuises ills." I think we are unnaturaling (scaring) them.
Draco glanced around at the class, who were watching the conversation with interest and not a little fear. Draco snorted.
"Thessi graths." Stop man-spell. Draco incanted, grinning.
"Don't worry," Harry commented, switching back to English. "We won't bite."
Glancing across at the Slytherin, they both burst into laughter.
Catching up with his best friends after class, he waited until Hermione had finished writing down the homework (further study on the uses and drawbacks of the fecunde linguas charm), before springing into the conversation.
"That was so cool!"
Noticing his best friend, Ron scowled. "What was all that about?"
Harry stopped, his grin falling. "What?"
"I said, 'what was all that about'? You and Malfoy acting like old pals," the redhead spat. Harry frowned.
"We were just practising the spell. Some of the things translate differently from parseltongue to English. Draco tried to say 'French', but it came out as 'frog-man'!"
Hermione smiled thoughtfully at this, her mind already racing to think it through. Ron went redder.
"Oh," he sniffed, "so we're calling him 'Draco' now, are we?"
Just then, right at that moment, Harry lost his temper.
"Yes! I am, Ron! Because he's on our side, and we're going to have to fight beside him, maybe even die beside him. And if he's willing to put it past him, then so am I. I haven't got time for silly little grudges!"
Ron was trying to control his own temper, but also reasoning with his friend. "Has he apologised? Has he said sorry for all the things he's done to us over the years? For calling Hermione a 'mudblood'? For all the comments about 'bad blood' and my family? And all the things he's said about your parents? You're just going to go along with him, after you heard, from his own mouth, that he's on our side."
"Yes!" Harry yelled back, "because have we apologised? What about all the things we've said and done over the years? And I trust him – Dumbledore trusts him, Snape trusts him-" Ron snorted.
Without even looking around to check that the room was empty, Harry lost his head. "If you hadn't noticed, Snape's my father now – you say bad things about him, and they reflect on me! And if you don't trust my judgement then at least be my friend enough to give me damn good reason!"
As they stood and glared at each other, Hermione standing to one side, her face pale, a calm voice came from behind them.
"You're right."
They all turned. It was Draco.
"I owe you an apology."
He turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry Granger – my only defence is that Lucius was desperate to bring me up to be a model Death Eater, and even when I shook that off, I had to keep up the pretence until I could leave. I know it's not enough, and you don't have to accept it, but I'm sorry," he paused.
"And you and Weasley, Harry. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," Harry said after a moment, hand outstretched, "if you'll accept mine. Sorry."
They shook hands, and both of them grinned inwardly at the memory of that time on the train in first year.
"I'm sorry too," Hermione piped up bravely, still ashen-white. She extended her own hand, and shook Draco's. "But don't call me Granger – Hermione will do."
"Right," Draco replied, glancing briefly at Ron, who was still glaring. The redhead glanced between his best friends for a moment, then left in a huff. Harry rolled his eyes, before wincing. Back again… The last headache had been ignored during the lessons' fun, and he had hoped to see the back of it, but apparently it was too good to be true.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned as the teen raised his hand to remove his glasses and rub circles into the pressure. "Another headache?"
He nodded gently, and gladly took the proffered bottle.
"You OK, Potter?"
"Oh just call me Harry – you did before," Harry replied with a sigh, willing the potion to work. "And no – I've been having these headaches… Ruddy nuisance."
"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed softly, glancing at her watch. "We're late for Defence. Harry, you've gone pale – do you want to go and lie down? We'll tell Professor Turner."
Harry snorted weakly. "As if she'll notice – and if she does, she'll be happy. Yeah, I think I will. See you later Hermione, Draco."
With that, he pulled his satchel off the desk and left, leaving the two behind.
Hermione coughed, slightly uncomfortably. "We'd better go."
"Yes – god forbid we appear late to Turner's splendid lessons," Draco replied sarcastically, and Hermione smiled, knowing, for once, it wasn't directed at her but at the teacher.
"Of course," she returned, and they walked to Defence, carefully avoiding mentioning anything that might raise an argument. Even House Elves.
Meanwhile, Harry was heading for the dorms. He'd made it to the common room without much fuss, but the ache in his head had spread to the rest of his body, and he had to resort to levitating his bag in front of him, to save the pain in his back. His shoulders were magnificently painful, and his eyelids were drooping already as he stumbled up the stairs. He was just able to fling his bag in a corner and peel off most of his outer clothes before crashing onto the bed, immediately asleep.
Ron and Hermione (the former still annoyed) came to find him before dinner, and were relieved slightly to see him sat up in bed, doing his homework. However, when Hermione lit her wand tip in the semi-darkness to read his essay, he winced and covered his eyes. Immediately extinguishing the light, Hermione moved closer to him, to feel his temperature.
"You're warm," she commented with a frown. "I'd say a slight fever, bad reaction to light, headaches, general pains… you're ill, Harry."
"I'm fine," he replied, scrubbing his eyes. "I'm just not used to the light – it must've got dark in here."
"Harry, you're sick," she insisted. "I think you should see Madam Pomfrey."
"No!" he replied quickly, "No, I'm fine, honest."
She didn't budge.
"If it gets worse, I'll go to her."
"At this rate, we'll be carrying you!" she protested vainly. Grinning weakly, he shooed them off his bed and told them he was going to get some sleep, snatching up his pyjamas as he did so.
"You not hungry, Harry?" Ron put in, his tone cool but concerned. "You'll miss dinner."
"I'll live. Besides, I don't think I could eat anything – I just feel too tired," Harry yawned.
The pair eventually left, Hermione insisting that he drink lots, which would apparently flush out the fever. He drank a glass of water from the jug on his table to please her, before changing clothes and sinking back down into the bed.
Thank god it was Saturday tomorrow.
In his empty dorm, Draco sat, cross-legged on his bed, his eyes closed. He needed this moment of meditation – pure quiet and calm from the rest of his hectic, dangerous life, and he treasured it. Breathing deeply, he forced out of his mind his thoughts of the day, his worries about Harry and what was going on, about the young Death Eaters that were already working against him and the school, and to think of nothing but peace.
Peace was fields, running through lush grass at night – bright constellations overhead. Peace was a river, cool and sweet to quench his thirst, and to calm his mind with its gentle babbling. Peace was the breath of the trees, and the cool beauty of the moon.
Some time later, Draco opened his eyes lethargically, got up, changed clothes, and went to bed, ready for the next day.