Chapter 6 - Christmas
The weeks seemed to pass at an alarming rate and soon winter break was upon them.
Dumbledore had promised to continue with Harry's private lessons, but thus far, the remainder of December had been dry. Harry's first two meetings earlier in the school year had been undeniably provoking, each involving a disturbing Pensive trip to the depths of Voldemort's roots, but as the weeks sauntered on, Harry was quickly becoming antsy for more. He wanted to be prepared for whatever was to come and couldn't help noticing how slowly his progress was plodding.
Detention with Snape was no longer keeping his mind off things, as it had become duller than a Binns class ever since they'd finished the boxes containing his father's era. Malfoy hadn't proved much entertainment either. He wasn't malicious towards Harry during the meetings, he merely treated him like he didn't exist, exiting and entering the Defense classroom without a word or glance edgewise.
That didn't mean Harry had stopped checking up on the Slytherin. He still kept the Marauder's Map with him at all times and opened it obsessively, but Malfoy seemed to be laying low. The Slytherin spent most of his time in the dungeons or doing ordinary things, like eating in the Great Hall and attending classes. The few times Harry found Malfoy unplottable were random and patchy.
It was as if he were consciously avoiding a pattern to keep from being followed and it was working, damn-it.
Why did Slytherins have to be so slippery?
"Are you sure you won't come to the Burrow, mate?" Ron said, bringing Harry back to the present. A smattering of cloaked students were steadily filtering out of Hogwarts and towards the Hogsmeade station where the train was waiting to cart them back to London. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were standing just beyond the doors in the brisk December air.
"And you know you could always come to stay with me in Hampstead. My parents would be happy to have you," Hermione's curly brown locks were peppered white with the flakes drifting lazily from the sky.
Harry smiled warmly at the two of them, "Thank you both, but I don't think I should leave Hogwarts right now. It's been a while since my last er- 'private lesson' with Dumbledore, so I think its best I stay available just in case,"
"Well if you've made up your mind, I guess I'll break the news to my mum. She'll be disappointed at first but I'm sure she'll get over it,"
"Tell Mrs. Weasley thanks for the invitation. And Happy Christmas," Harry added with a grin.
"Alright, I will. I'll send Pig out with your present, so if you find an overly excited ball of fluff outside your window Christmas morning, let him in," Ron gave Harry a firm handshake before turning to Hermione, his frost nipped cheeks going a shade darker. "-Er, and I'll send your gift by owl too, so watch out for it," Ron made an awkward jerking motion with his arms and took a half step forward, dancing indecisively between a hug and a handshake.
Hermione rolled her eyes and embraced him fully, causing Ron to comically stiffen before melting into her with dreamy eyes.
Harry masked his laugh by turning it into a series of dry coughs.
"Have a good break. And Happy Christmas," Hermione released Ron and hugged Harry as well. She braced his shoulders with her hands as she stepped back. "Harry, just be careful, alright? I'm sure you've noticed you're not the only sixth year spending holiday in the castle," Her chocolate eyes flicked to where a small cluster of Slytherins were huddled. Malfoy stood with folded arms as Blaise and Pansy bid their farewells. Crabbe and Goyle were already lumbering off towards the station, two dark hulking blobs against the snow-covered grounds.
Malfoy's name had been among the scant few marked on the list of students remaining on campus during break. Very troubling, Harry thought, considering Malfoy usually boasted over his luxurious vacations at the manor.
"A part of me wonders if that's half the reason you've decided to stay," Hermione said suspiciously.
"Well, no...not really. But I mean, while I'm here, I might as well keep an eye on him," Harry said, tugging at his maroon and gold stripped scarf guiltily. It was true, after all. The extra opportunity to investigate Malfoy had indeed been a large factor directing his decision, but he wasn't going to admit that to Hermione. Not when both she and Ron believed him half-looney for his persevering loyalty to the Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory.
She shook her head and sighed as if she knew the truth. "Just don't do anything reckless, okay? We'll see you in a few weeks,"
And with that, Ron and Hermione set off to join the excited throng before their darkening figures disappeared over the hill.
Harry found his eyes traveling back across the ground to where the Slytherins had been gathered. Pansy was the last one to linger but she had finally departed with the rest of the students, leaving just one solitary Slytherin behind, a sinewy figure in night-black trousers and a handsome olive cloak buttoned tightly to his throat.
Harry's breath caught in his lungs as Malfoy turned and looked his way at the same moment.
Their eyes locked like magnets snapping together.
A sudden gust kicked up, slanting the snowfall and sending Malfoy's platinum hair swirling. Even from a distance, Harry could see the storm in his eyes, which were dark like charcoal today. Harry's stomach lurched as he glimpsed a shadow of the broken Malfoy he'd found sobbing in the bathroom many weeks ago but it vanished like a ghost with the dying wind.
The Slytherin composed his features into a sneer and let out a huff of mist before turning back towards the castle, olive cloak billowing out behind him.
Harry shook his head to clear it before making his own way back inside.
Christmas morning came and just as Ron had warned, Pigwidgeon woke Harry with a frantic window tap dance that ended with a dramatic feathery finish as he tumbled onto Harry's pillow the instant the pane was pulled forth.
Ron had gotten Harry a miniature model of Galvin Gudgeon, the Chudley Canon's seeker, while Hermione had sent him a box of Chocolate Frogs and a container of broom polish with a much more composed tawny-colored barn owl. Of course Ms. Weasley had knit him a new sweater, this one a striking emerald green embroidered with a golden snitch across the chest. She'd sent it back with Hedwig who had delivered Harry's gifts to the Burrow. The snowy owl was now perched and happily crunching on her Christmas gift, a large container of gourmet owl treats.
Harry wore his new sweater to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner, which involved an indulgent lunch passed cozily at one long table large enough to seat everyone who had remained at Hogwarts, both students, and teachers alike. Hagrid was pleasantly drunk by mid afternoon with Flitwick soon to follow. McGonagall had disapproved at first, but after quite a bit of cajoling and several cups of wine, she became just as red-cheeked as the rest of them. Harry couldn't say it was a bad way to spend Christmas. There were only a total of 7 students remaining in the castle. Himself, two Hufflepuffs, three Slytherins, and one Ravenclaw. All of them had attended the dinner except for one.
Malfoy.
With a mixture of curiosity and duty forcing his hand, Harry excused himself from the festivities early, unable to keep from investigating Malfoy's absence a moment longer.
He scooted past the blatantly tipsy Fat Lady who was accompanied by her friend Violet after giving the password (Banana Fritters) and walked through the barren common room and up to his dorm. He had the entirety of Gryffindor tower to himself, being the only one in his house who hadn't gone home for Christmas. It had felt lonely at first, but certainly made it easier to repeatedly check the Maurauder's Map without being judged a paranoid crack-pot by his friends.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry said with a wand tap to the blank sheet of paper he'd pulled from his trunk.
The map of Hogwarts bloomed into existence, the ink spreading edge to edge like spilled water. Harry unwrapped one of the chocolate frogs from Hermione and bit into it carefully as he scanned the castle for the little dot he'd become so familiar with. Harry frowned as he searched the Slytherin dungeon with no sign of Malfoy. He quickly filed through the rest of the map to no avail.
That could mean only one thing. Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement. "Damn," Harry said, setting aside the half-eaten frog. Just when he was starting to let his guard down.
Malfoy gazed up at the skylight which was blanketed white with snow. The Room of Requirement surprisingly had many windows. They allowed dust-peppered sunlight to slant in lazily, illuminating the mountains of hidden items. He wasn't sure if they were real windows or if it was simply a clever spell. It was very convincing, if that was the case. The architect undoubtable deserved some applause.
He let out a long sigh.
What a depressing way to spend Christmas. It had been physically painful to watch his friends leave for the holiday and had overwhelmed him with searing jealousy. He wanting nothing more than to go with them. To embrace his mother and hide from it all. Unfortunately for him, returning home for break had not been an option. The Dark Lord would surely not have been pleased if he'd found Draco galavanting to the manor for frivolities while Dumbledore was still alive and well.
So the alternative was this. Of course, he'd been invited to attend the feast in the Great Hall, but he would rather eat his own wand than suffer through such a gathering.
He twiddled idly with the tuning pegs of the rhythm guitar he'd found amongst the room's discarded items. He'd had to mend a crack in the body and replace several strings, but it had a nice enough sound now that it was fixed up.
Draco strummed through a few chord progressions, marveling as the music echoed through the cathedral-sized room. It had brilliant acoustics.
Learning an instrument had been a requirement in the Malfoy household. Part of a well-rounded education, so they said. His father hadn't been pleased with his instrument choice, preferring piano or violin, but had grudgingly allowed it once he'd seen Draco's knack for the thing.
It had been ages since he'd played, but the shapes and fingering came back to him like riding a broom.
In the spirit of the holiday, Draco fingered through Cast a Christmas Spell before blending the notes to become the gentle march of Silent Night. His father wouldn't tolerate muggle music, but his mother secretly loved the carol. He recalled playing it for her last Christmas before a cozy fire in the den.
Draco's heart ached at the fond memory. He hadn't known that would be his last happy Christmas. If things went according to plan, he'd be dead by this time next year. The music crumbled at the realization, leaving a penetrating silence in its place.
Draco laughed dryly and used the back of his hand to scrub away the wetness on his lashes.
How morose.
He resituated himself on the stool he'd perched upon and leaned into the dusty guitar, setting his fingers back on the strings.
He should have been working on the cabinet or planning how he might next try to die, but it was Christmas and he needed a break. He began to play, soft and timid at first, then more boldly and intricately as he worked the rust from his fingers. He wove the notes together to form a sorrowful melody, so deeply despondent, it would likely bring even a Minister to tears. He didn't stop once the song was finished, he simply bled it into the next as he forged onward, some from memory, and some from imagination. He told stories of broken hearts and lost lovers, of missed connections and tragic endings. After some time, he began to sing too.
He filled the whole room with music, all lungs and strings and tapping feet.
The noise was enough to stir up a nest of cornish pixies. Five or six of the little winged creatures peered down at him curiously from atop a tower of old classroom desks as he sang.
He played and played until his voice was hoarse and fingers aching.
The snow-covered skylight was darkening by the time he let the room fall quiet, the entire day having slipped past.
Draco stood from the stool and gave his tiny audience a bow. The pixies chittered and dispersed in a flurry as he set the guitar aside and stretched out his shoulders. He was stiff from sitting too long and suddenly realized how hungry he was. Dinner was likely over in the Great Hall, but it was no matter. He'd just nick something from the kitchen on his way back to the dungeons.
More from habit than anything, Draco found his feet carrying him through the shambolic labyrinth until he stood in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. It cast an eerie shadow in the fading light.
He clenched his jaw as he worked the door of it open, running his fingers over the runes he'd carved into the paneling weeks ago. He'd come to the room plenty of times since then but hadn't yet worked up the courage to press any further.
Draco scowled as he pulled the doors open wider, picturing his misery all stored up in the age-worn case.
A wave of reckless frustration suddenly stole over him.
"Oh fuck it,"
Draco pulled his wand from his back pocket and brazenly stepped inside, vaguely aware of how stupid he was acting. He shouldn't be using himself as a live test subject but what was the worst that could happen? He snorted. That he would die?
He was already planning to do that anyway.
Draco pulled his entire body into the cabinet and closed himself in until the fading light was swallowed up completely.
Draco breathed uneasily as he turned to face the back wall, his anger driven resolve wavering as he waited for something to happen. It took a few heartbeats, but slowly, the tingling pull of magic began flowing tangibly all around him. It tugged wantonly at his navel. He closed his eyes and let it coax him forward, the wall before him evaporating like mist. The silence pressed in on him hugely, as he stepped forward, magnifying the sound of his breath and the oddly resonant echo of his footsteps.
He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. He was standing in a limbo of sorts. A void. There was nothing around him but blackness.
And to think Montague had been trapped here for a whole day.
Draco shivered and gripped his wand tighter as he moved forward, unnerved by the lack of visible flooring. After several nerve-rattling minutes, a thread of light gleaned into view, growing steadily closer the further he went. Palms clammy, Draco broke into a run the last few meters, and then suddenly there was visible wood beneath his feet and a wall behind him. Draco gasped as he came to a stop inside the cabinet, but this time was different.
Gathering his wits about him, he took a steadying breath and leaned forward to peer through the keyhole.
He could see shop shelves and glass display cases laden with dark forbidden objects. His eyes widened. He was not in Hogwarts any longer. His chest swelled with blind pride over the accomplishment.
He'd done it. He'd actually done it!
He was about to let out a whoop of childish triumph but the sound caught in his throat as a gravelly voice from within the shop drifted towards him.
"-said it was a family heirloom. Must be worth a small fortune, if I had to guess,"
Draco gulped in surprise and melted against the back of the cabinet, heart pounding. What the hell was Borgin doing keeping his shop open this late? And on Christmas, mind you!
"Perhaps not a fortune, but a few sickles, no doubt," Draco recognized Borgin's voice answer grudgingly.
"How about a few galleons for a special customer like me?" The second, rougher voice said with a slimy sweetness. There was a shuffle of heavy boots and a startled squeak from the shop keeper.
"G-galleons then," Borgin said.
"That's more like it. You see, ordinarily, I wouldn't need the coin, but these days I've got a pack to support. The meat to keep them full doesn't cost much, seeing as The Dark Lord's given us free rein to hunt, but they drink more ale than a hoard of dwarves,"
Draco felt the blood drain from his face as he realized who the second voice belonged to. It was Fenrir Greyback.
"Of course. I completely understand," There was a clinking of coins as Borgin began the money exchange. Draco silently began probing the paneling, pressing against it firmly as if he might be able to physically force his way back into Hogwarts.
Why the hell wasn't the link opening up again?!
"Oh, I'd say it's worth a few more than that, Borgin. These are genuine rubies, after all," There was a grunt and a few extra clinks.
Draco waved his wand frantically, trying a series of nonverbal spells which did nothing to convince the cabinets to communicate. He was trapped.
Think, Draco, Think.
"Wait," Greyback said gruffly, and there was a clatter of gold on countertop as Borgin took in a sharp inhale.
"Isn't this enough without flat out robbing me?!" The shop keeper said indignantly.
"Not that. I heard something,"
Draco froze in place, every hair on his body prickling with adrenalin. His thick swallow was louder than a howler in his ears. His heart was the size of the watermelon and louder than a drum.
The runes. Draco thought suddenly, taking a silent steadying breath. He had to calm down and keep a level head or he would surely be found. I need to carve the runes in the sister cabinet to solidify the connection. That's it.
He would have to do it from memory. He closed his eyes and conjured up the page of Spellman's Syllabary in his mind's eye as best he could. He raised his arm with painful care until his wand was pointed at the sidewall of the cabinet, sweat beading at his hairline.
"It must have been a rat," Greyback said in a dismissive tone, "Now where were we? Yeah, that ought to do it," The shift of coins was dulled, likely gathered into a fabric pouch.
With the background noise as a veil, Draco let a gentle beam ebb from the end of his wand, singeing the lines of the first rune into the wood. It was sloppy work. It had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour to whittle out the symbols the first time, but he didn't have that luxury today. It didn't help that his hand was shaking.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Borgin said, sounding as if it had been the exact opposite of a pleasurable experience.
"You did the right thing. Always best to stay on the good side of a werewolf. Wouldn't want to be an enemy of us when we're feeling snackish," Fenrir laughed throatily. The sound made Draco want to gag. He finished the second rune and began on the third.
"Quite. Now if that is all, I do think I'll be closing up shop-"
"Shh! Do you hear that, Borgin?"
"I can't say I do,"
Greyback drew in several shallow snuffling breaths through his nose like a mutt on rotten meat, "That's not a rat,"
Damn the mangey wolf's sharpened senses. Draco grit his teeth but didn't stop. He was nearly finished the final rune. A little line of smoke curled up from the wood with the last scorch mark.
"You think there is someone hiding in my shop?"
The sniffing was growing louder and there was the distinct thud of heavy boots nearing.
Draco pressed all of his weight against the back wall and clenched his eyes shut, rattling off the activating incantation in his head.
Work, goddamnit! Work!
Draco's stomach leaped into his throat as the back of the cabinet suddenly gave way. There was just enough time to glimpse hair covered knuckles wrenching open the cabinet before the scene fell away.
Draco hit the ground hard as he tumbled out of the other cabinet and into a heap on the dusty floor of the Room of Requirement. His heart was about to explode and there was a stabbing pain in his right hip, but it was forgotten by fear.
"Finite Incantatum!" He shouted, wand pointed wildly at the cabinet. A deep gouge slashed the wood, splitting the carefully carved runes in two. The cabinet sighed as the magic drained out of it, restoring it to the ordinary, ugly, tasteless piece of furniture once more.
Draco clutched the stitch in his side as he staggered to his feet.
He reeled towards the exit and fled as if a pack of werewolves were snapping at his heels.
A/N:
Thank you to everyone reading thus far and a special thanks to the folks who left reviews (Shout out to Tea33, AveRomani, rosabell14, and the Anonymous person who leaves very detailed comments on each chapter- so nice of you all!).
I have no idea how long this fanfiction will end up being but I have a vague plan on how I want to bring it to the end of HBP, so we will see if I can get there! It definitely helps to know I have a few people waiting for new content. I'm sorry the updates are so patchy! Hopefully the next few chapters will come a bit quicker! The next chapter will contain the real beginning of the Harry/Draco romance so hang on tight.
As always, apologies for the grammar/spelling issues I missed.
Thanks again, and continue to stay safe in these unprecedented times!