27 – Through Evil's Eyes
Draco Malfoy did not pace, not unless he specifically meant to pace. He planted his feet solidly and gripped his hands behind his back, resisting the urge to look down. It was always disconcerting when one's own body was invisible. Whenever he was disillusioned, like he was now, he kept his eyes up. He scanned the path from the front gate of Hogwarts all the way to the castle. He saw nothing.
In fact, it would be a problem if he saw something. Potter, or whoever he'd send, needed to stay out of sight. Surely Potter could manage a simple disillusioning charm. A chill ran down Draco's back and he clenched his shoulders so that they wouldn't shudder. He'd made the mistake of underestimating Potter before. His first few years at Hogwarts he'd agreed with his godfather's assessment that Potter's renown in the wizarding world was completely misplaced. It was obvious that he was only an adequate wizard, leaning heavily on Hermione to scrape through his classes. He was a good flyer, okay, an exceptional flyer. The Dark Lord couldn't be defeated by quidditch though.
Draco felt the temptation to move, to walk, to do something, wash through him and he fought it off. He needed to practice discipline. His self-control was slipping and he needed it back. As the minutes stretched on he kept his eyes on the path, searching for any slight movement, a pebble kicked out of place, the shimmering a disillusioned person caused as they moved, anything.
He should've had Nappy bring him a calming potion before he left the cottage, but that would've required admitting, to Nappy and to himself, that he needed it. It wasn't that he was nervous. Of course, he wasn't afraid of Potter. He just didn't trust him.
The whole world trusted Potter. That very much included Hermione who was an absolutely brilliant witch. Even the Dark Lord was sure that Potter was his arch enemy, the very embodiment of goodness and light.
Draco wasn't so sure. He'd almost died the night he learned that Potter was most definitely a competent dueler, but also possibly . . . something more.
What if Potter wasn't the self-sacrificing hero they were all so sure he was? What if he had his own agenda? What would it be?
Had anyone else felt what Draco had felt? At first when Potter had barged into the bathroom that night, Draco had been overcome with anger. As they'd dueled he'd been unpleasantly surprised at Potter's speed, the power of his magic. Then Potter had hit him with a thoroughly dark slashing spell. The force of it, the pain of it, had knocked him off his feet. He'd tried to get up, but when he glanced down and saw that he'd been sliced down the center, his vision went black at the edges and his head swam. He'd been helplessly bleeding out on the bathroom floor when Severus had appeared, like a guardian angel in black, and healed him with a strange chant. The wound had been closed and the bleeding had stopped, but throughout the long night in the hospital wing Draco had known that something was still horribly wrong. He'd been gripped repeatedly by nausea and chills. Whenever he dozed he was assaulted by dark dreams that were eerily similar to those he got when he spent too much time around the Dark Lord. He felt like he always felt after one of his master's mind invasions – unclean. He wanted to wash and wash even though he knew it wouldn't help. He'd tasted the bitter saltiness of brimstone, but no matter how much water he'd rinsed through his mouth, how much he'd spit, he couldn't get rid of the taste. He'd felt contaminated by the evil of the spell.
It had been early in the morning, far before the sunrise, when his godfather had visited him, arriving as silently as a shadow, standing by his bedside. As he passed his wand over Draco's body a faint golden light swept over him, but the wound in his chest resisted the light. It grew darker, turning black under the spell.
"What is it?" asked Draco.
Severus started, obviously surprised that Draco was awake. "Nothing," he said, reflexively concealing his thoughts. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him and he relented, slightly. "Just checking to see that you are . . . healed."
Draco frowned at the hesitation. It confirmed his suspicions. "Why does this feel so dark? I thought Potter was one of the good guys." His voice dripped with all the sarcasm he could put into it, but Severus wasn't fooled.
"Nothing concerning Potter is that . . . simple." With that, he chanted his healing spell once again, although it seemed somewhat different this time, slower, more intense. Draco watched as the darkness lifted, drifting off, dissipating into the air. The golden light rushed in, covering his torso completely now and Draco let out a sigh of relief. He finally felt clean.
"You'll have to teach me that spell," he had murmured, as sleep closed in at last.
Staring unseeing through the Hogwarts' gates he felt the bony grip of regret. Severus had never shown him the spell. He'd run out of time.
"Malfoy?" Potter's whisper carried through the gate.
"Here." Draco couldn't see anyone, but the gate opened.
"Take my hand. You have to be touching me to get through the wards." Draco sighed. Of course, just as he'd had to touch Hermione to get through the floo. He much preferred touching her.
He reached out blindly and found an arm, clutching it as he walked through the gate. "Can I let go?" He wished his heart wasn't pounding, but . . . would he feel the evil again?
"Yes. Wait. Take this." Draco felt a cool cloth being draped over his head.
"What . . . ? An invisibility cloak? I don't need . . . ."
"It's just a precaution. There are ways to see through disillusioning."
"And a good 'accio' can lift a cloak."
"Not this one." Potter's voice was already coming from down the path as he headed back to the castle. There was no harm in wearing the cloak, although why would he let Draco wear it? Was there any way it could be a trap? Could it be . . . .
Draco followed after him, still wary, expecting to feel the cloud of darkness, but . . . nothing. Was it gone? After that night in the bathroom, he'd felt it on Potter whenever they'd passed in the hall, whenever they'd had class together. Had it just been his imagination? Could he cover it now? Unless . . . it wasn't Potter.
Draco stopped, his feet scraping harshly against the small stones of the pathway. "Wait," he commanded. Was he a fool for trusting whoever this was?
"What?" He could tell Potter was up the path a bit. Good.
"When did we first meet?" Would anyone else know that but Potter? Maybe Weasley or Hermione, but not anyone more . . . dangerous.
"What? Why do you . . . ?"
"Just answer the question."
"At Madame Malkin's. You were with . . . with your mother, getting fitted."
"Okay." Draco resumed his walk toward the castle. It was Potter. "Just being careful."
"No problem."
They didn't speak again until they were in Professor McGonagall's office. Unlike Hermione, Potter spoke the password, "Helga," out loud without stopping Draco's ears. The Pensieve was there on her desk, identical to his father's. How strange to use two different Pensieves in a day.
"So," Potter seemed uncomfortable, not looking him in the face, "Hermione says we should start with . . . Professor Snape's death."
Draco laid the invisibility cloak on a chair, where it appeared silver and shimmering. It didn't look like the cloaks he's seen before. Most of those were simple cloaks covered in a network of charms, said to include a repelling charm to force the eyes away and a confundus charm to confuse people into thinking they'd seen nothing. This cloak felt different, as though it really made the wearer disappear.
Potter cleared his throat and Draco realized he'd probably been waiting for a reply. "Oh, okay. Are you coming in?"
"No. Seeing it once was enough." At least he'd be alone. This was not a moment he wanted to share, especially not with Potter.
Right away, the memory was not what he'd expected. He'd known that the Dark Lord had lied about Severus's death, but where were they? Not in the forest, but inside somewhere. Some filthy shack? And Potter, who's eyes he was watching the whole scene through, seemed to be lying on the floor. Since no one was reacting to his presence he must have been under his cloak again. Draco moved around and confirmed that he couldn't see Potter. Was Hermione with him? Or Weasley? There was no way to know. He turned to watch the Dark Lord and Snape.
Snape was scared. If Draco hadn't known him so well he might not have seen it, but Snape's usual calm wasn't there. And there was something in the tightness of his jaw, a stiffness in his neck. He kept repeating that he needed to go find Potter. Of course he wasn't going to change the Dark Lord's mind. Was he stalling? Or just desperate? Either way, watching his godfather - knowing that he'd been right to be worried, his death was coming - it made Draco's stomach curdle. The Dark Lord's voice was soft, sibilant. That was always when he was at his most dangerous.
Why were they discussing the Dark Lord's wand? What was this about? Draco tried to focus on their words.
Then, there was a shift. It was so sudden, that Draco's arms flew out, as if to grab something, to hold something and regain his balance. Everything moved and Draco fell to one knee. Had Potter suddenly apparated? When he looked up he was in the same room, but the Dark Lord was gone. Severus was still there, but now he was right in front of him, as though Draco were staring right into his face.
Draco jerked with shock as he realized what had happened. He was now looking at Severus through the Dark Lord's eyes. Was this his memory? That wasn't possible. It was Potter's memory. Draco's mind felt frozen. What could this mean? Was this some spell? How could Potter be in the Dark Lord?
And the Dark Lord, whose voice was coming from far too close, was sounding insane. He spoke of the "Elder Wand," the "Wand of Destiny," the "Deathstick." Didn't he know that was just a myth? But no, the Dark Lord seemed to believe in it. Was Potter controlling him somehow?
Draco knew he should focus on this memory, but his mind was floundering. Potter was evil. Was he the Dark Lord? And Severus, he was so pale he seemed to be already a ghost, or a corpse. Draco felt bile rise in this throat. He clenched his eyes and fought it back. He gripped the coin in his pocket, needing to feel something solid, something he understood. He opened his eyes only to see Nagini's bubble already encasing Severus, the fangs approaching. Draco flinched back, eyes closed again. This couldn't be real. He forced his eyes open. He knew he was missing words, important words, Severus's last words. Severus fell to the floor with a horrible, heavy thud.
Draco couldn't breathe. Hermione. Where was she? Why hadn't he waited for her? His fingers found the center of the coin and he started to call her, to say . . . what? Could she help him? Would she? She was, first and foremost, Potter's loyal friend. Did she even know he was in league with the Dark Lord? She'd never believe him.
What was Potter up to? Was this some sort of trap? The Dark Lord would know he'd seen this. Potter was probably calling him even now. And here he was, helplessly trapped. All Potter would have to do is cover the top of the Pensieve and he wouldn't be able to get out. Had he already covered it?
Draco gripped his mind and pulled himself out of the memory, gasping with relief once he was out.
His body tensed as soon as he pushed out of the Pensieve and he whipped his head around, wand raised in his tight fist. Now what? He couldn't call Hermione. He needed to get away.
Potter was off guard, sitting at the Head Mistress's desk, holding something in his hand. Good. Maybe he could hex him and get out before . . . .
But Potter's reflexes were too good. He was on his feet, wand pointed back at Draco. "Malfoy? What the . . . ."
"Stay away from me, Potter, if that's even who you are." Draco heard the waver in his own voice, and hoped Potter couldn't hear it.
"What happened? What are you . . . ?"
"Like you don't know. I don't know what your game is but . . . ." Draco's breath caught. If Potter couldn't be trusted, if he was somehow in league with the Dark Lord, he had to be obliviated. If the Dark Lord saw that Draco was here, he'd be finished.
"What the hell!" A voice sounded from the doorway, behind Draco, who shifted quickly sideways so that he could see who it was, while keeping his wand aimed at Potter. It was Weasley. Of course. His wand was also trained on Draco, and he was blocking the door. Escape was now impossible. "What's going on?" Weasley demanded, asking Potter while his eyes stayed on Draco.
"I have no idea. Everything was fine. He was in the Pensieve. Then he came bursting out ranting and . . . I have no idea."
"Have you seen it Weasley? Or are you in on it with him?" Draco couldn't decide what was more unlikely. Was Weasley secretly helping the Dark Lord? Or did he not have any idea how evil Potter was? Not that it mattered. There was no way Draco could convince Weasley not to trust Potter.
"In on what? Harry, what memory was it? What's he talking about?"
"It was the shrieking shack, Snape's death." Potter answered.
"Were you there?" Draco demanded and Weasley nodded. "Did you see what happened? Could you even tell that he was . . . ."
"Ron? What's wrong? Draco? Harry?"
She was there, her own wand in her hand, but not pointing at any of them.
"Are you okay?" she looked at Draco, her eyes puzzled, and, despite his confusion, his heart soared as he saw her concern. She asked him first. But how could he convince her, tell her when he wasn't even sure. He had to try.
"It's Potter. Stay away from him. He's not who you think he is."
Her eyes darted over to Potter, eyebrows furrowing. "What? Who is he?"
"I don't know, but he's evil. He's not fighting the Dark Lord. He's with him. He's . . . ."
"Harry, what memory did you show him?" Hermione had stepped past Weasley and she stood just inside the doorway, wand still pointing down.
"Snape's death."
"You . . . you killed him." The full horror of what he'd seen was still sinking into Draco's mind.
"No, but I . . . I should've warned you. I forgot . . . ."
"Harry, did you tell him about your connection? Your connection with Old Ugly?"
"He didn't have to tell me. I've felt it. I saw it. And you . . . ." How could she be so calm? "You knew?" She was in on it. Draco's arm wavered. He should just lower his wand, let them kill him, let them turn him over to the Dark Lord. But no. Who knew what they'd do to him then?
Hermione bit her lip. "Draco, look. This isn't what you think. Well, I don't know what you think, but I can explain. Will you let me?"
"Not here. He's going to call him. I can't stay here. We have to obliviate him." Draco could feel his breaths coming faster, his heart pounding in his throat.
"Draco, if Harry puts down his wand, Ron, too, will you give me a chance to explain?"
"No." He was outnumbered. All Potter had to do was give a signal and they could . . . .
"What if I hold their wands? What you saw . . . there was a connection. It's gone now. Let me explain. Please."
He looked into her eyes. She hadn't changed. He'd never felt any evil come from her. She'd healed him, helped him.
"Please. Trust me."
He nodded, feeling as though he'd just laid his neck out on the executioner's block. If he couldn't trust her, then what did any of it matter anyway?
"Harry?" She silently summoned Harry's wand. "Ron?"
"You have to be kidding me."
"He has good reason not to trust Harry. Harry, you were in Snake Eye's head for that memory, weren't you?"
"Yeah, but how did you . . . ?"
"That night, I saw you grab your head, just like you always did when the pain was bad, when the connection was strong, and I thought . . . well, I never got a chance to ask, what with all that happened, but I thought it had happened again."
Potter nodded, sitting back down and picking up the sneak-o-scope he'd been holding before.
"Ron?" Hermione held out her hand and Ron handed her his wand, then folded his arms and glared at Draco.
"Draco? Do you want to sit down? This is going to take a while."
"What I want to do is get out of here." Draco couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped. The Dark Lord could appear at any moment. He'd kill them all.
Hermione signed, her shoulders sagging, then she looked back at him. "Fine. Let's go back to . . . the usual place. We can use the floo. Is it open, Harry?"
"Yes." He glanced at his watch. "Just for another hour though. Let me know if you need it after that."
"Wait. Now? You're just going to leave?" Ron stepped forward, as if to stop her physically, then stopped as he realized that was a bad idea.
"Yes," Hermione nodded as she spoke. "We don't need the Pensieve, at least not yet."
"But it could be a . . . ."
"Ronald. I've been his contact for ages. If he'd wanted to trap me he could've done it long ago. This is the quickest way, and we don't have that much time."
Draco tried to focus on breathing. Hermione was calm. It was going to be okay. His eyes went to the door again, halfway expecting the Dark Lord to be bursting in. No, he'd probably just apparate right into the room. Except, surely McGonagall had protections up. She wouldn't allow that. Could Potter outwit her magic? He glanced at Potter, who was poking at the sneak-o-scope with one finger. He certainly didn't look dangerous at the moment.
"Draco? Are you ready?" His head jerked back to Hermione. Were they just going to leave? Was it that simple?
They stepped toward the fireplace. Wait. His heart froze. They'd follow. "No, the Leaky Cauldron first," he said, halfway expecting her to protest.
"Fine." She threw the floo powder in, grasped his arm firmly, then stepped back with a jerk. "Harry, your cloak. Can we borrow it?"
Potter just nodded, then gestured toward the chair where the cloak lay, strangely visible now that it wasn't being used. Hermione grabbed it, paused, then carefully left the two extra wands on the chair. Draco frowned, but then Hermione draped the cloak over him and he decided not to worry about Harry and Ron having their wands back. At last, she spoke the words and they were in darkness together, spinning toward the Leaky Cauldron.
A moment later they emerged. A couple of faces turned. One seemed to almost recognize Hermione, but she turned her back, muttered a quick Muffliato, then tossed more floo powder in and stated "Malfoy Cottage." Draco stepped out into the cottage as quickly as he could and felt relief from being somewhere familiar and safe sweep through him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Draco? Do you want to get some tea before we get started?"
Hermione's voice broke him out of his trance-like relaxation. He frowned at her. How could she be so calm? Did she think he was being hysterical? Paranoid? "Hermione, look, I know Potter is your friend, but there are things you don't know about him. I've been exposed to more . . . evil and I can feel it on him. It's not my imagination. Do you remember . . . ."
"Draco, wait. I'm going to listen to you. I promise. I just thought you might want some tea while you gather your thoughts. If you don't, that's fine. We can . . . ."
"No, you're right. Nappy?" The elf appeared instantly, glanced at Hermione and seemed to suppress a smile. Draco felt his shoulders loosen. Nappy seemed so . . . normal. "Can you get us tea? With something to eat?"
Hermione was sitting on the sofa, trying to look patient, but he could feel her underlying tension. She rubbed nervously at her collarbone. Was she worried that he was losing it?
He thought about sitting next to her, but decided he was still too wound up for that.
"Hermione, this isn't just about the memory I saw. It started way before that. Potter and I always . . ." He broke off as Nappy reappeared, with a small tea tray. He and Hermione watched in a heavy silence as Nappy prepared their tea, somehow remembering that Hermione took hers with no sugar, just cream. Hermione took her cup and took a sip, even as Nappy disappeared. Draco wasn't ready to drink his yet. His hands would probably shake given the tension he still felt.
"Do you remember the end of 6th year, when Potter slashed me?" Sixth year, and particularly the events at the end of the year, was not a subject Draco enjoyed discussing, but she had to know this. He looked intently at her. She was nodding. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again.
"That was a dark spell. I don't know who the hell taught him that. I thought Dumbledore was supposed to be above such things." Hermione again looked like she was going to speak, but he needed to get this out. "But it's not just that the spell was dark itself. You know that spells like that . . . evil spells . . . don't work for just anybody. It's all about intent. You have to want to hurt someone. You have to want to cut, to kill. And . . . when someone does . . . you can feel it. You can feel the hate." His stomach churned as he refused to think about that feeling. He glanced up at Hermione. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she stared off into her own memories.
He closed his eyes. He was such a jerk. He dropped down next to her and grabbed her clenched hands in his own. She jumped as though she'd forgotten he was there. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to make you think about . . . ." He didn't want to say the name. He didn't want to make it worse. If anyone had felt a dark spell dripping with hate it was Hermione.
"It's okay," she said after a few moments. "Just don't . . . I understand. You made your point."
"Are you okay?" She nodded, but it was tight, just a slight jerking of her head. He held on to her hand, hoping this would calm her a bit. "This is the thing – when Potter cut me – I felt the evil in him, the hate bursting out of him. I know he had good reason to hate me, but using that hate, using its power is dangerous. It changes you. Severus had to come back later that night and help pull the evil out of me. It was . . . powerful. You know Potter is powerful. Have you ever asked why?"
He shouldn't have asked that. He was going too far. She turned to him and he was surprised to see that she wasn't angry. "Yes. I have, Draco, so has Harry. You're right. There was evil in him, but he couldn't help it. Well, . . . at least he didn't ask for it to be there. It doesn't matter. Not now. It's gone."
"Have you seen that memory, seen it through his eyes? Have you seen how he killed Severus? It was him. He was in the Dark Lord."
"Draco, yes, you're right, well, sort of right. He wasn't exactly in Snake Eyes. He didn't kill Professor Snape, but he was . . . ."
Suddenly, Hermione stiffened, sitting straight up as though something, someone had grabbed her. She yanked her hand away from Draco and pressed both of her palms against the center of her chest. "Oh," she gasped in a soft, surprised voice.
"Hermione? Are you okay?" Draco tried to think of what this could be, what was happening? A spell? A curse? A sickness? A heart attack?
Then she went limp, and fell back against the sofa, her eyes closed.
AN – Thanks, as always, to my beta, Hesaluti, who did some lovely Brit-picking this time. I know I'm ending with a cliff-hanger, so notwithstanding birthdays, anniversaries, homecomings, graduations and a short trip, I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. Thanks for you patience! (Unless you weren't patient – then thanks for nothing.)