Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the cold that has been plaguing me for this past week, although I've started to share with my dorm mates.
Thanks to:
Mask:
oooo, a present for me?
Wildlyobsessed:
thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like the characterization
of Draco
Gremlin:
thanks for the review, and yes, Harry and Ron do over react a lot
Ran:
Thanks, I really appreciate the review, and sorry it took so long to
update
Powerhouse:
sorry it was a long update, but thanks for the review
Pandora:
YES! You got it with the title, I'm so happy you mentioned it!
And thanks for the review, it made my day :-D
Natalie:
A happy reviewer means a happy writer, we live to serve the masses,
thanks for the review
NMS:
thanks for reviewing, and you def. got it right, Draco does get tense
when he's not in control of the situation, awesome insight, thanks
again
QuinkyDink:
Yep, Bill's a smart guy being able to read Draco, and the fight
scenes are hard because I know nothing about fighting, oh well,
thanks for reviewing
Chibi-belze:
you've got great English, much better than my Spanish, and I took a
long time updating due to nasty exams and getting ill, but here's
the next chapter
Rachel:
thank you so much, I'm glad that you think its original
And my amazing beta!
------------------------------------------------------------------
Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never.
Draco stared after Bill until the professor was out of sight, completely flummoxed. The professor had corrected him and praised him, given him detention and a Christmas gift, all in the space of five minutes or less. Yes, a Christmas gift. Bill, the Ancient Runes Professor, Gryffindor Head Boy, Order spy, and a Weasley had just given him a Christmas gift.
He had coped with receiving the journal without too many raging questions inside. He had been able to write it off as just a bribe for Bill to get him to help him with the dialect (even though he knew that wasn't the case), but this gift brought back all of those questions.
Draco realized he was staring into space, snapped himself out of it, and looked down at the gift in his hand. Perhaps he should wait until Christmas Day to open the gift, as that was the day usually reserved for presents, but, at the same time, he was looking at probably the only real Christmas gift he would get that year.
He quickly shut the door and opened the gift, this time actually ripping into the paper, and pulled out a plain, unmarked box. He pulled the top off with an emotion some might call excitement, but what he would call merely 'slight anticipation', and immediately knew what Bill meant about not being able to get it in stores.
It was an ivory charm cut in a rectangular shape. On one side was carved the sun-fire symbol of the Syrian clan of wizards, and on the other was the Syrian glyph for 'deceiver'. He picked up the charm, seeing that it was on a black leather strap with slipknots to tighten it to the desired length.
The charm must have come straight from an ancient treasure vault, and while it had no real monetary value (it was more of a cultural and historical piece), it was still rare, plus curse-breakers were only allowed to take a few small pieces from each vault they opened. Most curse-breakers displayed their various conquests but Bill had given this to him. There was a strange warm feeling that grew inside him at that realization.
He slipped the necklace over his head, and tightened it so that it was close to his throat. His fingers explored the grooves of the charm and he smiled when he realized that when he had put it on, it had come to rest with the 'deceiver' side facing out.
When he went to bed that night, he started a list. He figured that he should probably get something for Bill in return, even though Bill wasn't expecting anything in return. That, actually, was part of the reason he wanted to get him something, but he wasn't quite sure what, hence the list.
On Saturday morning the students who were leaving were ushered down to the platform, and Draco snuck out with the bustle and then slipped off to Hogsmeade. He shied away from the more popular shops, not wanting to be recognized, but also knowing that there was probably very little that Bill would even like there.
He found himself wandering the backstreets, glancing in the dusty shop windows and then passing by again. He finally found a store that caught his interest on a nondescript corner and entered. The shop was dark and cluttered, but filled with an assortment of old, odd items, and that was what caught Draco's attention.
The store was empty of any customers, and so Draco wandered the aisles and tables of miscellaneous knick-knacks, picking up a few trinkets here and there and then putting them back down. He found the perfect gift on an especially cluttered table. They were five books, all old from the look of it, but in rather good condition because the covers were made of polished wood and gold overlay and not cloth or leather. They were ancient tales written in their original ancients runes, and not only that, Draco suspected that they were a few of the first written tomes of their kind.
Draco could read three of the books, recognized the fourth, but had no clue about the fifth. He wondered if it was even translated, but even if it wasn't, no doubt Bill would love it. The books were obviously part of series, being the same height and width, and with complementary covers, bound together by a gold rope.
He took the books up to the counter and rang the bell. A woman appeared from the door behind the counter. She was old, that much was evident from her long silver hair and wrinkled tan skin, but she moved with the grace of a woman forty years younger.
"D'ye wish to purchase them, or merely ask what they say?" she asked in a light accent.
"Purchase them," said Draco, "I know what they say."
"Do ye now?" she asked, running an appraising eye over him. "And how is that?"
"I study," said Draco shortly, and set the short stack of galleons down on the counter's dusty surface.
"I meant no offense," said the woman, laughing slightly in a musical way. "I can have them delivered for ye and have 'em arrive Christmas Day, if ye would like."
Draco hesitated, then handed the books over.
"Write the name here," said the woman, sliding over a piece of parchment. "And then add any message ye would like to include on this piece."
Draco filled out the address form, simply putting in 'Bill Weasley' and then paused at the other parchment before scrawling out a message.
"I thankee," said the woman, and Draco gave her a curt nod before exiting the shop and sneaking back to school by way of the backdoor in the dungeons. He spent the rest of the day in his dorm, brooding about the fact that the next day he had detention.
The next morning he ate breakfast with the staff (all of whom ignored him) and the two other Ravenclaws that were staying (they were sisters, one in seventh year, and another in third) and then retired to his room to work out some algorithms on the dialect Bill was trying to translate.
He was so wrapped in his work that he didn't even notice the time until it was too late for lunch and he had to go straight to Hagrid's. He sighed, pulled on a warm jumper and thick pants along with his dragon hide boots, then slipped on his winter cloak and leather gloves and went outside.
He glared as he tromped through the knee deep snow. Detention, over holiday break, he couldn't believe it. And with Hagrid none the less. The half-giant that was dumber than a baby, but no, he had promised Bill that he would try and be nice. He didn't know why he was keeping his word, rule four in the Malfoy code was 'never be a man of your word' and it made perfect sense to Draco. Sometimes looking out for oneself meant breaking an oath, and he had no problem with it, so why was he now keeping his word?
He decided not to think about it as no doubt he would not like the answer, and concentrated on reaching Hagrid's hut.
The large man was waiting for him outside with his large dog, obviously prepared to do work outside.
"I 'ope you've dressed warmly, Malfoy?" he asked in his deep, slow voice.
Draco nodded, but said nothing.
"Good. Now follow me, and follow me close. Yer gonna be 'elping me in the forest. This way."
Draco silently sighed and trudged after the half-giant who made his way easily through the snow. He was glad once they reached the forest because the snow landed mostly in the trees, so there was only a ground cover of a few inches which made walking a great deal less difficult. Hagrid seemed intent on getting where ever it was he was going and Draco was glad that he wasn't talking. While he was going to try and be civil to Hagrid, that didn't mean he wanted the giant to talk.
Hagrid stopped abruptly and knelt down by a tree, looking at something on the ground. Draco found his curiosity peaking and he came closer to see what it was Hagrid was examining.
"Look 'ere," said the teacher, pointing to a black substance near the base of the tree. His massive fingers reached out to touch the substance and came away covered in what was a thick liquid.
"Thestral blood," said Draco, surprise causing him to speak out loud.
Hagrid turned to him obviously impressed.
"'ow'd you know that?" he asked in his slow voice.
Draco figured he meant 'how did he come to recognize it' but he wasn't going to share that with the giant so he shrugged languidly.
"It appears to be black but when the light hits it, you can actually see that it's a dark red. Plus it has the consistency of tree sap."
"Tha's right," said Hagrid. "Five points ta Slytherin."
The large man got to his feet with little effort, which was surprising for a man of his size and Draco straightened as well, allowing the lapse to hide his shock and confusion at the praise. Didn't Hagrid hate him?
"Wolves attacked our herd," said Hagrid, and Draco nodded. Hogwarts had the only tame thestrals that came straight from the wild, while the Malfoys and many other pureblooded families owned domesticated animals, ones that had been bred for pedigree and shown in races and auctions, much like Muggle horses.
"One of 'em clipped Midnight," Hagrid continued, gazing off into the forest. "I stitched 'er up, but she tore 'em out when she was flyin'. Keep an eye out fer more blood, or a depression in the snow since you can't see 'em."
Draco could see thestrals, but he didn't correct the half-giant and merely followed him deeper into the woods. Draco did what Bill asked him too, and kept an open mind, and he was able to see that the gamekeeper was really quite a good tracker. He watched and picked up tips from the Professor, noticing how the big feet only stepped in the unmarked bit of snow and that he seemed to understand what every broken twig meant. He was, reluctantly, impressed.
"There she is," shouted Hagrid, suddenly loping off into the woods. Draco followed at a slower pace, finally spotting the horse-like creature on the ground by a pile of fallen branches. Hagrid knelt by the thestral, his beefy hands surprisingly gentle as he looked for the injury. He must have found it because the thestral shrieked, trying to rise off of its side and get away. Draco finished the last few meters at a run, skidding to his knees in front of the animal, and catching its face between his hands.
"Whoa," he said, holding the head and preventing the thestral from rising. "Whoa, there, Midnight. Hold, hold." The thestral slowly calmed, and Draco looked over to where Hagrid was frowning, searching frantically in his pack for medicine and bandages.
"Where's the bloody- ah, 'ere it is." The professor pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. Draco recognized the potion as an antibiotic for infection and stimulant for the healing process.
The thestral was obviously not one of the tamer animals, because it bucked wildly, catching Hagrid on the shoulder with a hoof that actually rocked the giant back a bit.
"Hold 'er, Malfoy!" Hagrid yelled as the thestral let out an ear-piercing whinny and jerked again, tearing its head from Draco's grasp and nearly getting to its feet with the aid of its wings.
Hagrid practically wrestled the beast to the ground again, and Draco grabbed the head once more and forced it to the forest floor.
"I'm gonna start stitchin', so 'old tight," Hagrid ground out.
Draco had not been riding thestrals since he was five for nothing. He pinned the thestral's head to the ground with his left forearm, while his right delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. With his teeth he opened the blade, and then held the handle with his mouth and sliced the palm of his right hand on the exposed razor-sharp edge.
With his injured hand he managed to close the knife and get it back in his pocket, and then he pressed the bleeding cut to the thestral's mouth, just as it was beginning to struggle again. He let the animal lick the wound a few times and then pulled away once the thestral's dark eyes went slightly glassy. Thestrals were attracted to blood, while fresh blood straight from a vein had sedative-like qualities.
He looked over at Hagrid, watching as the professor stitched a half-healed gash with ease and gentleness. He had a way with animals, that was for sure, and Draco was slightly envious. He couldn't abide most creatures, besides thestrals and dragons, and he was hopeless at caring for things. Even his plants in Herbology were a strain to take care of and it was only through his excellent grades on the written portions of tests that he managed to maintain his E average.
The thestral started to stir again and he pressed his hand once more to its mouth, and so continued the treatment every few moments until Hagrid finished and put his things away.
"Din' know you knew 'ow to take care of thestrals, Malfoy," said Hagrid, noticing his bleeding palm and recognizing it for what it was. "Din' know you could see 'em either."
"We have some at the Manor," said Draco. "I like to go riding in the summer." He deliberately didn't address the question in Hagrid's voice, but stood and wiped his bloody palm on his cloak.
"'Ere, sit down," said Hagrid, taking a seat on a fallen tree a bit away from the thestral and patting the trunk beside him. "Lemme fix yer hand."
"I'm fine," said Draco, shortly. There was no way he was going to put himself in the care of a half-giant. His thoughts startled him. A half-giant? Was he really prejudiced?
"Nonsense," said Hagrid. "I'm not gonna bite. Come 'ere."
Draco remembered what he had told Bill, and he cursed the fact that the only person he would consider obeying had told him to look deeper, so he walked forward and sat on the trunk. He let the half-giant take his right hand in his clumsy fingers, but Hagrid, to his surprise, nimbly wiped the cut with a bit of alcohol as easily as he had done with the thestral.
"So, how long 'ave you been able to see 'em?" Hagrid asked.
Draco flashed back to a handsome face with pale skin crowned by white-blond hair identical to his own, but with bright blue eyes. He remembered a flash of green, and then screaming as the body fell, and a small, private funeral.
"When me dad died," said Hagrid abruptly. Draco looked up to see the large man stare off for a moment, pain reflected in the warm brown eyes. "Tha's when I could see 'em."
Draco had never told anyone about his ability to see thestrals, but being with the animals calmed him just like fresh blood calmed them. Plus, it wasn't as if Hagrid was going to tell anyone, and if he did, he was one of the few people who would be totally disregarded.
"I was seven," he said shortly. "I had a brother, illegitimate of course. He was older than me by at least twelve years, the result of a teenage fling of Lucius. He visited one day, telling the family that he was getting married to a Muggle woman." He stopped short and let out a string of French curses. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he said harshly, trying to pull his hand away. "Look, I'm fine. Let me go."
"Jus' wait 'nother few moments, and I'll have yer all set," said Hagrid. "An' you don' have to talk about it." His brown eyes caught Draco's stormy ones reassuringly and Draco looked away quickly. There had been understanding and empathy in those eyes.
There was silence for a few moments.
"Are you going to take Midnight back?" asked Draco to break the silence.
"Nah," said Hagrid. "She'll 'eal better on 'er own. All she needed was a little 'elp and kindness." He tied the last knot on the makeshift bandage wrapped around Draco's palm. "Let's get walkin'," said the Professor. They headed back in silence before the half-giant spoke again.
"Was he a good brother?" asked he asked and there was kindness in his voice, the sort of kindness that Bill had, and, although Draco wouldn't admit it, he missed the red-haired professor. The only teachers that were left at school were McGonagall and Dumbledore and the former hated him and the latter weirded him out.
"Yeah," said Draco. "He laughed a lot. Liked to play games." Now that he was started he felt compelled to finish the story he had never told anyone. "Anyway, said he was getting married to a Muggle girl. He died with the smile still on his face. He never even saw the Kedavra coming, the only warning was a flash of green light, and then…," Draco trailed off, then turned on Hagrid as they came upon the edge of the forest. "This goes no further than this forest. Even if you did feel like telling, no one would believe you over me, you understand?" He was angry now, angry with himself for letting it spill, angry for letting one act of kindness ruin his façade, and angry that his brother had died in such a senseless fashion.
"I don' tell," said Hagrid evenly.
"Good," Draco spat. "Now I'm heading inside before I catch my death of cold and my father fires your sorry self." He whirled around, cloak flying out behind him as he ran to the castle for all he was worth. But he did not go in; instead he deviated his course for the lake and collapsed by the dead tree.
Not for the first time, he cursed his inability to cry. That, in fact, had been the afternoon that they had discovered the anti-crying charm Narcissa had placed on him the day he was born, and although Lucius had removed it, the damage had been done. So Draco had attended the funeral of his older brother and confidante unable to shed any tears.
He had not spoken of his brother to anyone, and he had not let himself mourn for the person who had loved him the most. Now, he found it was too late, because he could not picture his face, and he could not recall his laugh or his voice.
Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill was glad that he was at the Burrow for Christmas, even if Ron was mad at him for the detention. Ron had, of course, told Mother that Bill had given him a detention because he was fighting Malfoy for attacking Hermione, and Bill had to jump in and explain that Ron and Harry had instigated the fight before his mother went into a rant about 'those Malfoys'.
Ron had then pulled his trump card, and Bill figured that his little brother was awfully sore about getting a detention when his older brother was a teacher there. Ron told Mrs. Weasley that Bill had jumped in front of Malfoy when Ron had been about to punch him and that he was tutoring Malfoy after class.
"He needs the help," Bill had said shrugging. "He took a summer course and it's hard to learn everything in a summer that you're supposed to learn in a year. Plus, Dumbledore told me to keep an eye open for him, so I've been trying to talk to him, you know. He's not that bad, actually."
Both Ron and Mrs. Weasley had given him looks of horror and he had explained more to alleviate the tensions. "He's more confused that anything else, doesn't know what he wants to do. You can't keep thinking of him as a mini-Lucius, because he isn't."
He had kept his voice calm and cool, his teacher's voice, and as it was the holidays, and as they were supposed to be forgiving and kind, Mrs. Weasley couldn't argue with that.
They were staying at 12 Grimmauld Place for the holidays, and it was much improved from the last time that they had been there, but it was much emptier without the raucous laughter of Sirius. Bill watched Harry that night at dinner, noting that the eyes that were usually so bright had become a dull color.
He tried to get a word in with the boy as no one else seemed to notice because they were so busy with preparing for the holidays, but he never seemed to be able to catch Harry alone. It wasn't until later that night, when everyone else was in bed, that Bill had the opportunity.
He had always been a rather light sleeper, especially in a new environment, and so the soft creak of the stairs alerted him that someone was up. He threw on a shirt and pulled on a pair of sweat pants over his boxers, and crept downstairs, noting the faint wand light at the dining room table. It was Harry, sitting dejectedly in one of the hard, wooden chairs.
Bill slid into the chair across from him and lit a few candles, not talking but waiting for Harry to speak, knowing that Harry would feel obligated to talk. He doubted this procedure would work with Draco; the boy would probably just smirk at the silence.
"Feels wrong without him," said Harry, his voice slightly rough.
"Empty," agreed Bill.
"I don't like it," said Harry.
"Don't like what?" asked Bill.
"It being empty," said Harry. "It feels like its laughing at me."
"Why would it be laughing at you?" asked Bill.
There was silence for a moment, and Bill was just beginning to worry that he had pushed to far, when Harry spoke again.
"Because it was my fault," he whispered. "If I hadn't…,"
"Hadn't what?" Bill pried gently.
"If I hadn't run out on Snape, if I had actually learned Occlumency, then Sirius would be here."
"So it's your fault," said Bill.
Harry nodded. "I should have done more. I could have prevented this!"
"Harry, you're just a kid-," Bill began, but Harry cut him off with a mirthless laugh that reminded Bill scarily of another boy's laugh, a boy with white-blond hair.
"I was a kid," said Harry, bitterness and resentment creeping into his voice. "Since when do heroes have the privilege of being a child?"
Well, he certainly waxed profound late at night.
"Alright," said Bill. "You aren't supposed to be a kid. I don't think how it makes any difference."
"How's that?" asked Harry, a note of weariness coming into his voice.
Bill shrugged. "The way I see it, Voldemort has been fooling people for decades, children and adults, adults that are supposed to be our leaders and are paid for making smart decisions. I don't see how you being tricked makes it your fault."
"The fact being that I was the one who was tricked sort of makes it my fault," said Harry, now sounding angry. "My parents die, and then Cedric, now Sirius, it's all my fault!" The last was said in an exclamation of pain and self-loathing.
"Harry," said Bill calmly. "I want you to listen to me now. Cedric's death was because Voldemort is a monster who has killed so many times that another hardly affected him even more. It was his fault and no one else. As for your parents, they died because they loved you, and you can't blame yourself for that, if anything, blame them for loving you so much. Personally, I think that it is a beautiful thing, because you can never doubt how much they love you. It is a terrible thing to lose your parents, but at least you can never doubt their love."
Harry shifted slightly and sniffed.
"As for Sirius, he died fighting," said Bill. "And he came to the fight, because he also loved you."
"I hate love," said Harry. "It makes everyone die."
"Mmm," said Bill. "It seems that way, but the fact is that love goes beyond death. Even after they are gone, you still know that they care for you. I mean, if they were willing to die, obviously they wanted you to live, and I don't think that beating yourself up about it really counts as living."
"I wish I could have stopped them," said Harry.
"But you can't control other people, you can't make their decisions for them, because then they aren't really themselves."
"I suppose," said Harry quietly. "It's just, so many people have already died for me, what if more do?"
"It's hard to live with," said Bill. "But I think that trying to live up to their expectations would be a mistake, because you don't even know what their expectations are, so just make yourself happy. I think that's what they wanted."
Harry gave him a tremulous smile, and Bill knew that the smile was his own cue that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"But," said Bill, changing the subject, "here we are on the first night out of school and talking about depressing things. Sirius would not have stood for it, so we shall have to remedy it."
Bill got up and went silently into the kitchen and pulled out two butterbeers and came back.
"I have heard many stories about Umbridge, and I want to know the truth to all of the pranks that you have pulled." He sat back down and slid a bottle over to Harry. The boy-hero gave a grin, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.
"Well," he said, "so Umbridge was this horrid, fat woman…"
------------------------------------------------
The next update won't be as long, promise. And, if you have your ear(s) pierced, (or any other part of you) and/or if you liked the chapter, please review!
