Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off it.
Sorry that this took so long! I, unfortunately, have a bit of a health issue which sometimes flares up. It hit a little harder than usual this time, and I had to spend a couple days in observation at the hospital. That sucked, but hey, I'm doing better now and getting back into the swing of things. I'm very grateful that I got in and out of the hospital before the coronavirus made its way there and I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy!
So, what did I revise in this chapter? So much. Lol. I decided to change the structure of the chapter. In the original version, I experimented with having Draco already in the hospital wing and he flashbacked to the Quidditch match. However, it's said that writers should 'show, not tell' and I think by using the flashbacks, I really fell into 'telling' what happened, not showing. I think that by getting rid of that structure, I've made the Quidditch match way more exciting. I also dove into Quidditch logistics, and how would a team go about winning a Quidditch game (really, those Beaters are quite useful!). And I expanded on the battle with the bat and powered it up a little to make things more exciting. I also found a way to make Draco's excuse about saving Harry a bit more realistic. I think I did a good job of capturing the snotty attitude he has in the books which made me quite pleased with myself, lol.
As always, I gave Bill a lot more focus and attention. I also drew out his discovery of Draco's genius as well. This is a really important part of the book, as it sets up everything, so I thought it deserved to have more impact. That made this my longest chapter yet, I believe. Close to 10,000 words because I love you all and hate myself. Also - there might be more typos than usual. I decided to get it out tonight rather than doing another read-through.
A huge thank you to Arnel 63 for pointing out that I used the wrong numbers when referring to Draco's finger pattern, which makes its first appearance in this chapter. In my defense, I am self-taught for the piano, so I never knew what the correct fingerings were. Or maybe I did once upon a time and just forgot. Also, I am a better guitarist than pianist, and guitar tablature uses different numbers. Fun fact: I also play the clarinet. Basically, I really like music, but boy, do I hate practicing. I am a little torn going forward if I should use the correct numbers. I feel like 1-3-2-4 is clearer in the description, but 2-4-3-5 is more accurate. I don't know…. But anyways, to the chapter!
Chapter 8
Rule #7: Avoid split second decisions
"This is our day!" Warrington shouted, his voice echoing through the Slytherin locker rooms. "This is our field. This is our game."
The team stomped their feet in response, building up the rhythm. Draco did as well, anything to release the energy that was thrumming through his body. He could hear the students outside in the stadium, already cheering. The first Quidditch game of the year was always the biggest and rowdiest. And Warrington had his sights set on victory. Now that they had a true opponent, his anger and rage had been re-directed from Draco and onto Gryffindor. It manifested now into an impassioned speech, and as much as Draco detested Warrington, he had to admit the older boy could be downright charismatic.
Right now, Warrington painted a picture of injustice. The Gryffindors were favored. The Gryffindors were beloved. The Gryffindors had lorded over Slytherin for far too long. The team stomped their feet and booed and hissed. Draco tried not to be taken away by the emotion. His position as Seeker required focus and calm. Instead, Draco transferred every bit of his energy into his right hand. He tapped his thumb to his index finger and then his ring finger, then he backtracked to his middle and then his pinkie in a 1-3-2-4 pattern (or rather, a 2-4-3-5 pattern if he were using correct fingering numbers.) His piano teacher had taught him that exercise. It supposedly helped with building dexterity in his fingers. Draco used it anytime there wasn't a hard surface to drum on. Draco often had the impulse to be active, to keep some part of his body moving, whether it was drumming his fingers or tapping a foot or bouncing his leg as he sat in class. His mind was always racing. He felt unbalanced if his body wasn't similarly active.
"We will not be silent in this outrage!" Warrington cried, striking his fist into the air. "Who are we?"
"Slyth-er-in!" the team chanted.
"Who is cunning?"
"Slyth-er-in!"
"Who is destined for greatness?"
"Slyth-er-in!"
"Who is going to win?"
"SLTYH-ER-IN!" the team screamed, jumping up and down in fervor, and this time Draco couldn't help but jump too.
Warrington pointed at the door. "To our victory!"
The team turned and raced for the pitch. Warrington dropped a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder, hauling him back.
"Just keep Potter from catching the Snitch until we're in the lead. Do you think you can manage that?" The thick fingers on his shoulder squeezed in warning.
Draco smirked at the attempt to frighten him. "Just watch me."
He ran after his team into the bright, chilly day and heard a great cheer erupt as he stepped onto the field. He pointed at the Slytherin stands, acknowledging their praise, and they screamed louder. He leapt onto his broom and joined his team in the air as the Gryffindor team exited. Potter received a larger shout, but Draco was used to that by now. He narrowed his eyes as the other Seeker took his place, mirroring Draco's position in the sky.
Hooch flew into the middle of the pitch, her whistle clenched in her teeth and the Golden Snitch held wriggling in her gloved hand.
"Captains, are your teams ready?" she asked.
The team captains raised their hands in affirmation, and she blew a quick burst on her whistle to ready the players. She raised the Snitch into the air and then blew a longer note as she released it.
The game began.
It was nearly impossible to catch a Snitch right from the start. The referee started far enough away from the Seekers that the glint of gold all but disappeared from sight, but that didn't mean Draco didn't dive down, just to see if it was possible. Harry did the same, their course a direct line towards each other. Draco could see Potter's eyes, his intent at holding his arc as long as possible. It was a pointless display of bravado, but Draco followed suit. Both of them broke off at the last possible second to the gasps and cheers of the audience.
Then there was a larger cheer – a great shout from the Slytherins followed by a groan from the Gryffindors. The Slytherin Chasers had already scored. Draco grinned and swept up to circle the field. The Slytherin Chasers had been practicing hard, as had the Beaters, working together to keep their opponents at bay. The plan was to score fast and frequently, better to break Gryffindor's momentum. Draco watched as the Slytherin Beaters knocked a bludger into the path of a Gryffindor pass. The Slytherin Chasers recovered and scored again. Draco applauded along with the fans.
Draco wove about the field, searching for the Snitch but also keeping a close eye on Potter. The game play between Chasers and Beaters was fierce. Slytherin clearly had the advantage – the team scoring twice more in the first ten minutes. He felt a stirring of optimism in his chest. They just might be able to win this one, as long as he could keep Potter from catching the Snitch.
He spotted gold thirty minutes into the game, when Slytherin was up 120-40. Harry spotted it the same time he did. There was a race and a jostle, Harry quickly taking the lead in the case, but Draco didn't relent. He took a few risky turns to keep up with the Gryffindor and then finally managed to knock Harry off-course. The Snitch vanished again.
Harry pulled up in frustration and Draco drew level with him.
"Having a good game, Potter?" he drawled. He didn't have to insult the boy-hero to get him riled up anymore, he just had to open his mouth, and he found that sort of power gratifying.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Potter snapped.
Draco shrugged languidly. "Just trying to make conversation. It may be a long game, you know, seeing as you can't rely on your broom to win for you now that I've a Firebolt as well." He pretended to wipe a bit of dust from his broom, knowing from experience how infuriating that little act could be.
"So your father bought you a Firebolt, did he?" asked Potter. "Was it a 'breaking free of Azkaban' gift?"
Draco's eyes darkened. He resisted the urge to spit out something cruel because that would just let Harry know that he hit a nerve. "Actually, I bought it myself." There was another cheer as Slytherin scored again. He smirked. "Looks like you may not win this game."
"It doesn't matter what kind of broom you have, Malfoy. Just because you can pay your way in, doesn't mean you can pay to win." Harry met his gaze, raised his eyebrows, and then launched into a spectacular dive.
Draco took a moment to huff out a laugh, because the comment had been surprisingly pithy for Potter, and then he grabbed tight to his Firebolt and hurtled after the Gryffindor Seeker.
He heard the whistle of wind past his ears and the cries from the stands below. He heard the excited commentary from a sixth year Hufflepuff. "Potter goes into a dive, but the Snitch is nowhere in sight. Malfoy follows Potter!"
The shouts of the crowd got louder as the green turf loomed closer. He watched Potter barrel towards it, pulling up at the last possible second. The bristles on his broom bent nearly in half as he 'swept the pitch', flicking grass and dirt into the air.
It was a beautiful Wronski, worthy of Krum, and Draco knew he couldn't do any better. His mind whirled with numbers and calculations as he sped towards the pitch. He wrapped his legs around the broomstick and then, when he thought he might crash into the ground, he yanked back on his broom. He immediately knew he hadn't timed it as well as Harry. His broom bristles only flicked at the top of the grass. Had he been copying Potter's feint, he would have come out the loser. But he yanked up harder than Potter had, flipping himself completely upside down. He sped off in the opposite direction, still hanging from his broom. He reached out a hand to brush through the grass as he did, creating a ripple across the field.
The stadium went wild.
Draco rolled up to right himself, unable to keep the grin from his face as the students jumped to their feet, shouting and cheering his name.
"I don't believe it!" the commentator exclaimed. "Potter pulls a Wronski, and Malfoy executes a perfect Andy's Maneuver!"
Draco laughed in triumph; the noise drowned out by the audience in the stadium. He took a quick lap over the stadium seats, hands raised to the sky. The Slytherins cheered loudest of all, but even the professors were clapping for him, although he knew some did so begrudgingly.
Draco didn't care. Nothing was going to lessen his success. He pressed his broom faster, ready to catch up with Harry for a bit of gloating. The other Seeker saw him coming and sped away. Draco followed in a mini-game of chase, just to be obnoxious, weaving through the Chasers and nearly getting hit by a Bludger sent his way from the Gryffindor team. It was the first Bludger they'd actually hit with some direction the whole game. Draco turned to shout a sarcastic congratulations to them when a high, keening whistle pierced through the pitch.
It was loud, loud enough that the noise of the game was drowned out. Draco whipped around, eyes seeking the source of the noise as his brain tried to identify it. His eyes won, latching onto a large, winged form that rose up from behind the stands.
Great vampire bat, his brain belatedly supplied. It'd taken longer to identify because there weren't any vampire bats in Britain. They preferred warmer climates. So how had –
His intellectual musing was cut off as the creature shot towards the flyers in the air. Suddenly Draco was playing a very different game.
Great vampire bats were large – easily twice the size of a full-grown thestral. The wingspan alone was intimidating. And it was fast. It crossed the pitch in a matter of seconds, its great claws stretched out, lashing first at Simone Crawford and then at Ginny Weasley. Both Chasers dodged out of its way. The bat wheeled around and opened its mouth.
Shockwave scream, Draco's brain identified, just as the shriek rippled out. The noise was ear-splitting, and the force that blasted from it sent the Quidditch players tumbling in air.
It felt like he'd been hit by a hippogriff. Draco was flung into a tail-over-front spin, just managing to hold onto his broom. He leaned into the spin, to get control over the momentum, and then pulled up and out of it. The world spun around him for a moment. He shook his head to counter the dizziness and took a quick glance around the field. No one had fallen from the brooms, but the bat was coming at them again.
A spell whizzed out from the stadium, and then more. The bat screeched, non-magical this time, and dove at the stands.
Draco tipped his broom down, ready to get to land, but ricocheting and mis-directed spells forced him to veer off course. The bat was being attacked from all directions, creating a spider web of spell work beneath him. It forced him and the other players further into the air. The bat strafed the stands, heedless of the curses thrown at it. No one seemed aware of the biology of great vampire bats. Their skin was mostly impervious to magic. The only vulnerable area was the face.
Harry flew past him, his wand out and pointed, a solo charge against the bat.
"Bloody idiot," Draco spat, spurring his broom on to match. There was no way one student was going to take it out alone.
The bat gave another magical screech, nearly collapsing a portion of the bleachers, and then it swooped towards the Ravenclaw benches. A powerful firework charm exploded in front of it. The bat tumbled away, hissing and screaming, and turned its attention back to the pitch.
Harry was closest to it. His spell hit the creature's back and bounced off. Draco ducked below, wondering if he could get a line of sight at its face, but then another spell hit the creature. It fumbled, dropping suddenly and smacking into Harry. Draco heard a shout of surprise, and then Harry was falling, nearly right on top of him.
Acceleration due to gravity is 9.81 meters per second squared.
Draco was a little more than a meter below Harry when he fell.
Laws of physics gave him half a second to react.
He hadn't planned on catching Harry, but half a second wasn't much time to decide on a course of action. His hand shot out before he ever realized what he was doing. His fingers latched around Harry's wrist. He was promptly flipped upside down, but he'd been practicing the Andy's maneuver all month. His legs immediately wrapped around the broom, holding tight. The force of catching Potter's body wrenched his shoulder, but it was buffered by the broom, which dipped under the weight of both students. Draco caught his breath and stared into the shocked expression of Harry Potter.
A scream and a thunderous crash distracted him. His view was upside down, but he could see the bat sweeping about the stands. Bursts of colors exploded as professors and students alike tried to bring it down.
Draco needed to get down too. There was no way he could haul Harry up. He tightened his grip on the broom and directed it down at a slope gentle enough not to slide them off.
But it wasn't going to be fast enough. He heard the bat screech again and felt the shadow pass over them as it darted from the open air to the stadium. Bright lights flashed and crackled through the sky, aimed at the bat, but some going awry. Draco's grip on Potter slipped. He pushed the broom faster, risking balance for speed, just as a gust of wind blew out from the stands. It slammed into them, easily breaking his precarious grasp on Harry and his broom.
They were still five meters in the air.
They both fell.
A flash of yellow light encircled Harry just as he was about to hit the ground. Draco plummeted passed him. The same yellow light washed over him, but not fast enough. He crashed into the ground, his left leg hitting first and folding beneath his body. His back and head hit next. He felt a rip of pain, the cushioning charms unable to contain the full force of impact. He bounced once, the air wooshing from his lungs. Lights flared in his vision.
For a second, the world was reduced to pain. His lungs burned. His leg was on fire. His head throbbed. Then his body heaved in a breath and the world reset.
He heard the sounds of battle in the stands – frightened shouts and whizzing spells and the screech of the bat. He could see Quidditch players still flying in the air. There was still danger.
He turned onto his side, wondering if it was possible to get to his feet. A pair of boots stepped beside him. Draco dragged his gaze up. Harry Potter was standing over him, wand out, eyes focused on the stands. Draco followed his gaze and saw that the bat was finally losing the battle. Its wings beat slower and slower. Its screeches became weaker. A well-placed curse finally toppled the creature.
Draco let out a breath. He rolled onto his back and squinted against the sun. Merlin, he hurt.
He felt Harry step closer and then his face intruded into his line of sight. "You alright, Malfoy?"
There was too much concern in his voice. And a fair deal of confusion. The full knowledge of what he'd done hit him as hard as he'd hit the field. He'd just saved Harry Potter, his rival, his nemesis, the sworn enemy of the Dark Lord.
What had he done? And what would the other students think?
Even worse, what would his father think?
Draco raised his hands to cover his face. "Merde." His voice cracked over the epitaph.
"Malfoy?"
There was still a way to salvage this. Draco pulled his hands down and turned a glare onto the Gryffindor. "You tried to kill me!"
Harry stepped back, clearly baffled. "What?"
Draco pushed himself up to his elbows, drawing on every ounce of contempt he had. "You nearly pulled me off my broom!"
"You – you grabbed me."
Draco let out a burst of incredulous laughter. "I grabbed you? Seriously? That's what you came up with? You ought to be expelled for falling into me like that!"
Harry took another step back. Draco watched his brow knit, no doubt trying to recall exactly what had happened. He wasn't convinced, not yet. That was fine. There were more people to sway, and two of them were hurrying towards them now.
Dumbledore and McGonagall immediately ran to Harry. Dumbledore dropped his hands onto Harry's shoulder. "Are you alright? Are you injured at all?"
Harry shook his head and then gestured over at Draco.
The Headmaster turned to him, gratitude in his eyes. "That was a very brave thing you did, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco affixed a look of outrage on his face. It was easy. His leg was screaming at him and his head was throbbing and he was clearly injured, and yet everyone had run to Potter first. "I want to press charges for assault."
"What?"
Draco jabbed an accusatory finger at Harry. "Did you see him grab me? He yanked me from my broom and all but crushed me in the fall! I'm sure he broke my leg. Absolutely sure of it."
His theatrics worked. Dumbledore's expression fell, like Draco had somehow disappointed him, and McGonagall rolled her eyes, clearly dismissing his complaints. Draco was relieved when Snape joined them. Unlike the other professors, he immediately knelt by Draco.
"Where are you hurt?"
"My leg is broken," Draco said. "Probably crushed." He sent another withering look in Harry's direction.
Snape began the process of unlacing his boot. Draco had no doubt he was trying to be gentle, but each tug at the laces sent a jolt of fire up his leg. He grit his teeth and looked away, trying to ignore the pain.
Bill ran up to join the others. "Bat's secure. Hagrid's got it now."
"Thank you, Bill."
"We'll have to get Pomfrey," McGonagall fretted, surveying the Quidditch stands. "And we'll have the Prefects start organizing a transportation brigade for the students who won't be able to ambulate to the infirmary." She turned to Draco, her mouth pulled tight in a pinch. "Can you walk, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco felt a surge of resentment. "Do you think I'd be lying here if I couldn't?" His voice came out thick with venom. He hadn't intended that much vitriol, but bloody hell, he hurt, and no one was doing a damn thing to help.
"Severus, how bad is it?" McGonagall asked.
Snape finally pulled Draco's boot away and Draco hissed in a breath as it jostled his leg even further. Snape slit his trouser leg up mid-thigh and pulled the flaps away. Draco looked down and immediately wished he hadn't. Legs weren't supposed to look like that. He barely registered the gasp from McGonagall or the muttered 'Sweet Merlin' from Bill. His leg was swollen, his knee nearly twice its usual side and his kneecap was off-center. Detached, Draco thought, a little numbly. And he'd been correct in his complaints. His leg was broken. His entire lower leg appeared crooked, like both the tibia and fibula had shifted two inches to the right. His skin was turning alarming shades of red and purple.
Draco dropped his head back down the grass and swallowed hard. He wasn't one to faint from the sight of blood or injury, but it was different seeing his own body damaged. It stole his breath for a moment. And the pain seemed somehow worse. And he might have a mild concussion. His head hurt.
There was a bit of chaos around him. Students began heading towards the castle, herded by the Prefects. Some were crying, some injured, most of them loudly speculating on what had happened or recounting their experiences in the battle. Pomfrey arrived on scene minutes later to triage the cases of injured students. Draco's leg, while a severe injury, wasn't life threatening.
"You'll have to lie still until we can get an immobilization potion," Pomfrey told him. She looked to Snape, who nodded and got to his feet.
"I'll get right on it."
"We'll need three batches total," Pomfrey said. "Little Bertha Leroy has a splintered wrist and I don't like the look of Dean Thomas's ankle."
Snape gave Draco a nod in parting and then hurried back towards the castle. Pomfrey uncorked a pain potion and helped Draco sit up enough to drink it down. It was just a generic numbing potion, one that hardly touched the pain from his leg, but at least the throbbing in his head dulled.
"Someone needs to stay with him," Pomfrey said, packing her bag and readying to leave for the next student.
Draco looked over and realized she was addressing the quartet of Gryffindors still standing beside him, or rather, a comfortable distance away.
"Potter, you can head in doors," McGonagall said. "Albus, you can see to the rest of the students and faculty. I'll wait with Mr. Malfoy."
Draco did not want her waiting with him, and it was clear from her tone that she didn't want to wait with him either. But it wasn't as if Potter or Dumbledore were any better. Draco's eyes slid to the only other person, Bill Weasley. For some reason, even though he knew the professor was a spy, he'd rather have his company. Bill was nice, and right now, Draco wanted nice, not poorly concealed disdain.
Bill caught his gaze. The professor paused a moment, and then his eyes seemed to crinkle up at the corners. "I'll say with him."
It was embarrassing how much relief Draco felt as the professor stepped forward and took a seat beside him. The crowd around him finally dispersed and Draco felt a modicum of tension leave him.
"It was a terrific spill," Bill said, in his easy way of making conversation. "I've been involved in a fair share myself but none quite as dramatic as yours. Of course, Quidditch doesn't usually involve great vampire bats."
Draco was grateful for the attempt at levity and the distraction. He pulled in a couple of deep breaths, trying to convince his body to relax further.
"Charlie once broke both his legs playing Quidditch on this pitch," Bill continued. "I can't quite remember who we were playing, but he and the other Seeker were coming at the Snitch from opposite directions." Bill demonstrated with his hands, showing the players flying in and colliding mid-air. "Both of them got knocked off their brooms. Charlie caught the Snitch mid-fall to win the game. He spent the next week in the infirmary until his bones mended. Of course, my mother thought the whole thing was my fault. That I should have somehow prevented it." Bill rolled his eyes. "Hazards of being the oldest child, I suppose."
Draco thought of his own brother and wondered if he'd ever felt the same. But their interactions had been extremely limited, and he'd passed when Draco was so young that he'd never been used as a stand-in nanny. Not that the family would have approved anyway.
Pomfrey circled back around to check on him. "How's the pain?"
"Leg still hurts. Head feels better."
"On a scale of one to ten?"
"Seven."
She nodded and pulled out another vial. As soon as Draco tasted it, he knew what it was. Gardner's Elixir of Relief. It wasn't just a pain-reducer; it was a tranquilizer and a mild euphoric. Draco had been plied with several of these the summer he turned thirteen. It was Narcissa's favorite potion for when she was coming off of a binge.
The potion felt slick going down his throat. The effect was nearly immediate. Warmth. Peace. Comfort. The ground beneath him seemed to soften, like he was lying on a pillow, and the wind that had been so harsh before gentled into a soothing breeze. Draco felt the tension in his muscles ease.
"That should have put him to sleep," Pomfrey said to Bill, the frown evident in her voice.
Draco turned his head, very nearly telling her that his tolerance to potions was higher than expected, but he remembered at the last second that it was a secret. He pressed his lips shut, feeling oddly out of control.
"Every broken a bone before, Draco?" Bill asked.
"A few," Draco said, hearing himself speak but not consciously choosing to do so. His brain was disconnected from his body. His mouth was moving on its own accord. "Broke my wrist when I was learning to play Quidditch at the manor. That was the first."
"How old were you?"
"Six. Father was watching me, but I dodged a Bludger and fell off my broom.
"Ouch," said Bill, sympathy evident in his voice. "Did you cry?"
"No." The truth was Draco hadn't cried since the day he was born, courtesy of his mother and an anti-crying charm left on him for seven years. Charms left on too long could cause permanent damage. He didn't tell Bill that though. That was another secret. "I got out of piano lessons for two weeks, so it wasn't so bad."
"The first time I broke a bone," said Bill, "was when I was nineteen and was on this dig in the Sahara. They had just discovered the ruins of an old mage's temple and we were trying to get past the entrance curses. Well, we tried the wrong spell and caused the whole thing to come collapsing down on us. I got a boulder to the leg and it just snapped. I still haven't told my mother about that one."
Bill laughed at the memory and Draco felt his lips turn up. "Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous."
"Mothers have to worry," Bill said. "It's in their genes."
Draco tried to wave him off, but his arm was too heavy to lift. "She was worried because she had a party that night. Didn't want any interference."
Bill opened his mouth like he was going to protest, and Draco didn't quite know why. Of course Narcissa hadn't cared. She never cared about Draco, or even Lucius for that matter.
"She only cares about her parties. She drinks a lot, you know, alcohol and potions."
Bill's face did something strange. Draco felt his own face scrunching to match. Was he upset?
Pomfrey leaned into his field of vision. "Draco, is it safe at your house?"
"What?" Draco asked, his brain trying to process the non-sequitor. He couldn't quite manage it. His head was full of fog.
"Safe," Pomfrey repeated, her tone insistent. "Are you safe at home?"
Some form of thought wriggled in his brain. She was asking a dangerous question, he was sure of it. This was yet another secret to be kept, but he couldn't quite remember why. He didn't like that he was so confused. He turned away to look at the sky, trying desperately to remember why he had so many secrets.
He heard her start the question again, but the Bill's voice interrupted, whispering something he couldn't quite hear. Pomfrey retorted something, but then moved down to his leg. She ran a few more diagnostic spells and prodded his knee.
Fresh pain shot up. Draco hissed and tried to squirm away.
"Just a minute," Pomfrey soothed.
She did something that sent a flash of pain all the way up his hip, but then the pain settled somewhat. Draco looked down to see that his kneecap was now in place, although his lower leg was still severely broken.
She looked up towards the castle. "Severus is coming with the potion. It's a mite uncomfortable, so here." She took out another vial, and really, Draco should say no. He shouldn't take the potion, something bad could happen, but she held it to his lips before he could formulate a response.
It went down just as slick. The ground was no longer a pillow; it was a black hole, sucking him under. Draco didn't want to go under. Black holes were dangerous. They trapped objects in their gravitational field and tore them to shreds. Time dilated and stretched. Matter broke down. Nothing escaped, not even light.
He tried pushing himself up to get away. Bill dropped a hand on his shoulder and the point of contact was relieving. He was sure Bill wouldn't let him get sucked into a black hole.
"Are you alright?" Bill asked.
Then again, maybe Bill would let him get trapped in a black hole. He was a spy after all. An Order member. An enemy. Draco had decoded the messages himself. His brain took him to that code now, a beautiful, complex tapestry of math and runes. It was almost soothing to recount each step of hidden data, a distraction from the darkness trying to swallow him. He tried to recite it, but his voice wasn't working.
"Severus is coming with the potion, just a few more minutes," Bill said.
Severus was a part of the code, wasn't he?
"S is for Severus," Draco remembered. "M is for Malfoy." Was he talking? His voice seemed far away. "R is for Riddle." He felt a splash of humor and laughed. "R for riddle. The whole page is a riddle."
Movement. A brush of a hand leaving his shoulder. Draco opened his eyes. When had he closed them?
Bill had pulled back. "What did you say?"
It took a moment for Draco to remember. "The riddle," he repeated. But that wasn't the right word for it. Why was it hard to find the word? "The… the code. The code in the homework."
Bill's jaw dropped. His face went pale.
Darkness again. Draco was still being sucked under. That damned black hole. He should have studied more astrophysics.
The hand was back on his shoulder. It shook him but Draco couldn't focus anymore. There were more faces around him, and then a potion being poured down his throat. His leg jerked and fire spread.
Darkness.
OoOoO
Bill felt a pang of nostalgia as he climbed into the Hogwarts stands. He remembered watching games as a student – the smell of the wooden bleachers mixed with the scent of concession snacks, sweets and crisps and the butterbeer the older students would bring. He entered the box reserved for the professors and Dumbledore waved him over. Bill noticed that he tried waving to Jameson and Stevick as well. Jameson was clearly too nervous to sit next to the Headmaster; she ducked her head and quickly sat next to Sprout instead. Stevick outright ignored the Headmaster and sat in the back of the professors' box, arms crossed and jaw tight.
Bill thought if the man was a ministry plant, he was doing a poor job of integrating and gaining insider information. He took the seat next to Dumbledore, nodding in greeting. "Headmaster."
Dumbledore smiled and then opened the bag currently sitting on his lap. Bill knew that Dumbledore had a propensity for sweets, but the sheer number of candies that was held inside boggled his mind.
"Care for a sweet?" Dumbledore asked casually, like he didn't have a bag that was larger on the inside and held a collection of candy that could rival Honeydukes. Bill helped himself to a toffee stick. "Minerva's got the libations," Dumbledore told him.
"Let's not announce it to the students," McGonagall said, claiming the seat on the other side of Dumbledore. But she passed a flask down. "Perks of being a professor."
It was a perk indeed, and her flask contained a very fine whiskey. Bill supposed that it was a step up from sitting in the stands as a student, but still not quite as good as playing himself.
The students let out a thunderous cheer as the players took the field, shooting into the air and taking their starting positions. Merlin, but he missed flying. He'd been a Chaser in his time at Hogwarts, and the memories came back – flying through the air, whipping the Quaffle to his teammates, scoring on the Keeper.
"Not quite the same, is it?" Dumbledore asked, catching the wistfulness on his face.
"Not quite," Bill agreed. "But…," he took another swig from the flask before passing it back, "this isn't too bad."
The stadium fell silent as Hooch raised the Snitch in her hand. With a blast of her whistle, she released it and the game was on.
There was a flurry of activity from the Slytherin Chasers. They quickly gained control of the Quaffle and with a few short passes, made their way down to the Gryffindor hoops and scored, the Quaffle going straight through Ron's hands. Bill winced in sympathy. The Slytherin students sent up a great shout; the Gryffindors booed. The Chasers reset, the Gryffindor team taking the Quaffle out. Ginny lined up to receive a pass, but she was knocked off course by a well-placed Bludger. Slytherin intercepted and scored again.
Bill clapped his hands together in frustration. "Come on, Gryffindor!"
His voice was lost in the sea of others, but even with the support, Gryffindor began lagging behind. From his vantage point, it was easy to spot the problem. It wasn't that the Gryffindor Chasers were bad, or that Ron was a terrible Keeper, rather the Slytherins had the advantage when it came to their Beaters. They used the Bludgers far more effectively, interfering with passes and knocking the Gryffindor players out of the way. The Gryffindor Beaters just couldn't keep up.
"We should have started training replacements for your brothers sooner," McGonagall said. She took a large swallow from the flask. "But we thought we'd have them another year."
Bill winced as Slytherin scored yet again. His brothers Fred and George had been long-standing Beaters on the Gryffindor team, and their sudden departure had left quite the gap.
"Of course, Harry can still catch the Snitch," McGonagall said. "We've got Slytherin beat there."
Bill turned his attention to Harry. It was clear he was a natural flyer because his technique was sloppy – his shoulders a little too rounded and grip a little too forwards on the broom, but none of that impacted his speed or maneuverability.
He got to see Harry truly fly when he spotted the Snitch. Slytherin was up 120-40, and a catch now would mean Gryffindor victory. Bill cheered along with the rest as Harry put on a terrific display of air-acrobatics, zipping through the air like he was born there. Draco, playing Seeker for Slytherin, only just managed to keep up with him, despite having the better technique. The chase lasted a long forty seconds before Draco managed to knock Harry off course and the Snitch was lost.
Gryffindor let out one massive groan and Slytherin cheered. Severus turned around to give Minerva a smirk. "Looks like you may have a losing year."
"Don't count us out yet."
Even as she said those words, Harry went into a spectacular dive. From the way Draco paused, Bill figured it was a feint, but he still jumped to his feet with the rest. Seekers often used feints as a way to show off their skills, or as an attempt to plow their opponent into the field. Harry's dive was spectacular, nearly straight down, barreling forward with a speed that made Bill's breath catch. Draco followed and the students screamed even louder.
Harry continued his dive, even past the point that Bill would have pulled out. He sucked in a breath, a few students screamed, and then Harry yanked back on his broom. Had he been riding anything less than a Firebolt, he would have smashed into the ground, but the broom responded beautifully, arcing up and out of the dive, the bristles on his broom sweeping up a cloud of dirt and grass.
Bill shouted along with the rest, his hands pumping into the air, even as Draco continued his dive, only a few seconds behind Harry. His path and speed were nearly identical to Harry's, and the roar of the Slytherins grew as their Seeker attempted the feint. Draco pulled up just a split second before Harry had. Bill immediately knew he'd over-rotated. There was a gasp from the audience as his broom flipped completely over, but Draco didn't fall. He held on, upside down, and sped across the field, a ripple of grass creating a wake behind him.
The cheers turned deafening. The Slytherin stands were particularly raucous, clearly feeling that their Seeker had won that display. Bill cheered along; it was impossible not to. What sort of school Quidditch game could boast an expert Wronski fient and a successful Andy's maneuver?
Draco took a victory lap around the stands, flying close enough to the crowd that Bill could see the triumph on his face. He couldn't begrudge him the moment of victory. Harry was the better flyer, but Draco had outplayed him by completing the more difficult stunt.
The crowd had been re-ignited by the Seekers. The students stayed on their feet, getting a little rowdy. Bill had forgotten how loud the Quidditch games could get. He was just considering a muting charm, when another noise entered the fray – high and keening. At first, Bill thought it was a noise-charm of some sort, perhaps a distorted whistle spell. He craned his neck to see where it was coming from. It sounded again, growing louder, and Bill realized it wasn't coming from the stands. It was coming from behind them.
And Bill recognized that sound.
He jerked around, grabbing for his wand, drawing the attention of the professors beside him.
"Bill, what-,"
A large shape shot up from behind the stands, its shadow passing over the professors' box. It was large, covered in brown fur, and had huge, leathery wings. A great vampire bat. It flew straight into the Quidditch game. Bill heard screams, and his own hoarse shout, as it lunged for the players – first a Slytherin Chaser and then Ginny. They both dodged out of the way and the bat wheeled around, opening its mouth.
"Watch out!" Bill shouted, even as the bat screamed. The shockwave rippled out, sending the players careening in the air. There were more shouts and screams from the stands. Bill's eyes darted from Ginny to Ron as they went tumbling, each managing to hang on to their broom.
Bill pointed his wand at the bat, waiting for the best moment to strike, knowing that it wouldn't be easy. Vampire bats had magically resistant fur and skin. Only a curse that struck the face would have any impact. He saw his chance and took it.
"Segnis!"
But another curse shot out before his could connect, and the bat jerked to the side. Bill's spell whizzed harmlessly past the bat.
"Aim for the head!" Bill shouted, but his voice was drowned out in the chaos. He could see more spells being fired at the bat, from all directions. Bill swore. No one seemed to be aiming at the creature's head, and the players in the air were in real danger of being hit by friendly fire. But the onslaught of curses did seem to get the bat's attention. It turned towards the stands and dove, letting out another shockwave cry.
Students screamed as they were flung to the floor. Bill could feel the vibrations, all the way in the professors' box. He heard a few alarming cracks as the wooden stands took the brunt of the shockwave.
The bat ducked, grasping for a couple of Ravenclaw students. A powerful firework spell exploded in front of its face, sending the bat back into the air. Bill jumped up onto a bench for a better shot at the creature, but Harry was flying towards it. Bill held his attack, not wanting to hit the boy. A few other spells shot out, their casters either not noticing the danger or not caring. The bat screeched, non-magically this time, and seemed to falter in the air, dropping straight into Harry. There were a few screams from those watching as the boy hero disappeared from view. Had he fallen?
A few more spells were fired. The bat shook them off and dove for the stands again, revealing a terrifying sight. Harry had fallen. He was currently being held, suspended high in the air, by none other than Draco Malfoy.
There was no time for surprise. The bat was strafing the stands yet again, screaming out with its shocking force, but Bill had been expecting it. He ducked as the shockwave poured over the bleachers. Wood splintered. People screamed. Students and faculty alike were thrown to the floor. As soon as the shockwave passed over him, Bill jumped up.
"Congelo!"
His curse hit the bat's face. Ice formed over its snout and magical stillness began settling over its body.
It wasn't enough. Bill knew it wouldn't be, but it allowed another curse to hit, and then another. The bat shook and faltered. A wind charm burst out, and the bat tumbled.
Dumbledore shouted out a spell Bill didn't recognize, but not at the bat. Bill's eyes shot to two figures, plummeting towards the pitch, unwitting victims of the wind spell. A yellow light encompassed Harry, slowing his descent. Dumbledore cast again, but he was too late. Draco hit the grass, hard enough to bounce as he landed.
Bill's stomach twisted at the sight. His eyes went to the sky, looking for his siblings. They were still safe. Bill pointed his wand again.
"Aim at the head!"
This time, his voice carried. More spells were directed at the bat. He watched the bat falter, watched it try to scream, but the ice around its snout wouldn't let it. He added his own spell to the barrage, another freeze curse that hit the creature right between the eyes. The bat dropped, the wings partially hitting the rows of Hufflepuffs on the way down. It rolled into the field and lay still.
For a moment, there was silence. Bill pulled in a few ragged breaths and then, somewhere to his right, a student started sobbing.
Noise erupted. Students called to their friends. Some called to the teachers for help. Some of the older students and the prefects began checking in on their classmates.
Dumbledore dropped an arm on Bill's shoulder. "Make sure that it's restrained, will you? And get the students away."
Bill could see that some of the braver students were beginning to approach the bat, and of course, his siblings were among them.
He picked his way through the stands, checking on a few students as he passed. There appeared to be a great deal of skinned knees and palms, and an impressive collection of bruises. One student was holding his shoulder, a probable dislocation, but nothing life threatening, at least, not in the stands.
Bill jumped onto the pitch and strode over to the bat. It looked even larger on the ground. More and more students were gathering around it, whispering and pointing. They stepped back as Bill approached and he saw what held their attention. A large Dark Mark had been scorched into the bat's chest. It was dark with blood and burnt flesh – a branding charm, most likely.
Bill looked from the bat to the students. Their eyes were wide, faces pale with fear, and Bill felt his heart sink. He'd thought it was safe here. He'd thought that Hogwarts was somehow invulnerable to attacks from the outside world. Apparently not. And apparently he hadn't done his job good enough. He'd heard nothing of a Death Eater attack on Hogwarts.
"Everyone needs to head back to the castle," Bill instructed.
"Is it Death Eaters?" one boy asked. "Are they coming to the school?"
"Back to the castle," Bill repeated, firmer this time.
A whistle sounded, drawing their attention. Flitwick's voice sounded out, magically amplified. "All students to the castle. Return to your house rooms. If you are injured, make your way to the infirmary. If you need help, stay where you are and we will come to you."
Bill turned back to the students and raised his eyebrows. They began shuffling off just as Hagrid ran forward, a large bundle of rope slung over his shoulder. He stopped by the bat, letting out a low whistle when he saw it.
"Not seen one o' these up here before." Hagrid knelt by the bat, his hands running over the wings, searching for breaks. He spotted the Dark Mark in its flesh and his eyes hardened.
"They aren't native to Britain, are they?" Bill asked.
"They need places a lot warmer than this," Hagrid agreed. He began measuring out the rope.
Bill stepped closer, checking if the bat appeared to be stirring, but the animal was out cold. "Need any help?"
Hagrid shook his head. "Nah, I've dealt with these before. They're lighter than you'd expect. Go check on your family."
He jerked his head to where Ginny and Ron were waiting for him and Bill was happy to greet them, pulling them in for a tight hug.
"You both alright?" he asked.
"Fine," Ron said, squirming away from the embrace. "Can't believe the bloody Death Eaters attacked during our Quidditch game though."
"Truly nothing is sacred to them," Ginny agreed, her voice dry in a sense of humor that not many of the other Weasley's had. Bill didn't know if her dark humor was a product of living in a such a turbulent time, or due to her personal traumatic experiences.
Ron gave her an unimpressed looked. "I meant it was surprising that they picked the Gryffindor-Slytherin game. You'd think they'd pick a game when their kids weren't playing." He jerked his head to where Draco was still on the ground. Bill could see Harry and a group of professors huddled around him.
"You guys head in," Bill said.
They nodded and left. Bill crossed over to the group of professors just in time for Severus to pull back Draco's trouser leg.
"Sweet Merlin," he muttered, because that was an impressively broken leg.
Draco's face went bone white and he slumped back on the ground. Pomfrey sent Severus for an immobilization potion and Minerva volunteered to stay with Draco while they waited. As much as Draco could be inscrutable at times, the dread he felt was obvious in his expression. And Minerva hadn't bothered to hide her own impatience, which Bill thought was bad form on her part because the boy was clearly injured.
Draco's eyes slid over the professors and landed on him and… Bill knew that look. It was the look his younger siblings gave him when they needed help with Molly, when she was on a rant or prescribing some truly terrible consequence for a minor offense. It was a wordless plea for rescue. Bill hadn't thought that an only child like Draco would even know how to make that face. But there was also resignation in Draco's eyes that suggested he didn't think any assistance was coming.
It was the resignation that had Bill stepping forward and volunteering to stay. And from the relief that crossed Draco's face, he was pleased he had.
So Bill sat on the grass as the pitch slowly emptied and told a story about his brother Charlie breaking his legs in a Quidditch match. It was hard to tell if Draco was truly enjoying his company or simply tolerating it because there was obvious strain on his face. Pomfrey finally took pity on the kid and gave him one of the good pain potions. A dose of Gardner's was enough to knock Bill out for a few hours, but Draco simply went limp and blinked at the sky.
"That should have put him to sleep," Pomfry told him, frowning a little.
Draco blinked again, slowly. He was clearly feeling something, just not fully sedated.
"Every broken a bone before, Draco?" Bill asked.
"A few," Draco said, voice a little slurred. "Broke my wrist when I was learning to play Quidditch at the manor. That was the first."
"How old were you?"
"Six. Father was watching me, but I dodged a bludger and fell off my broom.
"Ouch," said Bill sympathetically. "Did you cry?"
"No," said Draco. His face squinted a little. "I got out of piano lessons for two weeks so it wasn't so bad."
Bill smiled. Trust a Slytherin to find a benefit is a broken bone.
"The first time I broke a bone was when I was nineteen," said Bill, and shared the story about his first mission in the Sahara. "I still haven't told my mother about that one."
Draco's lips quirked up. "Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous."
It was odd, hearing something so normal about the Death Eater power couple. "Mother's have to worry," Bill said. "It's in their genes."
Draco flopped an arm, like he was trying to gesture and couldn't quite manage it. "She was worried because she had a party that night. Didn't want any interference."
Bill felt his mouth open, immediately wanting to dismiss what Draco was saying. Surely Narcissa had cared about her son.
"She only cares about her parties," Draco said, voice still slurred. "She drinks a lot, you know, alcohol and potions."
It took a second for Bill to fully comprehend what Draco had just said. Narcissa Malfoy had a substance use issue? He was shocked at the notion and alarmed at the implication. This was a kind of allegation that all professors were trained to take seriously, and yet… Bill felt discomfort steal over him. Draco was high on a pain potion right now. He was saying things he wouldn't normally say. Was it right to hear his confession? And yet… what if he was telling the truth and this was the only time he'd admit to an unsafe home environment?
Pomfrey seemed to have the same idea she did. She leaned in. "Draco, is it safe at your house?"
"What?" Draco's face scrunched in confusion.
"Safe," Pomfrey repeated. "Are you safe at home?"
Bill could see the moment Draco realized what Pomfrey was asking. His jaw clenched and he turned away, blinking rapidly at the sky.
"Draco," Pomfrey repeated, but Bill put a hand on her shoulder.
"Not now," Bill whispered. "We'll just upset him."
"He just said-,"
"I know," Bill said, but Draco wasn't going to say anything more and pressing him further, while his leg was grossly broken, seemed like a cruel interrogation. Bill would ask him about it later. Draco would most likely deny anything, but that was okay. Bill would do more to be friendly; Draco obviously could use a confidant.
Pomfrey humphed, but let the conversation drop. She moved around to exam Draco's leg, making him groan and flinch. Bill couldn't help wincing in sympathy as she deftly maneuvered his kneecap back into place with a sickening grind of bone-on-bone.
In the distance, Bill could see Snape make his way towards the pitch. Pomfrey gave Draco another potion and then hurried off to meet the potions master.
Even with the extra potion, Draco didn't seem inclined to sleep, although his pupils blew out and he went completely limp on the ground. His eyes fluttered for a moment, and then he seemed to pull himself out of it, shaking his head and trying to sit up.
"Are you alright?" Bill put a hand on his shoulder, both to keep him still and to reassure him that he was still there.
Draco's eyes drifted over to him. His brow knit and his lips moved, but he didn't say anything.
"Severus is coming with the potion, just a few more minutes."
He wasn't sure Draco quite understood him. Draco stared for a moment, and then slurred, "S is for Severus. M is for Malfoy."
"Yes, yes, it is," Bill agreed, laughing a little at the inane comment. "Good job spelling."
"R is for Riddle," Draco said, still slurring, but then he let out a breath of laughter. "R for riddle. The whole page is a riddle."
What?
Bill automatically pulled back. "What did you say?"
"The riddle." Draco stared back at him, his pupils blown so wide there was only a ring of silver visible around the black. "The… the code. The code in the homework."
Initial disbelief turned to terror. Draco's eyes slipped shut; Bill reached for him, shaking him a little. "What did you say?"
Draco didn't move. Bill shook him harder and his eyes fluttered opened, dazed and confused, and then Severus was beside them with the potion.
"It's alright," Pomfrey said, mistaking Bill's terror for concern for Draco. "He's supposed to be asleep for this part. Most unpleasant."
She poured the potion down Draco's throat, and then the two professors whisked Draco away. Bill was left sitting on the grass and staring after them, his heart beating just as fast as when he'd battled the bat.
Draco knew.
Draco knew about the coded message in the homework. But… but how?
Bill was on his feet in an instant. He ran to the castle, legs pumping hard and heart in his throat. He ran straight to the professor's wing and the records room. It was empty. No one needed records now; they were busy comforting the students and regaining control after the attack.
Bill flicked his wand, performing the unlocking spell and calling Draco's file to hand. He sat down right on the floor to read it.
It was thin, that's what he noticed first, and when he opened it, he saw why. Usually there were additional notes added onto the yearly report. If a student did poorly, the professor might detail what the student struggled with – was it with the practical application of a spell or did they struggle with a magical concept? Were they not practicing enough, or did they not complete homework assignments? The teachers might also leave notes if a student showed an area of excellence or showed leadership in the classroom. Professors would also note if there seemed to be a particular stressor impacting the student's progress. Perhaps a problem with a bully was creating bad grades, or maybe a problem at home was carrying over into school.
There were no such notes in Draco's folder. There were a few permission slips signed, for Quidditch and trips to Hogsmeade, along with a few disciplinary notices and his Prefect's contract, and that was it. The rest of the file was made up of his grade reports for his first five years of school. But it made sense. The professors didn't care for Draco, and so they didn't take the time to comment. And based on Draco's first-year grade report, he didn't really have any areas of strength or weakness to comment on. His first-year grades were straight E's. As were his second year.
Bill flipped to the third-year report. All E's again.
Bill frowned. No one got straight E's three years in a row.
He turned to the fourth year. Straight E's again.
Bill paused, and then slowly turned to the last page, already knowing what to expect. Sure enough, all E's on his fifth year.
Bill closed the file and magically flicked it back to the cabinet. He stood and walked back to his room, his head heavy with thoughts. He dropped into his desk chair and stared out the window at the lake.
"No one gets straight E's five years in a row," he said aloud, just to test how it sounded.
Or rather, no one got straight E's five years in a row naturally. But there were other ways of getting grades. Cheating, for one. But with the way the professors seemed to detest Draco, they'd relish the opportunity to write him up for cheating. Bribery was another possibility. Lucius certainly had the means to pay for his son's grades, but no teacher at Hogwarts would actually accept. And Bill could rule out grade-tampering. All the files were protected against any revision charms.
As a code-breaker, Bill recognized a pattern when he saw one. Draco was deliberately getting E's. It was the perfect grade to get to remain unnoticed. O's got praise and positive attention. A's weren't always able to go on to the NEWTs. And anything lower than that would get negative attention in the form of study-assistance or remedial classes. E's though… no one looked twice at an E.
Bill tried to fathom how hard it was to get straight E's five years in a row. And then he wondered how none of the other professors had noticed. But Draco had chosen to get E's, meaning he was hiding his grades. It stood to reason that he was also manipulating the faculty into disliking him enough to never look into his grades, to never leave a personalized note in his folder.
Bill added that to the other information he knew about Draco. Blaise had said that Draco was a dueling champion, which took great magical skill and tactical knowledge. Bill had seen his impressive work with translating a new runic language, showing an intuitive mind and great analytical skill – and he'd slept through half of that class. Add that to the fact that he'd made the entire school believe he'd attacked Blaise, and yet none of the faculty had been able to prove it.
Bill sat back in his chair with dawning realization.
"The kid's a bloody genius."
OoOoO
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