Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do think I own whatever small animal is living in my ceiling though. Animal control won't arrive 'til Monday. Until then, scittering noises it is. Not disconcerting at all…

So, what did I change in this chapter? Actually, not that much. You may be wondering then, "Well, Aduro, if you didn't change much, why'd it take you so long to get this chapter up?" To which I reply, "I didn't change much, but wow, I basically re-wrote the whole thing."

Let's talk about why. This is, perhaps, the most important chapter. This is what will set up Draco and Bill's friendship. This is also a really important character moment for Draco. This is the first time that anyone has discovered his genius and I really wanted to get the details right, his fear, his confusion, and also his desire for approval. As I've been writing this series, and as I've delved into the father-son relationship between Draco and Lucius, I realized how much Lucius does impact Draco – even though Lucius is not really a presence in this story. Draco's desire for his approval makes him vulnerable in a way that I didn't quite grasp in the first draft of this story, so I'm trying to highlight that now. I also added in a bit about Nott and the other Slytherins, just to raise the stakes for Draco.

Later this chapter, I gave Bill the emotional reaction that I denied him before. Again, it's the mark of a new writer, where secondary characters only exist to react to the main character. However, now that I've got some practice, Bill gets to be his own person with his own thoughts and feelings about the attack (namely, guilt because he's a Gryffindor who feels the need to protect). He also gets to give a bit of a tirade that might be a little bit of me bleeding throught there. I worked in a school for a year while I was in college. I was an aide to a student who had some issues. I learned how human teachers are, and when they are overworked and overstressed, it's easier to write-off problem students than it is to engage with them. Once a student is labeled as a 'problem-child', it seems like there is no more patience for that student and small offenses, that might have been overlooked for any other student, get met with the maximum consequences. I wanted to play that angle here. Certainly, Draco made sure that no teacher would want to engage with him, but still, at a school there are adults and there are children. I always expect more from adults.

Anyways, please enjoy.

OoOoO

Chapter 9

Draco reluctantly rose to consciousness Sunday morning, the last bit of Dreamless Sleep releasing its hold on him. He lay still for a moment, assessing the way his body hurt. His leg still throbbed, but it was duller than before. The rest of his bruises ached, but were well on their way to mended. He gingerly pushed himself. His shoulder and back twinged with the motion, but offered no other complaints. Draco looked down at his leg, currently propped on cushion and splinted. His bones were properly aligned and the swelling had been reduced. While it was mottled with bruises, it appeared the bone-mending tonic was working. He let out a breath of relief.

Pomfrey hustled over with a tray of breakfast. She propped the pillows to help him sit up and generally fussed over him while he ate. Draco couldn't bring himself to care about the way she flitted about. He'd missed lunch and dinner yesterday, and he was hungry. She whisked his tray away when he was done and gave him another bruise-be-gone potion.

Draco was about to ask her for a book or newspaper when he saw his visitors arrive. Crabbe and Goyle were expected. Pansy was a pleasant surprise. Nott was an unwelcome intruder.

Nott budged his way through the group and stalked to his bed. He pulled over a chair and dropped into it, his face flushed with anger. "I saw your stunt with Potter."

"My stunt?" Draco asked. "You mean how he pulled me off my broom?"

"You seemed to be holding onto him pretty tight. It makes me think you're trying to get into Potter's good graces so you can play both sides." He tsked and shook his head. "Malfoys. Always afraid of true commitment. Always looking for an exit strategy. Well, divided loyalties won't earn you any regard from the Dark Lord. I've seen how he punishes traitors."

Draco pushed himself up a little further, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through his leg. He kept his voice hushed as he spoke, as not to draw Pomfrey's attention, but he let his anger slip through. "Your accusations are growing tiresome, Nott. Even more than that, they are bordering on offensive. You question my loyalty? May I remind you that I was the one who punished the blood traitor in this school. I defended our cause. I struck fear into those that would deny their place. What did you do? A little graffiti and then earned a detention for it. Well done, I'm sure the Dark Lord is most impressed."

Nott bristled, but Draco continued before he could interrupt.

"Take your ego out of this. Our quarrel is not with each other. Slytherin needs to be united, now more than ever. Everyone saw how Harry Potter tore me off my broom, and yet he was given preferential treatment. Dumbledore saved him, and let me fall. The Headmaster has made his lack of regard for Pureblood families most apparent. He has shown how he prioritizes Mudbloods and Halfbloods over the noble families of Britain. If Slytherin is strong, and vocal in our justified outrage, we can unite all the Pureblood families, from every house. You must see the opportunity this has given us. Stand with me, Nott. Our cause demands our alliance."

He watched Theodore falter. He was extending a hand rather than inflaming the war. If Nott refused, he was showing his own ambition over the Dark Lord's cause. While Slytherin ideals would value such ambition, the Dark Lord was not so kind to those that put their own efforts over his own.

Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward. Draco knew they didn't quite understand what he was suggesting, but they understood he was calling for loyalty. "We're with you, Draco."

"You always have been," Draco acknowledged.

Pansy stepped up to his bed. "I saw the way Potter clung to you. And the way the Headmaster ignored you." She leaned down and kissed his cheek, her lips brushing over his ear as she whispered, "You owe me."

Draco didn't let the wince cross his face, even though at this point he was going to be working off his debt to her for the whole year. Pansy stepped back, but the scent of her perfume lingering. It was laced with a light potion that created momentary light-headedness and euphoria. It didn't impact Draco anymore. He turned to Nott. "Well?"

Nott jerked his head in a rough nod, clearly to prideful to admit his fealty aloud.

"What was that?" Draco asked, wanting to see him squirm. It was only fair. Nott had been a thorn in his side for the past several weeks and the cause of countless headaches. He ought to feel discomfort.

"I'll stand with you," Nott ground out. He stood up. "For now, at least." He stormed out of the infirmary.

The others followed him, Crabbe and Goyle agreeing to bring him his schoolbooks. But homework wasn't distracting enough. Draco found himself pushing the books away not twenty minutes later.

"Feeling alright?" Pomfrey asked. "You look a little peaked."

Her voice was gentle, too gentle. She was usually quite brusque. Draco had always liked that about her.

"Headache," Draco said.

"Would you like another pain potion?"

Draco should say no. He'd already had too many potions. The craving was back. The desire to be swept away from his worries, to clear his head and forget and have a moment of peace. It would be so easy to say yes. He could even ask her for something stronger.

"No." The word came out slightly too intense.

Pomfrey's expression softened further, into something pitying. "How about a sleeping draft then? Your body needs to heal."

Draco nodded; he'd allow that one. She retrieved the potion and he downed it, bitter and cloying on his tongue.

Pomfrey helped him get comfortable, a little difficult with his leg still propped up. "Take it easy now. And remember, we're here for you if you need anything. Anything at all."

Alarm bells went off even as the sleep potion pulled him under. Why was Pomfrey saying that? Why was she saying it like that? Why had she been so gentle with him?

He was pulled into sleep before he could answer any of those questions. His sleep was sprinkled with dreams and near-wakefulness. He woke from it groggy and sore and irritable. He reached up to scrub a hand over his face.

"Putain de merde," he muttered.

There was a chuckle beside him. He glanced over, startled to see Bill Weasley sitting in the chair by his bed.

"How are you doing?" Bill asked.

There were a lot of responses to that. Irritable, that was his emotional state. In pain, his physical state. Bored and restless, his mental state. Frustrated and in danger of losing control of Slytherin house, his social state.

Draco let out a breath. "I'm fine."

"That seems to be a generous response."

"Things could always be worse," Draco said, his own words sounding grim to his ears. He tried pushing himself up a little. Bill reached out, making Draco pause, but he only helped stack the pillows behind him. It was gentle, the way that Pomfrey had been gentle.

Draco settled back, racking his brain for any clue as to why he was suddenly being treated so nicely. He'd fallen, he knew that much, and Bill had sat with him. Bill had talked about breaking a leg. Draco had said something about breaking his wrist. That was about all he could remember, a fairly innocuous conversation, all things considered. Bill had been kind to sit with him and offer a distraction. That was something else that would get him in trouble with Nott – accepting kindness from a Weasley. Just another way he was 'getting soft'.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Bill said.

Oh, Merlin. Had Bill seen him catch Harry too? Bill wouldn't ream him out, the way Nott had. He would be grateful. He might even ask him about his loyalties, maybe even offer him the protection of the Order if he wanted. Draco kept his face carefully blank as Bill glanced about the infirmary, like he was making sure no one could overhear them. The room was empty, and the gesture made Draco uneasy.

Bill dragged his gaze back to Draco. "I looked into your student file the other day."

There was a moment – a brief millisecond – when Draco's brain hit a blank wall. He blinked, not understanding what Bill meant, and then realization crashed over him like a tidal wave. He felt the blood rush from his face. His heart stuttered. A million implications churned in his head. He opened his mouth, but the words weren't there. Should he feign confusion? Outright deny it? Counter with an attack?

"So, is E your favorite letter or something?" Bill asked.

Draco licked his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about." The denial sounded flat, even to his own ears.

Bill gave a gentle smile. "No one gets straight Es for five years in a row."

"I'm just an E student," Draco said, this excuse just a lame as the first.

"An E student who is a dueling champion, shows advanced translation skills in Ancient Runes, and somehow got away with an assault under the nose of Minerva McGonagall."

Draco cast about for the excuses he had prepared years before in the small eventuality that his grades were ever discovered. As the years went on, he'd let them go unpracticed, confidant no one would uncover his secrets. "I have talent in some areas, but I don't apply myself."

"It's an anomaly."

"Anomalies happen all the time," Draco said. "If you flip a knut a hundred times, there is a probability it will land on heads every time."

"I bet you know the odds on that."

Draco did know those odds; it was a statistical impossibility. He swallowed hard.

"How smart are you exactly?" Bill asked.

Denial hadn't worked. He'd have to go on the defensive.

"How long have you been spying on Death Eater meetings?" Draco shot back, sure that this would end the discussion, perhaps buy him some time to think.

"Since the begin of school," Bill said easily. "The same time I started putting the codes up."

Draco stared at Bill. The professor had neatly disarmed his attack using a defense Draco hadn't seen coming: honesty.

But Bill had given Draco more than honesty. He'd also given Draco a secret, in exchange for his own. No neither could betray the other without triggering a mutually assured destruction. Draco was grudgingly impressed.

"I'm pretty smart," he admitted. The words felt foreign on his tongue. "Smarter than you."

"Doesn't take much," said Bill.

Draco snorted. "Your code has five different translation matrixes in it. You're hardly an idiot."

"Those five matrixes weren't even supposed to be detected."

"I'm good at puzzles."

"How did you even spot it?"

"You said the homework had been translated through a spell, but the translation errors were too inconsistent. There was a rhythm to the errors, one that wasn't natural. It felt like a code."

"How long did it take you to decode it?"

"Weeks," said Draco. "But once I realized that you had coded it in French, then it took me about five hours."

"Five hours?" Bill repeated, his voice incredulous.

"I was able to look for target phrases," Draco allowed. "That meant I could work backwards in some places, which cut down my translation time."

"But still, five hours. Shit. That's… that's incredible."

Draco had imagined the scenarios in which his genius was discovered. He'd played them out in his head and rehearsed what lines he'd say. Lucius would be angry that Draco had kept it a secret. Draco would have to plead for his understanding and secrecy. He'd have to convince his father that the deception hadn't been personal, just protective. The Slytherin students would be doubtful, and even when they were convinced, they'd try testing his power. Draco would have to be on his guard, always planning for their next attack. Snape would be quiet, and that silence could mean anything. The Headmaster would be scared. Draco didn't know what Dumbledore would do, but he was sure he'd be seen as a threat, and carefully monitored. The Dark Lord… well, he'd either see Draco as an asset or a threat. He'd be put to work or killed.

But this scenario – someone believing him, someone praising him – that wasn't anything he'd imagined. Or anything he'd dared to hope for. Bill sounded almost proud of him, and a strange feeling stole through his chest. It was light and warm and spread up to his face. He could feel his face flush pink.

"Yes... well, it was enjoyable to work on."

Bill laughed. "I guess I'll take it as a consolation prize. So what else can you do?"

A better question would be what couldn't he do? Draco wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal. Bill was still a potential enemy. And yet, Draco had just a small taste of praise and approval, and he wanted more. He wanted to impress Bill.

"I brewed veritaserum when I was twelve, just to see if I could. I became an illegal animagus at thirteen. I could have graduated this school with all twelve OWLs in three years, four if I wanted to take the NEWTs. I've taken advanced mathematics and physics courses through Muggle colleges, distance learning courses, of course. I could have passed the entrance exam for a Healer's apprenticeship last year. Last summer I passed the barrister's exam under a pseudonym."

Bill let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of knowledge."

"Knowledge misapplied is worse than lack of knowledge," Draco quoted. He felt some strange need to refute the praise even though he craved it.

"What are you doing with your knowledge?"

Draco gave him a sidelong look. Was he asking about his genius in general or his knowledge about his spy work? He shrugged; the answer fit for both. "Nothing at the moment."

"Apart from decoding my riddle."

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Did you learn anything from the code?"

"Not much, but I already knew most of it. And what I didn't know, I assumed."

"Assumptions can be dangerous."

"I can tell you with a ninety-four percent confidence every single witch or wizard who is a Death Eater and every single witch or wizard who is in the Order of the Phoenix."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "That's impressive."

"That's all you're going to say?" Draco asked, a little nonplussed.

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I'm just waiting for you to decide if you're going to tell Dumbledore or the Order. Maybe drag me in, feed me some veritaserum, and make me spill all my secrets."

"I could be waiting for the same from you. Except I think Voldemort would use the Cruciatus instead of veritaserum, wouldn't he?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Bill, but the professor was right. Both could do damage to the other. "So where does that leave us?"

"Stalemate?" Bill offered.

Draco didn't answer, not at first. Bill was giving in too easily. Draco was in Dumbledore's territory, meaning Bill had the advantage. He really ought to use it.

"You're too noble," Draco said.

Bill smiled. "The principles that I am fighting for would be undermined if I decided to kidnap and interrogate a child."

"Like I said, too noble."

"Perhaps."

Draco frowned. "How did you know that I translated the code?"

"You told me."

"I did not."

Bill's smile slid into a grin. "You were a little high on potions at the time, but yes, you did."

Draco thought back to his missing memories. He didn't remember any of that. "I don't suppose I said anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Something that would make Pomfrey worried about me?"

Bill paused, which was an answer in itself. "You mentioned that your mother abuses potions."

"Shit." Draco reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Everything okay at home?"

"Based on your definition?" Draco asked. He had no doubt Bill's definition of a good home environment was vastly different than his own.

"Are you safe at home?" Bill clarified.

"Safer than here, apparently," Draco said, gesturing to his leg. He changed the subject. "What about you? How dangerous is it spying on Death Eater meetings?"

Bill gave him a long look, one that said he noted Draco's sidestep. He didn't call him on it though. He just sat back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me how I do it?"

"Why?"

"I want to see how smart you actually are."

Draco was never one to back down from a challenge. He thought for a minute, the fingers in his right hand tapping through the piano exercise, 1 to 2 then 4, then 3, then 5.

"Your first obstacle is getting to the meetings. You can't use a tracking spell."

"Why not?"

"Tracking spells are too noticeable and easily detected. You could use a bond, I suppose, but the Dark Lord would notice that. Not to mention he's overseas now, so the bond wouldn't hold for that distance. You could try a detection spell, but he's paranoid enough to randomize his meeting locations."

"You know a lot about Death Eater meetings."

"I've been to a few," Draco said. He saw Bill's surprise and sneered. "Don't look so shocked. You know who my family is."

"I suppose you've met Voldemort then."

Draco shook his head. "My father…," he frowned, trying to find the words to explain it best. "Lucius believes the tenants of blood purity, but he doesn't always agree with the Dark Lord's methods, which are typically crass or excessively violent. And the Dark Lord employs many servants who are from fallen houses or have no social standing or who are half-bloods."

"Are you saying that Voldemort isn't bigoted enough for your father's standards?"

"The Dark Lord is a half-blood who styles himself after a noble Pureblood," Draco pointed out. "That hypocrisy that is hard to swallow. A lot of Death Eaters say that his Slytherin blood is enough to purify the Muggle in him, but those of us from older families find that unpalatable."

"What do you think of blood purity?"

Draco had to shrug. "I believe that blood purity matters but I don't know how much it matters, if that makes sense."

"You don't know if it's enough to kill for or start a war for."

Draco nodded. "Until I figure that out, I'm sticking with what I was taught as a kid. Blood purity is worth more than money, but money is a close second. I have both, therefore I am above the rich and tainted, and the poor and pure."

Bill stared at him. "You really are a right arrogant snot, aren't you?"

Draco stared back. He knew that was what people thought of him, and that was how he portrayed himself, but no one had ever called him out in such a factual way before. Usually there was a far greater emotional response that he could ignore. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Bill laughed, and Draco was surprised to note that Bill was not condemning him for his prejudiced beliefs, nor was he trying to change his mind. It was strange. Draco was used to propaganda and manipulation. He'd never had anyone let him have his own thoughts, regardless if they agreed with him or not.

"So," said Bill, drawing the conversation back around, "if I can't use tracking spells or detection spells, how else am I getting there?"

"The only way to get to a Death Eater meeting is to be called or to accompany someone who is called. I very much doubt that you're side-along Apparating with a Death Eater, so that must mean you're getting there on your own. And that means you have a Dark Mark."

"How do I get a Dark Mark?" Bill asked.

"You certainly didn't get it the traditional way."

"How do you know that?"

"The Dark Mark is placed during a bonding ceremony with the Dark Lord. No disguise is going to hold during that – and there is no way you could get one without a disguise. So that leaves transferring a mark, which is supposed to be impossible."

"So I didn't transfer a mark?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "It's supposed to be impossible. That doesn't mean it is."

"Very true."

From Bill's smile, Draco knew that was how he'd done it. "Was it from a dead Death Eater?"

Bill looked intrigued. "Not a bad idea. But Voldemort can feel when he's lost a follower, so he'd also notice if he gained a new one."

"That means you transferred a mark from a live person. Not all of it, just enough to bond. That means you got it from Snape."

"Snape?" asked Bill in surprise.

Draco had to hand it to him; Bill was an excellent actor.

"Snape is a spy," Draco said, just so Bill didn't have to deny it.

"What makes you say that?"

"Dumbledore trusts him, and Dumbledore's harder to fool than the Dark Lord. But he could still be a triple-agent."

Bill raised his eyebrows in a wordless question.

Draco shrugged and settled back on his pillows. "He's always been inscrutable, but lately he's been more closed off."

Bill studied him for a moment. "He worries about you."

"What?"

"He's worried because you don't have anyone in your life that isn't a Death Eater. And he's frustrated because he's currently under greater suspicion from Voldemort which prevents him from talking to you."

Draco thought back to the past couple of interactions he'd had with the Potions Master. It certainly made sense, but he still wasn't convinced. He looked at Bill. "Can I see the Mark?"

Bill pulled up his left sleeve and showed his unmarked skin. "It's invisible."

"The Pater's Ritual?" Draco asked. It was an ancient ritual created by a father who had transferred a curse from his son, sacrificing himself in the process.

"With a few variations," Bill agreed. "In the potion we used moonstone instead of blood."

"To create a bond between you two instead of a complete transference of the mark," said Draco, putting the pieces together.

"Exactly. And we changed the wording too, but that's the gist of it. Dumbledore was the one who came up with the idea."

"He is a genius," said Draco. "You have an invisibility cloak to spy, don't you?"

"And what else?" asked Bill.

"Scent killing potions for Nagini, and a silencing charm for when you Apparate."

"I don't need the silencing charm."

Draco gazed at him in jealousy. "You're a silent Apparater, aren't you?"

Each wizard or witch had a sound when they Apparated. Narcissa had a soft 'pop', Lucius entered with a snap of a whip, and Draco's sound (he Apparated illegally) was the quiet version of a crack of lightning.

"Yeah," said Bill, grinning at the obvious envy on his face.

"So you sit in on the Death Eater's meetings, and then you put the code into the homework, and then Auror Tonks relays the message to McGonagall or someone else."

Bill's face pinched. "That's a lot of good detective work." He fell silent for a moment, opened his mouth, but closed it again. He frowned further, like he was trying to organize his thoughts, then finally spoke. "When you do pick a side, it's going to be dangerous for the opposition. I'm not going to pretend that that thought of you as a Death Eater isn't terrifying."

Draco wondered if this was the moment Bill decided he was too dangerous. His eyes flicked to his wand on the nightstand, then at the door, and then towards Pomfrey's office. There were a couple of ways the fight might occur. Bill had the advantage because Draco was practically immobile, so it would be better to avoid an outright battle. He turned back to Bill, ready to lie and say something that would put the professor at ease.

Bill raised his hands. "I'm not suggesting that I'm going to cause you any harm or reveal your secret."

Draco didn't like how easily Bill had read him just then. He flattened his expression. "What are you suggesting?"

"Are you open to conversations about joining the Order? To be completely upfront, I think that our views on blood purity and equality are the right ones, and I'd like to have that dialogue with you."

"Are you asking to try to recruit me?"

"You're already being recruited by the Death Eaters. We might be able to make you a better offer. But until you're ready to decide, we can just talk."

"Usually people with an agenda are pushier."

"This has to be your decision," Bill said. "Choosing sides is hard to do, especially for someone in your position. I don't want to make the decision for you. That's how spies are created."

"What if I chose to become a Death Eater?"

"I value the freedom choice," Bill said. "I don't want to take yours away from you. Plus, if you really are a genius, I think you'll make the right decision."

Draco ignored the grin Bill gave him. "What do you get out of it?"

"The pleasure of your company."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, really."

"Alright," said Bill. "If you want me to get something out of our conversations, fail your runes test so you can stay after class on Thursday. I've got something you might like."

"What is it?" Draco asked, immediately suspicious.

"A surprise," Bill said. He got to his feet. "Heal up 'til then. You look a little rough."

He left the infirmary with an easy stride. Draco watched him leave and then sank down further into bed. He reached up to press his hands over his eyes. As much as he was a genius, it was hard to comprehend everything that had just happened. He'd been discovered, by a Weasley of all people, and…

And that was it. There had been no fight or battle. There had been no accusations or disbelief. He hadn't been punished or scolded. He hadn't been turned over to the Dark Lord or the Order.

He slowly pulled his hands down and let out a breath. Nothing had changed, except someone knew his secret and wanted to talk. That certainly wasn't terrible.

He frowned. But what was the surprise?

OoOoO

Bill poked at his dinner. It was quiet in the dining hall, quieter than a typical Sunday evening. It wasn't the quiet of students tuckered out after a weekend of fun. It wasn't the quiet of students cramming to complete their assignments by Monday. It was a terse silence. The news of the Dark Mark on the bat had swept through the school, leaving fear and trepidation in its wake.

Bill was a spy. It was his job to protect wizarding Britain from Death Eaters. He'd gone back through all of his notes, searching for anything he'd missed, even the smallest of hints of an attack. But there had been none. And yet, the attack had occurred, and the Death Eaters had successfully created havoc and fear in Hogwarts. So why hadn't Bill heard anything of it? What had he missed? How had he missed it?

He put his fork down as his stomach twisted. He glanced out over the hall, feeling guilty at the silence. Even the Slytherins were quiet. Draco Malfoy had the severest injuries from the attack, and his father was a high-ranking Death Eater. Bill could tell that it had shaken them, and a part of him was pleased for it. They needed to understand the real danger of following Voldemort. He would sacrifice his followers or their children without hesitation if it would be of benefit to him.

But even so, it was a hard lesson to learn, and one that children shouldn't have to learn. Every student should be safe. And Draco himself…

There was something else to puzzle over. It'd gone well, his talk with Draco. More than well. It'd shown Bill that Draco Malfoy was not just the 'Ice Prince of Slytherin' or whatever the overdramatic, teenaged label was being used. He was an adolescent who was beginning to question the beliefs he was raised with and he was possibly one of the sharpest minds in England. He'd translated his code in five hours, five hours, and then walked himself through Bill's spying gig like he was solving a first-year Arithmancy problem. He'd be an asset to the Order, to be sure, but he also deserved the chance to make an informed decision about his future. Bill was hopeful. The fact that Draco was keeping his abilities secret from Voldemort, and from his own father, showed that he wanted some measure of freedom. That freedom didn't come with a Death Eater hood or a Dark Mark.

But Bill would have to be careful, delicate. He couldn't push too hard. It was a daunting task, and he still had his spying activities. And his position as a professor.

Bill sighed, pushed his plate away, and took a minute to feel sorry for himself. Then he went up to Dumbledore's office.

As usual, Dumbledore offered a lemon drop.

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger?" Bill asked.

Dumbledore smiled in empathy and pulled out a decanter of brandy. He poured two glasses and they moved to the armchairs by the fireplace.

"I've gone through everything twice," Bill said. "I can't find any mention of an attack in my notes. I either missed it, in which case I'm a shitty spy, or it was never mentioned at the meetings I attended, meaning my information won't be as helpful as we wanted."

"We knew that was the risk of using Severus' mark," Dumbledore said. "Different factions of Death Eaters are used for different tasks. Severus doesn't called for every meeting, but he does get the important calls."

"What's the point of being a spy if I can't prevent attacks like this one?" Bill rubbed his face and slumped back in his chair. He knew why he was spying, obviously, and he knew the work he did was important. But it was slow work. Bill knew it wasn't a waste of time, but he just felt so useless right now.

"What's the point of teaching if your students fail the first quiz?" Dumbledore queried. "As a teacher, you may not see improvement day-to-day. A few tests might get failed. A few concepts not understood. But little by little, the students learn. And at the end of the year, an OWL is passed, and after that you get a card in the post because one of your students went into the field because you inspired them. The same is true for the information you are gleaning. It looks like nothing now, but you will effect great change over time."

His words were gentle. Bill let out a breath and took a long sip of the brandy. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Bill. It is unfortunate that you are in two positions where there is little instant gratification."

Bill laughed. Wasn't that the truth?

Dumbledore smiled as well, but then his lips pursed. He took a sip of his brandy. "Might I pick your brain about the attack?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember when Harry fell?"

"Yes, but I admit my attention was divided."

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought… I thought I saw young Mr. Malfoy catching him. But I can't be sure."

Bill kept his face neutral. "I didn't get a good look."

"I spoke with Minerva about it, and even had her watch my memory in a Pensieve, but she seems to think that my recollection is skewed. I admit, it happened in such a flash that I didn't get a good look myself. She says I'm fooling myself."

"Do you think that's likely?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I have been told that my greatest failing is that I see goodness in a person long after that goodness has been discarded. I think of Tom Riddle as a boy. I overlooked a great many things because I didn't want to lose hope."

"Do you think Draco is beyond hope?"

Dumbledore took another sip of brandy. "Severus often chides me for not taking more interest in the Slytherin students, particularly from the noble families. I had intended, several years ago, to begin that outreach, but there was always a distraction. I find myself… overstretched these days. It seems I either have the time to reach the students who are the victims of this war, or time to reach the students who are children of the perpetrators. I prioritize the victims. Do you think that is wrong of me?"

"No," said Bill immediately. "But if you are aware that there is a group of students that need assistance, then it is your job to find someone who can assist."

"Well stated," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I had hoped the Debate Class this year might allow for conversation and discourse. I believe it is helping those students who are truly undecided, but I am afraid I might be giving those students who believe in blood purity a platform to their views, or setting them up in an echo chamber, where they only hear their own voices getting louder and louder. The incident with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini suggests that."

"You think Draco was the one who assaulted Blaise that night."

"You think otherwise?"

Bill thought for a moment, carefully choosing what to say. "I've noticed that many of the faculty seem to enjoy the opportunity to punish Draco. I do not doubt that he has broken rules or behaved offensively, I've seen that behavior as well. But I do wonder if the faculty hasn't made themselves an enemy to Draco, or other Slytherins, in that case."

"You may be the first person to speak in his defense," Dumbledore said.

Bill felt a flare of frustration. "He's in his sixth year, Headmaster. I know he can be bigoted and rude and even violent, but if I am the first person to speak in his defense and advocate treating him fairly, don't you think that's a problem?"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking a little startled. Bill felt a little self-conscious, wondering if he'd said too much, but Dumbledore only nodded.

"You make a fair point. This might be asking much of you, since you are already preoccupied with Order business, but since you are a new faculty member, and because I'm hearing you call him by his first name, suggesting a familiarity none of the other staff have with him, perhaps you could keep an eye on him? Maybe you could be the assistance that I have failed to provide."

Bill smiled; he was already planning on it. "I think I can arrange something."

OoOoO

As always, please leave a review on your way out, if you'd be so kind. Also, this is being cross-posted on Ao3. If you want to read the story without the author's notes, or just read it in the re-vamp formed, go check it out over there. I'm AduroWrites over there, the story is still called 'The Code."