Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Alas.
oOoOo
Rule number seventeen: Trust no one.
Draco was released from the infirmary late Sunday morning. He was the last of the Slytherins to make it out, but the entire Gryffindor team was still confined to bed. Two Healers from St. Mungo's had remained behind to help Pomfrey with their medical care. Draco knew they were most concerned about Ginny Weasley, but he hadn't been able to overhear much about her condition. It was easy to deduce that it was serious though. The entire Weasley family had been invited to Hogwarts, and going by their tense expressions, they were hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Draco didn't think the worst included death, otherwise she would have been taken straight to St. Mungo's, but he knew the complications that could arise from smoke inhalation of a magical fire. Lung damage. Internal burns. Oxygen deprivation that could result in brain damage.
But she hadn't been in the flames that long. Odds were, she'd be fine.
Still, something like concern scratched in the back of his mind when he spotted Bill, half-collapsed on an infirmary bed, his eyes firmly fastened on the curtained-off bed of his sister. Draco wondered if he should say something, but there were too many Weasleys about, bustling and fussing and shooting him dark, suspicious glances.
Draco left the infirmary and went straight to the Prefects' bathroom. He indulged in a steaming bath that turned his skin pink and chased away the last of his headache. He emerged in time for lunch and found the Great Hall subdued and quiet. There was no laughter or teasing or raised voices. No stupid arguments or immature pranks. The students were huddled together in groups. They picked at their food. They spoke in whispers, wild speculations that Draco overheard with the aid of an eavesdropping spell. One rumor said that the Slytherin team had set the fire. Another said that a Death Eater had snuck onto the castle grounds to do it. One student was sure that Ginny had died from her injuries, and another said that it was Ron. Regardless of the rumor, the students all turned to give the Slytherin table fearful, angry glances.
Draco dropped the spell and pulled out his homework. He didn't care for the glares, and he needed to get caught up on his homework. Spending the night and morning in the infirmary had completely thrown him off schedule, and he still had the Neutral party to meet up with. He managed to finish his Arithmancy, and then headed up to the Room of Requirement to set it up before the students arrived. He was surprised to find it already in use. Anthony Goldstein, Isobel McDougal, and Darla Burgess were inside, standing beside the fireplace. They'd clearly been in conversation before his arrival.
Draco frowned. "What's going on?"
Anthony stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "We were discussing the best way to tell you. We're not joining your protest."
Draco felt an initial burst of surprise that was almost immediately quenched by a wave of irritation. "Why not?"
"It's hard to defend the premise of Neutrality when the supporters of Superiority attack children."
Draco scowled. "It wasn't the Superiority group. We were attacked too."
"We all figure that was an accident," Anthony said, gesturing out to include himself and the two girls. "Bad communication or something, otherwise Slytherin would have left the field sooner."
Irritation turned to indignation. "And you think the Superiority group condones an assault on children? You think that if I knew there was going to be a fire, I wouldn't do anything about it?"
"Would you? Even if you got orders to let it happen?"
"No one here is getting orders."
"But the Death Eaters want to kill Harry, don't they? And the other Gryffindors? What if you got an order to help them?"
Draco paused. One of the unseen benefits of faking mediocrity is that no such orders had been given to him. No one thought he was capable of it, not when the school was overseen by Dumbledore. But that didn't mean he'd never get an order from the Dark Lord, especially if he got Marked. The truth was – Draco could kill Harry if he wanted to. The easiest way would be to stage an accident in Potions class, but Draco had never seriously considered it. He didn't want to kill anyone. But it seemed his fellow students didn't think that highly of him.
"You think I would kill students here?" Draco asked.
"Most of the Superiority group has direct ties to the Death Eaters, and we know what happens at dark revels."
Draco shook his head. "Superiority has nothing to do with violence."
"It has nothing against violence," Isobel said, crossing her arms. "As soon as you think you're better than other people, you are allowed to mistreat them."
"Superiority is a cultural movement," Draco started, already know that defense wasn't going to work. He knew the flaws in it.
"The Neutral party is about culture," Goldstein interrupted. "With the growing influx of Muggleborn wizards and witches, the need for Muggle obliviations is increasing at an exponential rate, and that increases the likelihood of a breach in the statute of secrecy. Muggle technology has been incorporated too quickly into the economy which has lost an unprecedented number jobs, not to mention the decline in the quality of products because hand-made items have more residual magic in them than those that are factory produced. Wizarding holidays, traditions, and rituals are no longer observed by the majority. Two magical dialects have been lost in this past decade. These things can be addressed without claiming you are superior to other wizards and witches."
"And whoever is attacking the school can be identified and brought to justice without sacrificing your voice by throwing your weight behind the Equality party," Draco argued.
"We're not going to join the Equality party," Isobel said. "They're already ranting about going to war and expelling anyone with ties to the Death Eaters, which includes over half of the school, including myself since I have an uncle with unfortunate alliances. And it would include you, even though it's clear you didn't know about the attack either."
"So what are you going to do?"
"We're going to continue the way the debate is set up," Goldstein said. "We don't feel comfortable with the suggestion seeing as it was your idea. It makes us think there might be a different motive."
"I see," Draco said. "I'm guilty by association, is that it?"
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy." Isobel strode for the door, sending a scathing look behind her. "You've done enough on your own to make us nervous about your intentions. And we haven't forgotten about what you did under Umbridge."
They left, Darla shooting him an apologetic look as they exited the room. She hadn't said anything herself, but Draco knew he'd lost her support too. The door closed behind them.
"Merde!" Draco swore, feeling the urge to hit something, but a Malfoy would never be so undignified. He pulled his wand instead and unleashed a wind charm that picked up the furniture and sent it hurling against the wall. Some of it splintered from the force. Draco considered casting another spell, but it'd hardly be worth it. The damage here would be wiped away as soon as he left the room, rendering the expression of frustration completely useless. And it was pointless anyway. He shouldn't dwell in his emotions; he should be thinking a way out of the problem. If he lost these three, he'd lost all of the Neutral students. He needed to get them back.
The political scheming distracted him from getting the rest of his homework done, so he had to bring it to dinner. He glared up at the head table, sure that Jameson was behind the attack somehow, but Stevick looked oddly smug himself. He certainly wasn't helping any appearance of innocence.
But it didn't matter who was behind the attack when the 'why' didn't make any sense. The Death Eater at Hogwarts should be focused on getting the Dark Lord's horcrux back, not engaging in terror attacks on children. And what could the Dark Lord gain from such a display? These reckless assaults would only push more Neutral-leaning families away from his cause.
Draco felt a twinge of pain in his temples and grimaced. Pomfrey had said his head would ache for a few days, and encouraged him to get a pain reliever as needed, but this was a different sort of pain. This came from thinking too hard. Draco was beginning to realize the Equality party might be right about a few things. If the Dark Lord continued to embrace tactics of violence, then society at large was endangered. It was logical to condemn such tactics.
That was why he wanted the Neutral party to follow his plan. A robust Neutral party would check the Dark Lord's more violent tendencies. It would rein him in and temper his policies. He knew that's what Lucius was advising, even though the Dark Lord liked to ignore him for other counsel.
The twinge of pain became an ache and Draco swung by the infirmary after dinner for a pain potion. The Weasley family was still inside, still grim faced and frightened. Draco took the potion, but it didn't seem to help. He found himself wandering towards Snape's office even though he had consciously decided to go there. Snape wasn't inside. Draco helped himself to another pain reliever. The second dose seemed to do the trick. He collapsed in his bed and slept straight through until first class on Monday morning.
The best way to win over the Neutral party would be to go one member at a time, so he sought out Goldstein after dinner. He found the boy in a secluded corner of the library scribbling out an essay that Draco knew was due tomorrow morning. Draco found that the Ravenclaws fell into one of two camps. Either they'd have all of their homework done a week before it was due, and would agonize over every comma, or they were chronic procrastinators, skivving off until the last possible minute, then writing an essay the night before and somehow getting an E on it. The professors would lament that it could have been an O if they'd only taken the time to proof-read it and develop their ideas a little more.
Goldstein was one of the procrastinators. He looked up at Draco with raised eyebrows, seemingly unconcerned that Draco was interrupting him even though he still had a good two feet to go.
Draco claimed the chair across the table from him. "A strong Neutral party is still a sound idea, but I understand that my presence in the group makes it unpalatable. If you'd like, I'll bow out, and I'll even pledge to the Superiority group. You could even introduce the idea as your own, if you'd like."
Anthony's eyebrows narrowed. "You're conceding a lot, right from the start. It's almost self-sacrificing. That's not like you."
Draco shrugged. "It's a good deal. You should take it."
Anthony leaned forward. "What are you plotting?"
"Why do I have to be plotting anything?"
"Because you're a Slytherin."
Draco scoffed. "You know there's more to Slytherin than scheming, just like there's more to Ravenclaws than being studious." He gestured to Goldstein's work to prove his point.
"I'd be more inclined to believe you if you'd done anything these past six years that was in opposition to that stereotype, but you haven't."
"Maybe because Slytherin's getting a little… stifling," Draco said. He paused and looked away, like he was just now debating whether to reveal something to Anthony. He glanced back and saw that he had Goldstein's full attention. He lowered his voice. "Things in Slytherin have gotten contentious. While my own loyalties are clear, the same cannot be said for every member of my house. I'm of the opinion that they should be left alone to make their decisions, but not all of my housemates agree. They're getting forceful with their world views and I'd rather not have a full war in Slytherin. If we could make the Neutral party more palatable – ,"
"You mean skip the debate and essay," Goldstein filled in.
Draco nodded. "It would give Slytherins an excuse to join the Neutral party without being labeled a traitor and things could calm down."
"Or it would give all of Slytherin a reason to join the Neutral party and you could take it over."
"I have no plans for a hostile takeover."
"A merger then, a way for you to consolidate power outside of your house."
"Is that what you think this is? A power play?"
"What else would be it?"
"I just told you. Slytherin's divided and it's getting uncomfortable."
"So fix it."
"That's what I'm trying to do. Superiority doesn't allow for shades of opinion, so that's why I need the Neutral party."
"That's seems to be an internal issue. Fix your own party instead of taking over another one."
"The fix is to give my house the ability to expand outward, away from the party." Draco could see Goldstein wasn't moved. He dropped back in the chair. "Alright, how can I convince you and the others that this is a genuine attempt to fix an issue in my house?"
"You? Being genuine? And doing something for someone else?" Goldstein laughed.
Draco tried to ignore the way his words stung. He looked away, lips pursing to keep from saying something.
Goldstein let out one last chuckle. "I wouldn't bother trying to convince anyone."
"Why not?"
"Because you'd have to do something that qualifies you as neutral, something that is clearly in line with the Neutral party's standard of behavior."
"Such as?"
Goldstein shrugged. "Something that protects the rights and safety of every student here regardless of politics. But I wouldn't bother."
"Why not?"
"It'll take so long to convince the others that you'll lose interest in whatever game it is you're playing."
And that stung too. Draco stared at Goldstein, taken aback at his blunt assessment of Draco's character. The Ravenclaw gave another shrug and a smile that seemed more placating than genuine.
There were a hundred things Draco wanted to say, a hundred things to seethe and snipe and shoot back. But Goldstein wasn't wrong to brush him off. Draco had created a persona at school. He'd become the quintessential Slytherin in order to keep people from getting too close, to keep them from discovering his secret, and this was the cost of it. For the first time, he was being genuine, and no one believed it.
He must have stared a minute too long because Goldstein frowned at him. "You can't tell me I'm wrong about this."
Draco gave him cold smile and returned to their usual banter. "Not at all. Well-spotted. You've figured out my dastardly plan." He got up to leave, the movement a little too abrupt.
Anthony stared at him quizzically. "Wait, Malfoy, I didn't –,"
Draco left before he could finish his sentence. He went back to his dorm, cursing the fact that he'd played his role so well, that no one could see past it.
No one except Bill that is. He eagerly walked into Ancient Runes on Tuesday, ready for a distraction, but one look at the professor made him remember that there was more at stake than just winning over the Neutral party. Bill looked rough. His face was pale with dark circles under his eyes. He greeted the class with a smile that fooled no one. One of the Ravenclaws asked about Ginny. Bill said she hadn't woken up yet.
The students looked at one another. A few of them nodded. The class settled in and it was by far the best-behaved lecture Draco had ever attended. The students were quiet and polite. At least half-a-dozen hands went into the air anytime Bill asked a question. And whenever Bill lost his train of thought, someone was quick to ask a question that settled him back on track. Bill ended the class a few minutes early and thanked them all for being patient with him. He accepted a few well-wishes and then headed right back up to the infirmary. Draco knew that because he trailed the professor there.
Wednesday was strange. Draco noticed something was off during breakfast. Bill wasn't in the Great Hall, which wasn't entirely abnormal because Bill had been taking breakfast with his family over the past few days, but Snape wasn't there either. And Dumbledore looked… older somehow. Worry plucked at his face, deepening the lines and dulling his smile. Snape was in Potions class, but he was snappish and curt, even with Draco. Clearly something had happened – most likely another Death Eater meeting. Draco hung around Warrington during debate class that evening, but the older boy wasn't acting any differently. If he knew anything about a Death Eater meeting, he would have been lording it over the other students, smug and prideful and easily tempted to divulge the information. That meant whatever had happened, it'd been kept quiet.
Draco waited until the next day, knowing that whatever had occurred would be coded in their homework pages. He sat through Runes class with a growing sense of trepidation. He wasn't surprised to see that Bill looked terrible, even after the usual charms and the pepper-up potions. Bill told the class that Ginny had woken up a few times, and although it was good news, all of the sleepless nights were finally catching up to him. He was even more scattered in this class. He let them out ealy again, but not before passing out a familiar looking homework page. Draco didn't bother packing up with the other students. He stared down at the page, plucking out the buried clues and reformatting them into one single statement: R regained horcrux from Nagini.
So, the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy his pet in order to regain the fragment of his soul hidden inside. Draco hadn't realized how important the horcruxes had been. For him to kill Nagini… it had to be worth a lot. And if the hypothesis about the horcruxes gaining power was correct, how much power had he gained? What could he do now?
And how had he done it? The code didn't contain any details. Draco looked up, almost surprised to see Bill still in the room. He hadn't thought Bill would stay, not when Ginny was still in the infirmary.
"Well, come on," Bill said. He grabbed their runes work from his desk drawer. There was an irritability in his voice that Draco hadn't heard before. "We do this every Thursday; surely you know the routine by now."
Draco brought his things up to the front, not bothered by Bill's testiness. He couldn't fault him for being curt, not after attending a Death Eater meeting while his siblings were still injured from their attack. And it wasn't as if Draco was a stranger to that tone of voice. Narcissa was usually short-tempered with him, impatient for him to get out of her way when their paths crossed accidentally, and Lucius could be dismissive when he had business on his mind.
But Bill wasn't his parents. Bill was more like a friend, and he was looking even worse now that he'd let his glamor drop. The pallor on his face had taken on a gray tinge. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. His hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, not the complicated braid he usually favored. It made Draco feel unexpectedly concerned, so he set his things down and tentatively asked, "Are you okay?"
Bill inhaled and let it out slowly. He finally looked up at Draco, his lips curling into a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough few days."
"And a rough night," Draco said, slipping the homework page into his folder.
Bill said nothing, just nodded and shuffled through a few papers. The corners of his eyes tightened.
Draco wasn't exactly sure how to be comforting. He knew how to make statements of sympathy, and what the appropriate gift was to send a bereaved family depending on how closely aligned their houses were, but encountering the situation directly made him fumble for words.
"You said your siblings were alright," he tried.
Bill snorted. "For varying definitions of 'alright'. Ron's got burn scars all over his shoulder and it's still too soon to tell if Ginny will have permanent lung damage or not." Bill's tone was angry, but he seemed to hear it because he sighed and softened voice. "How are you doing? I understand you get caught in the blast too."
Draco felt an odd mix of gratification and guilt at Bill's question. He was pleased that Bill cared enough to ask, but felt guilt at the same time because he knew what it must have cost Bill to ask it. Bill knew his associations.
"Just a concussion," Draco said.
Bill nodded. He shuffled through their steadily growing pile of work, trying to locate where they'd last left off. His motions were jerky. He pulled out a few pages, only to mutter a curse and dive back into the pile.
"We don't have to meet today," Draco offered. "If you need some time –,"
"It's fine," Bill cut him off. "It's… it'd be nice to focus on something else for a change."
He finally located the comparison matrix they'd last been working on and pinned it to the board. They set out contrasting the first and fifth Persian runes, identifying any repeated sigils, or sigils that had similar line work. Draco tried not to notice how Bill kept slipping focus, but it was impossible to ignore it. Bill trailed off mid-sentence several times or stared at a set of glyphs without blinking. He repeated himself on two different occasions, and mis-spoke when he was referring to the Grecian dialect. The worst part was that Bill caught himself each time, getting more and more frustrated with himself, until he threw down his chalk, cracking it in two. He stepped back from the board, dropping his head into his hands.
"Sorry," Bill muttered. "Maybe we should call it for the day."
"It's okay," Draco said quickly. He licked his lips and then ventured, "Would it help to talk about it?"
The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. It was the sort of platitude that Draco typically sneered at, and yet, he had nothing else to offer.
Bill let out a harsh laugh from behind his hands. "I really do not. I'd like to never talk about it again and if I could stop thinking about it, that'd be even better."
Right, Draco had known it was a stupid thing to say. He looked down at his school bag, wondering if he should pack it up and leave now, or if he should wait to make sure Bill was okay. Indecision had him frozen. The owl that tapped on the window was a welcome distraction. He jumped up to answer it, recognizing from the symbol on the carrier strap that it was an express owl. The owl only waited long enough to deliver the letter before it took off again.
The letter was addressed to him. Draco turned the envelope over and stared. The return address was Malfoy Manor, and the designator sender was Lucius Malfoy.
Why was his father at the Manor? And sending him letters through official channels? It would be easily traced; the Ministry would be able to find him and arrest him. Something drastic must have happened.
He quickly opened the letter. The enclosed message was brief, but Draco had to read it a few times to process it. Lucius had received an official pardon and had returned to England. It would soon be made public.
The news was a shock. Draco knew that Lucius had been petitioning his friends in the Ministry for a pardon, but no one had been able to promise favorable results. This had come out of nowhere.
The surprise must have showed on his face, because Bill asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. It's just… the letter is from Lucius. He's been pardoned."
"What?"
"The Ministry pardoned him."
Bill took a step back, looking stunned. "He actually did it."
"Did what?"
Bill shook his head. "It's not information for you."
"Did what?" Draco pressed.
"We're not having this conversation." There was a note of finality in his voice that made Draco's anger prick.
"You knew Lucius was going to be pardoned," he accused.
Bill looked away, not able to hide the fact that he knew it. He couldn't keep any of his emotions off his face, especially not now, when he'd been through so much. And even though emotions usually alluded Draco, he could read every one on his face. A frown of displeasure, a clenched jaw of anger, and eyes that were pinched with disgust.
"Lucius did something for the Dark Lord," Draco surmised. "He helped Lucius win the pardon."
Bill's face creased, meaning he was right.
"Lucius helped with the horcrux," Draco continued.
Bill shook his head again. "Draco, drop it."
But he couldn't, not when there was a mystery to solve – a mystery that involved a dark artifact and his father and Bill knew all the answers.
"It would have to be a ritual of some kind," he extrapolated. "A dark ritual. An old one, one that might have been lost." Bill's face creased further, but Draco needed to know more. "What happened during the ritual?"
Bill finally looked back at him, his face set in disapproval. "You're the genius. You figure it out."
Draco suddenly wished he could take back the question. Bill's eyes were boring into his and it wasn't just disapproval being directed at him. It was anger. Draco stepped back, bumping into the desk that was behind him. It scraped over the wooden floor with a loud complaint.
"If Voldemort had to murder someone to create a horcrux," Bill prompted, his voice soft and dark in a way that wasn't like him at all. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Draco to complete the logic puzzle.
"Someone had to die to reunite it," Draco finished.
"No. Die is too vague; be more specific. What had to happen?"
Draco swallowed. "Sacrifice."
"What kind of sacrifice?"
He didn't want to say it, but Bill's eyes had caught his and he wasn't relenting. The answer came out in a whisper. "Human sacrifice."
Bill nodded and finally looked away, releasing him from the stare. Draco pulled in a breath, feeling his heart thumping strangely in his chest. He shouldn't have said anything; he shouldn't have pried. He closed his translator's journal and slipped it into his bag. He should leave.
"Your father found the book for the ritual," Bill said suddenly.
Draco stilled. He risked a glance over, not wanting to get stared at again, not when Bill was… whatever Bill was. Angry. Traumatized. Lashing out. But Bill wasn't looking at him. He was looking down at his own notes.
"Your father found the book," Bill repeated, strangely toneless, like he was reading off a list of potions ingredients. "He led the ritual. The Dark Lord regained his horcrux and rewarded him with a pardon."
'The Dark Lord.' Bill didn't use that term. He usually said 'Voldemort', and he usually said it so casually that Draco had acclimated to hearing it. It'd taken the power out of it. But now there was something like veneration in Bill's voice. His comments made sense. Finding the book and performing the ritual would have gotten Lucius back into the Dark Lord's good graces, but there was something Bill wasn't saying. His words hung in the air, strangely incomplete.
Bill looked at him again. "You didn't ask who the sacrifice was."
There was something belligerent in his tone that made Draco bristle. "Why should I?"
Bill started, his mouth dropping open in disgust. "Why should you ask? Because it's one of your so-called compatriots! Or do you care so little about your supposed friends that their deaths mean nothing to you?"
"It's not going to be anyone I know," Draco said, and then he winced, because he realized how that sounded. It sounded callous. It sounded cruel. It sounded like he didn't care, but that was actually close to the truth. The Dark Lord wouldn't sacrifice anyone in Draco's immediate circle, and if some lowly pawn wanted to sacrifice himself, wasn't that his choice? He reformulated his response. "I just… I don't see how it's relevant to me."
"Someone's death isn't relevant?" Bill demanded.
Draco winced again. "I didn't mean it like that."
"You absolutely meant it like that. But why should you care about what minion is sacrificed because it's not going to be you, right?"
Draco looked away, his stomach churning with guilt, but he wasn't sure if it was his own emotion or if Bill was foisting it on him. And his head was too busy to think properly.
"I hate to inform you, but your chances of being a sacrifice have increased as of late."
Draco shook his head. "I'm not going to be a sacrifice."
"Because you're too important."
Draco rubbed at his eyes. Bill made it sound like an insult.
"And if you're too important to be sacrificed, you don't have to care about the other people around you. They're just fodder for the dragons, is that it?"
"No."
"You can sit secure in your mansion, knowing that you're too rich and too powerful and too connected to have anything bad ever happen to you. The rest of the world can burn as far as you care."
"No."
"You can carry out atrocity after atrocity, and at the end of the day, you'll still receive a pardon from the Ministry, even after you send the daughter of a former business partner to her death after she all but begs you to spare her life."
Draco's eyes snapped back to Bill. "What?"
Bill crossed his arms. "Mirabelle Bonnet. She was the sacrifice."
Draco blinked a couple of times, trying to process that piece of information. "That doesn't make any sense. She's still… she's still connected, even if she is destitute."
"So it would be better to sacrifice someone who is friendless."
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" Bill pressed. "What are you going to say to defend the use of human sacrifice?"
"I'm not defending it!"
"So you're going to disavow Voldemort then."
Draco hesitated.
Bill stepped closer. "You can't possibly be thinking about this. Someone just died. Your father sent Mirabelle to her death for the sake of a madman!"
Draco shook his head. "Lucius wouldn't –," but he couldn't finish that sentence, because he knew the truth. If the price was right, if the situation called for it, Lucius would make that choice.
"And if he sacrifices you next?" Bill asked.
"He wouldn't."
"Maybe not. But he would turn you into a killer like he is."
"He's not a –," but Draco couldn't finish that sentence either.
"What sort of father wants his son to be a murderer?" Bill asked, stepping even closer.
"He doesn't want that for me."
"But he wants you to be a Death Eater and to attend dark revels and to do bidding for someone who will kill his own followers."
"It's more complicated than that and you know it," Draco snapped. "You're being reductivist."
Bill laughed, a harsh sound. "What have I said that's untrue?"
"You're stripping everything of context. There are other factors to consider."
"That's right. You have to weigh money against the worth of lives."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" Bill demanded. "What's fair about my siblings being caught in a fire that was meant to kill them? What's fair about your father earning a pardon after sending a girl to her death because she's too brainwashed to know any better? What's fair about an entire society believing that their name, their blood, their money gives them to right to kill, torture, and maim whoever they please?"
"Bill, stop," Draco said. The thumping in his chest was getting faster; the room felt like it was losing air. Bill was holding up a mirror to his life, to his family, to his culture, and forcing him to account for every misdeed and bigoted belief, and it was too much. It was overwhelming. He couldn't find the answers for it. He couldn't think, not like this. Not with this sort of pressure.
"This can't be news to you," Bill said. "You're a genius. You must have questioned it at some point in your life, or was it more profitable just to accept it?"
"Fuck off," Draco snapped. He grabbed his papers and shoved them into his bag. He had enough awareness of mind to recognize that Bill wasn't angry at him, not really. Bill was having some sort of breakdown, but it did little to assuage the hurt.
"Awfully convenient that you get to run and leave this all behind, isn't it?" Bill scoffed.
Draco paused. He knew that Bill was talking about his privilege and how he got to escape all of the hard questions, but in that moment, it felt like Bill was saying that Draco was running from him, and how many times had Bill stuck around to keep him company? Even when he was rude and defensive? It would only be fair to return the favor.
It was a daunting prospect, trying to offer genuine companionship for the first time in his life. He wasn't sure how to do it, so he started with logic. "I think you need to calm down."
Bill's eyes flashed – and no, that hadn't worked. He saw Bill open his mouth to retort, so he tried a different tactic. "You're angry."
"Damn right I'm angry."
"You can't save everyone," Draco posited.
Wrong thing, he could see Bill stiffen.
"But that's not your fault," Draco said hurriedly. "It's not a fair fight, not really. You're too principled. And you care too much."
Bill's face gave an interesting twitch. Draco didn't know if that was a good or bad sign.
"Maybe…," he trailed off and swallowed, not sure if he should say the next part. He offered it anyway. "Maybe if it makes you so upset, you should stop?"
"Stop spying on the Death Eaters? Just let them get away with things?"
Draco winced. He hadn't meant that. "No, I –,"
"Someone needs to watch them because apparently they'll kill their own children for the Dark Lord."
Draco bit his tongue, trying not to get angry. This was just Bill venting. He shouldn't say anything back.
"And no one else is doing a damned thing about," Bill continued, his face taking on an angry flush. "And if they do, by some miracle, end up in Azkaban, they get to waltz right out of it." He gestured at the letter in Draco's hand. "Someone needs to throw them back in, and I'd be honored if it was me."
"If you're going to have a crisis, do it somewhere else," Draco retorted, losing the hold on his own ire. "Leave my father out of it."
"Leave him…," Bill trailed off with a cold laugh. "I am actively working to take him down!"
Draco couldn't help it. He snorted. "Good luck with that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not going to catch him. At least, not in a meaningful way. You might get the others, but not Lucius."
"Because I fight fair?"
"Among other things."
"So I should stop fighting fair."
Draco resisted the urge to sigh, they were getting off topic again. "No."
"If I were to stop being nice, the first thing I would do is take you to Dumbledore."
Draco shook his head, ready to excuse Bill's words because he was saying things he didn't mean, and that was his cue to leave. But when he looked at Bill's face, he didn't see anger anymore. Bill looked serious. Contemplative.
Draco took a step back, forgetting that the desk was still behind him. He stumbled as it jerked behind him. "Bill."
"You told me I was a bad spy because I was fighting fair. Don't I have the right to correct that, now that you've pointed it out?"
Bill had just trapped him with his own words. Draco licked his lips, finding they'd suddenly gone dry. "But… you promised," he said, voice full of disbelief. He was immediately horrified by how young he sounded, even to his own ears.
"I also promised my parents to keep my siblings safe," Bill countered.
It was a logic that Draco understood, but it sounded cold and the implication was terrifying. Draco felt hurt turn into anger. "You should be congratulated then," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You've certainly done a stellar job of it so far."
"Which is why I should do it," Bill said "So they don't get hurt again. I'm sure you have a lot of confidential information that could help us. Maybe even prevent another attack on the school."
The desk was still behind him. Draco took a step to the side, trying to find the edge of it in case he had to run. "I don't know anything about the attacks."
"Really? You were present at each one."
"I was injured too!"
"Exactly what a genius would do. Get injured just enough to throw off suspicion."
It… wasn't a bad plan actually. But the fact that Bill was suggesting he had done it sent a thrill of fear through him.
"I didn't do it," he said, because he felt he needed to defend his innocence.
Bill nodded. "I believe you." Draco felt relief flood through him, but then Bill spoke again, "But would a good spy believe you?"
Draco froze.
"If I were actually doing my job," Bill said, "if I was doing everything I could to keep my family safe, if I weren't playing fair, I'd haul you up Dumbledore right now and have him access every single drop of information you have about the Death Eaters."
It was a threat, a very real threat, and Draco felt something dark wash over him. He stepped forward, his hand dropping to his wand. "You couldn't even if you wanted to. I'm a genius, remember? I'd lay you out flat."
Bill didn't look cowed. He stepped closer, dropping his voice like he was sharing a secret. "But you're in Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is an Order stronghold. And you don't have any allies here, do you?"
Draco's fingers twitched over his wand.
"You've turned all of the professors against you," Bill said in that same soft voice. "Even Snape is a spy for Dumbledore. And I know you don't have any friends. You've told me that yourself. You've been a tyrant and a bully in order to keep everyone at arm's length to protect your secret, and now you're alone. You could take me out, sure. But do you really stand a chance against the entire school?"
He wasn't wrong. Bill had pointed out the weakness in his plan; the same weakness he'd discovered earlier with Goldstein. He didn't have any allies. If Bill wanted to march him to Dumbledore, he could. And not only could he do it, but by Draco's own logic, he should.
The fear returned in a rush of cold dread. It caught his breath and sent the blood pounding through his body, until he could hear it rushing in his ears. He stared at Bill's face, searching for any hint of the patience and friendliness he'd come to rely on. But Bill's expression was flat; his gaze was hard.
Bill was serious.
Draco's fingers curled around his wand. "Turn me in and I'll kill your sister myself," he snarled.
Bill's face went thunderous, but Draco didn't stay to hear whatever threats he'd rejoined with. His wand was already out and slashing downwards. The lightning charm erupted with a flash and a bang, giving him just enough time to grab his bag and run.
He needed to get away. He needed a safe place to hide and collect himself. He sprinted blindly through the halls and then out of the castle. He hardly noticed the freezing air, except that it felt good against his skin, bracing and steadying. He raced for the dead tree by the lake, collapsing at the base of it. He could hear his breathing, ragged and gasping. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, from exertion and fear. He called up a camouflage charm, feeling some of the panic abate when it settled over him, hiding him from view. He dropped back against the tree trunk and tried to plan his next step. Should he run? He could pack a bag and flee Hogwarts easily enough. But if he ran, Lucius would be informed, and then he'd have to explain why he'd run away in the first place. Draco wasn't sure what would be worse to admit to his father, that he was a genius or that he'd made friends with a Weasley. Either would be enough to send Lucius into a rage, he was sure.
Draco shivered. He hadn't thought to bring his coat. He could send for it now, or he could cast a heating charm, but part of him resisted the urge. He deserved the discomfort. He'd been an absolute idiot and this was where it got him. He'd made a rule for this very reason. Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never. He had broken his own rule, a rule that was supposed to protect him.
Draco pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. He watched the wind push choppy waves across the surface of the lake until they crashed into the shore. The water looked gray underneath the dark clouds. Draco pulled in a breath of cold air and slowly released it, forcing his thoughts to slow down. He needed to plan his next steps, but he needed to be cautious. It'd do him no good to react in panic. Yes, Bill had threatened to expose him, but Bill was also emotional right now. Draco needed to consider the likelihood that Bill didn't mean what he said. Draco scrunched up his nose. Pureblood high society wasn't this nebulous. If someone of social standing made a threat, they were intent on following it through. But outside of high society, things were more nebulous. People were allowed to rage and vent and make threats and them back the following day.
If Bill was being serious, he would need to flee. Draco made a note of the belongings he'd need to pack and the best escape routes from the castle. He knew enough of the hidden passageways that shouldn't be too hard to abscond from the castle, but he should also figure out how to create a Portkey. He'd need one, in case of an emergency. But if Bill didn't turn him in, Draco should lay low and maintain his disguise. That wouldn't require any additional work on his part, but Draco would need to extricate himself from the other activities he'd engaged in. No more training with Hagrid, no more attempts at forming a stronger Neutral party, and no more runes work with Bill.
He was surprised at the pang of disappointment he felt at that realization. His time working on the Persian runes had quickly turned into the highlight of his week. It was what he looked forward to the most. It wasn't just the work, even though that was stimulating, and it wasn't just that he got to put aside his disguise and be his genuine self for an hour or two each week. It was the company. Bill had been the only person at Hogwarts to look past Draco's family and personal flaws. He'd been the first person to truly know Draco. And not just to know him, but to accept him and treat him with kindness and respect. He'd been… well, he'd been like an older brother, easily slipping into the role that had fallen vacant when Lukas had died.
Draco's throat felt funny, and it stung when he tried to swallow. He didn't remember feeling this amount of distress when Lukas had died. It had been a tragedy, yes, but there had been no personal betrayal involved. Draco had been able to grieve for him. He hadn't been caught up in self-recrimination and judgment, like he was now.
And it wasn't as if Lukas had been able to play a large part in Draco's life. He'd only seen his half-brother on the holidays and over summers, and Lukas had been killed soon after his seventh birthday. Lukas hadn't known he was a genius, or helped him sort through societal values, or called him out on his bad behavior. It made Draco wonder how well Lukas knew him. Certainly not as well as Bill did.
And now, Draco promised himself silently, no one would ever know him that well again because he never wanted to feel this betrayal again. He never wanted to feel this scared, this angry, this hurt. He never wanted to grieve like this again. His body trembled and he gripped his knees tighter. He rocked, back and forth, trying to get rid of that tight feeling in the back of his throat, but it wouldn't go away. It got so tight that his breathing became strained.
A raindrop splattered the ground, then another, and then another, the pace quickening until a steady rain was falling from the sky. It quickly soaked his clothes and hair and ran down his face, a mockery of the tears that he couldn't cry.
Rule number seventeen: Trust no one.
Draco stayed outside until his body had passed the stage of shivering and his limbs had gone numb. He stumbled to his dorm room, changing into dry clothes and crawling underneath his covers for warmth, but even then, he still felt cold.
OooOoooO
Bill took Wednesday off. Dumbledore had insisted on it after he'd informed the Headmaster, in a shaking voice, of what had occurred at the Death Eater meeting. But he returned to class on Thursday because he needed to get the code to Tonks so she could inform the Ministry. There was something bracing about being back at work that had him lingering afterwards to work on the Persian runes with Draco.
But that hadn't gone well.
The lightening spell had caught him off guard. He staggered back, grabbing his own wand, but Draco hadn't stayed for a fight. Bill heard his footsteps, racing out of the room and down the hall.
Bill blinked for a moment, trying to clear the dark spots from his eyes. When his vision returned, he waited for himself to feel something. Anger, maybe. He'd been angry a few minutes ago. He'd been angry because Draco had suggested that he wasn't good at spying and that he'd allowed his siblings to be injured. He waited for himself to feel guilty, because he'd threatened Draco with exposure, and he hadn't been joking. Draco had made the point himself. Bill was playing by rules, was playing it fair, and therefore he was always going to lose. If he wanted to get ahead of the Death Eaters, he had to be ruthless. He had to be cold. He had to be just as bad as them.
He didn't mean to follow through on the threat though. At least, he was pretty sure he didn't mean to. But he should be feeling guilty for saying it. He'd been feeling guilty just a few moments ago too. In fact, ever since the fire on the pitch, he hadn't stopped feeling guilty, and it'd only grown after Mirabelle's death.
But now… now he felt nothing.
It was like he had stepped outside of his mind and he was watching himself, waiting for his body to do something. He was surprised when he did move. He watched his hands pack up the parchments and books, but he couldn't feel the paper beneath his fingers. He couldn't smell the chalk as he erased the boards. He couldn't hear his footsteps as he left the classroom.
He didn't remember the walk back to his quarters, but he was suddenly alone in his room. There were things to do, a lot of things, but he couldn't remember the list. He stood still, in the center of his room, for a stupidly long amount of time before he realized he was tired. He dropped onto his bed and –
He woke up a few times. Once when someone knocked on his door, asking why he hadn't been at dinner and if he was feeling alright. He woke again, sometime when it was dark, and he realized that he hadn't changed out of his clothes, and his boots were hanging heavily off his feet. He woke the last time when a hand gently rubbed his shoulder.
He rolled over, groggy and muddled, and saw Fleur sitting on the edge of his bed. The sun streaming through the window cast her visage in a warm, hazy light, and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. But then her hand brushed the side of his face, and it was warm and soft and solid. He sat up, noticing the suitcase by her feet and her coat draped over it. He turned to her, confused.
"What – how – why?" He stumbled over his words, and she gave him a smile in return.
"I was informed you could use a visit."
He rubbed his eyes. "What? Who?"
"The Headmaster asked me to come. He told me about what happened, with Ginny and with… your mission."
"He told you?" Bill could scarcely believe it.
"He seemed to think it was weighing on you and that you could use someone to talk to."
"Fleur, I…," Bill trailed off, relief lightening the pressure in his chest, but then guilt rolled over it. She shouldn't have been told. She didn't need to know about the horrors he'd witnessed. He grasped her hand. "I never wanted you to be involved in this. The things I've seen…"
"Bill." Fleur squeezed his hand. "Do you think I am weak? Do you consider me too fragile to hear what burdens you?"
Bill shook his head. "No. Of course not." Fleur was one of the strongest people he knew. She'd even competed in the Triwizard Tournament.
She smiled softly. "Then tell me what's been weighing on you."
Bill looked away for a moment. He wasn't sure where to start. She moved to sit next to him and he dropped his cheek to rest on the top of her head. He could feel her body against his, the softness of the morning dress she wore, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her perfume, and suddenly all of the distance he'd felt yesterday was washed away. Instead of feeling removed from his body, he felt uncomfortably present. He was aware of the pain in his jaw from clenching his teeth, the stomach pangs and nausea because he hadn't felt well enough to eat a full meal these past few days, and the ache in his body because he hadn't been sleeping. He felt awful. But above all the physical discomfort, he felt guilt. Guilt for Ginny and Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor team that had been injured because he hadn't been able to learn of the attack. Guilt for Mirabelle, because she hadn't wanted to die but he couldn't manage to save her. And guilt for Draco, because he couldn't remember everything he'd said to him during their fight, but he could remember the way Draco had gone pale. He could remember the scared, choked out words, 'But… you promised,' that revealed how very young he was.
Bill felt tears spill over his face.
"Ah, mon bonheur," Fleur said.
Bill clutched her tighter, suddenly afraid he was going to get swept away in his grief, and she gripped him back just as tight. She was an anchor, something he could cling to and steady himself while all of the pain and fear and shame that had been rising over the past weeks came out in a rush of tears. Fleur held him through it, even when he became concerned that his tears would never stop and that he might honestly cry for forever or have a mental breakdown, or maybe this was him breaking, and there was nothing left to be done with him but take him to the incurable ward in St. Mungo's.
But in time his sobs softened, and he could hear Fleur's voice murmuring in his ear. "You're fine. You're going to be okay. You don't have to do this alone. No one will take you anywhere, not while I'm here," and Bill realized that he might have been speaking those fears out loud.
He was glad that he had, because her assurances brought him a peace he couldn't find on his own, and when he finally stopped crying, she kissed his forehead, sent for tea, and helped him change into his most comfortable clothes.
"But my classes," he said, glancing out the window and realizing it must be closing in on noon.
"You're off for the day."
Bill felt yet another spike of guilt. "I've taken off too many days as it is. My students –,"
"Will be absolutely fine because the other teachers can follow your lesson plans," Fleur interjected. "You had the flu, then your sister was injured, and then you witnessed a murder. All these things qualify you for some time off."
He supposed she was right. He settled in at the small table and poured himself a cup of tea.
"It wasn't really a murder," he said, because he'd been trying to define it.
Fleur sat across from him. She filled a small plate with biscuits and finger sandwiches and handed it to him before pouring her own cup of tea. "The girl was brainwashed and blackmailed and if she had said no, she would have been killed anyway. It was a murder."
Bill closed his eyes. She was right, but it just made him wish he could have done more.
"There was nothing you could have done," Fleur said, reading his mind. "There were too many of them."
"She was a child."
"Yes."
"And I was right there."
"You were too far away."
"Maybe I could have said something sooner. Done something sooner."
"Maybe you shouldn't be a spy anymore."
Bill's eyes snapped open. "What?"
"If you insist on being unreasonable, you shouldn't be a spy."
"I'm not –,"
"You know that you didn't have any good options. You know that if you had tried to interfere, all of the information you'd gathered would be made moot because they would find new locations and recruit new people and use new tactics. You know this and yet you continue to hold yourself accountable for things outside of your control. You're torturing yourself. If you can't accept that you won't be able to save everyone, you shouldn't put yourself in impossible situations. You'll go mad."
There was an immediate desire to defend himself, but Fleur looked up at him with nothing but love and concern in her face, and Bill felt the defensiveness melt away.
"Do you think I should stop?"
"I think that's a decision you have to make for yourself."
"Would it make me weak, if I decided not to continue?"
"When has caring ever made anyone weak?" Fleur countered. "It takes strength to care as deeply as you do. It's what I love about you, how big your heart is. How you see the best in everyone, and want to help them, and give them second chances when everyone else has given up on them. If you decide to stop spying, let it be because it is best for you. There will be another to take your place if you decide to retire from the position. You aren't the only one willing to risk it all for this war."
Her words were a balm to his wounded soul. Bill pulled in a breath, feeling an intense weight finally lift off his chest.
"I've been so scared," he admitted. "Going to those meetings… it's terrifying. And it's so ugly, so horrible, that I can't help but get angry." He remembered more details about the argument with Draco now. He remembered Draco saying the same things Fleur had said, albeit awkward and fumbled, and he shook his head. "I've been so angry these past few weeks. It's been there, under my skin, all this time. I don't think… I don't think I can keep doing this. It's turning me into someone I don't recognize."
Just stating his intention out loud brought a measure of relief. He let out another breath. "I'll finish out the year, but then I'll ask Dumbledore to find another spy."
Fleur reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers back and they finished their tea together. Fleur followed him up to the infirmary to check in on Ginny. Bill was startled to find her sitting up in bed, breathing into strange sort of balloon that a Healer was holding in front of her. Their mother was sitting beside her, holding her hand with an expectant look on her face.
The Healer pulled the balloon away, checked its measurement, and then gave a wide smile. "Your lungs are healing nicely. If this rate of recovery continues, you'll regain full lung functioning by the end of next week."
Molly burst into relieved tears.
Ginny patted her on the shoulder. "See, Mum. I told you I was feeling better."
She spotted Bill and Fleur and gave a wave.
Bill hurried over to her. "You're… you're awake and sitting up!"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I've been awake since yesterday. Hi, Fleur."
"It is so good to see you, Ginevra," Fleur said. "How are you doing?"
"A lot better than the theatrics would suggest. Really, Mum, you can stop crying. And Bill, don't look so shocked. I've inhaled worse things than that smoke. Remember when Fred and George went through their pyromaniac phase?"
Bill did remember. He choked on a laugh and claimed the other side of her bed. He pulled her in for a hug, and despite her brave words, she held him just as tightly.
"I was, perhaps, a bit scared," she whispered in his ear, low enough so their mother couldn't overhear.
"I was terrified," Bill admitted. He pulled back to study her. She looked tired, and her voice was hoarse, but she was awake and alert. He reached up to tug at her hair. "Don't scare me like that again, alright?"
"Only if you help me catch up on all the schoolwork I'm missing."
"Seems fair."
Molly wiped at her eyes. "I need to send word to your father. Bill, sit with your sister while I'm gone, won't you?"
"I don't need a babysitter," Ginny protested.
Molly just kissed her cheek, said a quick hello to Fleur, and hurried out for the owlery.
Bill didn't mind spending time with Ginny. He and Fleur pulled over chairs and chatted until Molly came back. She quizzed Fleur on how long she was staying – for the weekend, Fleur said – and then showed off the ring that no one else had a chance to see yet. Molly launched into wedding plans, even though he and Fleur hadn't set a date yet. And although Bill usually disliked party planning, there was something about planning his wedding, such a happy, exciting, delightful premise, that completely banished all of the pain and misery he'd felt over the past few weeks.
He did excuse himself at the end of the school day to pop into the teacher's lounge, wanting to thank whoever had covered his classes. Sybil had held that dubious honor, but it seemed the students were well behaved. He was just collecting his papers when the door burst open and McGonagall and Flitwick appeared.
The teachers, who had been in various states of post-week celebration, all jerked around and noticed their grim faces.
Hooch swore into her teacup which was, as usual, more whiskey than tea. "What now?"
McGonagall leveled a look across the room and announced, in a grave voice, "The dragon is raging."
The effect on the teachers was immediate. Hooch swore again, Trelawney proclaimed she'd seen an ill-omen this morning, and Pomona proffered her teacup for some of Hooch's whiskey. Even Snape muttered something under his breath and sank into a seat by the fireplace.
"What?" Bill asked. He wasn't the only one confused. Jameson and Stevick looked just baffled.
McGonagall joined Pomona for a cup of whiskey-laced tea. "Every so often, one Draco Malfoy flies into rage and terrorizes the school. He gets into fights, he's insolent in class, and I'm absolutely certain he instigates inter-house brawls, but Merlin knows, we've never been able to catch him."
"He all but destroyed my greenhouse last year," Pomona said.
"Destroyed your greenhouse?"
She took a large gulp of tea. "I turn around for one minute, and the next, a baby mandrake is shrieking, a fire-bloom is engulfed in flame, and a tentacula had bitten half of the class. Malfoy claims he tripped while passing by Goyle, who pulled the mandrake up by accident. The cries of the mandrake was enough to shock Zabini, who dropped the fire-bloom he was repotting. The fire-bloom was at the right state to spontaneous combust upon impact, and as the class tried to run away from the flames, the tentacula woke up and started biting. I had to evacuate the greenhouse and it took a full day to get the plants under control."
The other professors nodded knowingly.
Bill frowned. "But if he tripped –,"
"He tripped on purpose," Pomona said. "You should have seen the look on his face as the chaos unfolded. It was like he planned the entire thing."
"It's like how he started a war in Charms two years ago," Flitwick chimed in. "He walked by the Hufflepuff table, made one comment, and five minutes later, all-out war erupts between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. I knew it was him because of that smug expression."
"I hate that look," Hooch agreed. "It's the same one he wore after stealing Neville's Remembrall in his first year."
"Three years ago, during the food fight in the Great Hall," McGonagall said, and immediately all the professors groaned and shook their heads. "Same expression."
"Exact same," Flitwick agreed.
Bill looked between them all and gave a short laugh. "You make him sound like some sort of evil genius."
Hooch snorted. Trelawney tittered. Even Snape, who'd been staying out of the conversation, rolled his eyes.
"Genius, no," McGonagall said. "Evil? Well, I hate to speak ill of any student here, but –,"
"Evil," Hooch pronounced. Some of the professors toasted her with their teacups. She raised hers back.
Bill felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He didn't like hearing the vitriol sent Draco's way. It wasn't fair. "Minerva, you said he was raging. Did something happen?"
A few professors laughed. McGonagall gave him a smile. "It's kind of you to think so well about him, Bill, but no. He doesn't need a reason to torment his fellow students and aggravate his professors. He simply gets some sick pleasure out of it."
Bill didn't like her answer. It sounded like her mind was made up about Draco and she wasn't willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He kept his opinion to himself and asked, "What should we do about it?"
"Do?" Hooch asked. "You can't do anything about it, just like you can't prove that he's instigating all of it. Just buckle down and bear through it."
"Keep your classes as calm as possible," Flitwick advised. "Don't give any opportunity for spell-casting or a spell will go awry."
"Dismiss him if you need to," Pomona said. "Don't try to give him detention, he'll just get worse, but you can let him go early to cause chaos elsewhere. With any luck, this will all blow over by the weekend, and we'll be okay Monday."
"I don't see it resolving so quickly," Trelawney said in her most warbling voice. "The position of the stars suggests a terrible week ahead of us."
A few professors sighed. A few more refilled their teacups. McGonagall mentioned breaking out the 'stash'.
"And we haven't had to use it all year so far," she said. "Just a few minor instances, but overall, he's been almost calm until now."
"It's his father, I bet you anything," Flitwick said. "He was docile because his father was in Azkaban, but now that he's out, he's going to be insufferable again."
The other professors began making their own assumptions. Bill said nothing, just slipped away back to his room. He knew the truth. Draco wasn't raging because of his father; he was raging because Bill had betrayed his trust.
Bill rubbed a hand over his face. As much as he'd been wracked with guilt over the past few weeks, he now knew the emotion had largely been excessive. There were factors beyond his control; he was constrained and limited in his position as a spy. But the argument with Draco… that was on him. He'd had plenty of opportunities to end the conversation. Draco had even tried to end the conversation at one point. But Bill had continued fighting, had continued lashing out, and he'd known how to make every statement hurt because he knew where Draco was most vulnerable.
Bill sank down into his chair beside the fireplace. He'd most likely destroyed every piece of trust he'd built with Draco, and there was no guarantee it could be rebuilt. Worst of all, by betraying his trust, he may have sent him running straight to Voldemort. And while that would be disastrous for the Order, in the moment, all Bill could care about was Draco.
What would Voldemort do to a frightened, lonely teenaged genius?
Bill pulled in a breath. He might not have been able to prevent the attacks on the school, and he might not have been able to save Mirabelle Bonnet, but he was going to do everything in his power to win Draco's trust back.
OoOoO
Author's note: So, I definitely made some changes to this chapter. Most obviously, I included the piece about the Neutral party, and the students deciding not to follow Draco's plan. This was a fun piece to add in because it explores how the other students are reacting to the attacks on the school, and how Draco has played his role too well and alienated himself from them. It plays in nicely with his argument with Bill, who makes that point.
I've also changed the argument with Bill and Draco – not in any substantial way, but hopefully to make it feel more in character for Bill. That was also why it was really important to set up these last few chapters to show how much trauma he's going through. I also explored some of Draco's character growth in the argument where he tries to be comforting to Bill at first, only for it not to work.
I let Bill and Fleur have a moment here, where Bill can get a breather and think about how the spying position impacted him. I think Bill's character isn't a good fit for espionage because he does care too much – which is a point both Draco and Fleur make. I did pull the piece at the end. In the original version, Bill sees Draco fighting with the Golden Trio, but it didn't really fit this time around. This chapter is already pretty lengthy, and it did feel like a good character beat for Bill. He needed some time with his family. So I had him learn about Draco's 'tantrum' from the other professors, which actually fit pretty well.
Anyway, let me know what you think!
