Disclaimer: Old news by now, but I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter 21
Rule number eighteen: Learn the first time. Never make the same mistake twice.
Draco didn't sleep Thursday night. He'd mapped out every possible contingency of Bill turning him into Dumbledore well before nightfall, but the fear didn't dissipate with his planning. If anything, his anxiety increased because he kept imaging wilder and wilder situations, and he felt compelled to plot a countermove for each scenario, no matter how outlandish. It kept him up all night, vacillating between fear and betrayal and hurt, and he was almost relieved when the morning came. If he was going to be turned in, it would be now, and at least he could get it over with.
He dressed carefully, pocketing a wallet with all of his available money and slipping his unregistered wand in an ankle holster. He went to breakfast, braced for the worst, but Bill wasn't there. And by lunch, Draco had learned that Bill had taken the day off and that Fleur had been spotted in the school. Draco didn't think either of those facts suggested he was in much danger, but the anxiety gnawing through his stomach refused to be satisfied with rumor. So after lunch, he pulled on a couple of camouflaging charms and crept his way up to the infirmary.
Bill was with Ginny, who was sitting upright in bed. She looked far better than she had earlier that week. And Molly Weasley and Fleur were with them. Fleur was showing her ring to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley said something about their wedding date and Bill –
Bill was smiling. He looked happy.
Anxiety turned to rage, so powerful that Draco's breath stuck in his throat. Bill shouldn't be happy, not when yesterday he was seething and irascible and saying cruel things to Draco. He shouldn't be happy when Draco had spent the entire night in terror, imagining all the ways his life was going to be ruined. Bill shouldn't be happy with his family gathered around him after leaving Draco utterly friendless and alone. It wasn't fair.
He swept from the infirmary and stormed into Charms a good half-hour late for class, but he didn't care, not even when Flitwick docked points. He sat at his desk and felt the jealousy and anger roil inside of him until it was near unbearable. This was yet another reason to avoid personal relationships. He preferred ice to fire, cold logic to burning emotions. He was going to burst into flames if he didn't do anything to release the pressure inside of him.
He glanced around. The class was divided, Ravenclaws on one side of the room, Slytherin on the other, as they practiced the writing charm on the extra blackboards that had been brought in for this exercise. Crabbe and Goyle were struggling with spelling; Nott was struggling with legibility. Draco slipped his wand under his desk and interrupted their casting, inserting additional words into their spells, writing out as many slurs and insults as he dared. Crabbe and Goyle looked at their wands in confusion. Nott whipped around, immediately suspecting the Ravenclaws. The Ravenclaws took note, saw the slurs, and immediately called for Flitwick. While the professor was scolding the Slytherins, Draco cast again, this time at the Ravenclaws who were distracted by the reprimand. This time Slytherin got outraged. It only took two more spells for the battle to start.
Draco could have joined in the fight. He could have created absolute carnage with a few carefully timed hexes, but it was more satisfying to throw up a shield charm and watch the destruction crash around him. Several students made good use of the Reductor curse they'd learned just last week. Desks and blackboards exploded into pieces, reduced to splinters the size of toothpicks.
Flitwick finally called an end to the skirmish by casting the sunburst charm. The blinding light forced the students to drop and cover their eyes.
"Detention!" he squealed, stamping his foot in outrage. "All of you, detention! This evening! You will be repairing every piece of furniture in here!"
Draco dropped his shield. "As the only student who did not engage in battle, I am naturally exempt from that punishment."
Flitwick opened his mouth to object, and Draco's lips curled in anticipation of a debate. He wanted nothing more than an argument. He wanted to unleash all of his rage into cutting words and insulting disdain.
Flitwick saw it on his face. He stepped back, waving his hand dismissal. "Very well."
Draco's lips curled further in triumph. It wasn't an argument, but it was the next best thing. It was capitulation. Flitwick was placating him because he feared him, and everyone saw it. He left the classroom with a sauntered step. His fellow students stared murderously after him but none of them dared to complain. They had learned it was best to avoid him when he got vicious.
His desire for destruction hadn't been satiated in Charms, but Defense class proved to be a challenge. Stevick didn't allow them to practice any spells, which was the easiest way to start his brand of mayhem. But an opportunity came at the end of class when Stevick called for a volunteer to pass out the papers he'd graded. Draco raised his hand and Stevick dropped the stack of papers on his desk. He cast a quick vanishing charm, erasing the names on the page, and followed up with a writing charm, careful to keep his casting hidden. He replaced every name on the homework, even his own, just to throw off suspicion, and then he handed them out.
The students protested when he passed the essays back. They tried to tell Stevick they'd been given the wrong paper, but their words fell on deaf ears. He refused to believe there'd been any sort of mix-up and exited the room, done with teaching for the day. The students turned on Draco next, sure that he'd played some role in it, but he showed them his own paper – just as mixed up as theirs.
They didn't believe him, but they had no proof he'd done anything nefarious. The class ended with students rushing to their Heads of House to complain. Draco diverted by the library and flicked a couple of summoning spells as he passed by. Books began flying off the restricted shelves, setting off the alarms. Draco made sure to direct the books to every student currently studying in the library, just to maximize the confusion. He wandered to the Slytherin dormitory, already feeling a little bit better.
By dinner that evening, he'd caught everyone's attention. He watched the students whisper to each other, the older ones sure to bend low to speak with the younger ones. First years learned a lot when they arrived at Hogwarts. They learned about the trick step on the staircase, and how to get into their common rooms, and what to do if they got lost in the castle. They learned to avoid Peeves and fear Filch. They learned which professors graded the hardest, which ones would accept late work, and which ones awarded the most points. They learned about Harry Potter, and how they shouldn't ask for his autograph and just treat him like a regular student. And then they learned about Draco Malfoy.
It was an easy topic to broach because he garnered a lot of attention. His skin was pale and his hair was platinum blond; it was a striking contrast to the black school robes. His face was an attractive blend of both of his lineages, the straight nose and high cheekbones of the Malfoy family, the cupid's bow lips and almond-shaped eyes of the Blacks. He was tall and slender, and he moved with a careless regality that was the product of eight years of dance and deportment classes. 'That's Draco Malfoy,' the older students would tell the first years, when they caught them staring. 'It's best to keep your distance. And if he ever gets angry, and you'll know when he gets angry, you shouldn't talk to him. You shouldn't walk by him. You shouldn't even look at him. If he's angry, you just run.'
Draco wasn't always feared as a student. That had started during his third year. The professors all agreed his 'tantrums' had started after his encounter with Buckbeak. In their opinion, once his father was willing to execute an 'innocent' animal for him, he'd lost all respect for consequences because he'd never have to face them. Draco knew what they'd said because he'd listened in on the teachers' meeting following his father's visit.
Draco had been poorly behaved his third year, but it had started right from the first day of classes, not after the Buckbeak incident. Draco had still been recovering from his encounter with Narcissa and her friends. The drugs he'd been given weren't meant for developing brains and even though Lucius had gotten him clean, the after-effects still lingered, well into the school year. He had periodic cravings and moments where he flashbacked to the strange and vivid hallucinations he'd had when he was high. There were physical symptoms too. He had a few bouts of the shakes, a couple of migraines, and intermittent nausea. The mood disturbances were the worst though. He got frustrated easily, followed by long stretches of dysphoria. Draco had been experiencing a minor flare-up when he'd been introduced to Buckbeak. It wasn't anything serious, but he'd felt a little edgy, a little irritable. His skin had itched and his head had felt foggy. He still didn't know why he'd said those words. Had he been deliberately provoking the hippogriff, or had he been trying to make a joke? Had he just wanted to create chaos, or was he hoping for a trip to the infirmary and a dose of painkillers?
Regardless of his reasoning, the hippogriff had attacked, and he had received a hefty dose of painkillers. And afterwards… well… the chaos he had created had been exhilarating, and it was healthier than the painkillers, and so creating destruction had turned into a bit of a habit. Anytime he felt upset, anytime he felt angry, anytime he felt bored, he took it out on the people around him. And through the years, he'd gotten better and better at orchestrating chaos, and escaping the blame for it.
The school had learned to read his moods in order to keep their distance when he was feeling destructive. Even the professors tried to ignore him or placate him instead of talking to him or disciplining him or even trying to understand him. As he'd gotten older, the moods had increased in frequency and length and intensity, but this year, he'd been calm. Too calm, perhaps, because now there was something that alarmed him about the whispers. The students were talking louder than they usually did. They weren't afraid of being overheard. And there were eyerolls and expressions of irritation that accompanied their whispers.
Draco realized what had happened. He'd been too calm this year. He'd been so busy translating the runes with Bill that he hadn't needed to plant chaos for his own amusement. And he hadn't needed an outlet for his anger because he hadn't been as angry. Or rather, when he had been angry, he'd talked about it with Bill, and with Hagrid, and the anger had subsided with their conversation. He hadn't needed to lash out to release it. But now, he'd lost the school's fear and earned their annoyance. Or perhaps the students had been exposed to too much danger with the rise of the Dark Lord and no longer feared his rage – believing it to be the tantrum of a spoiled teenager, and not the outrage of a wizarding genius.
He clenched his jaw. He'd give them a reason to fear him. If Draco couldn't feel safe in Hogwarts, no one would feel safe.
Draco swept out of the hall, plotting all the ways he might be able to re-exert his control over the school. He had patrol that evening, as part of his Prefect's duties, but all he was able to do was make a couple of fourth years cry. He went to bed that evening unsatisfied.
The opportunity came Saturday when he least expected it. He found himself with the morning free because he'd decided to stop training Orion. He hadn't bothered to inform Hagrid of his decision. He'd agreed to help as a favor and he could rescind that at any time he chose. And besides, his amicable relationship with the groundskeeper was only because of Bill's interference, so it was bound to fall apart sooner rather than later. It was better to cut his losses now, on his own terms, before Hagrid turned on him too.
He had the uncomfortable realization that while Bill knew the most incriminating things about him, namely his genius, Hagrid knew the most personal. He knew about Lukas.
Draco curled his hands into fists and strode towards the back of the castle where the music rooms were kept. Hogwarts had once had a large music program, including an orchestra and a full-time music teacher who could give private lessons. But musical instruction was falling out of style, and now only the choir remained. But the instruments were there along with the private practice rooms so students could keep up with their lessons on their own. Draco tried to practice piano at least once a week to keep his fingers limber, and to keep his memorized repertoire fresh in his mind, but he'd only managed a few visits this year. He headed towards the practice rooms now, still mulling over opportunities for more destruction, and that's when he spotted them. The Golden Trio.
They were outside of the DADA classroom, huddled over the keyhole, obviously trying to break in. Draco pulled up short in surprise. They spun around to face him, clearly just as startled. Weasley's face flushed with guilt. Granger looked indignant, like Draco was inconveniencing them with his presence.
Potter crossed his arms. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Draco stalked a few steps closer. "I'm walking down a hall. That answer is both obvious and innocent. Quite unlike the crime you three are currently committing." His lips twisted into a vicious grin. "Who would have thought? The bastions of the school, the pride of Gryffindor, the Chosen One and friends, engaging in the petty crime of breaking and entering? Whatever will Professor McGonagall say?" He couldn't keep the satisfaction from his voice. Finally, something they'd actually get in trouble for.
"We're not doing anything," Harry said, glancing at the others for back up.
Outright denial was a bold move, and Draco had to commend him for attempting it. But that excuse wouldn't hold.
"The wards on the door are triggered when you try to open them," Draco said. "My guess is a professor is on their way here now. And guess whose wand will reveal their criminal actions?" He looked meaningfully at Hermione. "How will that look on your record, Mudblood?"
The slur tasted strange as it left his mouth. There used to be more venom, more heat in that word. Now it sounded empty to his ears, but it still had the intended effect. Hermione's face went white with the fear of being caught, and then flushed with anger at the insult. Ron and Harry both stepped forward, hands clenching around their wands. It wouldn't take much more to start a fight. Draco's fingers twitched, eager to reach for his own wand, but it would be better if he waited until the last minute. Some member of the faculty would be headed this way soon, and it would be best if they saw him unarmed against three opponents.
"Don't call her that!" Ron demanded.
Harry cocked his head to the side. "Afraid of what we'll find if we make it in?"
"What?"
Harry nodded at the door. "It's obvious, isn't it? All the Death Eater attacks that are happening on school property is because there's a Death Eater here. And he's working with you and the other Slytherins, isn't he?"
Draco laughed. "You're jumping to conclusions."
"I don't think I am."
"There are three new members of faculty this year, and several new students. Be honest. You picked Stevick because you like him the least. After all, he's the only professor that doesn't cater to your every whim."
"He's a Ministry plant," Harry said heatedly. "And we know the Ministry's full of Death Eaters since your father was pardoned!"
The news had broken yesterday. It'd created a stir, but Draco had hardly noticed. He had other things to worry about.
Draco stuck his nose into the air and took on an affronted air. "My father was rightfully pardoned after it was evident that he was the clear victim of the Imperius Curse. The baseless rumors against our family have done immeasurable damage to our reputation and business. They are clearly a targeted attack against the Malfoy name when we have done nothing but support our elected officials and donate to their campaigns." He could see the disgust on their faces, and he couldn't help but smirk. "What? Upset that the natural order is reasserting itself?"
"If nature had its way, your father would have been Kissed by now," Harry spat.
His words stung, but Draco pushed it to the side because there it was, the opportunity for Draco to incite him into fight. And even better, Draco could hear footsteps behind him – no doubt it was a professor coming to check on the room. It was perfect timing.
Draco took one more step forward and filled his voice with as much arrogance and cruelty as he could manage. "Wasn't your godfather supposed to be Kissed? It was awfully smart of you to get him killed before that could happen. It might have saved your reputation."
Harry's mouth tightened and he whipped his wand towards him. Draco immediately pulled up a shield. He usually didn't bother with a shield during a duel, but this wasn't a real battle. This was about theatrics. He wanted it to be clear to the arriving professor that he was on the defensive. Although, as Harry's curse hit the shield with a burst of light, he was rather glad he had used it. That was a powerful curse from the boy-hero, and he'd done it wordlessly. His shield held, but he could feel the shockwave through it.
Ron cast his spell a second later. It was a simple blasting hex, and not aimed well, so Draco let the shield drop and let the curse hit his shoulder. It hit like a Bludger, and he recoiled several steps, further demonstrating that he was in danger. He responded with his own spell, a simple, non-lethal wind charm that only made his opponents brace themselves, buying him another second as the professor finally stepped into view.
"What, in the name of Merlin, is going on here?" McGonagall's voice cut through the hallway.
Draco immediately stepped back and pocketed his wand. He turned to the Deputy Headmistress. "I found them trying to break into Professor Stevick's classroom. When I confronted them, they attacked me. You must have seen it."
She had seen it. Draco could tell by the disappointed look on her face. He wasn't sure what had disappointed her the most – that she couldn't find a reason to punish him in these circumstances, or that her star pupils had been caught committing a crime.
"All of you, with me," she commanded.
Draco turned to the Golden Trio and smirked in triumph. They glowered and followed after their Head of House, unable to keep the guilt and anger off their faces. Draco stuck his hands into his pockets and followed, feigning innocent nonchalance while inwardly gloating – especially because they attracted a great deal of attention from the other students passing by. In five minutes, the entire school would be desperate to know what was happening.
McGonagall took them up to the teacher's wing of the castle and gestured them all into separate rooms. The rooms were small. They'd once been used for offices, or for individualized detention, but now they were mostly used as a quiet place for students to make-up class assignments they'd missed, or redo tests that they'd failed. Draco took a seat at the small table and cast the eavesdropping charm to listen in as McGonagall interrogated her Gryffindors. They were quick to confess. Apparently they'd decided to take it upon themselves to uncover Stevick as a Death Eater. Their actions didn't surprise Draco. The Trio was used to defending the school against various threats, so of course they'd tried to do it again. They must have lost faith in their professors years ago.
He stopped listening after McGonagall started questioning Ron. He didn't need to hear the same story three times over. He tipped his chair back on two legs and amused himself by casting revealing charms on the walls to read all of the old graffiti that had been painted over by Filch. He found one incredibly profane statement that was dated all the way back to the 1700s.
The doorknob turned. Draco dropped the spell and tried to look attentive for McGonagall, but she wasn't the one who entered. It was Bill Weasley.
Draco's mouth went dry. The chair thudded back to four legs as he lost his balance in surprise. The room, already small to begin with, suddenly felt like a closet. He glanced about for escape, even though he knew there were no other exists. Bill must have read the panic on his face because he stepped towards the opposite wall, leaving the doorway clear.
For a moment, no one spoke. Draco fastened his eyes onto the table in front of him. He couldn't bring himself to look at Bill.
"McGonagall asked me to speak with you," Bill said quietly. "She thinks you might talk to me more than her. Obviously I'm aware that you might not want to talk to me at all after Thursday."
There was another pause. Draco's mouth was so dry, it felt like his lips were stuck together. He couldn't talk. He didn't even think he could breathe.
"I want to apologize –," Bill started.
Draco was halfway down the hall before he realized that he'd bolted. He glanced behind him, terrified that Bill might be following, but the hall was empty.
Malfoys didn't run from danger. If they had to retreat, they did so with composure and dignity, preferably while planning their counterattack, but Draco couldn't stop his feet any more than he could stop the terror racing through his body. He sprinted around the corner and down the stairs. He didn't know why he was so terrified. It was clear the professor didn't mean him any harm, and if he was trying to apologize, it meant he wasn't going to reveal his secret. Not yet at least. But the thought of an apology made his stomach churn and made his breath catch in his throat. He didn't trust it. He knew what apologies were – it was someone asking for a second chance to inflict the exact same pain on their victim. Well, Draco wasn't going to give Bill the opportunity.
He reached the lower floors and there, in the shadowed, dungeon hallways of Hogwarts, he was finally able to stop running. He braced himself against the cold stone walls and pulled in a few heaving breaths, trying to slow his racing heart. He was okay. He was going to be okay. Bill wasn't… Bill wasn't going to hurt him. He just needed to keep his distance, and it'd all be fine.
He retreated to the Slytherin Common Room for the rest of the day, and when he emerged for dinner, he noticed that the whispers were a bit quieter, and the looks of irritation were replaced with trepidation. So, the school had learned that Draco Malfoy had dueled the Golden Trio – but it was the Golden Trio who had received punishment afterwards. By McGonagall, no less. Draco had emerged the clear victor in this match and the students were appropriately cowed. The victory was enough to distract him from replaying Bill's words in his head, 'I want to apologize.'
He slept better that night, except for a strange dream he had in which he was drowning in the ocean while the rest of the school played on beach. But he wasn't drowning. Not really. He was being pulled under the waves, but he could still breathe, even under the dark water. But he was being dragged further and further into the depths, and the water was freezing cold. He woke up shivering.
Sunday was his homework day. After spending most of Saturday in the common room, watching Warrington and Nott parade about the room like kings, Draco was ready for the peace and quiet of the library. He picked a desk in a secluded corner and started working on a Transfiguration essay. He needed an O on this assignment to maintain his average. He had just finished the introductory paragraph when Bill sat down across from him.
Draco jerked back, bumping his bottle of ink and spilling it over his page. His breathing quickened.
Bill flicked his wand, mopping up the ink and funneling it back into the pot. He capped the bottle and slid it over. "Draco, I'm sorry."
Draco kept his gaze averted as he grabbed his things, hastily packing them up.
"Please, just wait," Bill said.
He reached out and Draco flinched back. That made Bill freeze. Draco forced himself to look up, to look Bill straight in the eyes for the first time since Thursday. Bill looked better, he noticed. The dark circles under his eyes were beginning to fade. His face had color again and his hair was back in its usual braid. He looked like he was recovering, and it made him angrier. Of course Bill was recovering. He had family and friends here in school. He wasn't like Draco, trapped alone in enemy territory.
"Don't touch me," Draco hissed.
Bill held up his hands. "I won't. I'm sorry. Just… let me explain."
Draco sneered. "Like I'd be stupid enough to ever believe a word you said again."
Bill stepped back and something stricken crossed his face. Draco took the opportunity to flee again, running right back down to the Slytherin dungeons. He dropped into his usual chair in front of the fireplace, feeling like he was a piano wire strung too tight and he was on the verge of snapping. His hands shook as he pulled out his schoolwork, and then he noticed it. The silence.
He was immediately on edge again, but he kept his face calm. He slowly looked up and glanced about the room. There were several groups of students gathered in the common room. That was perfectly normal. It was a Sunday. Some students, who'd already done their homework, were playing games or reading books or talking together. Others were studying, some with a partner, others alone. But then he noticed the conglomeration of students. There was a good deal of the neutral students mixed in with others. They hadn't segregated themselves to the window seats, the way the Warrington and Nott forced them to. The room was watching him, wondering what he was going to say.
Draco should say something. He was a Malfoy and his father was known Death Eater. And this would give him an opportunity to yell and fume and create more havoc, but for some reason, he didn't feel like it. He looked down to his textbook, started to write, and slowly, the room relaxed around him. Students began talking again, soft at first, but then more casually. It was an easy sort of ambiance, one that helped focus his mind on the essay at hand.
He'd gotten halfway through his paper when the door opened, and the room froze again. Nott entered, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him. Warrington followed, with two seventh years, Heckert and Carangi dogging his steps.
Warrington saw the groups of intermingled students and his face went red. "I said blood-traitors and Half-bloods were confined to the window! They aren't to occupy the spaces meant for their superiors!"
Draco put his work down, more curious than anything. He'd never seen Warrington's direct intimidation himself. He didn't spend much time here, preferring the silence of the library.
Some of the students began to split off, making towards the window seats. A few others hesitated. Warrington growled and stalked towards Annelise Flannery and Jeremy Brown, a pair of fifth years who had been working at one of the study tables.
He jabbed his finger in Annelise's face. "Say it!"
"I am not to associate with the unclean," she started, sounding like she was reciting something from a book, but then she tried to protest. "It's a group project and we're partners"
"Say it!"
She closed her eyes. "I am not to associate with the unclean unless I want to share in their disgrace and accept their fate as my own."
Warrington turned to Jeremy next. The younger boy was staring down at the table. He looked equal measures angry and fearful, but he didn't say anything, not until Warrington dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. "And you. Say it."
Jeremy shook his head. "I'm not unclean."
"Your mother is a Mudblood," Warrington said. "Whose magic did she steal?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. Stealing magic? That was an old belief. Wizards in the fifteenth century thought that Squibs had been the victims of magic-theft, that the Muggle-born witches and wizards had drained their magic and kept it as their own. But that had been proven demonstrably false in the seventeenth century. No one actually believed that anymore. Was the Dark Lord trying to resurrect that old wives' tale?
"She didn't steal it from anyone."
Warrington pointed his wand and cursed. Jeremy yelped, his muscles seizing. He fell from the chair and continued to jerk on the ground as his muscles twitched with electricity. Draco's eyes narrowed further. Warrington had used the shocking hex on the boy. It was commonly taught as a pre-cursor to the Cruciatus. It wasn't as intense or painful, but it hurt and was easy to cast. From the averted gazes of the other students, this wasn't the first time Warrington had tortured a student.
"Say it!"
"No!"
The hex came again. Jeremy screamed. A couple of younger students started crying. Even some of the Pureblood students looked uncomfortable. Many Pureblood families counted purity by the third generation, meaning some of them had living relatives who were Muggle-born. If Jeremy was being tortured because his mother was a Muggle-born, how long would it take to start torturing students whose grandparents were Muggle-born, or great-grandparents?
"Say it!" Warrington commanded.
Jeremy spat at him. Warrington kicked him in the face and there was a terrible crunching sound as his nose broke. Blood spurted and Jeremy shouted, hands flying to his face.
Annelise screamed and rushed over. "Stop it!"
Warrington rounded on her, but before he could curse her too, Draco spoke up. "Warrington, do you mind? I've homework to do." His voice was pitched to be heard over the chaos, but he kept the words perfectly bland.
Warrington turned. "What?"
"I can't concentrate," Draco said, gesturing to his paper.
"Bugger your homework, Malfoy. This is important."
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Bullying children is important?"
Warrington crossed his arms. "It's for the Dark Lord, to help him regain power."
"Ah, of course," Draco said dryly. "Kicking Brown in the nose will ease the political restrictions that are keeping the Dark Lord from returning to power in England. I see it now. Carry on then." He gave a little wave of dismissal, just because he knew it would irritate the seventh year.
Warrington forgot about Brown at his feet. He took a step towards Draco. "I am teaching them that proper order should be maintained. Purebloods first, that's the natural hierarchy."
"If you're teaching the proper order, then you should be following my instruction to quiet down. After all, the Malfoy family holds the distinction of being the purest in England."
"The hierarchy isn't just about blood purity," Warrington argued.
"Oh, it isn't?"
"It's about power too."
"Then you should be taking orders from Brown there." He gestured to Jeremy who'd pushed himself up to a sitting position. Annelise was holding a handkerchief to his nose. "His grades are on track to make him valedictorian of his year and Flitwick said his charms are just as powerful as any seventh year. But you struggle in Charms, don't you? That's why you're not taking the NEWTs."
Warrington sucked in an outraged breath. Draco was getting a lot of attention now. Nott, Carangi, and Heckert looked ready to curse him. The students at the window seats were looking suspicious; a few looked tentatively hopeful. The Pureblood students looked startled. Draco was poking holes in their philosophy, and it couldn't withstand much more, at least, not with the hash Warrington was making of it.
"It's power and blood," Warrington spat.
"So we're back to you obeying me," Draco said, "because I'm more pure and more powerful."
Warrington snorted. "You're not a true believer. Blood and power mean nothing if you don't fight for it."
"I thought I was," Draco said. "I'm exerting my will over someone less powerful and less pure than I am." Warrington's face went red and Draco gave a cold laugh. "Don't look so angry. I'm just following the rules you gave."
"You shouldn't be fighting with me! I'm on your side!"
"You're fighting with me," Draco pointed out. "I asked you to keep it down, and you didn't. If you won't follow the values that you promote, then how can you insist than anyone else follow them?"
Warrington stared at him. "You've turned traitor yourself."
Draco put down his schoolwork with a sigh. "I'm merely pointing out that you objecting to following my orders makes you a lot like Brown here." He gestured to the fifth-year boy. "He didn't want to admit that he's lesser than you, so he fought back. You don't want to admit that you're lesser to me, so you're fighting back. But at least Brown here doesn't ascribe to the purity hierarchy, so he's not breaking his own rules. But you are. And when you fight the very system you support, you set a rebellious example. So remember your place, and step down."
His last words were sharp, and he kept his eyes on Warrington, wondering what the seventh year was going to do. Silence stretched as Warrington visibly struggled with a retort, but he couldn't come up with one. Not when he'd been neatly trapped by his own logic. The students in the room were watching intently, knowing what they were witnessing. Draco was exerting his power as Prince of Slytherin, and if Warrington didn't obey, it would mean a mutiny.
Warrington broke the silence with a scoff. "You really are a sniveling little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy."
"Watch your next words," Draco said lightly.
Warrington stepped forward, his hand tightening around his wand. "You aren't worth the signum on your back."
There were audible gasps from the students witnessing the exchange. Draco pulled his own quick breath, hardly believing that Warrington had dared to say that to him. Those weren't dueling words, because a duel required advanced notice, the presence of seconds, and agreed upon rules of combat. With those words, Warrington was declaring outright war.
There was no more rage. There was only battle, and Draco didn't hesitate. He grabbed his wand and threw himself to floor as he and Warrington called forth their curses at the same time. He remembered, from dueling in the hallway all those months ago, that Warrington liked to use shields, so he called out the asphyxiation spell. It was a fast-cast spell, one that required no complicated wand strokes, and it slipped through Warrington's shield before it could fully solidify. Warrington stumbled back, his voice cutting out as his breath was halted. To his credit, he didn't fall. He had enough training to know to hold his breath because the spell only lasted thirty seconds. He slashed out with his own offensive spell, but Draco had tucked his shoulder as he dropped, connecting into a smooth roll, and the curse went over his head.
The students in the common room screamed. Some of them ducked for cover; others bolted. Draco sent two more hexes in quick succession as he completed the roll and used the momentum to get back to his feet. He hadn't just used the asphyxiation spell because it was fast. He'd used it because Warrington's wordless casting was weak. The seventh year was able to bat away the blindness hex, but the wind charm hit him right in the chest. He fell back, Draco stepped up to him, and kicked his wand away.
Warrington looked startled, like he hadn't expected to be bested so easily. Their fight had lasted a matter of seconds; there had been no chance for him to realize he was losing until he was flat on his back, staring up at Draco.
He still wasn't afraid though. In fact, he laughed at Draco, like he'd just performed an interesting trick. "I didn't think you had it in you, Malfoy. I would have gone harder if I'd thought you were capable of putting up a fight."
He was being insulting, but Draco didn't care about these petty words. He cared about his earlier statement. Warrington had denigrated his name; he would regret it. He pointed his wand at Warrington's chest.
"Crucio."
The curse hit and Warrington spasmed. A scream tore out of his throat. There were a few gasps from the students who were watching because Draco had just cast an Unforgiveable, and inside of Hogwarts no less. But this was right. This was payment for his insult. Draco held the curse for several seconds, ending it before the curse had a chance to fade. He wasn't the strongest caster of the Cruciatus.
Warrington gasped in a ragged breath. He tried to roll away from Draco, but he responded with a quick kick to the ribs. Warrington grunted and stopped moving.
"You insulted my name, Cassius," Draco told him.
Warrington shook his head. "I was just saying things. I –,"
"Crucio."
Warrington screamed again, louder this time. And when Draco lifted the curse, all of his bravado had been stripped away. "Stop!" he begged. "Malfoy, stop."
"Stop?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "After what you said to me? After you –," he cut himself off as he realized the truth. Warrington knew the words to insult him, but he didn't know the true meaning behind them. Warrington's family was old, but they hadn't been royalty or nobility. They had never owned enough land, or owned it long enough, to form a bond with it. They'd never created a signum. Someone else had told him what to say.
The curse came from behind, a blasting hex. It hit with the force of a hippogriff and Draco was thrown off his feet and hurled forward. It had happened too quickly for him to shield himself, but he wasn't an expert dueler for nothing. He didn't bother with a cushioning charm. He cast a quick reflector spell behind him, that deflected the two other curses sent his way, and let himself hit the stone floor with bruising force. He called up a shield as he got to his feet, but Nott didn't press his advantage. He just stepped forward, clearly ready to gloat. Heckert and Carangi flanked him, their wands out and readied.
Draco dropped the shield and pointed his wand at Warrington. "You told him what to say."
Nott gave a spiteful grin. "I di –,"
"Stupefy."
Warrington, who'd been reaching for his wand, slumped over, unconscious. Nott glowered.
"You were saying?" Draco prompted.
But Nott's moment of triumph had been interrupted. Draco had taken out one of Nott's allies, right under his nose.
Nott's grin turned into a scowl. "You're weak, Malfoy. You bandy about your wealth and name like it means something, but you're too much of a coward to defend it."
"So you claim, but you attacked me from behind with friends at your side. Are you too afraid to face me on your own?"
"You're just trying to escape the consequences of poor leadership," Nott said. "Another cowardly attempt at ducking responsibility."
"We have different definitions of cowardice." Draco turned to Hecker and Carangi. "And you two? You stand with him?"
"Gladly," Heckert said, and Carangi nodded.
Draco shrugged. "So be it."
He gave the room a sweeping glance, but a quick assessment of the remaining students determined that they'd stayed out of curiosity, not as part of a scheme to stab him in the back. At least, he hoped not.
"Crabbe, Goyle," he said. His usual goons looked to him. He'd like to win them back; they were useful guards. "Drop."
They were used to following his orders without question. They ducked as Draco dove to the floor and sent out a shockwave spell. The magic emanated from the tip of his wand, erupting out in a dome shape. Both Crabbe and Goyle ducked in time, so did Nott. Heckert hastily shielded himself, but Carangi was hit. He dropped to the floor, stunned for the moment.
Draco pulled up a shield as Nott and Heckert returned fire. They cast at the same time, which was poor fighting tactics; they should have staggered their spells. Both curses hit the shield, and it gave Draco the opportunity to fire back while they re-cast. He sent a vicious ear-drum bursting hex at Heckert. It was one of his favorites. Nott had learned to guard against it, but Heckert hadn't. He let out a shout of pain as he fell backwards, his equilibrium completely destroyed. Draco lunged behind an armchair as Nott sent out a blast of fire.
Nott was getting better. The flames scorched the side of his face and lapped at his shirt. He had to waste a second to put out the flames, but Nott didn't know how to press his advantage. He should have shattered the armchair, getting rid of Draco's cover. Instead, he tried to move closer. Draco let the flames take his sleeve in order to pin him down with a blasting hex, and then he finished stifling the flames. He re-enforced the chair just as Nott realized his mistake and tried the Reductor spell. The chair didn't break. Draco sent out an asphyxiation spell, which missed by a hair, and then Carangi was on his feet, firing hexes as well.
Draco cast a decoy spell. A shadowy-replica of himself darted out towards the left and both Slytherins were fooled by the image. Draco jumped up and sent a quick stupefy at Carangi. The seventh year dropped, and then it was just Draco and Nott.
Draco didn't bother with shields or finding cover. He just batted away every spell that Nott threw at him. The deflected curses sparked with green and blue and red and gold, until the common room looked like a fireworks display. Nott kept casting, trying a flurry of spells that was impressive in its speed, but Draco was faster. He could have returned fire, but he preferred this slower war of attrition. He preferred dragging it out. He had kept himself from toying with Nott all those months ago, but now he indulged his darker impulse and put on a show for the students of Slytherin. This was what happened when Draco Malfoy was challenged. This was the punishment he wrought. He swept every single one of Nott's curses to the side, and kept advancing on his classmate, one steady step at a time until Nott was sweating, red-faced, and exhausted.
Draco was displaying his genius to Slytherin right now, but he was allowed this moment. After all, he was a championship dueler. He was allowed to excel in this arena. He was allowed to best his foes with ease and without the inkling of mercy. And it felt right, it felt good to reveal in Nott's fear and the onlookers' shock. This was who Draco was. He was cold. He was logical. He was powerful.
Nott dropped to his knees, unable to stand anymore, close to magical exhaustion. Draco didn't need a spell to disarm Nott. He simply reached out and plucked his wand from his limp fingers. Nott's head bowed in defeat. Draco could see a tremor start in his hands.
"You insulted me," he told Nott. "You used the worst terms to disparage my name. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Nott was silent, unable to answer. Draco grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.
"What do you say?" he demanded.
"I'm sorry," Nott whimpered. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry!"
Draco dropped his head and kicked him in the chest. Nott fell backwards, sprawling onto the floor. Draco pressed his boot onto his neck, hard enough that Nott's next breath was strangled.
"Beg me," he said cruelly. "Beg me to spare you."
Nott writhed beneath him, like a bug caught on a pinboard. "I'm sorry," he gasped, the words garbled from the pressure on his neck. "Please, don't hurt me!"
"Don't hurt you?" Draco demanded. "You denigrate my name and my family and my signum, and now you beg me not to hurt you? I could have your blood for this!"
And he did, slashing down with a hex that bit deeply into Nott's chest. Blood sprayed and Nott screamed.
"Please, stop! I'm sorry!"
"It's not enough to be sorry!" Draco snarled. "You have to pay for it. Crucio!"
The spell hit. Nott jerked, and for one second, Draco thought the spell hadn't worked, because Nott wasn't yelling. But then Nott jerked again, his face twisted into a wordless cry of pain, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Draco hurriedly stepped off of him, not realizing that he'd pressed so hard he'd cut off his air supply, and Nott screamed.
Nott screamed so terribly that Draco's hands jerked, instinctively reaching up to cover his ears. It sounded like Nott was dying.
He hurriedly ended the curse, shocked at its ferocity. Nott curled into the fetal position, groaning into the stone floor with every ragged gasp.
Draco took two steps back. Was this truly what he wanted? His enemies beaten and bloodied and sobbing at his feet? There was a part of him that reveled in it. Part of him believed he could exorcise his own pain by inflicting it on others. Part of him took a sadistic gratification from it.
But the other part was horrified. It wanted to run and hide, preferably someplace dark and quiet and safe, where he could be left alone until he could breathe without hurting again.
But what part of him was right? Morality said it was wrong to inflict pain; logic said it was sometimes necessary.
Draco ran a hand through his hair and turned away from Nott. He found himself the focal point of a dozen pairs of eyes. The students who had remained were watching him. Some of them were clutching at each other. They were waiting to see what he would do. Would Draco be just as brutal as Warrington and Nott? Would he be worse?
Draco wasn't sure himself, but there were matters at hand that needed to be attended to. First and foremost, he had been attacked. Warrington had said the words, but Nott was behind them. Had he been of age, he would have challenged Nott to a duel. Duels were still legal in Wizarding England, but rare. Had Nott been of age, he would have likely declined, as was his right, but he would be forced to pay a handsome sum of money for the blood-debt. Traditional families would shun him for a year, or until Draco welcomed him back into society. None of those things were possible here, but Draco was creative.
"Theodore Nott, the second."
He didn't have to raise his voice to capture the attention of the whole room. Everyone was listening. Nott looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear. There were tear tracks on his face.
"You insulted my name," Draco said. "I would duel you to the death if I could, and we all know I would win. Since I cannot have your blood, I will have satisfaction elsewhere." He held up Nott's wand and then, taking it in two hands, he snapped it over his knee.
Nott flinched. The room gasped.
Draco tossed the pieces at Nott. "Take yourself to Pomfrey. If she asks, you and the others fought each other." He turned to address the room. "They had an argument about Quidditch, isn't that right?" The students were quick to agree with him, as Draco knew they would be. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle next. "Take the rest up to the infirmary."
They nodded and began levitating the bodies of the seventh years. Draco didn't stay to watch. He strode to his dormitory and locked the door behind him. Only then did he let out a shaking breath. His body trembled from excess adrenaline. He had to sit down on his bed for a moment before he could check himself for injuries. He'd scraped his hands and knees when he'd hit the floor from the blasting hex. There was a mild burn on his arm and cheek from Nott's fireball. Now that he'd noted them, they were starting to sting. And his back ached, where the blasting hex had struck. He pulled off his robes and shirt and turned to check himself in the mirror. There was a dark bruise forming on his right shoulder blade, but his eyes were drawn to the scarlet tattoo that swept over his upper back.
That was his signum. It was the Malfoy crest, the sword, the snake, and the Rowan trees. The long sword was tattooed directly down his spine, and the snake was coiled about the hilt. The two Rowan trees framed the sword, following the line of his shoulder blades.
The signum was an ancient ritual. Not many Pureblood families still followed it, but it was an indicator of his status as the heir. The tattoo was created out of blood-ink; it connected him to his family and their ancestral lands. As Draco watched, the snake coiled and uncoiled about the sword, and the two trees swayed in a non-existent wind. Draco could feel it move, even though it wasn't a physical sensation. It was a faint presence that brushed against the back of his mind. It was soothing.
Draco turned around and his gaze was drawn to the necklace around his throat. It was the runic charm Bill had given him for Christmas. He hadn't taken it off since he'd received it, and now the sight of it made him curse. He pulled it off and sent it hurtling into the corner. He stalked into the bathroom and stepped into a steaming shower. He emerged thirty minutes later, skin flushed pink from the heat and his injuries tended to. He changed into clean clothes and then, before he could think too hard about it, he stepped over to the discarded necklace and slipped it back over his head.
He stayed in his room for the rest of the day, and no one tried to bother him, expect Blaise who burst in late that afternoon.
"Are you okay?"
Draco didn't look up from his work. "Clearly."
Blaise hesitated, and then took a step forward. "What you did for –,"
Draco turned the page of his book. "It would be foolish to think that I fought for anyone expect myself."
Blaise paused, then nodded. "Right. Of course." He turned to leave, then looked back and said, "I'm glad you're okay."
Draco didn't respond.
Pansy came in that evening and perched on the foot of his bed. Draco ignored her, up until she leaned in and pulled the book from his hands.
"I'm impressed," she said.
He shrugged. "Everyone forgets I'm a champion duelist."
"You make them forget you're a champion duelist," she countered.
"Well… perhaps," Draco allowed.
He met her gaze and she grinned. "Well done."
She leaned in and gave him kiss, opened-mouthed and hot, and he was tempted to pull her in closer, but the desire to push her away, to push everyone away, overrode it. So he kissed her, pulled back, and she left. He pulled the curtains closed around his bed and forced himself to finish the Transfiguration essay.
News about the fight spread quickly through the school, and by Monday morning, none of the students dared to even look at him. As much as the school was used to his moods, they could tell something had been different about this fight. Four of Draco's classmates were in the infirmary, following some sort of fight, and three of them were seventh years at that. Rumor said that Pomfrey suspected some of the injured students had been hit with the Cruciatus, but no one in Slytherin was admitting to anything. And there wasn't enough evidence to pull Draco in for questioning. The more rational students were quick to point out that there were many spells that injured the nerves of the body, not just the Cruciatus, but there was enough suspicion to make everyone cautious. The students gave him a wide berth; the professors didn't call on him.
Draco would have enjoyed it more, but he'd woken up Monday with a headache, and his muscles felt heavy. The headache continued into Tuesday, and the satisfaction he felt from besting his usurpers faded when they were released from the infirmary. They were subdued, and careful to avoid him, but Draco could see the anger in their eyes. They hated him for beating them. They'd try again if they were given the chance.
The anger came back. He was angry that Nott and Warrington had challenged him. He was angry that the professors hated him. He was angry that Bill had tricked him, and angry at himself for falling for it. He was angry that all the other students got to have friends without fear of being hauled in front of Dumbledore and forced to spill all their secrets. And that anger only burned brighter when he stepped into Ancient Runes class and saw Bill, confidant, poised, and cheerful, at the front of the room. The headache turned into a migraine. He slumped into his chair and kept his eyes firmly on his book the whole class. He didn't speak a word. He knew the other students were giving him odd looks. He'd been unbearable in their other classes. He'd been rude and snappish. He'd instigated fights and arguments. He'd been downright cruel, but here he just… stopped. He didn't want to give Bill any reason to talk to him.
But Bill made a reason. He dismissed the class by calling them up to get their graded quizzes, and sure enough, Draco's name was called last.
Draco didn't need his quiz. He was sure he'd gotten an E on it. Part of him, the one that carefully counted each grade, wanted to doublecheck, just to be sure, but he pushed the urge down. It was better not to talk to Bill at all.
Besides, if Bill was genuinely sorry, he'd probably give him an E at the end of the year even if he didn't earn it.
His head throbbed. Draco's hand clenched around his school bag. They were alone now, all the other students had left while Draco had stood, frozen with indecision.
"Are you alright?" Bill asked, his voice gentle and concerned.
Draco wasn't looking at him, but he knew how Bill looked when he was worried. His brow furrowed. His eyes stayed warm, but they pinched at the corners.
"I'd really like to talk to you," Bill said.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a second because as soon as Bill said those words, Draco wanted the same thing. He wanted to tell Bill about the fight in Slytherin. He wanted to tell Bill about catching the Golden Trio trying to break into Stevick's room. And more than anything, he wanted to tell the professor that he hated their fight. He wanted to tell him how he felt betrayed, and scared, and angry. He wanted to tell him about his anxiety over Bill's attempts to apologize. In short, he wanted to talk to Bill about Bill because he was the only one Draco trusted.
But now, there was no one else to talk to. Draco was alone, and he had to figure out what to do by himself. Years of self-imposed isolation brought him to one conclusion.
Rule number eighteen: Learn the first time. Never make the same mistake twice.
He looked up at met Bill's concerned gaze with his own cold glare. "No."
He left the room. He didn't run, like he had over the past few days, he just walked, slow and steady, turning his back on the chance at reconciliation. He pulled in a resolved breath. He'd lived without a friend for sixteen years. He could certainly do it for the few months left in the school year. But as resolved as he was, he couldn't shake the strange cold that seized his body. It felt like loneliness. It felt like a warning. It followed him throughout the evening and stayed with him as he got into bed and pulled the covers over him.
When he woke up Wednesday morning, he was relieved to discover that he had a fever. A low grade one, nothing to be concerned about, but he quickly ascribed all of his angst over the past week as a side effect of the illness. It was a relief to have something else to blame for his misery. He just needed a few days to recover, and then he'd feel better. He was sure of it.
He was tempted to go to the infirmary and hideout there, but Ginny was still receiving treatment, and Bill visited her at least twice a day. There was no way Draco would spend any more time than necessary in his presence, so he'd have to wait it out on his own. He stole a pepper-up potion from Snape's stores and set about surviving his classes. It was easy enough, because the professors were still giving him plenty of space. He even put his head down in Charms and took a nap.
Nausea hit that evening and his fever spiked. Draco skipped dinner and spent the night with the curtains pulled tight around his bed. He couldn't sleep, not with the ache in his muscles, and he couldn't concentrate long enough to read a book. He cast a read-aloud spell to try to take his mind off the discomfort. He finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and stayed in bed through the first couple of classes. But he couldn't skip the full day of school without a note from Pomfrey, so he dressed and dragged himself down to lunch. He forced himself to drink a glass of water and followed it up with a cup of strong tea. Then he reluctantly made his way to Transfiguration.
It was while he was staring at his book, the words swimming before him, that he realized he should have gone to his morning classes instead. Then he could have skipped Transfiguration and Ancient Runes and he wouldn't have to worry about seeing Bill. Merlin, wasn't he supposed to be a genius?
He dropped his head onto the desk because it felt too heavy to hold up.
"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall snapped, "this is a classroom, not a lounge. Do sit up straight."
It was the first challenge he'd gotten from the professors. They were clearly getting weary of him ruling the school with his bad temper. Draco pushed himself back up, knowing that he should probably do something to retaliate, but a bout of dizziness distracted him.
"Now that you've rejoined us," she continued, "perhaps you can tell us the two principles of transfiguring large to small items?"
Her voice, sharp and irritated, seemed to shriek through his brain. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must you talk so loud?"
The class tittered uncomfortably. McGonagall frowned.
"Five points from Slytherin. I will not tolerate such disrespect. Now, can you answer the question or not?"
"Could you repeat it?" Draco asked, dropping his head into his hands. It felt like his head was going split. He tightened his grip, just in case his skull did crack open and his brains leaked out. The world faded out for a moment. He pulled himself back into reality to hear the tail-end of McGonagall's rant.
" – if you won't pay attention, you can leave."
"Brilliant," Draco muttered. That was a dismissal he could take advantage of. He pushed himself up and immediately realized his mistake. He could barely hold his head up; there was no way he could stand. The world didn't spin around him so much as it lurched, and he was suddenly on the floor. There was a pain on the side of his head that hadn't been there before. He tried to reach up to touch it, but his arms didn't want to move.
There was movement around him, a few faces, a few sounds. It took a moment for him to realize that people were leaning over him, and the sounds he was hearing was excited exclamations. If he focused, he might be able to understand what they were saying, but it seemed like too much effort.
One face leaned in closer than the others. "Mr. Malfoy?"
Right, there had been a question, hadn't there? The principles of transfiguring large to small objects. He knew them; of course, he knew them. Why was it so hard to remember?
"Density," he tried to say, but his mouth wasn't working. His face felt numb.
He was tired.
His eyes slipped shut.
oOoOo
Bill sat back and kicked his boots up on his desk as his fourth-year students filed out of the classroom. His next class was his sixth-year NEWT students, and Draco would be with them. Bill needed to figure out how to apologize to him.
He'd been trying to apologize, but Draco had run every time. No, not run. More like fled. Like Bill was something dangerous or scary. And, if he were being honest, he had been both towards Draco. It was no wonder he ran.
Bill rubbed his face. He was finally feeling better. Finally sleeping through the night. Finally feeling relaxed again. Finally thinking about the future – particularly now that he'd told the Headmaster he'd be stepping down from his espionage mission at the end of the schoolyear.
Dumbledore had agreed with him, without censure or blame. "I knew you'd make a good spy. You have the head for it, but I was worried about your heart. This job exposes us to the ills of society, and we are forced to watch the darkness grow without taking direct action. You've always had a hard time in the role of an observer. You always wanted to step in and join the fight."
"Does that make me naïve or impulsive?" Bill had asked.
"I don't think we have to turn this into a personal failing. We don't have to fix your character, rather we need to find where your strengths can be utilized to their fullest effect. I think you will be of better use if you're allowed to take action, if you're allowed to save someone instead of watching then fall."
Bill felt a twinge of guilt. Dumbledore had been right; he did better in situations when he was allowed to intervene. That's what he'd done with Draco, after all. He'd given the boy care and attention; he'd listened when it was appropriate and offered gentle arguments when the timing was right. And it had seemed to be working, up until he screwed it all up by threatening to turn Draco in.
Draco had trust issues. It was one of the first things Bill had learned about him. Draco hid himself from the entire world, and Bill knew it had to do something with the way he was raised. From what he'd said of his mother, she was a serial adulteress and absent parent. He'd said less about Lucius, but Bill knew that his father was neglectful of his emotional needs. And there was something else, some deeper mystery that Draco didn't speak of, but that Bill could see evidence of in their interactions. Draco reacted to praise and gifts like they were novelties. Draco didn't know how to form close connections. Draco could see thestrals ever since he was a child. Draco had made an off-hand comment about an addiction on the night he'd healed Snape. All of these little clues pointed to some trauma that Draco had shared with him yet, and now, perhaps he never would.
Bill sighed. He really wanted to speak with Draco to salvage any part of their relationship if he could. And not just for himself, but for Draco as well. Bill hadn't believed the other professors when they'd first told him their horror stories of Draco's 'tantrums', but it was harder to dismiss their claims now that Draco was doing his level best to anger everyone in the school. And the fight in Slytherin on Sunday… well, no adult had been there to witness it, but three students had been knocked unconscious, and a fourth had been seriously injured. Pomfrey said there was some evidence that dark magic had been used, possibly even the Cruciatus.
But the boys, when they'd been roused, denied it, and Snape said that some of the older students had been bullying the younger ones with the shocking hex, which could create similar injuries. The matter of the Cruciatus had been dropped, and the professors, gossiping in the teachers' lounge, came to the opinion that while Draco must have instigated the fight, he most likely hadn't participated.
"Or if he did, he probably took pot-shots from the corner," Hooch said, and everyone agreed.
Bill noticed that Snape stayed quiet. As Draco's Head of House, he would have known that Draco was a dueling champion. Bill stayed quiet as well because Draco had admitted to him that he could cast the Cruciatus and that he liked having power over other people. Was Draco just lashing out in anger, or had Bill's betrayal pushed him further towards the Death Eaters?
The hall grew noisy with kids during passing time. Bill looked up as the students began filtering into the room, a couple of them talking excitedly among themselves. He left his feet on the desk as they came in. They were used to his completely un-teacher-like behavior by now. Bill knew enough of his students' schedules to realize that it was the students in NEWT Transfiguration that were doing most of the talking while the others were listening. They gradually calmed down as they took their seats, but one remained empty.
Damn. The kid was still avoiding him.
Bill sat up and grabbed his lesson plan for the afternoon. "Does anyone know where Draco is?"
The class immediately burst into an explanation and Bill held up a hand to make them stop.
"One at a time," he said.
Hermione's hand shot into the air, so he pointed at her.
"He passed out," she said. "In Transfiguration."
Bill felt a jolt of alarm. "Passed out?"
"He has the flu," Darla shared. "That's what Pomfrey said when she came down."
"He was delirious," Timothy added in. "That's why he passed out."
"That's why they think he's been so… you know, lately," Darla added.
"Not like he needs a reason," Hermione muttered.
There were a few laughs and several of the students nodded.
Bill forced himself to give an unconcerned smile. "Well, that's certainly unfortunate. Hopefully he gets better soon. Let's go ahead and turn to chapter eighteen today."
The students pulled out their books and Bill pushed all thoughts of Draco to the side for the rest of class. They had a lot to catch up on due to his absences. He had to teach to the very bell-end of class, but they made good headway into the fourth Romanian dialect. After class, instead of pulling out the Persian runes as had been the tradition all this time, Bill packed his things up and headed to the infirmary.
"You're early," Ginny said, sitting up on her bed with her schoolbooks open around her.
She looked fully recovered. Her voice was back to normal, her usual energy had returned, and she'd regained the color in her face. Bill wouldn't have been able to tell there was a thing wrong with her except that her lungs still seized during physical exercise, but even that was improving.
"Came to check on a student of mine," Bill said.
There was only one other bed that was occupied, about halfway down the line from Ginny. The curtain was pulled halfway shut around it.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You're checking on Malfoy?"
"I tutor him," Bill said, as an explanation.
She gave him a curious look, but then shrugged. "You always did see the best in people."
"I've had to learn since my siblings are such terrors," Bill told her.
She snorted and Bill walked over to Draco's bed. Pomfrey was fussing with a few potions on the bedside table. She looked over when Bill approached.
"He's not up for visitors," she said, rather needlessly because Draco was clearly unconscious. He was limp on the bed, eyes closed, and mouth slightly parted. His hair was damp with sweat, and every now and again he muttered and shifted restlessly, rolling to the other side of the bed and twisting the sheets around his legs. Pomfrey moved him every time, resettling him with a flick of her wand.
"How is he?" Bill asked.
"He's got a bad case of the flu," Pomfrey said.
"I did think we'd seen the last of it."
"There's always one delayed case in every epidemic," Pomfrey said. "And it's usually a severe case because their immune system has been fighting it off for so long that, when they finally succumb, they're exhausted. But it's nothing a few days of rest and a strict regime of potions can't cure."
Draco murmured something and his head tossed on the pillow.
"I'm sure, dear," Pomfrey tutted to him. She looked over at Bill. "I have no idea what he's saying."
Bill leaned in to listen. He caught a few words about density and partial vanishment that made him think of Transfigurations, and then something about molecular restructuring that was nothing that was taught at Hogwarts. He pulled back. "I think it's Thurlow's Laws of Matter Replacement."
"What?"
"Didn't he pass out in Transfiguration?"
He and Pomfrey exchanged a look. Draco muttered again and half-rolled out of the bed. Pomfrey set him straight once more.
Bill huffed out a laugh and put a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. He could feel the heat of his fever through the infirmary pajamas. "Well answered. Five points to Slytherin."
It was just a hunch, but he was pleased when Draco seemed to settle at his words. The furrow on his brow eased and he let out a deep breath. His body went lax as he drifted into sleep.
Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. "Well, I suppose you can stay to visit then."
She gathered the empty potions bottles and left to wash them. Bill sat in the bedside chair and let out a sigh.
"Just when I thought I was almost done with infirmary visits," he told Draco.
He was suddenly struck by the oddity of it all. Here he was, a Weasley, sitting at the bedside of a Malfoy, just like he'd done with his siblings. He was surprised to discover that he felt the same low-lying anxiety that usually accompanied such familial bedside vigils. When had he started thinking of Draco like another younger sibling? He couldn't quite identify the moment, but he supposed it didn't matter. All that mattered was earning his trust back.
"If you'd just let me explain, you might be inclined to forgive me," he told Draco.
Draco, predictably, did not respond.
"I'd try slipping you a compulsion potion, but I'm sure that'd just make you angrier." Bill frowned as he thought. "What about bribery? Would that work?"
He imagined Draco's cutting response.
"Yeah, I suppose it's difficult to bribe a rich kid like yourself," Bill agreed. "And I already used the Persian runes."
In his head, Draco snorted and said something about him playing his hand too early.
"Don't get too cocky," Bill cautioned. "You told me I should be more Slytherin, so I plan on using my advantage."
He could picture Draco narrowing his eyes in suspicion and he huffed out a laugh.
"You're stuck in bed. You can't escape my apology this time."
Draco didn't have a response to that.
Bill nodded in satisfaction. "That's what I thought."
Draco kept sleeping, his breathing deep and even. Bill got up to leave and then glimpsed the black cord around Draco's neck. He stepped closer, recognizing the necklace he'd given Draco for Christmas. He was still wearing it. Bill felt hope blossom in his chest.
Maybe Draco would listen to him after all.
OoOoO
Author's Note: So – editing changes. Oh man. Lots. I was going to skip the fight with the Golden Trio completely, because I didn't think it fit, but then I had a couple of reviewers say they liked that scene. Obviously, I can't disappoint you guys, lol. So I changed the confrontation, and it turned into a really cool character moment for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. As much as there are dangers in this version of 6th year, it's not really anything they can fix or even have an active role in. But they're so used to saving the school, of course they're going to try. And by including that scene, I got to work in the first Draco vs Bill confrontation. So thanks, Catnipob and Madame Mermaid!
(Also, trying to come up with all the different ways Draco caused chaos, in this chapter and last chapter, was a lot of work!)
I made Draco's fight with the Slytherins more intense, and let Nott be more Slytherin with his manipulation of Warrington. It's really important when you have powerful main characters to make the antagonists powerful as well, just to keep the tension up. That being said, Nott did still fall for the classic blunder called 'gloating'.
It felt right to have Draco go a little bit darker in this chapter. He's completely fine with punishing people who threaten him, and even okay with using the Cruciatus. This was a good time to highlight that he's not a 'good' person. But then he scared himself with his violence, which seems right for his age. As much as he is theoretically okay with hurting people, he really hasn't tortured people before, so he got a taste of what that was like. He's not sure if he likes it. And I really liked using Nott's begging and apology as way to show what he feels about Bill, which is basically 'Sorry isn't enough. You hurt me, and now I want you to hurt'.
A lot of Bill's chapter stayed the same. I didn't really add in any scenes, but I did add in more character development moments, particularly about Bill's plans to leave the spy game. It's not that he couldn't do it, it just wasn't a good fit for him. And him arguing with still-asleep Draco shows how well he knows Draco, despite him recognizing that Draco still has undisclosed secrets.
Anyways, hope you like it. Please leave a review on your way out!
