The following afternoon found Hermione, Harry, and Draco perched at one of the far tables in the library. Classes had ended for the day, and Draco was more than excited to be done staring at chalkboards and parchment. With anticipation at its highest, an anxiousness had settled upon Draco in everything that he did. Yes, they'd been preparing to fight. Yes, Dumbledore seemed to be ready in his own omniscience. But Draco couldn't help but notice a tugging in his lower gut that was a constant reminder of something dark approaching. It was a consistent panging, dripping like a leaky faucet in the back of his mind that wouldn't fix. He tried to ignore the inevitable, but any moment of silence allowed his intuition to creep sluggishly to the forefront of his mind.
His shook his head, trying to dissipate the dark cloud hovering over his thoughts, threatening to erupt into a downpour. Luckily, his mental synapse was interrupted suddenly by Hermione slamming a rather large book down on the table. She hurriedly flipped through the pages, thumbing along the index and turning to her section of interest.
Her eyes scanned the page, finger tracing gently along the yellowed parchment. Draco's breath caught as he could tell that Hermione was onto something. Her eyes widened, gears turning and pieces clicking into place. She cocked her head intuitively, wrapping her thoughts about her newest revelation.
"What is it, Hermione?" Harry leaned forward earnestly, following Draco's curiosity.
"I've been doing some research on this stone that Dumbledore has given you both." She whispered although they were alone in an attempt to shield from any listening ears. "You told me that Dumbledore said that the stone was no longer a part of what keeps Voldemort alive." They nodded, allowing Hermione to lead them to the answers they'd so eagerly sought.
"Well, I don't quite know what exactly the stone is or what it does. But according to this text, there's a bit of black magic that might explain the 'part of something that keeps Voldemort alive.' It's dark, though. Very dark." She glanced between the two of them, then returned to reading.
"A horcrux allows one to achieve a sort of immortality. The witch or wizard can tie a piece of their soul to an object, although there is a heavy price to pay." She paused, gulping before she continued down the paragraph.
"In order to split the soul, a death is required by murder. After committing such a crime, Black Magic of the most forbidden kind can be used to tear the soul and tie it to the purposed object."
She glanced up at a confused Harry and contemplative Draco.
"Hermione," Draco was the first to break the silence. "Where on earth did you find that book?"
"A favor, actually. It was intended to be in the restricted section, but Madam Pince found it to be too unsettling. Professor McGonnagal allowed me to borrow it from her personal library."
Harry's mouth dropped into a resounding "o" shape, and Draco's brow narrowed in interest.
"I've seen it before," he told her, "In the Manor library. My father kept it hidden in the wall behind the shelves. It does contain some extremely dark magic."
"So you think that the stone was part of a...horcrux?" Harry gazed at his best friend, who always had the answers one way or another.
"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? It explains Dumbledore's riddle. But if we're correct, then that means Voldemort's soul is tied to one, or perhaps many, objects." She laced her fingers, going into lecture mode. "And if the stone USED to be part of a horcrux, then Dumbledore must have found a way to destroy it. The question is... how many more have to be destroyed before Voldemort becomes mortal? And what could this stone do that is safer for you both not to know anything about?"
No one said anything for a brief instant before Draco leaned forward, placing his chin heavily upon his right palm. "I think he knows more about this than he's letting on. If he's destroyed one horcrux, maybe he's destroyed others. Maybe he's planning on destroying them all."
"You're right, Draco." Hermione nodded curtly in his direction. "We can assume as much."
"Well, until we can ask him ourselves, I suppose we should try to find out as much on these horcruxes as we can. Maybe that will lead us to the purpose of the stone we've been told to protect." Harry fingered his pocket, where the ruby rock lay motionless.
"Yes, but I do recommend that we be... careful." Hermione eyed them worriedly. "Dumbledore was clear on his instructions for you not to find out its use. We're dealing with very dark magic here. For all we know... that stone could be cursed or something."
Draco nodded. Hermione, in all of her brightness, had a valid point.
"Well, whatever it is," Harry responded confidently, "I trust that Dumbledore wouldn't have given it to us without good reason. Everything seems to be methodical with him. And I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt us."
The door to the library creaked opened, and Hermione hurriedly put away the book when we saw a mop of red hair crossing the room. "I'll do some more research, and I'll let you know what I find." She whispered hastily. Ron approached the table.
"There you are, 'Mione! I figured you'd be camping out in here. How's the studying?"
Hermione flushed slightly, and Draco immediately sensed her apprehension. It seemed that he was only one with an uncanny ability to lie at the table.
"When has the studying ever been less than scholarly for Granger? For Merlin's sake, she hasn't said a word this whole time." Ron peered at Draco skeptically, astounded at his nonchalance.
"Well, you're right I suppose, Ferret. Don't even think about cheating off of her."
At this, Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up. "Honestly, Ronald, not everyone tries to cheat off of me. That's mostly just you and Harry!"
Ron flushed a bright pink, freckles blending into a sunset rose. Draco smirked, unable to help himself. Harry laughed at the remark, unashamed, and waved goodbye to the couple as they exited the room. He shook his head heartily, chuckling lightly at his best friends. "They're something else," he declared, and Draco shrugged.
"I'm sure you're right, but I can agree with you on one thing." Harry turned toward Draco, listening intently.
"They're most definitely, without a doubt, in love with each other."
Dumbledore's Army met again that evening, distracting Draco from the pent up angst edging at the corner of his mind. For some reason (probably his own sense of impending doom, he concluded) he was awfully quick to set off. The most minute things were angering him, driving him mental for no known reason. Cho peered at Harry with those puppy dog eyes, and God, he wanted to strangle both her and her lack of self worth. The rage was a monster, eating away at any preserve of happiness that Draco had been rationing.
"You're being too easy on them," he told Harry privately after he returned from tutoring Hannah on her wand motion. Harry's brow furrowed confusedly, taking Draco's opinion into consideration.
"You think so?" He tilted his head to the side, and Draco's fury couldn't help but notice how much he resembled a rather daft loon when he was puzzled.
"You think one of Voldemort's men is going to wait for them to position their wand correctly?" He spat, the rage within blooming excitedly as it found liberation in the target before him. "Do you think my father will give them a chance to adjust their pronunciation before he kills them?" Draco's hands were balled into fists, and he wasn't even sure why. All he knew was that whatever emotions he had held previously were now coated by a red ire, seeping and stealing all thought and reason.
"Draco, I'm sorry, I- I didn't think-" Harry stumbled on his words, trying to push them out but halting bemusedly at the oddity of Draco's reaction. Harry had known him to be haughty, even cold and uncaring in the past, but never angry. Something was definitely wrong... but what? Voldemort was upon them, but he'd been so for days now. What had changed?
Harry wasn't quick enough. Draco's fuse burned rapid with flame.
"You know what? I- I can't do this. I have to go." The argument was hushed and drew minimal attention from anyone around them. The only eyes upon them were Hermione's, and, less fortunately, Ron's.
"Draco, wait-" Harry protested, but the Slytherin had already pivoted on one heel toward the exit. Without a backward glance, the door to the Room creaked open and closed behind him.
Harry stood, frozen solid with wonder at what the fuck had just happened. Draco had never snapped at him this way, not even as a mortal enemy. His thoughts and actions were always planned meticulously to get just the proper rise out of you. Their conversation now had been erratic, uncontrolled and ill-tempered. This wasn't Draco at all.
Noticing brown eyes upon him, Harry shrugged at Hermione. Someone had to run the defense meeting, and if Draco couldn't at the moment, Harry would have to step in. He only hoped that the boy was okay in his defiance.
The dark wood furnished door leading to the Slytherin common room was slammed viciously as Draco made his returning appearance. Several students were lounging about, studying or engaging in games of exploding snaps or other activities that didn't particularly interest him at the moment. His plan was to head straight to the dormitory without detour, an attempt at caging the beast gone loose inside him. His hopes were dashed rather quickly, he realized disappointedly, as Pansy raised a hand to signal his wanted presence by the fire. She flicked her index finger lavishly, in that seductive, chilling way that was characteristic of a Parkinson. Draco grimaced and reluctantly joined Pansy's little group, finding that the eyes of Zabini, Nott, and Greengrass were steadily branding him, along with a few others. He'd obviously been the topic of discussion in his absence, but he had no patience for Slytherin games of dominance. Instead, he cut right to the chase:
"Yes, Parkinson? Did you call me over here to fact check your rumors for a change, or have you already been spreading them regardless?" The words were venomous, injected with a tone of malevolence that Draco rarely held specifically in her direction. For a moment, her eyes widened with an emotion that crossed between fear, pain, and resolute ire. Pansy, shrewd as she was, had always lacked a good poker face. Her expression immediately flattened and recollected into one of sly and poise, folding her arms and studying Draco like she didn't recognize him.
"What's been your deal, Malfoy? Your house mates are worried about you." She gestured to the group around her. "You spend more time with Potter and that little mudblood than we've seen you for all week."
Draco bit his cheek until a metallic ooze seeped against his taste buds. He couldn't correct her without giving away his allegiance, a very vital secret he had to keep. Instead, he became defensive.
"What is this, like an intervention?" He retorted coldly, rudely glaring at the others before him. "It's none of your business who I've been with. I have my reasons for attending such company."
"Do tell, us, Draco." Pansy's voice was rising as she stepped forward, annunciating every consonant with an anger that had been pent up for far too long. "Tell us what your reason is for involving yourself in the likes of Potter and that filthy little bitch!" Draco retracted. For a moment, he swore he saw a fire blazing in Pansy's eyes. A flame that was not regarded of him, but towards him, and he suddenly recognized the actions of jealousy.
"Is it the Dark Lord's plan for you to become a muggle-loving, traitorous prat! Or was it your plan, and only yours, this entire time!?" She stamped closer, pressing her index finger heavily into Draco's chest. "Tell us, Draco! Why are you defending..." She dug her perfectly manicured fingernail into the skin of his chest. "...a dying..." Her words were edged through gritted teeth, sinking with Draco's betrayal to an unforgivable ground. "...Breed?"
Draco froze. Mudbloods, a dying breed. Pansy was beyond saving, he quickly concluded, and he'd have to let her go. Along with the rest of them. As much as he hated what they stood for, what they'd always stood for, this moment hurt much more than he expected it to. Pansy may have loved him in a way that he could never reciprocate, or maybe she truly was just a raging hormonal wench that wanted Draco for his inheritance, but either way, she'd been loyal. Right up until this very moment.
He wasn't sure why he'd expected any less from the Slytherins. He couldn't play both sides forever; Harry's mere presence would destroy any facade he'd built. Draco wasn't a brilliant Occlumens, like Professor Snape. There was no hiding; he'd just been hoping to put off their suspicions until something more concrete had obliterated his apparent devotion to Voldemort. He drew in a breath, preparing his response. If he came clean now, he'd be hexed, perhaps even killed. He had to play, or attempt, the game for a little while longer. For one more week.
"A wise wizard once told me to keep your friends close, and your enemies-" he placed his own index finger just below the hollow space between her collar bones. "Even closer."
He stepped back, sifting through faces.
"None of you, and I mean, none... know what I'm planning." He was being honest, after all, but when had that mattered? "So I suggest you check your own loyalties... before questioning mine." His last words were barked, bitten from the monster within. Pansy stood still, arms crossed stiffly across her chest. She was unwavering, he could tell. For some reason, Pansy Parkinson no longer trusted him.
"Pansy, give the guy a break." The next voice heard was Zabini, who piped through the uncomfortable silence with an unspoken declaration of support. "Malfoy's always up to something. You've never questioned that until now. What's up your own sleeve?"
There was a succession of faces all turning skeptically toward Pansy and her pouting lips. She could make them listen but notoriously lacked the ability to make the Slytherins stay. Zabini, on the other hand, was no less than God to the other serpents.
All eyes upon her, Pansy let out a distinct huff before stalking to the girl's dormitory. Exhausted and grateful for Zabini's save, Draco shot him an appreciative glance before heading to his own dorm. Once they were both out of ear shot, Blaise turned to the group. "Now, how many of you all just want them to go ahead and shag so they can get rid of all those teenage hormones that have them all riled up?"
A series of loyal hands shot into the air.
Draco kicked his trunk vehemently, unsure of whether to feel extreme relief or unsettlement. This moment he'd narrowly escaped from meant both so much and so little. He'd grown to love Pansy in her own sickening, fraternal way, and the betrayal of her accusation was toxic. Even if it was, in fact, correct.
Draco knew down to his core that he was making the right choice. His defensive urge to protect Granger from discrimination alone proved his change of heart. His love for Harry, well, that was a whole new reason. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, taking an exasperated seat upon the bed. He hadn't even realized the tears brimming until they surfaced, streaming in pools of realization. This was it. As much as he hated his father and all of the wretched abuses and transgressions that were a part of Lucius Malfoy, a small section of his soul longed to please him still. This was an inherent desire burning from deep within that had eventually died to a few smoldering embers, ashen and molten with scars. The flames were nonetheless present, scorching him now as he realized it. Even more alarming was the revelation that his mother, who had worried about him incessantly and confessed it even in all of her weakness to his Godfather... would hate him soon. The moment she would became aware of Draco's switch in alliances... the thought pained him even more than the inevitable rejection of all of his childhood friends.
His mind flashed to mugs of hot cocoa, marshmallows sweet against the salty taste of his own mouth. Of his mother providing games for him to play with Dobby while she and Father handled important business. Of how she cared, in her own, twisted, fearful way. And that's when Draco had another epiphany: the gut-wrenching fear Narcissa must have felt her entire marriage. If he had been scarred this badly in his own 17 years... what had she survived? He balled his hands, resting his mouth on the posterior surface of clenched fingers. His eyes drifted to the floor, then to the ceiling in his own personal hell of a reverie.
It would all be over soon. His thoughts were screaming repetitively against the tables of his skull. It would all be gone. And he would have to run, because no one betrays the Dark Lord and lives. Not even Harry, who in all of his innocence had never purposely defied any one. How many times had he narrowly escaped death now?
A pang of hurt that ran deeper than any thus far seemed to carve a trench down the midline of Draco's chest. Harry. How in the midst of all the pain, those same mugs of hot cocoa could bring him warmth and joy and comfort. How they had touched foreheads, and in that one swift motion Harry had brought Draco to a place he'd never known before: home.
And it was this person whom he'd unleashed this foul beast upon. He'd snapped at him, yelled rashly, and stormed off without explanation. Harry didn't deserve to be treated like that; In fact, Draco didn't deserve Harry at all. In his brash stupidity, he'd probably lost him forever. And now, how could he feel sorry for himself? He unlaced his fingers to brush at his cheek sulkily, then used the sleeve of his robe as a makeshift tissue for his impacted sinuses.
With a sigh, he pulled out his wand and cleaned the mess. He really had outdone himself this time; sitting alone in the dormitory of the House he'd betrayed and using his clothing as a snot rag is not where he'd ever imagined himself to be. He felt caged, imprisoned. The monster was clawing at the edges of his gut, pressing the need for escape. He had to get out of this room; he had to leave. Anywhere. In the next second, he had already risen from his post and was sprinting manically away from the dungeons. Away from everyone.
His run found him outside, along the posterior border of the castle. The sun was starting to set, and he knew curfew would be soon. He contemplated flying, escaping to the meadow in which Harry has professed his love not so long ago. As he was about to Accio his broom, another thought flitted instinctively through his mind. Cautiousness had never been a strong point for Draco, but an internal voice was whispering for him to stop. He'd never visited the mountains at night, and there was no telling what kind of nocturnal creatures lurked in the dense forests of the landscape. Creatures that Voldemort himself had probably persuaded to join his cause. He gulped, settling instead by taking a seat in the grass.
This was better than nothing, he supposed, and the monster was at bay for the time being. Where had this beast come from, and how would he tame it?
With nothing and no one left to comfort him, Draco lay his head back and didn't try to hold back the tears. The sun set before him.
