Chapter Nineteen: Dealing with the Devil
The warm feeling from his Defense Against the Dark Arts class stayed with Harry the rest of the day. In fact, he was so cheery at lunch without being able to explain why that Ginny was suspicious. She looked away from Harry and sipped her pumpkin juice.
"Maybe you fancy Professor Haverlime," she said airily.
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. "Did you have to make me imagine that?"
"Stranger things have been known to happen," she continued, sliding her gaze over to Harry.
"Of course I don't fancy her," Harry protested lightly, still smiling.
"She just might fancy him, though," Parvati giggled from down the table as she smeared marmalade on a roll. "You should have seen her face when he dodged that curse she threw at him."
Ron was horrified. "But she's—she's old!"
"Some old ladies like 'em young," Seamus spoke up. "My Aunt Bonnie's living-in with a lad whose only eighteen—and she's near forty."
Ron made an awful face. "That's disgusting!"
Ginny's looked appraisingly at Harry. "So Haverlime's in love with the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"It's not like that," Harry muttered, beginning to feel pink in the cheeks. "She was just very . . ."
"Worshipful," Hermione supplied, then frowned when half the table laughed. "And I'm not sure it's so very funny." She turned to Harry. "How is she going to teach you what you need to know if she's too busy melting into a puddle of goo every time you deflect a curse?"
"Teach him?" Ron protested. "What's she supposed to teach him about fighting the Dark Arts that he doesn't already know?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't know everything, Ron."
"Of course you don't," Hermione snapped. "Ron, that's just the sort of attitude he doesn't need to have. If there's anything that might put him in danger, it's thinking that he's already ready."
"I'm not ready. I know that," Harry insisted.
"Hmmph," Ron grumbled. "I'd like to see old Haverlime infiltrate one of Volde—Volde—Vol-de-mort's hideouts and rescue a captured Order member."
Hermione stared at Ron, entranced. "You said it. You said his name."
Harry and Ginny exchanged smiles.
"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Ron grinned. Hermione patted him on the arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"So, what exactly did happen in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class?" Ginny prodded. Harry tried to mumble something general and get out of it, but she pressed him. When he finally did start explaining, Hermione jumped in because he "wasn't telling it right." To Harry's complete embarrassment, she gave a full recitation of the events, even though almost everyone at their table had been there.
"That's it. I'm setting Hannah up with George," Ginny said, wiping her eyes after Hermione finished. Harry exchanged a questioning look with Ron.
"And why would you do that?" he asked tentatively, fully expecting the loud sigh and glare he got from Hermione. Ginny, however, just gave him a quick grin.
"Oh, never you mind, Harry Potter," she said with a glint in her eyes. "That's girl business."
Harry raised his hands and shrugged to show that he wasn't going to touch that topic with a five-foot wand. He loaded his plate up with his favorites, and in-between bites, asked for a rundown of the Quidditch situation. The answers were discouraging. With three new players and one player moved to a new position, the team was far from ready for the season. Part of the problem was that they had yet to practice with their Seeker though they'd been meeting on and off for two weeks. Ron said Katie was satisfied with the progress of the Chasers thus far, but the Beaters needed a lot of work.
The hardest part to hear was the figures and facts Ron had amassed about the other house Quidditch teams. Between Slytherin's unbeatable Beaters—Reynold Bartolemew and Hector Gravesly— and Hufflepuff's "Terrific Triad" of Chasers from the previous year, their season looked tougher than it had in many years. They only had just over a month to get the entire team into shape. The first match of the season was Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor, and Katie (as well as Ron) wanted them to be ready. Harry was surprised to realize that Katie hadn't been on his back about practice. When he mentioned it, Ron snorted.
"That's because she's afraid to mention it to you," he said, exasperated. "Says it's not as important as the other stuff you're dealing with!"
"Well, of course it isn't, Ron," Hermione said firmly, who was no longer nuzzling his side now that he was talking sports. "Quidditch isn't everything. There's a whole world of Wizards out there that don't know or care anything about Quidditch and they lead successful, normal, happy lives."
Ron stared at her. "Not by my book, they don't." He shook his head and picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice. "It's comments like that that make me wonder about your sanity." He took a swig while Ginny giggled.
"Hermione, you've really got to pick your battles better."
Harry's afternoon class was Care of Magical Creatures, which included a stirring and quite frightening lecture on Quintapeds. Given the note of affection and admiration in Hagrid's voice, Harry was unsurprised to hear from Hermione that Quintapeds were classified with four Xes by the Ministry of Magic. According to Hagrid, Quintapeds were dangerous carnivores with five clubfooted legs and low-slung bodies that particularly enjoyed the taste of humans—not that he blamed them, poor, dumb beasts. They had been that way since they had been Transfigured into that form by a rival family on their Scottish Isle. Hagrid actually wiped a tear away as he opined that having once been human, they surely must be the most misunderstood of beasts.
"Well, he can talk all he wants to," Ron muttered, "as long as he doesn't start bringing Quintapeds in for us to feed. They'd likely be very unhappy and go for the hand holding the food instead."
"He wouldn't do that," Hermione said firmly, looking pale.
"You never know with Hagrid," Ron said seriously. "I think I heard something rustling back behind the shack." Hermione edged closer to him and Ron gave Harry a covert grin.
Ron was right. The rustling turned out to be a giant, golden ox that Hagrid led out with a proud look while the students retreated to a safer distance away. He very loudly called it a Re'em and said it was the only one of its kind in the British Isles. "A Re'em can give grea' strength to 'hoever drinks its blood, which o'course makes 'em a very desirable animal fer a Dark Wizard ter have 'round," Hagrid said to the students in a conspiratorial voice as he reached up to pat its golden fur lightly. From the slight gasp Hermione gave, Harry knew she was as concerned as he was.
The Slytherins were sitting in a pack as usual, and Harry could see Blaise and Theodore Nott exchanging pointed glances. Great. "Just what they needed," Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione agreed.
The Re'em seemed placid enough, eating grass in extremely large mouthfuls as Hagrid talked. It was hard to believe that anyone would want to drink its blood, but then, Harry had caught someone doing that before, many years ago. Dark wizards wouldn't shrink from causing an animal pain—they might even like doing it.
Each of the students had to give the Re'em a handful of oats before heading back to the castle, so Hermione and Ron made sure they were near the end.
"Not because I'm scared, Harry, but so we can talk to Hagrid," Hermione insisted.
"Right. Me, too," Ron agreed.
Harry smiled.
The Re'em was scarily large and more than one student had to be coerced near to it. Harry liked the touch of the soft, horse-like muzzle against his hand and found himself glancing up into soft, brown eyes. "I hope you stay safe," he whispered to it.
Ron looked frozen until his turn feeding it was over. Hermione hung back nervously, but she managed to get near enough for the Re'em to reach her hand with its tongue. After the last students were done, Hermione led Harry and Ron over to the hut. Hagrid was there, scooping large, steaming piles of dung into a large sack as the Re'em stood tethered close by, munching contentedly on more grain.
"Didn' she do grea'?" Hagrid grinned at them, apparently not noticing that they were standing as far back from the dung as possible. "Never woulda' imagined it—a Re'em, here on school grounds."
"Er, Hagrid . . . does anyone else know that you have that Re'em—I mean, anyone not at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked in a timid voice.
"Oh, no," Hagrid said as he straightened up and pushed at his lower back with one hand. "Found out she'd been captured and used fer blood harvestin', the poor thing, and I 'ad ter get 'er some place safe."
The trio exchanged looks, but said nothing more about the animal.
"Good lesson, Hagrid," Harry said as they shoved off. Hagrid gave them a cheery wave and he went back to shoveling dung.
"You know, I think I actually liked that one," Ron admitted on their way back to the castle.
"Hagrid needs to be more careful," Hermione put in obstinately. "There's a reason Re'ems have a four-X danger classification."
"The only real danger is that they might step on you," Ron said simply. "Pretty easy to avoid, really."
"Yes, but, having an animal here that attracts Dark Wizards? He's just lucky the Aurors didn't catch him with it," she said in a worried voice. "They were just here yesterday, you know."
Harry frowned. "It's not an illegal animal, is it?"
"No, but I'm pretty sure that he did something illegal to get it, and you know the Aurors would ask all sorts of questions if they saw it."
Harry knew she was right, but didn't think Hagrid was in any real danger. The Re'em? Maybe. There were a lot of Slytherins who would like to get their hands on that blood. From that, his mind skittered quickly to the meeting with Draco (who had been glaringly absent from Care of Magical Creatures) and the professors at six. Harry had a lot of homework to do, and on a sunny day like today, seeing the Quidditch Pitch in the distance was pure agony. His missed two weeks of classes was going to be painful to catch up on.
Harry forced himself to sit at the Common Room study table and focus on one subject after the other until it was time to stop for an early dinner. Then, with a groan, Harry laid his head on the table, as unhappy with Hermione's vocal approval of his diligent studies as he was with Ron's diatribe for studying too much.
Harry ate dinner quietly, his mind straying to the meeting. He had no idea what they expected him to do at the hearing but just show up to be evidence that Malfoy—Draco—had indeed hexed him in the Great Hall. He'd get a slap on the wrist for retaliating, but the main attention was to be on Draco's punishment. Harry smiled just to think of Draco without his wand all day long. That must have been why he missed class. Whenever Harry had seen him, the prat had been slinking around—his eyes downcast, Crabbe loyally by his side. Without even the basic defense of his wand, Draco had probably been afraid to anger another student.
The thought of that made Harry smile even bigger.
And then he saw Cho headed his way.
Harry muttered a curse and ducked his head. Ginny looked over and cursed as well. Harry stared at her.
"There's got to be a way out of this," she said as if reading his mind.
"But I already promised," Harry muttered.
"Out of what?" Hermione asked as she and Ron quit their quiet conversation to listen.
Ginny filled them in, making Harry sound like a child waylaid on his way home from his grandmother's. "She knew he was injured and on painkillers, and she asked him anyway!"
"That is rather shady of her," Hermione agreed.
"So you don't want to make the speech, Harry?" Dean asked casually, sounding somehow surprised.
They all turned to stare at him.
"You great git," Ginny said in a stunned voice, "you know Harry hates speaking in public."
"Well, yeah, 'course I do," Dean's expression darkened, "it's basic Potter Knowledge, but I thought that—I mean, there was that speech he did at the beginning of the year—"
"Forced into it," Harry summed up grimly.
"Oh, right." Dean blinked. "But then, all the—all the girls. Remember the girls afterwards?"
"Hated it," Harry ground out between clenched teeth.
"Really?" Dean sounded skeptical.
"Yes!" Harry practically shouted.
Seamus punched Dean in the arm, hard. "Will you just shut it, mate? You sound like an utter windae-licker."
"Sorry to interrupt. Harry?" Harry turned around to see Cho looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it absolutely necessary. You saw the reaction this morning to Draco's attack. The students are so nervous and they need to know that they can stand down, that you're okay and that Ginny wasn't to blame for the Love Potion fiasco."
Harry buried his head in his hands. He'd forgotten that people had blamed Ginny for that. Ginny put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed rather hard, standing as she did so.
"He doesn't have to make a speech just to get people off my back," she said with venom, "and thanks so much for making him feel that way."
"I didn't make—"
"I can take care of myself," Ginny went on. "I don't need him or anyone else fighting my battles for me. Don't guilt him into this."
Harry popped up out of his chair, placing himself in the frigid air between Cho and Ginny. He raised one hand to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.
"I've got it! I know what you can do."
Everyone froze and turned to her. Hermione smiled. "What if we have you do another interview?"
"Interview?" Cho, Harry and Ginny asked at the same time.
"Yes," Hermione continued, "like we did for The Quibbler. We can print the whole story of what happened with Pansy—or well, at least as much as you need to tell for people to understand—" she inserted that as Harry's face turned pale, "it doesn't have to be everything, of course. We can even have a Q and A session at the bottom to make sure that everything gets covered. What do you think?"
Harry paused.
"It's a good idea, Harry," Cho said, " not just to make it easier on you, but to give something to the kids that they can hold and read at again and again. The houses need to be united, and understanding what you're up against really may help them get on your side. That's as close to united as we're going to get, I'm afraid."
Ginny took his hand, her face hard. "You still don't have to do this. Not for me. Do it if you want to help everyone else understand, that's all."
Harry scanned the room, his gaze resting on each of the other three houses for a time. The students were eating dinner, but a fair number of them were looking back at him, wanting as always to know what he was doing and who he was talking to. He would never understand that. There was no doubt that hearing exactly what had happened with Pansy would exonerate Ginny in their eyes. But he also had a faint hope—one that he felt growing as he looked over the Slytherin table full of familiar faces—that maybe hearing the whole story would discourage the them from carrying out their plans, for whatever reason. Of course, it might be too late. Zimmy Twitchties's message about Goyle's probable death made it seem like the Seven Deadly Slytherins were stuck in a kill or be killed pact. Maybe there was no way out for them, but he had to at least try.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it," Harry agreed. Cho shook his hand and thanked Hermione. They made quick plans for a meeting tomorrow night to get the interview, seeming sure that Luna would be able to work out an in-school edition of the Quibbler if she had help from the Weasleys and Hermione.
Harry smiled at Cho before she walked away. It did seem like she was concerned for the school instead of trying to make his life more difficult. But that melancholy tone she'd adopted since last year was still there under the surface.
Maybe she still thought about Cedric.
Maybe she thought that Harry didn't.
He did. He remembered everyone who had died as Voldemort gained power. Those memories were air and bread and water to him still. And when he needed it, they were fuel and fire.
Harry and Ron had left themselves just enough time to make it to the meeting. They talked Quidditch all the way there, the conversation serving to make Harry so anxious to get out to the Pitch that he could hardly stand to go to Dumbledore's office instead of heading outside. But he forced the feeling aside and stood before the gargoyle, prepared to give the appropriate password.
The gargoyle stepped smartly aside, leaving Harry with his mouth hanging open.
"Now, that's what I call service," Ron said, standing straight from where he had been leaning against the wall. "They got that programmed to your magical signature or something?"
An oily laugh from inside answered them. "Of course, Weasley," Severus Snape's sneering faced appeared from within. "After all, the Boy-Who-Lived must have twenty-four hour access to the Headmaster, now mustn't he?" Snape stopped to peer down at Harry with his black, beady eyes, sallow skin paler than normal.
Harry ground his teeth before answering. "We were asked to come here—"
"Oh, I beg to differ," Snape interrupted. "You were asked to come, and an extraneous Weasley barged in with some romantic idea of protecting you from all the Dark Wizards in your path."
"Not all of them," Harry said quietly.
Snape raised one eyebrow before stepping aside, making way for another pale figure—Draco. The tall boy looked somewhat discomfited, his gaze flitting around the hallway nervously before settling on Harry.
"I need to talk to you, Potter," his eyes were unusually direct and emotionless.
"Got your wand back, Draco?" Ron grinned at him, fingering his own wand in front of him. It wasn't pointed at the Slytherin—yet.
"Yes," Draco snapped, pulling his long wand out as proof, but keeping it in a neutral position.
"Did we miss the hearing?" Harry asked confusedly, looking from one to the other and arching his right wrist in case Snape made a move for his wand. His left arm was still in the damn sling, but that would make them think he was easy prey . . .
"Professor Dumbledore was called away," Snape sniped out, "by the Wizengamot. It appears there is some question of how to handle Gregory Goyle's actions."
"I'll bet," Ron muttered, watching Draco suspiciously.
Snape scowled at him. "That, Mr. Weasley, is none of you affair. Professor Dumbledore handed down a quick decision in Draco's behalf, setting him a month of detention with Minerva and myself, the schedule of which we will work out. You," and here he smiled malevolently at Harry, "are to serve the first week with Draco in my classroom. If you would care to walk this way."
Harry stood his ground. "I think I'll wait until Professor McGonagall gives me that information."
"As you wish," Snape retorted. "Draco, come."
Draco turned his head to look at Snape and something passed between them, though Harry couldn't see any sign of it on Draco's face.
"Very well. Perhaps we'll begin the detention tomorrow evening," Snape said in a silky voice, his gaze lingering on Harry. "After you've spoken with Minerva." Then he whipped about and stalked away into the shadows lining the hallway.
Ron was standing with his mouth wide open. "Did he just—did he just change his detention schedule for you, Harry?"
Draco huffed out a loud breath. "No, you fool, of course not. Professor Snape changed it so that I could talk with Potter tonight."
Ron blinked, then stared at Harry. "That doesn't make any sense, either. Does it, Harry?"
Harry agreed, turning back to Draco. "What's going on between the two of you? Why was he willing to cover you arse this morning when you attacked me? Have you got something over him? Blackmail—is that it?"
Draco stood there a moment, smirking. Then the smirk disappeared behind a smile and—he laughed.
Ron fell back a step, mouth agape. He jerked his wand up in front of him. "Who are you? Come on—come on, we know you're not Draco. Harry, move out of the way!"
"There's no need," Harry shot back. "Draco may have lost his mind, but it's really him."
"Yeah? Well, forgive me if I don't trust your instincts on this one," Ron groused, edging up beside Harry. "You haven't got the best track record for knowing a Polyjuiced person when you see one."
"It's him, Ron, and you're only amusing him." Indeed, Draco's smile had grown bigger, but it faded as Harry spoke to him. "You wanted to talk?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. It's more of a 'need' than a 'want.'"
"Fine. Room of Requirement? I believe you know where that is." Harry led the way and Draco and Ron fell in beside him, Ron's wand trained on Draco every second. Draco ignored him.
"You're not still holding a grudge about that, Potter? About Umbridge? You know I had to report you," he said calmly. "Couldn't let you get away with everything."
"Oh, stop trying to justify yourself, ferret," Ron snapped.
"I was not talking to you, Weasel. Why don't you go back and get one of your surely more competent brothers to babysit the Boy-Who-Lived? You wouldn't want it to get back to them that you let Potter have a secret meeting with me, would you?"
Ron turned white beneath his freckles and Harry jumped to hold him back. "Brilliant, Draco! If you want to talk to me, stop antagonizing my friends" he huffed while straining against Ron. "Otherwise, I'm going back to the Common Room."
"Fine," Draco spat out, "I'll leave you to control your pet."
Ron roared something intelligible and Harry had all he could to stop him from going after Draco and pounding him into the stone floor. Draco, however, had wandered off down the hallway, unconcerned. "You know where I'll be."
"Ron, get hold of yourself!" Harry grunted as Ron shoved him back several steps, his body as rigid and tough as seasoned steel. "This isn't helping!"
Just as Harry was about to give up, Ron suddenly wilted, looking confused. "Wait—where did he go?"
"Room of Requirement," Harry panted, glad to catch his breath.
"He can't go there," Ron stared down at Harry. "That's where Grawp is."
"Grawp?" Harry said bewilderedly. He vaguely remembered something about Hagrid wanting them to help hide Grawp, but he'd forgotten about it entirely.
A slow grin spread over Ron's face. "Yeah. Hermione Transfigured him into a teapot and we moved it in there before Transfiguring him back."
"A teapot?"
"Well, it was a big teapot. Took me and Bill ages to get it up there, hiding whenever someone came near. The Marauder's Map is dead useful some times, you know?"
"Yeah. So, then, Draco won't be able to get in, right?"
"We locked it up tight. No problem."
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" A shrill scream from up ahead shattered the calm.
Harry and Ron exchanged a quick look, and then they were off, Ron grinning the whole way.
"This is the stupidest idea you've ever had, Potter," Draco said as he closed the Prefects' bathroom door behind him ten minutes later, "and that's really saying something." His hair was still slightly mussed from his narrow escape from Grawp. "But at least no one saw us. Who knows what they would have thought?"
Ron barked out a laugh. "That's your look-out, ferret-boy," Ron said with a wicked grin. "I'm a Weasley and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. We're not the ones they'll wonder about."
Draco glared. "Then let's do this quickly. Weasley—go away."
Ron began to protest hotly, but Harry stopped him. "Just go over there by the bath. You can watch us, but you don't have to listen."
"What if I need to listen?"
"You don't."
Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Draco, shaking his head. Then he focused one last dead-earnest glare at Draco. "I'll have my wand on you the whole time."
"Fabulous. Now, leave," Draco said without expression.
Ron gave Harry a last questioning look. When he nodded, Ron backed away, keeping Draco in his sights. He settled over at the far end of the pool-sized bath.
"Turn them on," Draco ordered him. Ron hesitated. "Turn them ON!" Draco shouted, face flushed in anger. Ron grimly reached down to turn on a few faucets. As the different colored foams poured into the bath, Harry turned back to Draco, wand out.
Draco froze. "Why do you have your wand trained on me?"
Harry leveled his gaze at him. "I don't trust you, either. Toss your wand over there by the towels, where we can all see it," Harry indicated where with a point of his wand.
Draco huffed out a breath, stalked over to the towels and threw his wand down with a clatter. "There? Satisfied?"
Harry smiled, completely comfortable with a temper-tantrum-throwing Draco. "Of course."
"Now you," Draco indicated Harry's wand with a look. Harry slipped his wand back into the holster and his right arm out of the sling. He needed to be ready, no matter what. There was a short silence while Harry used his Sensing skills to reach out around him, probing the air for any magical signatures. As far as he could tell, there were no magical objects around except Draco's wand and the mermaid portrait on the wall. It seemed safe enough to talk. When Harry tuned back in, Draco was looking away, his countenance dark. His face was tense, as if his thoughts were sharp and painful. Eventually, he spoke, "Things are not going well."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You mean, you've noticed that, too?" Draco simply nodded, ignoring Harry's sarcasm. Harry decided to try again. "Things looked like they were going pretty well for you, at least until you decided to hex me in front of the entire school."
"Necessary, I assure you. And yes, things are better with the Slytherins, but it took me far longer than I expected, thanks to Daddy dearest," Draco said with a bitter smile. "The stakes have been raised substantially. I only hope it's not too late for you."
Harry shook his head. "Would you stop being so melodramatic and explain what in the bloody hell you're talking about?"
Draco paused, tilting his head to the side. "You think I'm melodramatic?"
"Yes. Excessively."
Draco's nostrils flared. "I assure you, my life is cause enough for pain and bitterness. You have seen only a fraction of the whole story."
"Oh, yes," Harry said in a stilted voice, 'I can see now that you are not melodramatic, Draco. Thank you for pointing that out to—"
And then there was a split-second when Harry knew Draco's fist was coming towards his face. He paused, decided not to draw his wand, and jerked to the side. Draco's swing missed and he ended up on the floor in a tangle of knees and elbows, hissing in pain as he impacted on the marble floor.
Harry looked over to see Ron, standing with his wand raised. "I'm fine." He waved Ron away. Ron scowled.
Draco cursed, then looked up in surprise when Harry offered his hand. He didn't take it. "You know what my father's capable of. You've been there." Harry stopped breathing, his chest suddenly too tight to get air in. "You think life with him was all fun and games? You think that cane of his is just decorative?" Harry turned away, forcing air in his lungs. He shouldn't let Draco get to him. He had to be stronger than this.
"So you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that was this little meeting is all about?" Harry turned back, watching Draco stand painfully to his feet. "Well, good news: I've always felt sorry for you."
Draco stood straight, his face as pale as Harry had ever seen it. A sneer slowly transformed his features. When he spoke, it was in a strangled voice. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And then maybe, if I speak slowly and in small words, you'll understand why you need my help."
Help? Harry shook his head, disgusted. "I don't need your—"
Draco broke in, ignoring him, "Well, this summer was an eventful one in Hell Manor. While my father was out proving himself to be the greatest wanker of all-time—cutting me off without a trace, poisoning my contacts, turning Mum against me—the other Death Eater mums and dads were coordinating a plan—a big plan: seven attempts to kill the Boy-Who-Lived during the school year, using their own flesh and blood as the assassins." Draco was pacing now, gesturing elegantly, his voice a bitter mix of sarcasm and venom. Although this wasn't completely new information to Harry, still his blood was chilled. "They were dedicated in a barbaric ceremony of which I will spare you the details, and returned to Hogwarts with the sheen of evil glittering on them. And, of course, Daddy's warnings echoing in their ears not to trust me. They believed him."
Harry took a deep breath, trying to loosen his constricted chest. "So you're saying you hexed me today in order to persuade them—"
"That I'm no fanboy of yours, yes. And it appears to be working."
"I was convinced."
Draco smirked. "Of course."
"I'm still convinced."
"Well, perhaps I didn't have to pretend so very much," Draco admitted.
Harry nodded, his mind ticking through the information at high speed. "But this plan—Tom can't seriously have thought Sixth Years would succeed, not here at Hogwarts."
Draco crossed his arms. "Why is it you bristle so much when Severus calls you arrogant? The most powerful evil warlock in hundreds of years wants you dead and you're talking about his schemes as if they were a fantasy. I assure you, nothing carries more weight in Slytherin than currying the Dark Lord's favor," he said with bright eyes, "and nothing guarantees that favor more quickly that contributing to your pain, distress or death. You must take this more seriously."
Harry clenched his hands and felt the tight band of his universal antidote against his left bicep. "Well, forgive me if I don't quiver with fear every time Tom's name is mentioned," Harry spat. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to live my life in between death attempts. It's not easy, but it's better than curling up in a corner somewhere." Harry had had enough. "Is this all you have to say? 'I've got it rough; feel sorry for me; watch your own arse'? I have better things to do, you know." Harry was already moving toward the door when Draco's next words arrested him.
"Goyle is dead, you know," Draco said conversationally. "His parents are trying to cover it up. Someone will probably Polyjuice him at the Wizengamot trial—whatever it takes to keep the school from finding out. But the rest of the Seven Deadly Slytherins know already. They wanted you dead before; now they need you dead or they will die." Harry's face screwed up in something like pain; he hated the position those kids were in—but he hated them, too—for dealing with Tom, and for so casually committing to kill him. Draco paused a moment, as if he was waiting for Harry to speak, then went on.
"I don't know that The Dark Lord really intend them to succeed. He might only have wished to make your year here as difficult as possible, and to make an example out of those students who failed, or maybe to punish their parents for some wrong they've committed against him." Draco said all of this casually, walking over to the stone wall and running a finger over the carved scrollwork. "I'm not certain which it is. But now that two of them have been . . . punished for their failure, the rest are far more motivated to succeed." Draco turned back around, locking eyes with Harry. "They will be coming at you with everything they have now, for survival if nothing else."
Harry swallowed. "Five more, then?"
"Yes."
"Crabbe?"
"Yes."
"Zabini?"
"Yes—and Bulstrode, Nott and Hughes." Draco reeled them off like a Quidditch team line-up. Crabbe was not a surprise to Harry at all, nor Nott, really. But Milicent? And that fifth year—Rawley Hughes? He barely even knew the boy.
"That's why I'm here," Draco said softly, staring out at the pool now. "You'll never make it without my help."
Harry took a deep breath. "I've made it this far."
"Yes, and if the Prophecy is right—" Harry jerked his head over to stare at Draco "—then they won't succeed. However, you don't really want to find out how much pain you can endure without dying, do you? And the Prophecy says nothing about someone else dying in your place—a bodyguard, or a friend who jumps in the way at the wrong time." A chill ran down Harry's spine. "You need to know as much as you can about what they're planning, and I'm the only one close enough on the inside to get the information to you."
Harry frowned, tossing out the idea of Zimmy Twitchtie's offer to spy as soon as it came to mind. There weren't any other options left. And no matter what Harry pretended, the episodes with Pansy and Goyle had been horrifying enough in and of themselves. He had no desire to repeat them or any part of them, especially since he might be risking his friends as well as himself. But could he trust Draco not to be setting him up? He couldn't—there was too much on the line.
Harry jerked his wrist, wand in hand. As he raised it, Draco's eyes widened.
"What are you—"
"Legilimens!"
Sobbing girls were running to Draco as he walked in the Slytherin Common Room. "He's dead, Draco! Dead!" Crabbe was in a heap in front of the fireplace, motionless, tears rolling down his face. "They killed Gregory! What are we going to do?" Draco stood frozen, a girl pressed against his chest on either side, stunned.
"Crucio!" The memory of Lucius, wand out, pain spiraling through Draco's senses made Harry nauseous. "No son of mine is a traitor!" Dark shapes crowded closer, hands reached out and grabbed him, punching, kicking all around. This scene was so familiar that it could have been Harry's own memory—the pain, the torture.
"Mum?" Now Harry was seeing the opulent interior of Malfoy Manor, the dark, oak-lined dining room. Narcissa was sitting at the table, pale as a ghost, a broken teacup on the table in front of her. "What is it?" Draco looked young and scared. "Where is father?"
Narcissa answered faintly, "He's been Summoned. Again."
Draco was trying valiantly not to cry, a desperate smile sprang up on his face. "That's good, right?"
"Of course, Draco," his mother said tonelessly. "Run along and play now."
Draco turned away, misery and fear etched on his face.
Then Harry was seeing a younger Draco, skinny and awkward, sobbing, falling on his knees in front of his father. His bare back was bloodied with sharp, thin cuts. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Muggles are horrible, Daddy!" His voice went high and thin with hysteria. "I know they are! I won't speak to them again, Daddy! I swear it!" Lucius' face was impassive and calm. A bloodied riding crop was in his hand.
Harry jerked his wand down, ending the spell before he could see anything else. The white marble of the Prefects' bathroom came into focus around him slowly. He sought out Draco and found him looking as shaken and horrified as Harry felt. But there was also a grim resolve about it, as if it was exactly what he'd expected Harry to do. Harry wanted to apologize, to explain that he had wanted to see proof that Draco was trustworthy, not invade his most humiliating memories, but his mouth was dry as dust. No words would come out.
Draco took a few deep breaths and walked shakily over to his wand, tucking it away in his robes. Then he turned to Harry. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now, Prophecy or no. But I'm on your side and I am putting my life at risk to help you. I have no life left if the Dark Lord wins." He took a deep breath. "I believe Crabbe will be next. I'll let you know as much as I can, as soon as he confides in me."
"What do I do 'til then?" Harry said quietly as Draco headed toward the door.
"Be a saint," he called back over his shoulder. "They've each chosen to align themselves with a deadly sin: lust, anger, greed, envy, pride, etc." He turned back to Harry. "Shouldn't be too hard for you to avoid, Saint Potter." He smirked, then walked out, slamming the door behind him.
"Bloody hell, what did you see, Harry?" Ron asked, walking over slowly.
"I guess you heard the whole thing?"
"Yeah," Ron said sheepishly. "I had the Extendable Ears 'cause I thought they'd come in handy during that meeting, with you inside and me jonesing out in the corridor. You don't . . . you don't trust him, do you?"
Harry sighed. "The problem is . . . I do. And I don't think I have a choice, anyway."
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
Author's note:
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all! Thanks so much for sticking with this story and for giving me time. You are who I'm writing for! And so much thanks to Melindaleo and Musings for all their help! You guys always give me time.
Love, love, hugs, hugs.