"Colin? Are you okay?"
Colin blinked and focused on his brother sitting across from him. "Yeah I'm fine, why?"
"You haven't taken a single picture of your meal," Dennis said. "And you only do that when you're deep in thought."
Colin shook his head. It always amazed him how perceptive his younger brother was. "Just thinking about a friend who's going through a hard time."
Dennis nodded. "Anything I can help with?"
"No," Colin said. "But thanks for offering."
Dennis flashed him a quick smile and turned his attention back to the plate in front of him. Colin took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he automatically started to eat once more. He couldn't stop thinking about what Malfoy had told him earlier. He hadn't mentioned that he'd already suspected that Malfoy was behind Katie's attack. He'd wanted the boy to tell him on his own, but hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
Colin felt torn. Malfoy had basically admitted that he had a mission to kill someone – while he hadn't specifically said kill, that necklace sure hadn't been meant to simply injure. Katie had been lucky, from what he'd inferred from what McGonagall had said when she'd addressed Gryffindor House.
He knew he should tell someone. And yet – what would happen to Malfoy if he told? What would happen to his parents? Was there even anyone he could truly trust with this information?
What if he just walked away? But no – Colin dismissed that idea right away. He'd promised to help, and if it was one thing his Mum had taught him, it was that you always kept your promises. He sipped his pumpkin juice thoughtfully. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't just back out now anyway. He had started to grow rather fond of the other boy.
Draco watched Creevey from across the Great Hall. He ignored the speculation of his classmates around him; the news of Katie Bell's hospitalization had spread rather quickly, but he wasn't interested in talking about her attack. He narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare in the direction of the Gryffindor table.
"Why are you staring daggers at the Gryffindors, darling?" Pansy simpered. Her hand brushed up against his arm teasingly.
"Had a fight with Potter again, did you?" Blaise chimed in from across the table.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Haven't you ever heard of staring off into space?"
Blaise shrugged and went back to his food. Pansy just laughed as though he'd said something funny and turned to talk to Tracey Davis.
Draco tore his eyes away from across the hall and stared at his plate instead. He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment, but he didn't really want to dwell on it. He still had a mission to complete.
After dinner he nodded at Vince and Greg, who indicated with their eyes that they understood; they stood up and left the Great Hall. Draco waited another five minutes before he left the table as well. He passed a couple of seventh year girls in the seventh floor corridor and made a show of checking them out; he knew Vince and Greg hated it and couldn't resist teasing the two of them once more. The two "girls" scowled at him as he passed. He laughed to himself as he entered the Room of Hidden Things.
His good mood disappeared quickly, however. Once more his attempts to fix the large cabinet failed, and he headed back to the Slytherin dungeons in low spirits.
He lay awake for hours that night. He felt exhausted but couldn't relax his mind. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop thinking about Creevey. Why hadn't the Gryffindor run once he'd learned what Draco was attempting to do? And why hadn't he told anyone yet? Was he waiting? Would he try to blackmail him…?
When a week had gone by and nothing changed, Draco decided it was time to have a conversation. He was tired of obsessing over Creevey's motivations and intentions when he had more important things to worry about. For the first time since Katie Bell's hospitalization, and what seemed like the hundredth time this year, Draco entered the girls' bathroom. He knew it wouldn't be long before his Gryffindor shadow joined him.
Creevey didn't keep him waiting long.
Draco turned at the sound of the door opening. Creevey slipped in, breathing hard. At the Slytherin's raised eyebrow he panted, "Had to run to Gryffindor Tower for my schoolbooks. I wasn't expecting one of your bathroom breaks right now."
Some part of Draco's brain noted that Creevey's words made him feel surprised in a rather pleasant way, but he dismissed it quickly. Bluntly, he asked, "Why haven't you told anyone?"
Creevey froze in the middle of pulling a book out of his bag. He met Draco's questioning gaze. "I told you before, I'm here to help you. And ratting you out didn't sound like it would help you. It sounded like it might get you and your family killed, and I don't want that."
Draco blinked, completely taken aback. He hadn't expected such an honest answer. "Why do you care, anyway?" He'd meant the words to sound aggressive, but instead they'd come out in a quiet, disparaging tone.
"I've been asking myself the same question," Creevey said bluntly. "Look, I know what it's like to need a friend. I went to Muggle primary schools before I got my Hogwarts letter, and I was always the odd one out, the one who was teased and worse over things I couldn't control. I know how valuable it is to have someone who listens and is there and doesn't judge. And you seem like you need that now, and I want to help you because – I see someone worth helping."
Draco was silent for a long moment. Creevey's candor was somewhat refreshing, loath as he was to admit it, and he pondered what he'd been told. Someone to listen without judgment – he wanted that, needed it, because he didn't think he could keep these secrets much longer. Yet this information could not leave this room. His family's very lives depended on it.
"You won't tell anyone. Not ever. No matter what I say, I have to know you won't tell anyone anything." His voice was low, and each syllable was pronounced with a heavy weight.
Creevey nodded immediately. "I promise." He paused, and seemed to consider something. "And if it makes you feel better I'll make the Unbreakable Vow."
Draco wrinkled his nose. He wasn't fond of Unbreakable Vows; he'd watched Voldemort do enough of them. "No, that won't be necessary."
They looked at each other a long moment. Draco saw the expectation in Creevey's eyes but now that he could speak he found that he couldn't find words. He started to pace the room just for something to do, and the sound of his footsteps filled the air between them. Draco's thoughts wandered, and without consciously thinking about it, he began to talk out loud. "When I was about seven, my Father took me to work with him one day. 'It's time you learned how wizards interact in the real world, son,' he told me. I watched him all day, talking, negotiating, and I realized one thing. No matter who he dealt with, be it someone with higher or lesser power, he was sympatric to their needs. He made it seem like he cared about what they wanted, what they thought. I knew him though. I knew he wasn't being genuine with most of them. When I asked him why he acted that way, he said that trust is the most important weapon one can have. 'If people trust you, they will not expect it when the time comes to use them,' he told me."
Draco paused for a moment before he continued. "I've never forgotten his lesson. But see, I've never been particularly good at getting people to trust me. I'm not as eloquent as Father, and I often speak before I think, and that gets me into trouble often….of course, I have had to learn restraint, these last several months. But I'm never going to be like Father, and that's all I ever wanted to be. My whole life I've thought of him as a hero." He slammed his fist into the wall as he passed. "But even heroes have weaknesses. And now I'm expected to be the hero in his place. But I'm not one and I don't think I can be."
The last sentence had come out as a shout, and Draco stopped talking; astonishment ran though him at how much had poured out of his mouth. He found he was breathing quite heavily.
"A true hero knows their weakness and uses it to their advantage," Creevey said slowly, and Draco flinched. He'd nearly forgotten the other boy was in the room. He considered Creevey's words. "Perhaps so," he said in agreement, "but I'm still learning what my weaknesses are."
Creevey inclined his head, conceding his point, and another silence fell. "What were you teased about?" Draco said randomly. He didn't really want to talk about himself anymore; the memory he'd spoken about had drained him.
"What?"
"You said you were teased. In Muggle schools."
"Oh." Creevey looked at him, and he could see the surprise written across his face. Draco supposed it was because he'd shown an interest in Creevey's Muggle past. "I was always a bit of an outcast. Instead of playing sports or anything else the other boys did, I wandered around with a camera and a book on photography. If I wasn't in class I was reading or taking photos. Never had friends, really, not until I came here. Most kids either teased me or stayed away from me. A few tormented me, only that didn't last long once they found out that I was taking pictures of what they did to me and showing them to my parents, who then used them as evidence when they reported the incidents to the school."
"That was smart of you," Draco said, impressed despite himself.
Creevey shrugged. "Most kids hide things from their parents. I never did. Never felt like I had to. Mum and Pop have always treated me with respect, like an actual human."
Draco considered that. "I never hide anything from my Mother. She's always treated me like my feelings matter, like I matter. My Father – it's a bit more complicated. I know he cares about me, but I also feel like he expects so much of me, and I don't want to disappoint him, so if I do something I think he'll disapprove of I don't mention it if I can help it."
Creevey gave a soft sigh. "No matter how hard they try not to, parents always manage to impress upon their children their expectations. And as their children, we feel we have to live up to their expectations, their ideas of what is right, what is proper."
"It is our duty to do so," Draco retorted, irritated.
"We are our own individuals," Creevey threw back at him, although not unkindly. "Our parents may raise us, but we have the right to live our lives our own way."
Draco shook his head, unable to accept the idea but unwilling to defend his position. He was suddenly very tired. He stopped pacing and sat down.
Neither one of them broke this silence.
In the days and weeks that followed, a different pattern emerged. Draco's voice was now the one that was most often heard during their meetings. It was as though a dam had been broken, for he found he could not stop talking now that he'd started. He was constantly amazed at how much there was to say. His past, his present, even the things he'd dreamed of for the future – all the things he'd rarely, if ever, said out loud before came spilling out.
And Creevey listened to every word. He didn't speak much, if at all, and Draco was strangely grateful. He didn't want advice, or pity, or any number of useless clichés that could be said – he simply needed to talk, and it seemed Creevey understood this.
Christmastime arrived, and while his classmates talked excitedly about parties and gifts and who they wanted to kiss under the mistletoe, Draco was not at all in the mood for such frivolous things. He'd managed to set up the plan he'd thought of that day when Creevey had been muttering about bezoars and poisons, and now all that was left to do was wait. And work on that damn cabinet. He had permanent dark circles under his eyes now, from all the nights he'd stayed up past curfew.
It was just his luck that one such night he was caught by Filch. It was, of course, extremely fortunate that the night in question happened to be the evening of the Christmas party thrown by Professor Slughorn. It was very unfortunate, however, that Professor Snape happened to be attending said party, and he was still fuming about his encounter with his Head of House when he met with Creevey the next day.
"…trying to steal my glory, all under the guise of helping me! He suspects that the Bell girl's attack was me, tried to tell me off for being foolish and clumsy." He laughed coldly. "Even tried Occlumency on me, but joke's on him – I've been taught quite well how to hide my thoughts. Mother insisted I learn, for which I'm thankful. Had Aunt Bella teach me."
"She's a little odd, but she's incredibly brilliant at Occlumency, and I fought hard to learn the art," he continued. "As devoted as she is to Him, she values family as highly as my parents do, though in a somewhat different way."
"Different how?" Creevey piped up curiously.
"Well," Draco said thoughtfully, "my parents value family for family's sake. But Aunt Bella – she values family because of what they can do to further the cause. So while my Mom wanted me to learn to shield my mind so I could protect myself, Aunt Bella wanted me to learn because it gives me a better chance to succeed at my given mission."
Creevey was silent at this, and Draco spoke again. "I overheard the three of them talking right before they told me she would teach me."
"Do you – do you believe in the cause?" Creevey asked abruptly.
"Yes," he said shortly, his tone making it clear that he didn't want to talk about it.
Creevey was quiet, and Draco could almost hear the disapproval in the air but knew he was simply projecting his discomfort with the topic, so he started to talk in an attempt to avoid the anxiety he felt. "I received another letter from Mother the other day. She didn't say much but I could read between the lines. He is angry there have been no results. I don't know what to do. The thing I'm working on isn't going well and the other thing hasn't worked yet either and I don't have any other ideas."
He took at deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't wait for this whole thing to be over. And I can't wait to take the NEWTS and graduate. I just want to be done with school."
"What do you want to do when you leave school?"
He shrugged. "Something business related, perhaps. What about yourself?"
"It's probably obvious." Creevey chuckled. "I want to open my own photography business, ideally. But I wouldn't mind working for a newspaper. Not the Daily Prophet, though."
"Or The Quibbler." Draco snorted.
"Eh, that wouldn't be so bad to start out with. But I wouldn't want to stay there forever."
"It would get your foot in the door," he mused idly.
"Yes it would." Creevey stood up. "You coming to dinner?"
"In a minute."
The Gryffindor nodded and moved to leave, but turned around when he reached the door. "Happy Christmas," he said.
"Happy Christmas," Draco repeated.