Title: The Secret's In The Telling

Authoress: Sakuri

Rating: T

Summary: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Chapter 29: The Old Vs The New

xxx

Ron returned on the Saturday to a very changed Hogwarts.

Having spent the week in the familiar not-quite-comfort of the Burrow, with Ginny being the annoying little sister she was meant to be, Fred and George constantly tormenting him, his mother alternating between doting on him and yelling until she was blue in the face, and his father sat tinkering with some muggle contraption at the kitchen table, Ron was quite ready to get back to the relative relief of school. And, with the break, he'd even felt his annoyance with Harry trickle away. Yes, he could see now that his friend wasn't trying to cause trouble between them, he was just trying to accommodate the request Dumbledore had made of him – insensitive old coot that he was – as well as do the best he could for the DA. It probably wasn't an easy job, especially since Harry seemed to have been partnered with Malfoy through lack of option at the informal lessons. Ron supposed, reluctantly, that he hadn't exactly been making the situation any easier.

He'd also been reading the Prophet during the holiday, and he'd seen the article in which Malfoy's disownment was announced to the world. That little bit of malicious satisfaction had gone a long way to easing his resentment.

So it was with the full intent to be the bigger person that he returned to Hogwarts, dumped his bag back in the dormitory and went in search of his best friend. It was about lunch time, so he headed straight for the Great Hall, where he guessed both Harry and Hermione would probably be, since the common room was deserted.

It felt good to be back, and with a new outlook. Malfoy could try all he liked to drive a wedge between Harry and his friends; that didn't mean he'd succeed. Besides, it wasn't like the devious Slytherin had all that much leverage anymore. Ron felt incredibly able to face up to whatever low insults were hurled at him now that he and the blond were on even ground. No, strike that – Malfoy was probably even poorer than he was, since his ignoble disownment! In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if the prat was hiding in shame, thereby removing Ron's problem altogether.

Grinning to himself and resisting the urge to whistle – which probably would have been excessive, as Hermione liked to say – the redhead happily made his way downstairs, already thinking up the taunts he'd finally get to use.

xxx

"Oy, Seamus, where's Harry?"

The dark haired boy glanced at him, mouth full of food which prevented him from answering immediately. He waved a hand to indicate he was trying to answer while Ron looked on, caught between amusement and impatience.

"Wondered when you were getting back," the Irish boy managed finally, swallowing. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him…"

Ron frowned. "What?"

Lavender, who had turned in her seat to glance at him, suddenly joined the conversation. "Ron! Oh my God, you have to do something!"

Mildly panicked now, the redhead looked between the pair with obvious concern. "Why? What's going on?"

"He's gone insane!" she said immediately, cutting across Seamus. "He called me a bitch! Me!"

"That," Seamus interrupted, rolling his eyes, "and the more serious symptom that he's willingly parading round with that snake."

"You mean Malfoy?" He had not shrieked, he told himself later. It was just the horror... "But I thought... I thought he was –"

"Poor as they come and twice as unpopular?" Seamus nodded. "Yeah, he is. Harry's rescuing him."

Ron sat down heavily on the bench next to the Irish boy, groaning and covering his eyes. "I leave for a few days...! What about Hermione? Why didn't she do anything? I bet that bastard's playing up his 'woe is me' act for all he's worth, and she at least should know Harry can't see through it!"

Seamus patted his shoulder consolingly and returned to his lunch.

xxx

They had agreed not to talk about it. Well. Not agreed, exactly. More like... simply refused to acknowledge that anything unusual had ever happened between them. Ever. If this was a rather confusing disappointment to Harry, whose Gryffindor instincts urged him to tackle the awkwardness between them and hopefully emerge with a favourable outcome, well, he didn't let it show. And if Draco had woken in the night once or twice, found himself staring across the room to where Vanima was coiled in a bubble of charmed heat he'd created for her, and heard the lingering whispers of Parseltongue that had featured so prominently in his dreams, he would never admit to the occurrence, and would conveniently forget about any such awakenings by morning.

So with this unspoken rule in place, it was an uneasy alliance they were starting out with, made harder by half-dead rivalries that threatened to reappear at any moment, a general air of controversy surrounding them and a tentativeness that Harry had never experienced in his other friendships. There were too many landmines to settle into any kind of comfortable relationship. He didn't know how he could trust or even like someone with whom he'd shared so much hatred in the past – and yet he did like Malfoy, git though he was. The Slytherin fascinated him.

Privately, Harry insisted that he wasn't attracted to Malfoy. Not like that, anyway. But...

At the very most, he told himself as justification, he was attracted to what Malfoy represented. The blond was everything that was rebellion and liberation and excitement and fury. He was everything that sensible people – Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore – he was everything that such people despised. Untrustworthy, dangerous, vindictive and cruel. He was the enemy.

Or had been the enemy, anyway. What he was now, Harry had no idea, and was finding it difficult to determine.

This in mind, it was with no small amount of awkwardness that they conducted their suddenly public friendship. Almost the whole of Gryffindor, with maybe only the exception of Hermione, thought Harry had lost his mind. No, strike that – the entire school thought he'd lost his mind, teachers included. And it had only been a few days. He dreaded to think what would happen once lessons resumed, and the spread of gossip would only move faster.

Still, he was not yet ready to abandon the blonde. He knew what it was like to feel outcast – he'd spent the majority of his second year outcast, and life with the Dursleys was even worse. Watching the way Slytherin now treated their former prince, as well as the way the other Houses were seizing the opportunity to even out the score against the blond, Harry knew it was probably only his presence at Draco's side that had prevented the werewolf from being hexed into oblivion by students bearing grudges.

Not that he doubted Draco could take care of himself. In fact, his presence served a dual purpose in also making sure the blond didn't hurt someone else in retaliation. God only knew what kind of curse he'd resort to if caught up in anger, Harry thought, absently touching the hairline scar that dissected his chest, courtesy of the Slytherin's previous spellwork.

Harry had to smile at the irony. There he was, the Wizarding World's Saviour, protecting a werewolf, an almost-Death Eater, the only other wizard beside Voldemort to have left the mark of his curse on Harry's flesh, and, really, a thoroughly spoilt, insensitive prat, when it came down to it .

When the blond had caught sight of his expression as he thought this over, and demanded in a snappish manner to know why he was wearing such an idiotic smile, Harry had only shaken his head indulgently and proceeded to ignore the tirade of scorn that followed.

Currently, the pair sat in the courtyard just outside the entrance of the school. Harry was freezing, the winter chill having solidly set in now, but Draco had been insistent, announcing in his melodramatic way that he simply had to be outside. To be fair, it was growing stifling inside amid the swirling rumours and miasma of resentment that Draco had brought upon himself.

The blond now perched upon one of the stone benches built into the wall, his long legs stretched out across it, taking up any space Harry might have hoped to occupy, so the Gryffindor stood nearby, bracing his shoulder against the wall, his arms folded tightly around himself to conserve heat. He wondered with vague incredulity how Draco could stand the cold with apparent ease. The other boy was dressed to his usual impeccable standards with fitted jumper, knee-length black coat and Slytherin scarf, which was drawn up around his chin, yet none of it looked exceedingly warm. And still, the git didn't so much as shiver. If it hadn't been for the puffs of warm breath that misted the brittle air – and if he didn't have first-hand experience that proved otherwise – he might have thought his companion offered no heat at all, and was in fact as cold and hard as the stone he sat upon.

Watching him, fixated by how the winter atmosphere seemed to leech what little colour he usually retained, except for small, flattering patches of pink high on his cheeks, Harry was caught off guard when grey eyes suddenly flashed towards him, and twitched guiltily, though for the life of him he couldn't say why.

"So why are you here, Potter?"

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes. "Because you bloody well demanded we come out here! You'll notice everyone else – everyone sane – is inside, where it's warm!"

Draco's expression didn't change, remaining oddly serious – an unusual occurrence. Harry had learned that though the Slytherin actually did have a range of expressions beyond disdain, he was rarely calm enough to be serious.

"No, I mean... why are you still here?" The blond waved a hand in some casual gesture, vaguely indicating himself. He looked away. "...With me?"

"Oh." Harry blinked. He'd asked himself that very question, and been pestered by his friends almost constantly on the matter, but had yet to find a satisfactory answer. Not one he was willing to admit to, anyway. Yes, he liked Draco – probably more than he should – but couldn't say that, and he very much doubted that the Slytherin would be willing to listen to a speech about his own misplaced sense of responsibility.

So he shrugged, trying to brush off the conversation before it became too deep for comfort. Funny, how Gryffindor courage had suddenly fled him. Again. Why was it that only Draco could get such a reaction from him?

But it seemed that, this once, they'd switched roles, and the blond was determined to pursue the topic. "I'm serious. It's not like this is your problem, you know. Not so long ago you'd have been telling me I deserved this. Let's face it, you'd have loved it. What's changed?"

It was Harry's turn to look away. "You know what's changed," he muttered, embarrassed.

"So that's it? You think... you think that we're... that we'll –"

"Oh, no. No! That's not what I meant. You already said you weren't..." Trailing off, he sighed and shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant."

Guardedly, the blond stared up at him. "Then what? Because I hope you know that that's not going to be some kind of... reward for your good deed, you know."

Harry glared. "I know," he ground out, thinking it wise not to rise to the bait right now, even though he could have pointed out that Malfoy hadn't exactly been protesting the other night. "Look, do we have to have this conversation? Can't you just accept that you have one friend you probably don't deserve, and you're damn lucky at that –"

"Friend?" Grey eyes pinned him sternly. "Is that what you call yourself?"

Harry's stomach clenched. "I figure I've earned the right," he retorted stubbornly, lifting his chin.

Blond eyebrows rose sharply. "I thought I told you once that I wouldn't join your leagues of adoring fans, Potter."

"Yeah, because that's what friendship means." Curling his lip, the Gryffindor pushed away from the wall and ran a hand through his hair, stressed. He didn't want this conversation right now.

Draco shrugged. "That's what it meant for me. Only I was the one with adoring fans." He half smirked at that comment, but the expression turned bitter.

"And look where that got you," Harry shot back, only to wish he hadn't as soon as the words left his mouth. He watched as defences rapidly reformed behind the Slytherin's eyes. "Sorry. I –"

"It's cold. Let's go inside." And with that, the blond rose to his feet, brushed past him and disappeared quickly into the foyer, leaving Harry to trail reluctantly behind.

xxx

At the same time, Hermione was several floors up sitting in the library, surrounded by stacks of open books. And for once, they weren't homework related. No, instead she was researching Malfoy's problem, fully aware that he and Harry were probably sat around doing nothing while she slaved away. She tutted to herself, exasperated.

That thought caused her to look up sharply, frowning. It occurred to her that Ron was supposed to be included in that scenario, not the Slytherin, but she had little time or energy to dedicate to the worry.

Shaking her head, she went back to her work, scanning the words before her and filing them away to memory. So far, none of what she'd discovered was very helpful. Though she'd been right in assuming that some spells effected werewolves differently, that assumption still hadn't been of any use, since she knew Harry certainly hadn't cursed Malfoy.

Tired, she broke off to rub her eyes, yet again asking herself why she was expending so much effort on fixing Malfoy's problems. But, of course, she knew. In doing this, she was helping Harry. And besides, it was only right that someone remove whatever curse it was afflicting the blond, and she doubted anyone else would have the inclination.

But there was just so much information spread out before her, and the answer potentially hidden in any tiny part of it. Maybe she was looking in the wrong direction anyway, and the compulsions were entirely unrelated to him being a werewolf. Maybe–

Wait.

Some thought, memory, on the edge of her mind, niggling her.

Suddenly alert and active again, she stood and grabbed a book from the far side of the table, dragging it back towards her and frantically flipping through the pages. She'd seen something, some reference to a possibility so ridiculous, so remote, that she'd paid it no mind at the time, until now, when a single word in another book had set her mind spinning. She knew this feeling of realisation, recognised it as the same feeling she got when she finally understood a spell, or completed a potion. Knowledge clicked into place, bit by bit, only a few gaps left that were about to be filled in. But for the first time, the feeling completely clashed with common sense. The idea forming in her mind, suggested by the book in front of her, was just too impossible. Surely!

And yet, there it was in front of her, literally in black and white. Every symptom described, every question answered, all in a concise little paragraph. Three times she read it, just to be sure, all the while shaking her head in denial.

Finally, though, she sat back in her chair, stunned. So she had found their cure.

Malfoy would probably have been happier if she hadn't.

Grabbing up the book, she dashed from the library with it clutched protectively to her chest, racing to find the werewolf and his mate. God. What a thought...

xxx

They met in the halls. It was as Ron was storming out of the Hall, and Draco stalking back inside, and Harry trudging behind, and Hermione flying down from the library. The meeting seemed almost designed, as each rounded respective corners to set eyes on the others. Only Harry showed surprise, having forgotten that his friend was due back today. He started to smile, until he registered the expression of thunder on the redhead's face. Hermione reached him first, also recognising the anger and trying to calm it, but he ignored her, eyes set firmly on the Slytherin in their midst.

Harry steeled himself for the ensuing argument, subtly placing a hand on the blonde's wrist, who had immediately tensed and gone for his wand. Draco glanced at him scathingly, but relented for the moment, allowing his hands to fall empty at his sides.

Ron was not so easily soothed. Before Harry or Hermione could intervene, he'd whipped out his own wand and had it pointed squarely at the Slytherin's throat, much the same as Hermione had done back in third year. Outwardly calm as ever, Draco lifted an eyebrow, gazing back coldly at the Gryffindor. Only Harry sensed he was struggling furiously not to lash out with his own magic, and was silently thankful that the blond had some self-control.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" Ron raged at him instantly, voice and hand shaking with the anger coursing through him at that moment.

"I have no idea what you're referring to, Weasley," Draco drawled quietly, inserting so much scorn into the simple line that Harry suddenly found it all too easy to remember why they'd clashed so forcefully with Malfoy over the years. With an effort, he pushed the thought from his head and stepped forward with the intent to mediate.

"Ron, calm down –"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Furious now, the redhead never removed his wand from its positioning, even as he turned a glare on Harry. "You said it was only going to be for the DA! You said you weren't going to be... friends with this bastard!"

The Slytherin sneered, and spoke just before Harry could elbow him into silence. "He developed taste in your absence – ow!" Reproachful, he narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor, who looked back with exasperation.

"Ron!" Hermione cried suddenly, having seen the look that had come into the redhead's eyes that the other two had missed.

Harry whipped his head back toward the other boy, instantly seeing his options. There was a curse on Ron's tongue, already half cast, and though it probably wasn't one that would do serious damage, there was no time for Draco to avoid or counter it. Without thinking, he was abruptly between them, reaching out to grasp his friend's wrist and force it upwards. A spell hit the ceiling, ricocheting harmlessly but managing to create chaotic noise and sparks around them. Hermione was shrieking in shock and outrage, Ron yelling senselessly and Draco losing all sense of superiority as he let loose a spiel of the foulest language Harry could remember hearing.

He could deal with all that, but unfortunately he hadn't been counting on his friend's temper being so out of control and directed at him, for once. The fist to his stomach took him completely by surprise, and immediately he let go of the other boy's arm, doubling over with a gasp. And then, with detached astonishment, he realised he was staring down the wrong end of Ron's wand, and had a split second to realise there was absolutely nothing he could do, before the next thoroughly unexpected thing occurred.

An arm snaked swiftly around his waist and he was yanked backwards and spun around. Disorientated, he might have stumbled, but the arm that was almost crushing the breath from him didn't allow for movement.

"Don't you point that fucking thing at him, Weasley!" The next thing to be heard, following the werewolf's furiously protective growl, was the deafening crack of a wordless spell, and suddenly Ron had flown backwards to land hard on the ground, his wand clattering away from him.

Hermione was a mess of mingled horror and astonishment. There was some part of her that was concerned for the redhead and wanted to run and check on him, but it had to be said that, for the most part, she was finding it far too difficult to remove her eyes from the other two.

If she needed confirmation of her suspicions, she'd just received it.

Malfoy had yet to relinquish his hold on Harry, and didn't seem likely to any time soon. Seconds ago, she'd not only witnessed her friend step between Malfoy and an oncoming curse, but when the tables had turned, she thought she'd seen the impossible. Harry had been grasped and swept aside with such a casual strength on the blonde's part that it was unnerving, whirled around so that he was facing away from the altercation about to ensue and kept in place quite easily. The Slytherin's body language positively screamed possessiveness. He was stood at an angle, so that he could press Harry to his side while placing himself in the line of fire, his wand appearing from nowhere in a steadily outstretched hand. Having seen the briefest flash of fangs when Malfoy had snarled his warning, Hermione was almost inclined to think Ron was lucky that the blond had resorted to magic first. Even in human form, she dreaded to think what damage an angry werewolf could inflict if given reason enough.

Attacking his mate was definitely reason enough, she realised, looking at him now.

Characteristics of the wolf, once risen to the surface, were apparently difficult to get rid of. His eyes were ice white, unnatural and eerie to those who looked upon him, and fixed unwaveringly on the person he deemed a threat. He made no movement, frozen and tense, as if simply waiting to burst back into motion. She'd once seen an Alsatian fighting in the park with another dog, seen it frozen just like that as it waited for its opponent's next move, just before the two met with frightening snarls and clashing teeth. Its ears had been pinned back, eyes wide, and lip curled back to show the row of vicious fangs. She felt very certain she was staring at the human translation of that expression.

Harry was obviously thinking along the same lines. Slowly, as if he too felt the instinct to make no sudden movements, he reached down and brushed his fingers over the hand that clutched at his shirt. When that brought no reaction, he grasped it tightly. "Draco?"

She imagined a canine ear would have twitched to show he was listening, but in this form he turned his head just slightly, never taking his eyes or his wand from Ron, who was starting to stir. Seeing this, she edged closer to him, just hoping to get there and stop him doing anything stupid if he woke up. Passing by the Slytherin made her hesitate, but he didn't so much as acknowledge her existence, so she assumed herself safe and hurried to kneel by the redhead. It was a miracle no one had heard the chaos yet. She just hoped it would last. It wouldn't do for someone to come across this particular scene.

"Draco, for God's sake, I'm okay. C'mon, let go. Calm down." Finally, he managed to pry loose the fingers entangled in the material of his shirt and could turn around to face the blond. At his movement, the werewolf hesitated, then consented to turn his back on Ron and Hermione, pinning shockingly blue eyes on the rather shaken Gryffindor. They scanned him thoroughly, as if to check he wasn't lying and confirm he really was unharmed. Harry stared back incredulously. "What the hell...?"

Adrenaline fading, it seemed Draco was returning to normality. He blinked a few times, eyes resuming their natural grey. Then, frowning, he looked over his shoulder to where Ron lay, Hermione crouching over him as he groaned. For a moment, he looked as shocked as any of them. "Did I...?"

Wide eyed, Harry filled in for him, "Completely overreact? Yes. Yes, you did." Perplexed, he moved past the astounded Slytherin to join Hermione in checking on the redhead.

Ron was blinking up at the ceiling when he reached him. "Harry?" he muttered upon seeing the boy, his voice sounding vaguely slurred.

Sighing, he crouched down and began the process of hauling him to his feet. "Yeah, it's me. Let's get you back to Gryffindor, okay?" Ron made some grunt of agreement, and with an effort, Harry managed to get him up. Struggling under the taller boy's weight, he managed to cast a glance at Draco. "What the hell did you do to him?"

The blond shook his head, lost. "I... I don't really know..." In his mind, the last minute or so was surrounded in a haze. He didn't even remember casting a spell, never mind what that spell had actually been.

Scowling, Harry turned away and began half leading, half dragging Ron towards the nearest flight of stairs. Hermione faltered, instinctively moving to follow him, but pausing to cast a glance at the blond. She sighed when she saw his expression of utter confusion and hurt, that was swiftly hidden behind the usual mask when he caught her watching. Harry didn't seem to notice her absence, so she stepped toward the Slytherin.

"What is it Granger?" he snapped, venomous.

"There's something I need to tell you. It might even go a way to explaining what just happened." Businesslike, she handed him the library book that had somehow remained with her throughout the chaos.

He looked at it short temperedly, not in the mood for study when all his nerves were on standby, made edgy by an unfinished fight. "What's this?"

"I think we should go somewhere a little more private," she advised quietly. "You're not going to like this."