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 31: The Other Side of Slytherins

xxx

It was well past midnight, Severus was sure, though he hadn't checked the exact time in quite a while. About six minutes, in fact. His wand lay on the desk nearby, ready and waiting for yet another Tempus charm, due any minute now. While he waited, he stared sullenly into the amber liquid at the bottom of a glass tumbler, idly swirling it and watching the dim light of the room flash burgundy and gold in its depths. It was rare that he drank these days, but he'd felt tonight called for a drop of liquid courage.

He was finding that he didn't do well staying behind to worry and wonder about events he wasn't a part of. Used to being in the very thick of things, experiencing the thrill and the knowledge that he could be caught at any moment, his very life dependant on his own skills as a wizard and a spy, no one else besides himself trustworthy...

He sighed. Now, irony of ironies, here he was relying on Lupin to do the job that was rightfully his. And it was a farce, that was for sure. A Gryffindor playing spy as if it was some childhood game. Who'd ever heard of such an atrocity? Lupin was going to get himself killed or maimed or something equally tragic – not that he didn't deserve the fitting martyr-like ending. It was probably something he'd always dreamed of, a one-shot at glory for the pathetic little man. Yet Severus couldn't help but think of the past weeks of hell he'd been forced to tolerate the werewolf, and what a waste it would all have been if the idiot went and died now...

And that, he told himself, was all that concerned him. Well, perhaps that and the fact that Lupin still owed a debt to Draco. He certainly wasn't worried for the man on a personal level.

He cast Tempus and found it was now a quarter to one. The werewolf was late. Very late. It had been around seven when he'd left, and the Dark Lord didn't usually extend his meetings longer than necessary, even when something unexpected occurred – like the unprompted arrival of a bitter werewolf. Shouldn't he be back by now... if he was coming back at all?

Frustrated, he downed what was left of the drink in his glass, felt it burning the back of his throat, and rose to his feet, agitatedly tapping his wand against his leg as he began pacing the cramped little room. He was restless. He wanted to be out there, wanted the adrenaline of walking on the proverbial knife edge.

More than that, he wanted to know what was happening! Merlin, this was torture. Had Lupin succeeded in his subterfuge, incredible though the thought was? If so, why had he been delayed for this amount of time? Oh God, what if the Dark Lord had demanded a test of loyalty from the wolf? Lupin would fail it, of course he would. He didn't have the backbone to do what was necessary. If asked to prove himself, maybe even hurt someone...

The Potions Master hurriedly placed a steadying hand on the back of a chair, suddenly certain that the werewolf was even now lying dead in a ditch somewhere, the Dark Mark emblazoned in the sky above his head.

No! No, for God's sake, he was being ridiculous. Of course it would take some time to gain the Lord's trust. That was all. Lupin would return soon enough, smug and self-confident now that he'd finally succeeded in this one thing, despite the fact that, really, Severus had hand-led him through everything so far.

Except this. He couldn't help him through this, could he? And that was the dilemma that had already driven him to drink.

With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair – a habit he thought he'd cured himself of years ago – and forced himself to return to his seat. Another glass was poured, mostly to keep anxious hands occupied, and Severus sat back to watch the dully glowing embers of his fire, almost willing them to turn green and signal the werewolf's return. Though the Headmaster had previously requested that Lupin Floo straight to his office upon his return, Severus knew with the certainty of someone who'd submerged himself in the man's mind and motives that that would not be the case.

If he came back, Remus would come here first.

xxx

Harry could not allow himself to think about Remus anymore. His frantic worries had occupied him for hours and were driving him mad. Every muscle in him was tense, every nerve on edge with the need to be doing something. He'd asked – read: demanded – that Snape let him know the moment the werewolf got back, and was sure that he would have heard word by now if Remus was already safely up in the Hospital Wing, or the Headmaster's office. However, since he had yet to hear anything, that meant that the man was still far from safety, and he was fighting the urge to go pound on the Potion Master's door, just to check...

So he'd come to the conclusion that he had to distract himself, lest his own thoughts drive him to that irrational, desperate action which he was still half considering.

There were only two living, breathing distractions that were an option to him right now. One of them, though he'd tried valiantly, was asleep on the couch opposite Harry. The Gryffindor half smiled as he glanced across at the blonde, whose head was pillowed on the book he'd been reading earlier. He had to admit, Draco had put up a real effort in trying to remain awake for him – though he'd summon up a glare of lethal proportions if Harry ever tried to thank him for the support, and deny it forcefully. It was only about twenty minutes ago that he'd finally lost the fight with sleep and slumped sideways, curling up in a surprisingly neat ball of limbs. Harry had gently disengaged his hand – which the Slytherin had somehow maintained his hold on without acknowledgement – and rose from the couch. He'd frowned for a moment, debating, before heading into the little hallway he'd never dared enter before now and stepping into the other boy's bedroom.

He'd intended only to take the cover from the bed and go drape it around the sleeping werewolf, but, of course, he couldn't help his eyes wandering and interest rising as soon as he entered.

The decor was, inevitably, Slytherin themed, but Harry had been surprised to note the dark greens and greys were far more soothing than he would have expected. Where his room – red and gold and mahogany – was warm and comfortable, Draco's was... restful. Yes, that was the right word. Calm, almost relaxing – despite the clothes that had been discarded carelessly on the floor. He'd rolled his eyes at that, remembering the Slytherin's surprisingly messy tendencies, and resisted the instinct to dust off and hang up the multiple sets of robes he could see around him. Instead, his attention had drifted to the bookcase that stood against one wall and, after only a moment's hesitation, he'd moved closer to examine some of the titles.

Most had been spellbooks, which was only to be expected. He'd also found works of fiction by witches and wizards whom he'd never heard of before, and hadn't paid much attention to. No, what had really caught his eye and caused him no small amount of amusement and shock were the muggle fiction books hidden away on the Slytherin's shelves. For someone who'd spent his school career proclaiming from the bell tower that muggles were an inferior species, Harry was beginning to notice that Draco seemed to have adopted more of their culture than he was willing to admit to. The clothes, the books, what was next? And, taking a closer look at the range of said books, Harry had bitten a knuckle to stop from sniggering aloud. God, Malfoy was a girl, and the Gryffindor delighted to himself that he'd finally found proof in the form of an undeniably well-thumbed copy of, "Pride and Prejudice."

He'd eventually dragged himself away from the bookcase, however, remembering he'd entered the room with a reason. Regretfully – since it seemed to be the only neat thing in the whole room – he'd tugged the green coverlet from the mattress and bundled it into his arms. Also finding Vanima coiled on the Slytherin's pillows, and wondering if it was customary for the snake to share his bed, he'd also scooped her up and made his way back to the main room.

Now, he was curled in the armchair on the other side of the room, idly watching the rise and fall of the duvet that practically overwhelmed the boy beneath it. How unexpected, Harry thought to himself, blinking languidly. The blond actually looked... sweet, when sleeping.

A second later, he snorted. His worry for Remus must have caused him to lose his mind after all, because there was no way anyone sane would ever refer to Malfoy as sweet.

But then, he wasn't Malfoy anymore, was he? Even in his own head, Harry had begun to refer to the werewolf as Draco. And whereas Malfoy was a bastard, a Dark wizard and an untrustworthy snake, Draco was... Well, okay, he was still all of those things, but he was also the person who minded Vanima, who ran with him at full moons, who protected him from one of Ron's minor curses as if it was a matter of life and death, and who felt comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. This was the boy with his ridiculously overstocked bathroom, his overly feminine taste in literature, and, if Harry was recalling correctly, a more than minor kink for Parseltongue. He chuckled at that thought, then hesitated, frowning.

In his lap, the Vanima wriggled to get his attention. What are you thinking?

He sighed, almost in resignation. "That I have very poor judgement."

In what?

He answered automatically, not sure if he was trying to say 'friends' or 'boyfriends' or something else entirely, only that it translated in the snake language as, "Mates."

She seemed to consider this before replying. Eventually, after winding her way toward his wrist, she observed, It doesn't seem to me you have judgement in the matter at all, poor or not.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Creatures such as him – She meant Draco, he assumed – aren't given a choice in their mates. But it's only for the good. It keeps them from making mistakes. You shouldn't worry about your judgement.

This wasn't the first time he'd felt out of his depth when talking to Vanima. The snake spoke in riddles, yet believed he should easily understand her. He was sure she thought him stupid every time he asked for her to explain something further.

This time, though, he was thoroughly lost.

"Are we even talking about the same thing?" He wondered what she thought he meant by 'mates', and what on Earth she meant by saying the werewolf didn't have a choice in the matter.

If snakes could sigh or roll their eyes, he felt sure she would have done both.

"Seriously, I think you've gotten confused. I only meant –"

Humans are so often clueless... she observed, nonplussed, and no matter how much he pleaded and cajoled, refused to continue the doomed conversation.

xxx

At this late hour, Harry and Severus weren't the only individuals still awake. Not only did Dumbledore sit alone in his office, staring sadly into the pensieve before him and wondering if he'd made a mistake in sending the werewolf out into the darkness; not only did Ron lie awake in the quiet Gryffindor dormitory, furiously glaring at the empty bed next to his own and trying to ignore the jealousy that coursed through him; not only did Hermione squint by candlelight at the words of yet another heavy tome, slowly coming to dread what it might mean for Harry to be the mate of a werewolf and a Slytherin.

Aside from all these, there was one more person steadily approaching Hogwarts, walking the path that led from Hogsmeade village. The figure, clutching tightly at her dark cloak, shivered in the rain that lashed around her and stumbled, exhausted, but forced herself onwards. The turrets and towers of the castle loomed ahead of her, pinpricked with window lights and providing possibly the most welcoming sight she'd seen in far too long.

She gasped, a laugh of pure relief almost escaping her lips, but she forced it down with difficulty, afraid she wouldn't stop if she began. It seemed she'd been walking for hours along the muddy path which, in carriages, could be travelled in a fraction of the time, and she was unused to such a trying journey. Her fine clothes, the cloak pristine velvet when she'd started out, were now little more than rain-soaked, dirt-streaked, spell-torn rags. If she'd had anything left in her besides desperation, she might have felt shame for her appearance.

None of that mattered, though. Her eyes were fixed on the castle, barely blinking, as she stumbled onto the school grounds. What she needed was inside Hogwarts and she had decided that nothing, no one, was going to keep her away any longer. She'd been a fool to go along compliantly for as long as she had, but that had ended. She was here now. And that was what mattered.

The trek across open ground was the longest she'd ever made. There was no energy left for her to run, yet every nerve in her cried out to be inside that castle. It seemed to take eternity to cover the rain-soaked ground that stretched out around Hogwarts.

When she finally approached the brief flight of stone steps that led to the proud double doors, primly lifting the ruins of her skirts so as not to hinder her ascent, she felt the pull and twang of magical wards set off by her alien, unexpected presence, but didn't hesitate. She suspected that the Headmaster would not protest her arrival, though he was no doubt already aware of it.

In the silence of the deserted halls, she moved unerringly, the pace of her footfalls increasing along with her sense of urgency. Soon she was hurrying as fast as was acceptable for a lady of her class, her cloak billowing behind her as she hurtled down stone stairways and corridors, her cowl hood falling back to reveal the tangled mess of her usually pristine hair. Fear dogged her, as she expected her relief to be torn away at the last second, to encounter by chance some professor or ghost patrolling the halls, who would surely raise the alarm that Dumbledore had as of yet ignored.

Just hoping that she remembered her destination correctly, and that the first person she sought had not changed his residence since her last visit, she rounded a corner and carefully selected the door she wanted. Then, without pause, threw herself against it, pounding without dignity or grace. "Severus! Severus!"

The Potions Master had not been asleep, she felt sure, as he threw open the door within seconds, wearing the sneering expression of someone who did not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. Except, perhaps, this one. His features went blank with shock, dark eyes searching her face as if he doubted what they were telling him.

"...Narcissa?"

Narcissa Malfoy, in all her ragged glory, lifted her chin and demanded imperiously, "Where is my son?"

xxx

Harry was on the verge of sleep himself, despite his resolve to remain awake, when the portrait opened. He stirred dazedly, sitting up and turning to stare at the woman who entered.

It took him slightly longer to place her, looking so different from the last time they'd encountered each other over two years ago. Draped in a tattered black cloak, the dark blue dress beneath looking much the worse for wear, and her long blonde hair come loose from the usual upwards sweep it was worn in, instead falling in wet, curled tangles over her shoulders, he wondered if Draco's mother had ever before looked so rough in her life.

Startled by his recognition, he surged to his feet automatically, sending Vanima slithering to the floor and beneath the chair. His wand was in his hand almost of its own accord, his sleep-numbed mind registering only that she was a Malfoy and a dangerous witch indeed, if her reputation held true.

Her eyes, a shockingly familiar shade of grey, drifted toward him. If she was surprised by the sight of him, it showed only in the arch of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Her gaze was calm, evaluating, and suddenly he felt foolish for his reaction, sheepishly lowering his wand.

Another figure entered behind her. "He's in here, Narcissa – Potter! For God's sake, what are you doing here?" Snape stared at him incredulously, his expression vaguely outraged.

"I... I..." How flustering it was to explain anything, with Draco's mother listening intently.

But her interest seemed to fade swiftly – unlike Snape's, whose glare remained on him without waver – as she caught sight of the blonde on the couch, buried beneath a mountain of quilt. She stepped toward him and lowered herself until she knelt, and despite her current appearance, Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone more graceful in their movements.

He felt suddenly as if he was watching something far too personal, and glanced around for some escape. But short of moving closer to the enraged Potions Master, there was nowhere to go, and so he could only remain there awkwardly as Narcissa reached out and stroked the splay of light hair that was her family's trademark. Draco didn't wake, merely stirred slightly at the gentle touch.

The witch closed her eyes, as if she'd just received whatever reassurance she'd craved, and bowed her head close to her son's ear, her voice all too audible in the near silence of the room as she whispered, "I'm sorry, my dear."

Harry looked away, uncomfortable, as Narcissa dropped a kiss onto Draco's forehead before rising to her feet and turning to regard the other two occupants of the room. Once again her heavy stare came to rest on the sole Gryffindor among them, and she stepped toward him slowly. He tensed as she approached, wanting to back away, but the chair was too close behind him and so he could only remain frozen until she came to a halt a little distance away.

For some reason, it seemed strange for him to observe that Narcissa Malfoy was a small woman. Smaller than Draco, who Harry had once or twice teased for his slightness. Yet something about her very presence in a room made her seem taller, more important and more beautiful than anyone else. Even with her matted hair and torn dress, he wasn't ashamed to admit that the Malfoy matriarch was perhaps the most delicate creature he could recall encountering, all pale skin and large, cold eyes. It was easy to see where Draco got his looks. The white-blond hair might indeed be from Lucius, but in everything else, he was certainly his mother's son. The resemblance, now that Harry had the chance to look closely, was uncanny. Both of them formidable, cold, if they needed to be, beautiful – yes, he could admit Draco was beautiful, if he convinced himself it was merely a factual observation – and, he suspected, Slytherin down to the core.

She was staring at him intently, her eyes slightly narrowed. "My son must trust you a great deal, Mr Potter," she said abruptly, "to allow you into his private rooms, and to fall asleep with you still here. I was under the impression that you had always... disliked each other. True?"

It was Snape who answered, cutting across any ineffectual stammer that Harry might have offered. "It seems certain rivalries have been overcome in these past few months. I assure you, Narcissa, I attempted to convince Draco to reassess his choice in... friends." He glanced disdainfully at Harry, who glared back, daring to roll his eyes at the scornful Professor.

The witch once again lifted an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving the teen in front of her. "I must question, in that case, what is so special about you, Mr Potter, that would cause him to ignore the advice and wishes of family and friends; to instead lock himself in this school with you, if rumours are correct, as his only ally."

"He made the decision before we started talking, Mrs Malfoy," he said automatically, too late noticing Snape's look of alarm over the woman's shoulder.

Narcissa blinked, turning to observe the still sleeping Slytherin. "Is that so?" she asked of no one in particular. Then, reaching up and brushing back locks of damp hair with the same care she might use if it had been intricately styled that morning, she turned on her heel and swept from the room, saying softly over her shoulder, "I shall see the Headmaster now, Severus."

Snape remained where he was, hesitating, his expression furious. "Idiot boy," he hissed when she had left, his voice low and dangerous, so quiet it was unlikely that Narcissa overhear him from outside the room. "She will ask, now, what Draco's real motive for switching sides was, and the truth will come out. A truth that he –" he pointed at the Slytherin "– never wanted his mother to realise!"

Harry flinched. "She... He wouldn't have been able to hide it forever, anyway..." he protested feebly. Then, remembering earlier events of the night, he looked up earnestly. "Is Remus back yet?"

The Potions Master looked taken aback, for a second, before scowling. Harry watched him murmur a quick time-telling charm beneath his breath, glancing anxiously in the direction Narcissa had taken. "No. No, not yet, although I have been away from my rooms for a few minutes now."

"Then go back there! See if he's –"

"There are other things of importance going on this night, Potter!" the man snarled, overreacting, in Harry's opinion. "Now return to your own common room, for Merlin's sake. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out after hours."

"But I wasn't –"

"Now!" The man waited only until Harry scowled and moved towards him before grasping his shoulder and hauling him from the room, allowing Lilith the portrait to close behind them and leaving Draco to sleep obliviously on.

Narcissa waited in the corridor, continuing at a brisk pace once they caught up to her. Snape kept a tight hold on the Gryffindor as they headed upwards through the school, practically seeing him to the entrance of his common room and leaving him there with a threat of what would befall him if he left it again tonight.

One inconvenience taken care of, Severus carried on with Narcissa at his side, their destination the stone gargoyle that guarded the infamous spiral staircase. "Jelly tots," he muttered disdainfully once there, earning an amused glanced from the witch.

"Some things never change," she observed fondly. It was alright for her to find it entertaining, he thought to himself, as she hadn't been forced to utter these inane passwords over and over again for years on end.

Together, they ascended the staircase beyond, Severus stepping forward only to open the office door and allow her to enter ahead of him.

Dumbledore looked up, the expression in his eyes brighter than it had been in weeks. "Ah, Mrs Malfoy. Do sit down. Severus, will you join us?"

"I..." The Potions Master wavered in the doorway, reluctant to join the small meeting.

After a few seconds, the Headmaster waved a hand. "Oh, of course. Return to your rooms, my boy, and do keep us all informed of any developments that occur tonight."

Severus nodded, and, with a lingering, curious glance for Narcissa, turned and strode from the room, wondering anxiously if he could have missed the werewolf's return in the past fifteen minutes.