26. Uncovering Draco Malfoy - Part 1
The cloak of night reluctantly receded.
Shadows stretched and thinned under dawn's bloody glow as it encroached on the ancient, crumbling stonework that perched on the rocky drop-off. The wild grass that tufted through the salt-burned snow at the foot of weary walls was blonde and brittle and dead. The trees that rimmed the Dark Forest gripped the edge of the rugged and relentlessly weathered cliffs, leaning heavily over the exposed expanse burdened not by too much snow, but by the presence of what lay hidden within their depths.
Beneath the rubble of what was left of the old castle, in the bowls of a long forgotten fortress, two figures waited. One sat hidden by an emerald swathed winged backed chair edged with blackened steel serpents that appeared frozen in mid-writhe. The other stood tall and dark and rigid just inside the damp stone archway that led into the dreary chamber.
"You have seen the boy?"
A voice like ice and daggers rose from the chair.
"Yes, my Lord." Snape bowed his head even though he could not be seen.
"And." Said more as a warning than a question.
"He will do as expected."
"And the other?"
"She will be ours in a matter of days."
The waves that bombarded and crashed against the jagged cliff face somewhere behind the walls of the underground chamber hummed their fury through the room.
"The dragon whelp will be brought to me before the full moon." The order was laced with displeasure. "Lucius will have the opportunity to make amends for his … mistakes." The last word hissed out evilly.
"Yes, my Lord."
Snape stayed in his half-bow, waiting. Finally, like shards of glass, the voice shattered the silence.
"Do you think I am being too harsh on him?" the voice asked silkily.
"Young Malfoy is of no consequence, my Lord."
A malevolent chuckle followed. "You betray your feelings, Severus. I was referring to Lucius."
The silence that followed unsettled the very air between the two. A scaly white hand that had rested lightly on the snakehead arm of the chair motioned casually.
"Come. Stand before me, Severus. Let me see you."
Snape instantly glided across the room, his black robes swirling behind him. In one swift easy movement, head bowed, he lowered himself on one knee, lacing his hands across the other raised knee, and subjugated himself at the foot of Lord Voldemort.
Long white fingers ending in unnatural, talon-like nails came to rest under Snape's chin.
"You are such a contradiction." Voldemort mused almost fondly. "So eagerly you betray trusted companions to their deaths, yet you are willing to suffer the incompetence of an imp."
The fingers gently forced Snape to raise his gaze to meet the two red, reptilian eyes that studied him.
"Could it be that you love Draco, Severus?"
Snape said unflinchingly. "I would tear the last breath from him if you wished it, my Lord."
With the removal of the hand, Snape lowered his head once more.
"Where's Hermione?"
It was a question Harry had heard more times in the last week than anyone needed to hear in a lifetime.
"I don't know." Harry sighed. "I've been with you all evening. Why are you asking me?"
Ron scratched something out on the parchment he had sprawled in his lap and screwed his nose up in frustration.
"I need her." He said matter-of-factly. "How am I supposed to know why the Dicta charms require swishes and not flicks? I can't finish this ludicrously long essay if she's not around." He looked up at Harry with a slight worry crease between his eyebrows. "Where does she keep disappearing off to, anyway? Ever since we got back I've hardly seen her."
"We're talking about Hermione, Ron" Harry said, sounding exasperated. "Its NEWT year."
"Yeah. But that doesn't explain why she's not here studying with us, does it?" He turned back to his parchment and scribbled something down and added sulkily. "She always studies with us."
Harry rolled up his transfiguration homework with a frown, giving up completely on being able to concentrate. At the beginning of the week, Ron and Hermione (mostly Hermione - Ron having been reluctantly recruited) had cornered Harry and admonished that he needed to start catching up on his schoolwork since the year was already half over. (After all, if Harry wanted any kind of shot at being an auror he ought to buckle down every free moment he had.) Harry had tried to put the effort in, but even though potions classes had been suspended until the replacement professor arrived on Monday, giving them all more free time, and every night this week he had his nose buried in a book with a concentrated look on his face, instead of absorbing and understanding and writing about the information in front of him, his mind hadn't taken in a word of it. He found he had too many things going on inside his head. Things that were pressing and couldn't wait.
Not the least of which was that the three of them seemed to have hit a brick wall in uncovering the identity of the unknown Horcrux.
Harry was almost certain Hermione was using some of the time she spent hidden away researching what the item could be. Yet so far, she had not, as was her usual want, come bounding up to Harry and Ron loaded with the latest brilliant epiphany that would set them all on the right track again. He had tried to pin her down to discussing it with him on several occasions, but Hermione had taken to making fumbling excuses, shooting Harry pained or nervous glances as she invariably made her exit. Not like Hermione at all. She should have been huddled in whispered conversation with Harry and Ron at every opportune moment. But she wasn't. In fact, Harry was beginning to get the distinct impression that Hermione had been avoiding him.
Harry stuffed his books and papers in his already overfilled bag that leant against the foot of his chair.
"I'm going for some air."
Ron looked up, the crushed end of his quill tip hovering near his mouth. "If you see Hermione, tell her it's getting late, will you?" Harry nodded. "Do you want me to do the rounds for you?"
Harry smiled reassuringly and stood up. "Its fine. I'll do it on the way back."
"You going to the lake?"
"Yeah." Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and climbed the dormitory stairs to drop off his books, retrieve some warmer clothing and don his invisibility cloak. Ron didn't quiz Harry as to why he was headed to the lake again, or offer to come along. For which Harry was glad. His best friend seemed quite happy to give him the room he needed. Something Hermione never really quite got the hang of – until recently that is.
When Harry emerged back in the common room, thanks to his trusty cloak, no eyes were on him as he crossed the room unseen and crawled through the portrait hole to make his way along the deserted halls.
The time spent away from Hogwarts at Christmas, had brought into sharp belief just how often the other students spent covertly eyeing Harry. He found himself keenly aware of the hands that shaded whispering mouths, the swing of heads that turned quickly away when his eyes roamed a room, and worst of all, the expectant, doey eyes of the younger students who not so much as looked at him, but to him. For what, Harry knew all to well, and he found it disconcerting, to say the least.
Harry stopped momentarily as he walked across the grounds and cast a cautious warming charm on himself. He had spoken to Sir at their first meeting when he had returned to Hogwarts and explained the problems he'd been having with his magic. Sir had looked troubled to begin with, and remained silent for some time before offering the explanation that Harry's magic was 'spiking', and that it was most likely to do with the new, more powerful spells he'd been practising.
After the first session, (and several incidents of near misses with unexpected effects) Sir cautioned Harry, telling him that he needed to rein in his emotions. The problems appeared to surface mostly when Harry was overly emotive, and then again nearer the end of the lesson, when he was worn out. It was up to Harry, Sir said, to keep control of his feelings, and by so doing, control the spikes.
When Harry reached the small jetty overhanging the lake, he removed his father's cloak and perched himself on the edge of the pier, dangling his legs above the waters edge. This was the fourth night in a row (bar the night before last when it had poured torrential rain on the castle) that he had sat in this spot. It was a nice spot to sit. Something about the lazy ripples of the black water was incredibly calming, giving Harry a chance to churn his thoughts uninterrupted.
It also gave Malfoy the perfect opportunity to approach Harry. Which still hadn't happened.
Harry was growing increasingly restless. He glanced over his shoulder, and then looked back out over the spangled surface of the lake.
It had been almost a week since the return of school, and he was beginning to wonder if Malfoy was ever going to make himself known. Harry was tired of waiting for something to happen. The anticipation was wearing on him. It was almost tempting to just give up on this uncomfortable quest of Snape's and forget completely about any trouble Malfoy may have landed himself him. To be honest, Harry wasn't entirely sure if Malfoy didn't deserve all he might get. He had always been excessively vicious to Harry and his friends. Ever since day one. Really, what did Harry care if Malfoy's nasty disposition and narrow-minded prejudices were about to ricochet back onto him? You reap what you sow. Right?
There was the slight problem however, that according to Snape, Harry was going to need Malfoy to get to the next Horcrux.
Harry breathed out loudly and shifted in his spot.
He hadn't quite managed to come to terms with Snape's revelation about his friendship with his mother. In a way, maybe it wasn't as shocking as perhaps he would have expected months ago. It was more the fact that Harry didn't want to believe it.
From what Lupin had told him about Lily, she was the kind of person who would befriend the un-befriendable. Until recently, Harry had never been in doubt that underneath Snape's cold, oily and decidedly ugly exterior, he harboured just as much icy disgust, greasy bitterness, and unattractive hatred as he reflected outwardly.
But then, he had gone and given Harry the means to prevent Bellatrix from destroying Hogsmeade - and he had saved Ron and Hermione. That had to count for something. So now Harry was finding himself reluctantly believing that there might actually be more to Snape than the loathsome Death Eater.
Yet Harry couldn't quite trust him. Maybe it came down to all the years of their mutual loathing. Something like that couldn't be erased in a matter of weeks or months even, let alone days. In the end, his instincts kept him wary.
Harry picked up one of the small pebbles that littered the jetty and tossed it into the lake impatiently.
Why hadn't Malfoy accosted him yet? There was still one more Horcrux before Harry could leave Hogwarts in search of Nagini and Riddle. The unknown Horcrux. The Horcrux that Voldemort is apparently trying to re-acquire from Hogwarts, and yet Snape says isn't a Horcrux at all. How could Voldemort not know what all of his Horcruxes were? Snape was either wrong, or he was lying just so Harry would hand it over to Malfoy. Either way, it still meant the item must be a Horcrux. There was no logical reason why Voldemort would send Malfoy in on a wild goose chase, and therefore, there was no way Harry was going to hand his prize over to Draco Malfoy once it was in his possession.
But he needed the Slytherin to acquire it since Malfoy knew the way passed the pensieves silencing ward and Harry did not. Though, thinking about it, if he spoke to McGonagall, maybe she might be able to disarm it. After all, she was the Headmistress now, and she was also about as close to Dumbledore as anyone could have been. Its not like he had to keep it a secret from her anymore. She knows about the Horcruxes now.
…Yes.
Yes. It was less risky and all together a much more comforting thought to work with McGonagall than Malfoy. So he would speak to McGonagall and she was sure to help. That way he could by-pass his long time schoolyard enemy completely.
But then…
He would essentially be leaving the other boy to his fate. In fact, Harry was as good as holding the wand that would send the killing curse that would take the breath from Draco Malfoy.
Harry let out a frustrated sigh.
He sat there for some time, pondering his many thoughts by the lake, hoping - yet dreading - Malfoy would show. Eventually, Harry picked himself up, throwing the cloak over his head, and made his way back to the castle.
He couldn't keep waiting for Malfoy to appear. He had to get into that pensieve as soon as possible. He would have to approach McGonagall in the morning. Tomorrow was Saturday, that would give them both plenty of time to work on getting into the pensieve.
Harry eased open the heavy front doors and slipped quietly into the entrance hall. It was late. Much later than he had realised, and he still had to do his Head Boy rounds. Deciding to start in the dungeons and work his way up, he headed over to the stairs and trudged down them, thinking they wouldn't take long to do as most of the area was deserted now the Slytherins no longer resided there and Slughorn was still catatonic in St Mungos.
He strolled along the familiar corridors, occasionally checking doors whilst keeping an eye out for anything out of place. He did not bother to remove his invisibility cloak as it shielded him against the penetrating dampness that clung to the dungeons, and prevented the usual exchanging of unpleasantries with Filch if he should happen by the old caretaker or his eerie cat. He passed by portraits and tapestries, and blank wall, descending more stairs in the underground passageways, working his way along steadily through torchlight and shadow, and then stopped suddenly.
He cocked his head and listened. Nothing.
Harry looked up ahead of him, and then turned to search the area behind him, but could see nothing but the empty corridor in both directions.
Then faint scuffing sounds drifted down the stairs behind him. Harry watched from where he stood, but no one appeared at the bottom.
Harry drew his wand and pushed his back against the wall. He was still not able to see anyone, but the person was most definitely in the corridor with him now. It wasn't an Order member patrolling the castle; Harry had stumbled on them often enough in his Head Boy travels to know they did not use invisibility cloaks inside.
Suddenly, the scuff of a shoe on stone sounded impossibly close.
Harry held his breath.
A voice whispered near his ear, and then Harry was falling backwards.
The sound of stone scraping against stone covered Harry's 'oof' as he hit the floor. He lay there for a stunned second, watching the wall close in front of him, and then frantically pulled his feet up to make sure they weren't poking out of the cloak, which mercifully, had clung to him as he fell.
A quick glance around, and he instantly recognised his surroundings. The Slytherin common room. It had been years since he had been there with Ron, but it was immediately recognisable. The House colours of green and silver overwhelmed the area, broken only rarely by the stray, dark colouring of expensive hardwoods, or the golden glow of a lit torch.
His eyes were drawn to a door that suddenly opened seemingly of its own accord and then closed again.
Harry got to his feet carefully, wand still grasped in hand, adjusting his cloak as he went. No one was supposed to have access to old common rooms. It was one of the first things McGonagall had explained to Harry when she went over his duties. They were locked, she said, closed off so that the students wouldn't be tempted to try returning to them. It also lessoned the area needing to be patrolled.
Yet here Harry was, standing in the obviously inhabited dormitory, eyeing the door that someone had just passed through.
He wanted to open it. But if he just burst through it, whoever it was might be right on the other side, or worse, still in the room with him, then he'd give himself away, and that could lead to all sorts of problems, especially as his magic was unpredictable at the moment. Whoever it was definitely shouldn't be here. Actually, Harry had a fairly good idea who the ownerless footsteps belonged to, but what they were doing had his curiosity piqued.
He really wanted to open the door and follow, and had made up his mind to risk it when the door opened again and Draco Malfoy walked into the room.
Harry fought the instinct to whip off his cloak and confront Malfoy then and there, choosing to stay hidden instead. Maybe it was because Malfoy had such an intense look on his face as he was walking to the fireplace, like he was on important business.
Harry watched quietly as the boy pushed the coffee table away from the front of the fireplace and began pulling cushions off the chairs and couches, throwing them onto the floor at his feet. Well. No. That wasn't quite accurate. He was placing them – rather meticulously – in a solid circle on the threadbare rug.
When he was contented with the layout of the cushions, Malfoy yanked a white pillowslip out of his cloak pocket and laid it on the table behind him. He slid his cloak off and folded it neatly over a green leather armchair and then grabbed the bottom of his fleecy jumper and pulled it off over his head, mussing up his silver blonde hair so it uncharacteristically stuck out in all directions. He folded the jumper just as carefully as he had the cloak, and then raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down before moving onto the cuff of his shirt.
Harry could tell by Malfoy's actions that all of this was a well-practised routine, and it made him wonder just how long the Slytherin had been residing in the common room undetected.
Harry was just thinking to himself that if Malfoy was going to sleep in the buff then he would have to reveal himself, and soon, when Malfoy did something wholly unexpected. Instead of moving onto the right cuff to remove his shirt altogether, he rolled up the sleave of his left arm.
Harry sucked in a breath.
The Dark Mark stood out stark and aggressive against the pale skin beneath it.
The Slytherin reached behind him and picked up the pillowcase. He slowly began twisting it tightly, round and round, until it was a solid roll of fabric between his hands. Harry wondered what this bizarre ritual was leading up to, but Malfoy was facing away, towards the fireplace leaving Harry unable to make out the Slytherins expression.
So he moved closer.
As he neared, Harry's eyes were drawn to the Mark, the skin surrounding which was yellowed and purpled indicating both new and old bruising. As his gaze wandered up, he took in the tension in the blonde's arms and the stiff stance of his shoulders. Malfoy's jaw was moving as he ground his teeth together, and Harry was taken aback at the unguarded, haunted look of the Slytherins darkly encircled eyes. The boy's breathing was coming in quick, expectant pants as he wiped the light beading of sweat off his brow with a slight tremble in his hand.
Harry swallowed.
Raw fear was radiating from the Slytherin.
Malfoy dropped to his knees on the cushions. He drew several long, deep breaths before placing the white cloth between his teeth and wrapping it around the back of his head, tying it off with a sharp tug. He then brought his right palm up over the Dark Mark and bowed his head.
And there he stayed, not moving except for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed slowly in and out through his nose.
Harry glanced at the fireplace, but it showed no signs of life, so he watched Malfoy, both bewildered and fascinated.
The only sound in the room aside from Malfoy's sharp breaths was coming from a Grandfather clock steadily tick-tocking somewhere behind Harry. Suddenly Harry was startled out of his voyeurism by its melodic chime signalling the midnight hour. Reflex made his head swivel round to look at it.
A split second later, another sound pierced the room.
Harry swung his head back to Malfoy.
He was still kneeling in the same position, but the guttural moan now emanating from the boy's mouth, muffled by both the pillowcase and the teeth that bit down on it, was one of the worst sounds Harry had ever heard. The boy's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his body rigid with pain, and his knuckles white over the Mark as his fingers dug into the bruised flesh.
Harry stood stunned.
Malfoy's groaning was rapidly growing into a fully-fledged desperate roar behind the twisted cloth. The sound broke fleetingly only when the boy tried to draw in a ragged breath, and then it started up again.
Harry's heartbeat was racing in his chest, his fist clenching around his wand as he looked about him despairingly for something to do. But what could he do? It wasn't like there was someone casting the Cruciatus curse that he could try and stop. It seemed likely the curse was emanating from Malfoy's Mark. How was he supposed to stop that?
Suddenly, Malfoy keeled over and curled in on himself. But it was far from over.
The strangled cries didn't stop, and Harry was just beginning to realise why Malfoy had covered the floor with cushions. The boy began writhing and squirming, his body thrusting against the cushions, scattering them until he was knocking his head and limbs against the unforgiving stone floor.
Harry threw off his cloak and rushed forward.
He lunged at the other boy, using his body weight to subdue him, and then grabbing at Malfoy's arms, he pinned them against the blonde's sides.
Harry rolled his weight off, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around the writhing boys torso, and pushed Malfoy into a sitting position. Slipping behind the Slytherin he positioned the boy's body between his legs and pulled him back until Harry was leaning his back against the foot of the couch for purchase. He had no choice but to clutch Malfoy's back firmly to his chest, using his own arms to restrict the Slytherins movement as much as possible.
Malfoy's struggling seemed to abate somewhat at the contact, and when Harry was reasonably sure the boy couldn't do too much damage he laid his head back on the couch and wondered how long this was going to last. The groaning had not lessened in intensity, but the hoarseness of Malfoy's throat meant that it wasn't as loud, though it didn't look like letting up either.
Harry's glasses were uncomfortably skewed on his face, but he didn't dare try to free an arm to fix them, so he resigned himself to waiting it out until he could release the other boy. It was obvious that this was a regular occurrence, and the thought shook Harry. He vaguely wondered if all Death Eaters endured the same.
Harry renewed his grip as Malfoy almost managed to wrench an arm free. He looked down at what was visible of the suffering boys features. A deep line was etched between his brows and sweat was dripping down the side of his face. Harry wondered if Malfoy was aware that someone was with him or if the pain was too intense to register anything else. It was a blessing that the blonde's head didn't thrash about on Harry's shoulder, yet the Slytherins body was so taught against Harry that he wondered if this wasn't some form of Cruciatus - inflicted through the Mark instead of a wand.
It seemed like hours, but it was only about three minutes from start to finish before Malfoy's hoarse groans died off and his tense and pain racked body finally fell limp. Harry lifted his head off the couch and looked down, tentatively loosening his hold on the other boy and finally lifting an arm to straighten his glasses. He wondered briefly if Malfoy had passed out, but then the blonde head, which had lagged forward, slowly lifted and sagged back against Harry's shoulder, rolling limply outwards.
The part of the Slytherins face that Harry could see was white and clammy looking and his breaths came in shallow pants. An impatient, broken grunt sounded, and Harry moved quickly to undo the gag. But before he could dislodge himself from the Slytherin, Malfoy turned to inspect the person he was leaning against.
Bloodshot, heavy lidded grey eyes met concerned, searching, bespectacled green ones.
Malfoy groaned and closed his eyes again, croaking in a whiney voice something that sounded like "Oh no. Why did it have to be you?" before the exhausted Slytherin finally succumbed to enforced sleep.
Harry breathed a deep sigh and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses before pushing the frames back up his nose and letting his own head fall back against the couch.
Harry woke feeling groggy and wondering at the pain in his neck when the memory of what had happened the previous night and where he currently was drifted rudely back to him. His eyes flew open at the realisation he had carelessly fallen asleep on a couch while he'd been waiting for Malfoy to come to. He wrenched his head out of the uncomfortable position it had been lolling in only to find himself staring down the tip of a wand.
Harry blinked twice. Malfoy's pale figure came into focus.
The Slytherin was abundantly emitting cold fury as he stood before Harry's sprawled form.
"Malfoy." Harry groaned. He closed his eyes and rubbed the indents on the bridge of his nose left there by his glasses and settled back into the couch. The sickly looking boy did not respond. He kept his piercing gaze on Harry, and his wand rigidly aimed.
Lifting his arm, Harry tried to work the crick out of his neck as he eyed the Slytherin, wondering how long he'd been standing there battling with himself over whether to hex Harry limb from limb or not.
"That's not really very polite. Considering." Harry remarked, nodding at the wand. But Malfoy continued his threatening pose, making Harry feel more and more uneasy. Harry began to edge his hand around the side of the couch in search of his wand.
Malfoy followed his movements. "Looking for this?" With a triumphant glint in his sunken eyes he slid Harry's wand from his robe and dangled it between his fingers.
Harry swallowed.
"Yes. As a matter of fact." He replied with more calm than he felt. He reached out his hand slowly. "Care to return it?"
"No." Malfoy said bluntly. He pulled it away from Harry and slid it back into his robes. "I don't think so."
Harry's anger bubbled beneath the surface at the predictable answer. His jaw tightened as he decided enough was enough.
"Look Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for this. Just give me my wand." He moved to stand up, and the other boy backed up slightly. "I'm not going to attack you. I just want my wand back. You owe me that courtesy."
"I don't owe you a thing! And I didn't ask for your interference." Malfoy spat.
"Christ, Malfoy!" Harry exasperated. "You could be just a little bit more grateful. I stopped your bony butt from getting seriously hurt last night and I wake up with your wand in my face! I helped you and the least you can do is–"
"I didn't need any help!" The Slytherin growled. His knuckles whitened over his wand. "And believe me, you would be the Very. Last. Person. I would ask."
Malfoy sneered aggressively. "You and your sycophantic sidekicks are sickening enough from a distance without you barging into my personal space. I bet the three of you have the Slytherins vomiting en mass with your group-hugs in that hovel of a common room. Its pathetic the way you run around playing at being heroes and getting people killed. Not anyone important, of course." He ground out. "Not anyone that actually matters.
"That hapless prat Longbottom, for instance." Malfoy hissed, impervious to the blood and thunder glare that Harry was sending his way. "He hung off you like a leach, but he was. Never. Quite. Good enough to join your little 'Golden Gryffindors' threesome, was he? And yet he was good enough to die for you like the willing little Mudblood-loving fodder he was." The Slytherin's face was flushed and spiteful. "Purebloods have always paid a higher price than Mudbloods."
Harry's fists were balled so tightly his fingernails were digging into his palms.
"The saviour of the wizarding world?" Malfoy mocked as he looked Harry up and down. "Pleeease! You're a walking magnet to misery, and anyone near you gets hurt. If you really want to help your fellow wizard then go throw yourself off the nearest–"
Malfoy was cut off by Harry's fist as it crunched into the Slytherin's cheek. The boy reeled sideways in shock, stumbling a few feet away from Harry. Harry pulled back his fist ready to punch Malfoy again if he tried to retaliate but stayed his arm when the other boy turned in a slow controlled movement to face his aggressor. Blood wept from the corner of his mouth.
Malfoy scowled as he slowly wiped at the sticky fluid. He looked down at the red smear on the back of his hand and snorted.
"I repeat. I. Did. Not. Need. Your. Help. Nor will I ever!" He wiped his hand on his robes, his eyes glittering with malice.
And it hit Harry suddenly why Malfoy hadn't approached him. The Slytherin hated him. Not just the hate that people carelessly bandy around daily. This was a deep seeded, festering hatred. Malfoy loathed him so much that he was willing to suffer torture and the threat of death rather than ask for help from the Gryffindor. The realisation was disturbing. Harry already had one deadly arch-nemisis in Voldemort. Sure, Malfoy was no Dark Lord, but he was vicious and passionate and could potentially prove a dangerous enemy – if he survived his current pickle.
Harry let out a weary breath and raked a hand through messy hair. If Malfoy wouldn't come to him, then he would go to Malfoy.
"Well I need yours."
Malfoy hesitated. "… What?"
Harry looked off to the side, finding this more difficult than he would have imagined. Not that he'd ever imagined needing to go to Draco Malfoy for help. Not for anything. It would have been a complete waist of time under any normal circumstances. Malfoy would automatically reject him, then sneer and mock him for days afterwards – perhaps even weeks. It was unthinkable.
But these were not normal circumstances.
"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" Harry said under his breath. He turned his gaze back to the other boy. "I need to get into the pensieve in the Headmistresses office, but I can't get passed the protective spell."
Malfoy's eyes widened, but they quickly narrowed again. "Why are you interested in the old nags memory bowl?" He asked suspiciously.
"Dumbledore left something in it that I would like to see."
"What?"
"I don't know," Harry could tell the other boy was fishing to find out what he might know, but his impatience reflected in his voice. "I just know that its there, and that I need to see it."
"Why me?"
"What?"
"Why do you need me?" He asked, and then added scathingly. "The mudblood finally found a limit to her dazzling talents?"
"Her name is Hermione." Harry said darkly.
"Ahh." Malfoy soothed knowingly. "The task is beneath the untouchable trio. Wouldn't want to sully yourselves with any dark magic, would you?" He scoffed and shook his head slightly. "Not good enough foryou, but good enough for me. Right?"
"Malfoy! Cut the crap!" Harry bit out, unable to hold in his anger any longer. "I know that you need access to that pensieve as much as I do. I know that what happened to you last night has been going on for some time. I know that He's hurting you through the Mark and I think I know why…" Harry's voice trailed off.
Malfoy masked the flash of vulnerability that crossed his face almost immediately. White fury took its place as he renewed the aim of his wand, and Harry wondered if he'd finally pushed the Slytherin too far.
"What the hell were you doing here last night? How did you get in?"
There was panic behind the ire in Malfoy's voice, and the dark rings under his eyes made them appear sunken and afraid against his pale skin. His jaw where Harry's fist had landed was quickly growing red and swollen and angry looking. Harry hesitated. He was almost certain now that Malfoy was unaware Snape had recruited him.
Harry decided on as much truth as possible. "I came in with you. I was checking the area when I heard footsteps." Harry blushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his hand. "I … er … fell through the door when you opened it."
Malfoy continued to eye Harry suspiciously. "How did you know I wanted to get into the pensieve?"
"Its not that hard to figure out." Harry's voice was subdued. "Makes sense in a... sick sort of way."
"What do you mean?" The Slytherin asked cautiously.
Harry sighed. "Our history is pretty much conducive to something like this, don't you think?"
Malfoy's steely glare eased slightly. Harry could guess the thoughts that were going through the other boy's head because they were going through his own at that moment.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had always rucked heads on everything. Whether it was in classrooms, in the halls, on the Quidditch pitch, or in the war against Voldemort, they had always been on opposite sides. Always competing against one another. What had started as nasty childish bantering had quickly turned bitter and full of malice as they grew, becoming what it was today. It was tiring, to say the least, having to watch your enemy all of the time. Harry should know. He had spent a good part of last year obsessed with Malfoy. It might have been the same this year but for the tiny issue of recovering and destroying Voldemorts soul. Piece by piece.
In the end, for one reason or another, Potter and Malfoy were continually pitted against each another. And there was no reason to believe that would ever change.
"McGonagall's out of the castle all night tomorrow."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes and lowered his wand slightly. "I heard the old battle-axe in the staff room. She's going to some … gathering or other at the Ministry." He held Harry's wand out in resentful offering. "We can do it then."
Harry took his wand slowly, only slightly relieved at Malfoy's sudden amiable stance, knowing that as quickly as the change had befallen the other boy, it would reverse again when it no longer serviced his needs. It was a shallow reprieve. Tentative and empty.
Harry flicked his wand, summoning his invisibility cloak from the floor behind the couch. "What time should I–"
"Be here at a quarter to ten." Malfoy grumbled. His gaze shifted uncomfortably to the side. "Neophyte."
"Pardon me?" Harry asked, surprised at the uncalled for name-calling.
Malfoy huffed impatiently. "Its the password, ignoramus."
"O-oh." Harry stuttered, barely able to take in the fleeting reprieve from being insulted only to be insulted in earnest. He nodded his head once, threw his cloak over his arm, and then headed out the door.