MEMORY VIAL 34: THE MAKING OF A VILLAIN (YEAR 6)

Harry was unprepared to run into Draco so soon in Diagon Alley, only a few days after his birthday. In his mind, everything between them had soured over the summer, and he was determined to go with Lupin's advice and put an end to the unhealthy relationship.

When Draco called Hermione a Mudblood after spotting her in Madam Malkin's, Harry couldn't hold back his feelings of resentment. The slur didn't have the same sting for him on Hermione's behalf like it did for Ron, since he hadn't been raised to sense its cruelty, but he intended to make his loyalties crystal clear: He was not about to stand idle while his best friend was being targeted. Harry was fed up with Draco's conceit and refused to enable his bullying any longer. And so, without a second thought, he pointed his wand at Draco alongside Ron the instant the hideous word left his boyfriend's lips.

When Narcissa interfered, Harry directed his wand at her instead and found himself wrestling with the hatred he felt towards her for having raised a boy—who might have otherwise been pleasant—in the fanatical likeness of Lucius Malfoy. But Harry could not have known that her spite towards him in that moment stemmed from something other than Draco getting hexed two months prior. Harry was ignorant of everything that had happened to Draco over the summer. He didn't know Narcissa had discovered Draco's attraction to him, which was fueling her wrath more than anything else.

But it wouldn't have mattered much to Harry, anyways. She was as much a Death Eater as her husband, whether she had a Dark Mark or not, and Harry would have loved to duel her in the clothing shop—if she only struck first—but nothing resulted from the encounter.

In a prissy tantrum, Draco threw the new dress robes he'd been trying on onto the floor, and offered Harry no more attention after chiding him for disrespecting his mother.

Harry couldn't help but feel ignored by Draco's behavior, and it hurt. It stung more than he was willing to admit. Draco usually made the Gryffindor boy the focal point of his abuse, so why the hell was he ignoring him now?

Sure, Harry meant to break things off the moment they had their first secret meeting of the new school year, but he had expected Draco to continue pursuing him in the meantime, which usually translated into obsessive, targeted bullying whenever other people were around.

So far, Harry was being treated like nothing special. There were no venomous declarations of hate, and no surreptitious leers of suppressed thirst. Draco didn't even give him the usual contemptuous-but-sexy smirk when no one was looking. The Slytherin's encrypted flirtations had dried up completely—and Harry felt scared at the realization that he longed for its toxic allure…

Harry could excuse the lack of owls exchanged between them over the summer. But nothing had ever prevented them from flirting underhand.

Perhaps Draco was really that upset over Lucius being sent to Azkaban, and Harry ought to be happy at the apparent change in dynamic. With the way things were going now, he wouldn't have to do any of the legwork to break things off—it all appeared to have been done for him. He was free to go about his life smelling the flowers, dating anyone else who would be a far better pick compared to Malfoy.

But… it didn't feel right.

Harry wanted to be the one to end the relationship. In fact, he wanted Draco to collapse to knees and apologize profusely for everything he had ever done. He wanted Draco to humiliate himself and say something like: "You were right all along, Potter, and I'm the one who was a fool ever since we first laid eyes on each other. I'll abandon everything for you—including my mother and everything that comes with the Malfoy name!"

He had hoped, Harry realized in quiet shock, that Draco would want to discard his own surname and ask to take Harry's instead. Not legally, of course, since it was impossible. But by his word, with a tender promise, sealed by magic in their own private little ceremony…

Fuck, Harry thought. What am I going on about? Marriage to him of all people?

Indeed, Draco had looked so handsome—so matrimonial—in the green robes he had been trying on, that Harry was disappointed to see him go when he departed from the shop with his mother. Maybe, if Harry had come to Madam Malkin's by himself, and if Draco had been allowed to shop alone as well, they might have conspired to meet somewhere private…

They might have argued about whether they were still dating—and sucked the breath out of each other's lungs somewhere weird, like Knockturn Alley.

They might've rented a room, used a Divesting Charm on each other, and put an end to the affair in the most passionate way they could, Draco perhaps allowing Harry to—

…Harry's fingers twitched as he put away his wand. A delicious feeling was trickling into his nerve endings, and he needed to hide its effects from everyone, or else risk looking like a touch-starved idiot. He didn't know where these fantasies were coming from—they were springing up out of nowhere, feeling sweet all over his body, making him ache to feel Draco against him one last time…

Use me like I used you, Potter, he imagined the Slytherin boy whispering heatedly in his ear. Make a mess, if you want. Just don't hold back…

Harry's daydreams about Draco had been less than exciting over the past month, but now he was picturing doing filthy things with him in the sleaziest places, bruising each other up from their mutual rough handling.

It took some effort to refocus on why he, Ron, and Hermione had come to Madam Malkin's in the first place. School robes, and—whatever the hell else…

Later that day, after Harry saw Draco sneak away from his mother and put in his suspicious request at Borgin and Burkes, Harry knew without a doubt something was wrong. And not wrong in the way that everything about Draco was expected to be wrong. But Harry felt like something inside himself was off. He thought he knew how Draco ought to behave, even if he was planning something dodgy, and this seemed noticeably out of character, even for him.

Last year, during one of their dates, Draco had sung the praises of Narcissa and explained how she was like a platonic soulmate to him. He loved her so much, Draco had said, that he actually hated disobeying her.

So what was so needful now, that he would slip free of her like this?

Harry felt like he knew Draco on a level no one else did, not even Pansy, Crabbe, or Goyle. Their intimacy had been more than physical last year, but he couldn't tell Ron and Hermione about the source of these secret knowings. If he admitted to the smallest thing, like a kiss or a single night spent with Draco—let alone the time Draco had used the Imperius Curse on him, which was proof that he was practicing the Dark Arts—then he would need to come clean about everything else they had done, and even Hermione might not let him live it down.

Most importantly, Harry was unwilling to betray Draco's confidence, even though he knew his friends would keep the scandal quiet. Enough adults had discovered Draco's secret, however, that Harry couldn't imagine telling anyone else.

If it was a bad idea not to divulge the secret relationship to his friends, Harry supposed he would eventually find out. In the meantime, he would brainstorm over what these ominous intuitions about Draco meant. He wouldn't need stupid tea leaves, crystal balls, Tarot cards, or purblind seers to aid him, either. He would figure it all out himself, and be the better for it.

It just hurt, knowing that something more important than himself was occupying Draco's thoughts.

I suppose you aren't scheming up a new way to seduce me, are you, Malfoy? Harry thought after he, Ron, and Hermione had returned to Fred and George's shop. But, god, what I wouldn't give for that to be the case… You'd win me over easily, but I think you know that.

A few weeks later, immediately after he voiced his case for Draco being a Death Eater, Harry was waylaid by Hermione at the bottom of the stairs after dropping off his dirty Quidditch robes with Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. Harry jolted against the wall when Hermione rounded off the stairs onto the ground-floor landing out of nowhere.

"Geez!" He flattened his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes for a moment, to mentally recompose himself. "Could you be any creepier than Peeves just now? What the hell, Hermione?"

Hermione's expression was grave. "You still have feelings for him, don't you?"

When Harry stalled, then stammered, she folded her arms to indicate she knew that he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"Wha…? You mean, Malfoy? No. Absolutely not."

Harry was pleased that his tone sounded convincing to his own ears. While the thought of Draco being a Death Eater was putting him into a right state of panic, he honestly didn't want to like Draco, not now that he suspected he was working for Voldemort.

"You can tell me, you know. I'd never tell Ron, unless you wanted to."

Harry rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, in an almost Malfoyesque way. "I don't still have feelings for him, okay, Hermione? All that stuff that happened at the Yule Ball is history. Everything's different now."

"But you would tell me if you still had feelings, wouldn't you?"

Harry hesitated, then made a snarling sound, like a wild dog that was being harried by a street-smart alley cat. Who was she to be cornering him like this?

"I'm serious. You would tell me?" Hermione grabbed him by the arm, and Harry looked her in the eye, sensing that she was making a very serious appeal for information.

"There's almost nothing I wouldn't tell you," he told her candidly, "but I'm allowed to have a personal life, alright? That said," he added hastily, realizing that his words sounded as good as a confession, "I have nothing to say about him—I don't feel anything."

"You've been talking about Draco for weeks since we spotted him in Diagon Alley, and you expect me to believe what you just said? It's obvious you want to talk about nothing but him, and that it's making you feel something."

Rattled because, like usual, she was right, Harry squared his shoulders. It was obvious she was concerned for his well-being, but he had no intention of sharing the truth about his feelings this time around.

"All I meant is, I think he's a Death Eater and that he might want some revenge. Why would I get bent out of shape over one of Voldemort's servants, when I hate all of them?" The very idea was repugnant, and Harry felt proud that he had nurtured his feelings of disgust for the other boy over the last few weeks. The thought of Draco getting on his knees in front of Voldemort and kissing the hem of his robes like the other Death Eater's made Harry want to vomit. While Draco did ingratiate himself to powerful people—and who would he consider more powerful than Voldemort?—it was so unlike him to worship anyone except…

Me, Harry thought, feeling a sickening wrench of jealousy.

"If you still had feelings for him…," she lowered her voice, "then I'd understand why you were this upset. It would feel like a betrayal, wouldn't it?"

Harry couldn't believe how insufferably right she was. "I'm not talking about this anymore." Weaving himself away from the wall, he rushed up the stairs to finish his packing.

"Harry!" Hermione called up after him in a stricken voice. "If you ever want to… you know, talk… I'll listen. I won't judge!"

Oh, yes you will, he thought defensively. "Give it a rest, will you?"

Harry launched himself into his bedroom, where Ron was quibbling with Ginny about something, although he didn't know what. His brain was too flooded with emotion now to pick up on the details of what they were debating. When Ginny turned to him, her brown eyes glittered in the lowlight, and his brain short-circuited when she spoke, but he eventually caught up to the fact that she was apologizing for their having a row inside his room.

"It's… no problem," he said uncertainly, although he missed most of what she had said.

He paid no more attention to her, and instead seethed over how Hermione had just treated him: snooping into his love life, as always, forever assuming she had the answer to everything. As if Harry wasn't allowed to theorize about Draco's fishy behavior without it meaning something more…

Even though it did.

When he finally calmed down enough to pick up on Ron and Ginny's raised voices, he suddenly wondered what they were doing in his bedroom to begin with. They were continuing the argument, Ginny's face flushed scarlet with anger, and Ron's entire neck and face seemed to have transformed into a beetroot. A quick glance around the room, along with a quick mental calculation of what was being said, and Harry realized Ron must have been returning something to his trunk.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them both.

"Ron slipped you something dirty," Ginny said, her cheeks patched with what looked like roses.

Harry looked round for more stray laundry. "Uh. I gave it all to Mrs. Weasley."

"It was a magazine. It had a naked witch on the cover—I saw it!"

Harry's brain screeched to a halt. Uh oh, he thought, then blinked at Ron. "If you're sneaking me one of those fake Rudy Nudey magazines your brothers are still trying to invent, I'm not their guinea pig."

Harry flashed Ginny a sheepish grin, but she pursed her lips like Mrs. Weasley. Her eyes flitted back to Ron, apparently awaiting his response.

"But…," Ron said slowly, catching on to Harry's ruse, "they're hoping to have it out by Christmas. You wouldn't spoil their research, would you? Especially if part of that research involves slipping it to Malfoy? We could get him expelled, I bet—and then we wouldn't have to worry about all that stuff you've been going on about."

Ginny looked curiously at Harry, wondering what Ron was referring to.

"Alright," Harry said, feeling more confident, now that Ron had provided a competent response. "We'll give it to Malfoy as a prank, but I'd rather not have it in my trunk. It was your idea, so you keep it."

"But if you get caught with it, you won't get in trouble, since most of the teachers favor you." Apparently, Ron was getting too wrapped up in the fiction they had just spun together. "As for me," his face fell, "McGonagall will have me by the wand if she catches me with one of those."

"I'd rather not test my luck," said Harry, feeling impressed at their combined ability to improvise. "But I guess since it's fake, they'd have no reason to punish me that much…"

Harry closed his trunk with a thunk, hoping Ginny would understand she wasn't welcome to go rifling through his things. He felt bad enough that he had kept all the magazines Draco had given him, but would feel even worse if Ginny knew he and Ron had a habit of looking at them.

"I'll tell Mum that Fred and George gave you those," Ginny threatened in a low whisper. "You're still underage, so I can't believe they'd foist that on you."

"It's a gag item," Ron argued. "Obviously, it's not meant to be real."

"Her breasts looked real enough!"

Harry disguised his laugh with a cough, knowing exactly which magazine she was talking about. "Don't tell her, Ginny, please? Your mum won't be too happy with me if she finds out." He eyed her for a meaningful moment, trying to look innocent and shamefaced. "It'd be a hilarious way to mess with Malfoy, don't you think? After everything he's done?"

Ginny scoffed in disbelief. "It wouldn't be any better than the Bat Bogey Hex I cast on him last year."

"Definitely not better." Harry grinned. "But it'll have a more lasting effect."

Ginny stared at him for a long while. Eventually, she sighed in resignation and said, "Boys are so slimy…"

Inwardly, Harry whooped from having convinced her. Outwardly, he shrugged, as if to grant the point about boys being slimy. Then, he smiled at her. "You're the best."

Ron scratched the back of his head, and Ginny frowned around the room, apparently hoping to find something else that would incriminate her brother.

Harry resumed organizing his textbooks and waited for Ginny to leave the room. He meant to punch Ron in the shoulder as soon as he could, for not waiting until everyone had gone to bed before returning their secret stash into his trunk.

"It's adorable," Ginny said out of nowhere, breaking the awkward silence.

Harry lifted his head, gaze alighting on her slender figure from behind. She was standing by the nightstand, peering down at the miniature Blast-Ended Skrewt Draco had given him for Christmas.

Ron glared warily at it. "You think that barmy thing is cute?"

"It's ugly," Harry corrected, frowning at the Skrewt as it jabbed its scorpion-like tail this way and that.

"Then why do you have it?" she asked.

The question took Harry back into the prefects' bathroom—into Draco's arms. His heart felt warm and painfully achy all at once…

"It's a symbol," he said honestly.

"Of what?"

The Blast-Ended Skrewt made a loud phut! sound, then launched a handsbreadth forward.

"It means some people are full of hot air."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Hard to believe you're keeping it to remind you of just that."

Harry stared at the flatulent figurine, but didn't answer. He didn't want to remember all the sweet words Draco had spoken, or how much the tiny Skrewt still meant to him.

Realizing she wouldn't be getting a proper response, Ginny wandered the room idly, then picked up a book that was lying face down on the windowsill.

"You like poetry?" Ginny smiled up at Harry from over its pages, looking incredulous.

Ron groused.

Harry shrugged.

"Fireheart is really romantic," she informed them both. "Astoria recited something by him to Draco at the End-of-Term Feast."

Harry's stomach churned with renewed jealousy before he yanked the book out of her hands and tossed it in the pile of his textbooks.

"Are you really into poetry?" she asked dubiously, looking mildly offended.

What the hell are you still doing in my room? he wanted to ask.

"Yeah," Harry said forcefully. "So what?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking… you don't seem the type."

"Because only sensitive guys are into poetry, is that right?" He did not yell, but the effect of his tone was no different than if he had.

Ginny's eyes widened with shock. "That…That's not what I meant. I didn't mean—"

"For your information, the person who gave me that book has no feelings." Harry opened his trunk and threw his books in with the figurine. The Blast-Ended Skrewt landed on its back, emitted another loud phut!, then launched into the spine of his new Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny said, although she sounded more indignant than anything else. Her tone made it clear that she was the one deserving of an apology.

Ron looked curiously between them both, fascinated at how they were the ones who were arguing now.

"No feelings at all," Harry mumbled blindly, arranging things slipshod in his trunk. "Never gave a damn about me, although he liked to pretend." Harry chucked the poetry book over his shoulder and across the room, more as a way of venting his hurt feelings than getting rid of it.

"Then you won't mind if I take it?"

"Of course, I'd mind!" Harry turned to face her.

"And why's that?" Ginny said, voice rising in challenge.

Ron crossed his arms and observed the heated way they were both looking at each other.

"You hate it, right? Well, I happen to love poetry—"

"Then knock yourself out with it, why don't you?" Harry went back to arranging his trunk.

Ron froze. "Whoa there, mate… Watch it. You know she doesn't mean anything—"

"After she tried getting you in trouble just now, you can shut up."

Ginny backed slowly toward the door, her chin aloft. Meanwhile, Ron grumbled to her that he would "take care of Harry", and that no one talked to his sister that way, not even his best friend.

"I can handle myself, Ron, thank you…"

Hearing this response, Harry's hackles lowered gradually, and he looked over his shoulder at Ginny apologetically. Her mouth was a firm line, and he could tell that she was holding back from crying.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I've been on edge, and I lashed out. I'm not angry at you. You just happened to get in my way, I suppose…"

"Looks like we might have a repeat of last year," Hermione said from outside the room. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all turned to look at her. " 'Misunderstood Harry' tends to forget who he can trust."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she was already stamping up the stairs to the room she was sharing with Ginny. Harry's shoulders deflated. He felt more horrible now than when he had realized Draco might be a Death Eater. He felt even worse when Ginny gave him a cold look before striding out the door.

"You have horrible luck with girls," Ron said when Ginny was gone. "You were finally getting on so well."

Harry grumbled in response. It was true. He had let his panic about Draco get the best of him just now, and he might not have snapped at Ginny at all if Hermione had not blocked his way up the stairs to confront him about Draco.

Harry rubbed his nose, which was itching from the lingering scent of Ginny's perfume.

"Two angry girls within minutes," Ron pointed out, before changing the subject. "Lucky for me though, you were quick on your feet. Thanks, mate. Mum would've dug my grave in the backyard if she'd known I was sneaking around with those."

"Anytime," Harry said, forcing himself to stay calm.

For the rest of the evening, he couldn't stop rehearsing going up to Ginny's room to apologize again for his behavior—but doing so might be too much. Hermione would only psychoanalyze him, and he didn't think he could put up with much more of that. She might even find some hidden meaning in Harry rushing to Ginny's side to ask for her forgiveness—and he couldn't stand any more accusations of undisclosed love being thrown at him.

Animus Thorne removed the Neural Labyrinth Charm a week before Draco was due to board the Hogwarts Express. "You've done well," Mr. Thorne said, after testing Draco's Occlumency. "I gained access to only a few memories, but I can't interpret them. You might not do as well against your master or Dumbledore, but you've come very far in a short time. Keep practicing, and learn to stay calm no matter what anyone throws at you."

Draco didn't know how to offer his thanks, so he shook Mr. Thorne's hand and said importantly, "If you ever need anything…"

Animus, fearful of the Dark Mark Draco had shown him, waved down the offer of eventual payback and left through the fireplace to help the rest of his patients.

Draco had spent all summer reeling over his encounter with the Dark Lord, feeling proud that he'd been hand-picked by Voldemort for the mission against Dumbledore. The attention made him feel like he was following in his father's footsteps, in exactly the way Lucius would have liked. Recently, however, Draco had begun to feel scared. It had taken weeks of Narcissa haranguing him about how dangerous the assignment was—and how real Voldemort's threats were—for him to realize his entire future was hinging on his success.

Draco brushed the fear off just as quickly, however, especially when Bellatrix praised him for the honor the Dark Lord had bestowed on him. His aunt had glimpsed his fear during Occlumency lessons and cackled at him for it. But he always managed to surprise her by following up with a particularly powerful protection charm against her Legilimency.

Like Narcissa had told him at the beginning of the summer, he was not an infant anymore. He was as much a man as his father, and was determined to prove this to everyone. He meant to prove his worth, now that he'd been shown favor by the Dark Lord and had become a proud carrier of the Dark Mark. He meant to redeem the family name, since even his aunt was making snide remarks about Lucius's failure. But she would have nothing more to say when Draco succeeded in the end. She would have to eat her words when Lucius was freed from Azkaban—and Draco would be loved and celebrated by his peers like no one else when he threw Dumbledore's wand at Voldemort's feet.

He was only grateful that he'd been tasked to kill the old headmaster and not Harry Potter—which was a miracle, considering how badly the Dark Lord wanted them both dead. Draco didn't know what he would have done if Voldemort had said in that cold, airy voice of his: "You will kill the Potter boy, or face me in a duel instead…"

Draco's memories might have been safe, concealed behind a Charm even Voldemort could not navigate. But it wouldn't have mattered if the expression on his face had cracked at the mention of Harry Potter. If he had flinched or cowered in the face of such an order, the truth would have come out—if by nothing else, then by torture. He would have been exposed and made an example of to all wizardkind.

Draco felt more pressure now than ever to master his skills. Magic was no longer about theory, controlled environments, and in-class projects, but it had everything to do with life or death. There were real consequences at stake, and he would have to forgo all his schoolwork to teach himself everything that would be necessary for a Death Eater to know.

Granger can ace her exams all she wants, he thought spitefully. But unlike her, I'll have real power. I'm about to exceed whatever prospects I might've gained from achieving my N.E.W.T.s.

On the first of September, before Draco and his mother left for King's Cross station, Narcissa grabbed him by the arms and took a moment to admire him in the dining room. "You mustn't go near that Potter boy anymore, do you understand? If the Dark Lord catches so much as a hint of you fancying him—"

"After what he's done to our family, Mother," Draco said in an earnest voice, "on top of threatening you in Diagon Alley, I'd rather kill him than be manipulated again."

Of course, he was exaggerating for her sake. In fact, he was flat-out lying. But he was as solid a liar as many of the wizards he looked up to, and he knew it would put her anxious mind at ease.

She seemed pleased with his response, then moved on to her next concern. "If Dumbledore questions you, you are good enough at Occlumency now that you can evade him. And I'm sure Professor Snape would be willing to teach you more."

Draco looked skeptical.

"Remember, Severus is there to help you with your mission. You don't have to be the one to—"

"Mind your own business, Mother." Draco held her gaze with as much authority as his father. "I'm a Death Eater. The Dark Lord chose me, and I intend to do exactly what he said."

"But you must complete your schooling. Your future depends on—"

"I'm the man of the house now," Draco snapped impatiently, "and, honestly, I should report you for what you just said—but I won't…" His tone and demeanor softened. "I love you, Mother… but Voldemort gave me his orders, and I intend to carry them out. Our future depends on that, and no one's going to take my glory from me, not even Snape."

Narcissa heaved a deep sigh. "Darling… I'm only saying Severus can do the deed for you. You can keep your hands clean, and—"

"And what? Get none of the honor?" Draco snorted. "Remember, Mother: you made him take the Unbreakable Vow, which only goes to show how little faith you have in me. I don't need him."

"Draco—it has nothing to do with faith. To kill someone is something you don't understand—you're only a boy!"

"I've been doing a lot of grown-up things you'd say I wouldn't understand—so quit treating me like I'm a child."

"I know you're not a child, but technically you won't be of age for another—"

"Ten months," Draco finished for her. "Ten fucking months, and you won't be able to hold my age against me anymore. Ten months, and you won't have an excuse to baby me—like always!"

"Ten months is a long time," Narcissa said in an even voice. "It took nearly as long to carry you. Darling… I only want you to enjoy the rest of your childhood."

Draco kicked the chair next to him, unable to control himself after hearing that. "My what?" He took a breath, to steady himself, but it only turned his breath to fire. "You expect me to play with my toys while Father is locked up? You want me to focus on my fucking schoolwork like a little boy—AND FOR WHAT? IT'S NOT GOING TO MATTER ANYMORE—DON'T YOU GET THAT?"

He turned from her and covered his face, feeling ashamed for shouting at her like this. "Christ, Mummy… how's it possible that he respects me more than you do…?"

"It's not that I don't respect you," Narcissa said in a defeated whisper. "And… it's not that he respects you at all… It's just that I love you, and I only want you safe." She refrained from explaining how Voldemort's orders were a punishment to her and Lucius. None of this was an honor like Draco thought. Voldemort wanted Draco to die vying for his approval, and for no other reason than to cause pain.

"I want you safe too, Mummy." Draco's eyes were red when he uncovered them. He was close to crying, but he managed to keep his tears from leaking out. "If I do this… everything'll be fixed. I'll be his favorite, and no one'll question us again. You'll have Father back, and there won't be a need for me to continue school or see Potter again. We'll live the rest of our lives protected by the most powerful wizard in the world, feared by everyone, and no one—no one—will hurt us ever again."

Narcissa looked uneasy. "You speak like a man harboring childish dreams. This is too much for you."

Draco blinked, fighting back the sting in his eyes. "I'm prepared to do what it takes. I'm devoted to him now, Mother, and I won't end up lying in the dust at Potter's feet when it's all over. All the hell he's put us through will finally be over, and that half-blood will finally know he's on the wrong side."

"Are you still hoping to win him over?" A crease formed between her eyebrows. "You mustn't love him. He will ruin you, if you allow these feelings to continue. He's a curse to the whole family."

"It won't matter how I feel when he's dead." Draco swallowed back the tears that were surging up his throat. His whole face felt hot from suppressed emotion, but he had to control it; he couldn't show weakness at the thought of Harry dying. It was inevitable, and there was likely nothing he could do to prevent it. "You heard him say it, Mummy. The Dark Lord plans to kill him, so what's my stupid love worth when it's put up against his will? The important thing right now is you, Father, and myself."

Narcissa exhaled slowly, attempting to control her panic. She managed to calm herself only when she remembered Severus's Vow. "Promise you'll be careful. And don't act hastily. Remember everything your father and I taught you."

"I'll never forget," Draco said with finality. "And that's why I have to do this—because of everything you taught me. This is our legacy, Mother: power and purity above all else; staying at the top of the whole stinking pile; keeping the unworthy buried beneath our feet; controlling our wayward emotions like Mr. Thorne said; and not giving in to misguided feelings, no matter how noble they might seem."

The conversation at its end, they left the dining room together, hand in hand, and stepped out of the foyer to where the Muggle car was waiting. Draco's trunk, owl, and other school things had already been loaded into the vehicle by the house-elves. Lucius and Narcissa had always despised using Muggle transport to get him to school, but it was a requirement they were willing to endure a few times each year.

Not for long though, Draco thought darkly, as Krebble opened the passenger door for them. Soon, Muggles everywhere would know of their existence and be put in their proper place. Those with magic in their blood would rule the world, and his mother would never have to set foot in a horrible automobile again.

Narcissa sat with Draco in the back seat, where he grudgingly allowed her to stroke his hair and gather him to her chest. To his relief, the chauffeur, whom his parents hired year after year, ignored these displays of affection, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and lean into her chest…

"I love you," Narcissa repeated during the drive, unable to stop peppering him with kisses. And every now and then, Draco mumbled into her dress, sleepily, "I love you too, Mummy…"

Only a month ago, Draco had hoped Harry would attack his mother in Madam Malkin's shop. It would have given him an iron-clad excuse to hate him wholly and completely from that day forward. But for all of Harry's bravado, the threat he had directed towards Narcissa had been as empty as all his self-righteous heroics.

He supposed it was just well. The last person in the world he wanted to get attacked was his mother, since she didn't deserve half the heartache she was being put through.

Draco buried his face into her shoulder, wishing he could take her with him to Hogwarts, so she would always be available whenever he needed a hug like this… As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to stay home and be a child again, without a care in the world except how to get away with his latest antics. But time carried him inexorably closer to a fate he was afraid to come face to face with:

Harry… who was forbidden to him now more than ever. And death… a more plausible outcome than he cared to admit.

When they arrived at the station, he reluctantly pulled free and stepped out of the vehicle. Hand-in-hand, he walked with his mother through the teeming cesspool of Muggles in his smartest black suit, Narcissa turning heads in the magnificent violet dress that was so dark it accentuated the pallor of her skin.

On platform nine and three-quarters, Draco hugged her goodbye for a long while, then scolded her for being too clingy, even though he was the one who initially refused to let go. He pretended to tolerate a kiss on his forehead and then climbed onto the train. Several minutes later, Draco stared out at her through the window as the train took off.

I'll make you proud, he thought. And the pride you feel won't be just because I'm your son.

When his mother disappeared along with the train station, he pressed his back into his seat and closed his eyes, feeling faint at the thought of Harry being somewhere on the Hogwarts Express with him. Pansy asked why Draco wasn't with the other prefects, and Draco answered without bothering to explain why he was no longer a prefect, since his mission for the Dark Lord was not something he was allowed to discuss with anyone. Undeterred by his laconic response, she asked about the new way he was styling his hair, but Draco refused to talk for the next hour, and so Pansy frowned curiously at him and chatted with Blaise Zabini instead.

Draco meant to keep his distance from Harry this year, which he knew wouldn't be easy. He preferred to keep things going, but his anger was still burning hot, and he had more important things to focus on.

You will worship me when it's done, Potter, Draco thought as he sat in the carriage with his friends, watching the green trees and dark hills streak by. I'll win your respect, and you won't deny me anything once you've seen it for yourself. We'll find a safe place for you to hide once the old codger is dead, and you'll understand my pure blood accounts for something.

Later that evening, after the train was emptied at Hogsmeade station, Draco stomped on Harry's face after catching him eavesdropping in the Slytherin compartment. Draco did not take kindly to spying, especially now that he had a dangerous mission to carry out. It was immensely satisfying to hear the crunch of bones in Harry's face, considering Harry had, after all, ruined Draco's chance of being summoned into Slughorn's compartment because of what he had done to Lucius.

In that moment, Draco decided he wouldn't handle Harry gently at all this year. The sooner Harry understood how unwelcome the spying—and the flirting—was, the less opportunity Draco would have to be distracted. Leaving Harry bloodied and alone on the train, concealed under his own Invisibility Cloak, would send that message loud and clear—and Harry would be a fool of the worst sort to attempt spying on him again.

They would share no love between them this year. No comfort. Only pain, and Draco would pay him a whole lot of no mind. And if Harry still came towards him after that—well, then… Draco supposed that would mean Harry was ready to change sides. It would mean Harry was willing to be tamed—finally. But even if he was not, a pet like Harry was worth protecting at all costs.