Draco Malfoy

16 February, 1998 12:20

“Not only no, but hell no!” Harry shouted as he kicked at, and thankfully missed, the leather chair that sat before the fireplace. Unfortunately for him, his target audience had already left, gone to fetch the Ferret. Hermione sat quietly at the small table that they used for meals and research, maps and books strewn about before her in a seemingly haphazard jumble. “Can you fucking believe him? I knew Snape couldn’t be trusted! I knew he’d find some way to betray us.”

Hermione snorted inelegantly not looking up from the book she read. “Yes, he betrayed us at great personal risk to himself by bringing us to the one place that is teeming with Death Eaters. He’s betrayed us so well that he, again at great personal risk, brought Madam Pomfrey down to his chambers to heal me and took us right to where we needed to be to get the next Horcrux. He has us right where he wants us, I’d say. Right under foot all while we have the ability to leave at will, again at great risk to himself should we be discovered.”

Harry huffed noisily, blowing his fringe up from the scar that had once again become inflamed. He’d been having visitations at night from Him and it worried Hermione just how much these visions affected him. His temper was short on most days, but he had become volatile, alternately cycling between rage and moroseness. “Now you’re making me feel like a git.”

Hermione paused, shooting an unreadable glance towards Harry. Things hadn’t been quite the same between them since the Room of Necessity. Hermione knew she was being ridiculous, knew that the Horcrux had brought the ugliness out in both of them, but she just couldn’t quite get over just how true his vitriol had felt. “Harry, I know that living here with Malfoy, even for the short time Professor Snape thinks it will be, is going to be hard, but we’re just going to have to accept that it’s necessary. And also accept that the professor knows much more about Malfoy’s situation than we do.”

“I know plenty about Malfoy, Hermione.” Harry grimaced, making a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “He let Death Eaters into the school. He gave Katie Bell a cursed necklace, Imperiused Madam Rosemerta, and almost killed Ron, he’s got a fucking Dark Mark for fuck’s sake… I won’t just… kiss and make up with him.”

Hermione said with strained patience showing in her voice, “I know how you feel about him Harry, and you know that it’s going to be especially unpleasant for me since he’s a purist prat, but let’s just keep on task even while he’s here.”

“And how will we do that when he’s in the same bloody chambers with us?” Harry ran a hand through his already rumpled hair.

Hermione turned back to her work with a shrug. “He’s not here yet. Grab a book and try to keep up with me.”

“Swot,” Harry said with a joking half-smile.

Hermione felt the tension between them ease infinitesimally. “Hot head.”

With a loud thunk, she closed the book on genealogy that they’d been combing over for days, and turned her attention once again to the meticulous notes that Professor Dumbledore had left in his office. It was one of the many books that Professor Snape had donated to the cause with obvious reluctance. Hermione pondered the odd relationship that must have been between the taciturn Potions Master and the flamboyant former Headmaster. Once again she felt a lurch of pity as she ran over the last request that Dumbledore had made of Professor Snape. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right, and it seemed that Professor Dumbledore had been more concerned about Malfoy’s well-being and survival than he had of his long-term friend’s. She wondered what would happen when the war was over and Professor Snape had to face the consequences of a situation that had been completely out of his control. If he survived, that was. Surely a man who walked such a crooked, narrow path had some contingencies set up to safeguard himself. The man was positively Byzantine in his complexity, she would venture to guess that he had contingencies for the contingencies, and more plans beyond that if every thing went tits up for him.

Hermione stifled a snort. Of course, Snape had learnt from two of the the ultimate far-seeing contingency makers. Most of Professor Dumbledore’s plans were still coming to fruition, and that monster, Tom Riddle, he’d killed at least six people, and if the Headmaster could be believed, a seventh one had been made to ensure his success.

She ran through the list of Horcruxes and their disposal: The first was the diary, killed by Harry, the second was the ring, killed by Professor Dumbledore, the third was the locket, killed by Professor Snape, the fourth was Diadem was killed by herself, the fifth was the Hufflepuff cup, still at large, then there was the foul familiar, and the last— Hermione didn’t want to think of what— or more appropriately— who was the last. She shot a worried look at Harry. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t.

Shaking herself mentally, she thought of the ways that the mad man had stored those foul articles. The locket was in a cave that he had visited as a child, his family’s hovel held the ring. Hogwarts was home to the diadem, Lucius Malfoy, Riddle’s one time right-hand man, had the diary… She could almost see the solution to their search. If only her mind were clearer. She hadn’t been sleeping well since the diadem incident, and not all that well before that.

“Harry,” Hermione said, causing him to jump. “Why do you think He would leave such a valuable object with the Malfoys? I mean, they don’t seem the most trustworthy sort, even if they did contribute large sums to the cause.”

“You mean the Horcrux? I dunno, maybe because Malfoys are evil?” Harry shrugged and then added, “He’s arrogant. He thinks that all of his followers are too scared of him, too in awe of him to do something he won’t like. If they do…” Harry made a swiping gesture across his throat. “You know… I don’t think he expected Lucius Malfoy to give that thing away to an eleven-year-old girl.”

Hermione tucked her head, turning her attention back to Dumbledore’s notes. If what Snape had said was true, that Malfoy had become a turncoat, he had placed himself and his family in grave danger. She already knew what lengths Draco had gone to last year when his family had been threatened. How could Snape really be sure that Malfoy wouldn’t double cross them all again?

She started when she felt a hand on hers, Harry’s fingers working their way through a fist she hadn’t realised she had made. “Hey, it’s going to be all right, Hermione.I promise.”

Harry’s comforting gesture discombobulated her already spinning emotions. Tears formed in her eyes and as Harry rose to stand beside her, she gulped back a sob. Emotions that she had kept pent for so long burst the strict control that she exercised in all aspects of her life, since before she had even heard of Hogwarts. She’d built her own meticulously crafted walls to keep people at bay, so that they wouldn’t be able to taunt her about what she now knew was accidental magic, or her swottish tendencies. She knew now was not the time to burden anyone with her own self-doubt, but Harry’s warm hand on hers made her need to let herself go for once. “I’m so scared, Harry. I’m always scared for you… and for me… f-for Ron… wherever he is… What if we fail? What kind of life will either of us have? M-my parents don’t even kn-now me. What if something happens to them? They won’t even know w-why they were targeted!”

Suddenly Harry was leaning over her and she clutched at his shirt, crying uncontrollably. He kept up a stream of soothing words and noises, his hands rubbing over her arms, down her back. His lips skimmed over her forehead, slanted down her cheek, and she suddenly felt an excited kind of calm steal over her. She rose clumsily in the circle of his slender arms. He wasn’t brawny at all like Ron was. Harry’s body was lithe and supple. The both stumbled a bit and Harry tightened his embrace around her. Hermione watched the light from the fire glint of the surface of his glasses, became enthralled with the fire that was echoed in his eyes. His gaze slid to her lips and then back up to her own eyes. He said in a strangled whisper, “Hermione.”

The door to the chambers opened and Hermione fled guiltily behind the ladder back chair that she had been seated in before the last few minutes of madness. Harry turned towards the noise, fumbling his wand into his hand from his back pocket.

Snape rolled his eyes at Harry, “Well done, Potter. If I had been an actual threat you would be dead by now.”

Malfoy entered behind Snape with his customary sneer of derision. “Potter. Granger.”

“Draco.” Hermione stepped forward, knowing she looked a mess with the tears still drying on her face her nose still ruddy. Hermione had never been one of those girls who were attractive when she cried. “If you’re going to stay here, we need to have a few ground rules.”

“I don’t have time to play nurse maid to you three. ” Snape exclaimed in the tense silence that arose. “Stay here all of you, and try to play nice. I’ve got to go spin your cover story with your lovely aunt. Potter, do try not to antagonise Mr Malfoy.” He directed his gaze to Draco and added, “I’ll return with news of your parents Mr Malfoy.”

&*&*&

Draco watched Snape leave, wondering at the civility he was now showing the two Gryffindors. The mudblood looked as if she had been crying. Draco wondered idly what Potty had done to cause that. He smirked as he made his way to the ratty thing that passed for a couch in Snape’s former chambers. Really, Snape couldn’t afford anything better than the school issue dreck that Dumbledore allotted for his staff? He slouched down on the prickly upholstered surface, hating that his life had come to this turn. He hadn’t become a turncoat to be imprisoned with these two Gryffindor fools for months on end whilst Snape and apparently— to Draco’s great shock— his father did all the heroic work. He hated that he had to stay with these two Gryffindor idiots whilst there was glory to be had.

Draco knew he was a coward and knew he wouldn’t voluntarily do things to place himself in danger— especially after how he’d reacted to his task last year-- but the appearance of heroism was enough to save him. He most certainly couldn’t make an impression on the wizarding world at large about his change of heart if he was stuffed into Snape’s chambers waiting out the war. And judging by the black look on Potter’s face, he couldn’t trust the Gryffindors to speak up for him after this was all over.

Draco made a show of crossing his arms across his chest and affecting a bored drawl he he asked, “Your rules, mud—” At Snape’s murderous scowl, he amended, “Granger?”

She picked up a piece of parchment from the scattered pile that were strewn on the table.

“You took notes?” Draco scoffed. “Some things never change.”

A strangled noise from Potter broke the silence of the room as Granger placed her hands on her hips. “That’s exactly why there will be rules, you utter…”

She inhaled deeply through her nose before began reading. “First, there will be no insults or name-calling. You will not call me that horrible name, you will not refer to Harry as Potty or any other insulting thing you can think of. ”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That will have to go two ways. Or do you two actually think that I enjoy being referred to as ‘Ferret?’”

“Of course.” Granger’s face turned a mottled pink as she licked her lips nervously. “You will not touch our possessions. Anything… books, notes, clothing, wands… anything that is ours is off limits. Don’t ask us about our time away from Hogwarts, and don’t expect us to give you an accounting of anything we do outside these rooms. And… that goes for us too, Malfoy. We won’t disturb your things either. Professor Snape has asked the house elves to clean up his spare room, and that will be yours and Harry’s. We won’t enter your area without your permission, and we expect the same courtesy from you. Clean up after yourself. Dobby is the only house elf that brings us food. He has other duties in the castle and isn’t able to do much more for us. I won’t live in a pig sty.”

The girl shot a darkling look at Potter as she said the last bit. Draco could just imagine what squalor the she’d had to put up with living with the Weasel and Potty. He felt an unaccustomed sympathy with her for a moment before he squelched the feeling. She may not like to be called a mudblood to her face, but she would never overcome her birth, not with Draco. Just because he had decided to side with blood traitors, mudbloods, and halfblood freaks didn’t mean he had to like them. Under his sharp scrutiny, she folded the parchment nervously, running her fingers over the smooth edge. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Harry?”

Potter gave a sullen shrug as Draco said, “I do.”

Both Gryffindors looked to him, Potter moved in front of Granger and his wand was up. It looked like he was aiming for a hard expression with his jaw jutting. He merely looked stupid. “What could you possibly add, Malfoy? Is there some secret Death Eater code that we need to learn?”

“I’ll overlook that comment… this time,” Draco said with what he hoped was cool nonchalance. His temper, not the best most days, had become more volatile with the continuing stressors in his life. Granger, he noted, had taken hold of Potter’s wand arm. She, with her low birth and tendency towards violence, was still the less volatile of the two, so Draco fixed his eyes on her. He held his index finger up to enumerate his points. “There will be no comments about my family. Mother and Father are off-limits for discussion.”

He raised a second digit. “No calling me coward, even though we all know that I have been in the past and will probably be so in the future. I don’t like pain and will avoid it at almost all costs. I’ve given up a great deal to side with you lot, and I risk my entire family’s existence to do it. Just the mere fact that I’m sitting in a room with you two without turning you over to the Dark Lord would be enough to seal my fate and that of my mother and father.”

Draco rose from his seat as Potter mumbled, “It’s not as if we asked you to be here go back to mummy and daddy, if you’re so unhappy.”

“Did I somehow stutter, Potter?” Draco stalked over to the other boy, doing his best to loom over him menacingly. “Did you comprehend what I said, or do I need to use words with smaller syllables for your limited understanding.”

Potter snorted and flung himself onto the dining chair next to him. Draco shot both of them a scathing look and stalked to the room that Granger indicated was his. He slammed the door shut and warded it against Potter’s intrusion.

He’d be damned if he would spend any more time with those two than he absolutely had to. Potter could sleep on the scratchy couch or with the Know-It-All if he wanted to get some rest.


17 February, 1998 09:34

Marcus Flint had spent the last four days in a twilight of red-tinged agony. He was unable to open his eyes, speak, or even move without searing pain worse than any Cruciatus could ever inflict. He tried to listen to the conversations going on about him, but his hearing seemed muffled, as if his head were encased in cotton wool. He couldn’t remember much past landing in the Exeter station, brought there by a Polyjuiced Weasely. After that his memory became spotty. He thought he remembered a fever and someone screaming as his flesh melted against a barrier, but it was all too hazy to piece together. He knew that he had been reported dead, had been as good as when things took a bunk, when they got too ambitious and tried to take out an actual Death Eater. He didn’t know what had happened to the Yank he was with, but he expected she had died. There had been a great deal of blood splashing from the gusher that Goyle Sr had opened in her neck.

He needed to be able to see. He thought if he could lift his hands without that strange tearing feeling he had every time he moved, he would be able to take off the bandages that covered his eyes. If he could find his wand, he could send a Patronus to Millie just to let her know he was alive. His heart ached thinking about how devastated she must be, thinking he was dead. She’d already lost too much for one person to bear.

He remembered with a pang that he was now an orphan, just like her. His loss was too new for it to be real to him. Maybe when he saw Millie… he’d feel like the story of his family’s loss was the truth.

Suddenly he felt as if he needed to act, to get out off wherever here was and just see Millie for a few fleeting seconds. He could meet her in the Forbidden Forest. No one but that half-giant really went there, and Marcus was sure he’d be able to stun him if he wandered too close to his hiding place. He rose his hand experimentally, noting that the agonising tear feeling didn’t start until he bent his elbow. Yesterday it had started before that.

“Hey, hey,” A man’s voice said. Whoever spoke was close by. They had to be for him to hear their voice so clearly. “Let’s not do that just yet. Your burns aren’t nearly healed enough for much movement yet. A couple of days more and we’ll have you as close to normal as possible.”

“Where…” Marcus tried to speak, but the effort was too great. His lungs burnt with the effort and his throat felt as if he’d swallowed glass and vomited it back up.

“Don’t try to speak.” The voice said again. Marcus noted a strange accent, a sort of drawling Yank twang with a foreign softness. “I’m Apprentice Healer Silva, and you were brought to the World Health Organisation’s camp to treat some rather serious burns. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a few days.”

“That’s enough, Apprentice.” Another harsher voice said over some kind of rattling metallic noise. “Do what you need to do and take care of the next prisoner. Don’t chat them up.”

Marcus felt a cool hand on his and then it was gone. He had to get word to Weasley. He’d clear up this mess so that Marcus could meet Millie and they could steal away to the continent. Fuck this war, and fuck the wizarding world in general. He’d given up enough.