|
Chapter VII Draco was smiling. Gregory didn't like it. Draco never smiled. He smirked. He glared. He grimaced. Sometimes, when he got really angry, his lips would disappear into a tight line and his eyes would flash. But he never, ever smiled. It was disturbing. Gregory leaned forward, looking over at Vincent, who was staring at Draco as though the boy had grown two-heads overnight. Gregory leaned forward a little more and caught the eyes of Blaise Zabini, who raised his eyebrows in a question Gregory couldn't answer. The whole morning felt very surreal. Gregory leaned back and looked critically at his friend, trying very hard to understand what exactly was going on. And now, by all that was unholy in the world, Draco was, beyond reason, humming. Actually, humming. A cheerful, upbeat song. Gregory cleared his throat. "Uh, Draco?" The boy looked up, his eyes bright and, if Greg wanted to wax poetic, dancing with something that could only be defined as true happiness. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. "Yes?" he asked, after an over-long silence. Greg cleared his throat again. "Is everything okay?" Draco tilted his head a bit and gave his three dormmates a undeniably puzzled look. "Of course," he replied. "Why wouldn't it be?" "It's just that..." Blaise began, but trailed off and suddenly decided to take Draco's good mood for what it was. "Oh, never mind," he finished, then tackled his breakfast. Draco shrugged, returning to his own food, eating heartily with an appetite never before seen. Greg sat back and pushed his food away. * * * * * * Ron looked over at Harry as they walked down the hall towards class after breakfast had ended, Hermione by his side, and undeniable spring in The Boy Who Lived's steps. All through breakfast, his friend hardly said a word, his gaze rarely on his food or even at the table for that matter, always seeming to be looking at a point just over Ron's shoulder. Ron didn't know why Harry had decided to sit on the other side of the table, facing out into the Great Hall. He knew that Harry preferred to keep his back to the other students so he wouldn't have to meet the curious stares of those who still couldn't accept that THE Harry Potter lived in their midst. This morning, however, he'd briskly walked around the table, taking a seat on the other side, enjoying his breakfast and looking cheerful and well rested. "Explain something to me, Harry," Ron finally said with some irritation, just after Harry had started humming some happy little song the redhead didn't recognize. "Yes?" Harry asked, looking over at his friend. "Today, we are no doubt going to meet our doom in the Headmaster's office, which, need I remind you, will mean the end of our Quidditch days or worse and, yet..." Ron waved his hand in Harry's general direction as though he was swatting a fly. "You seem to be in a ridiculously good mood given what's going on." Harry gave a little shrug, flashing a quick smile at Ron. "Sorry about that," he told him, not sounding sorry in the least. "It's just, last night, I had the most wonderful dream!" "Dream?" Ron asked. "What the bloody hell about?" "It was..." Harry began, but paused, his brow furrowing as he apparently reorganized his thoughts. He made a quick decision, nodding to himself. "There were horses," he finished. "Horses?" "Horses." "Ah." Ron exchanged a confused glance with Hermione, who looked a little alarmed and at a total loss. Harry picked up his pace and the song again, leading the way towards History of Magic without a care in the world. * * * * * * Draco waited patiently outside of Severus' classroom as the third year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class slowly trickled out. The younger students looked frazzled and unstrung, muttering amongst themselves in hushed tones, complaining about some quiz they had taken that day, which most of them believed they failed. They fell silent as soon as they saw Draco, who smirked, prompting them to hurry past him. Ah, it was something, to inspire true fear in others. Draco was rather fond of that particular gift. As soon as all the children were out of sight, Draco stepped easily into the room, pulling his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. The classroom became almost unbearably chilly during the winter months, especially when the cauldron fires were extinguished. Draco cast his eyes about the room, finally finding who he was looking for. Severus Snape stood hunched over his desk like a vulture, muttering softly under his breath as he shuffled scrolls and papers, greasy hair falling into his eyes. Dressed in his potion robes, less loose than standard wizarding robes with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, he made a very imposing figure, the reason for the younger students distress becoming quite clear to Draco. Severus was not in a good mood. Draco walked forward anyway. "Good afternoon!" he said cheerfully, smiling in satisfaction as his godfather jumped a few centimeters in the air in surprise. Drawing himself to his full height, Severus glared down at Draco, his face twisted into a sour expression. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he growled. Draco shrugged. "Lunch." He jumped up on one of the tables across from the Potions Master's desk, crossing his legs underneath him. "And the reason you're here is..." Severus prompted, looking back down at the papers on his desk, arraigning them into neat, little piles. "Why not?" Draco asked, then sighed as Severus gave him a Look. "Okay, okay," he began again. "I just came here to tell you that I got a good night's sleep and I think I'm getting the hang of this... perception... thing." A look of relief replaced the irritation on Severus face. "No nightmare?" "No," Draco said, smiling mildly, his mind far away, "just a wonderful dream." Severus raised an eyebrow. "Should I ask what sort of dream, or just continue to live in my fantasy world where you're still four years old and clinging to your mother's robes?" Draco snapped his attention back to his teacher and fixed him with a mellow glance. "Not that sort of dream, thank you very much," he replied smoothly. "Though you do realize I'll be fifteen in less than two months." "Oh, I realize it," Severus told him firmly. "I just refuse to accept it." "You'll have to, someday," Draco said with a laugh. "No, I don't," Severus replied seriously. Draco quirked an eyebrow, but let it drop. "Anyway," Severus continued, "I suppose it's a good thing you stopped by." "Oh?" Draco asked. "Yes." Severus walked around his desk, carrying a large clipboard with him. "Since I am going to be spending the better part of my evening fighting to make our favorite Gryffindors suffer a little for your benefit, then I think it's prudent for you to do something for me." He shoved to clipboard into Draco's unwilling hands, who looked down at the parchments and groaned. "Oh, no," Draco complained, his voice pleading. "Not inventory." "Your fastidious nature enjoys it, so don't whine," Severus replied smugly. "I need you to go through all the potion components, check labels, compare amounts from the last count and check it against the amount of supplies used throughout the semester thus far, and make recommendations as to what needs to be replaced. That clear?" "Crystal," Draco groused, sticking the clipboard into his bookbag. "I'll get started on this tonight." "Good," Severus said, turning back to his desk. "Now, why don't you go to lunch." "Fine, fine." Draco hopped down from the table and started to make his way towards the door, but stopped, looking over his shoulder. "And I am NOT fastidious. Just neat, that's all," he called back. Severus waved him away in response. Draco smirked, then left. * * * * * * In his haste to get to the Great Hall before lunch ended, Draco very nearly slammed into an irate redhead who really didn't want to see him at all. Skidding to a stop before the collision could occur, Draco met Ron's angry eyes with ease, raising an eyebrow in amusement at the red tint hitting the taller boy's cheeks. "What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Ron growled and Draco was struggling not to laugh. Behind the angry boy, Harry Potter hovered nervously, seemingly unsure as to what he should be doing. "Oh, a lot of things," Draco replied, once he was sure he wouldn't bust out laughing in a very uncultured way. "A summer villa on Martinique, a faster racing broom, a comfortable pair of shoes that can be worn lounging around the Manor as well as to formal occasions, an end to world hunger... but I'd settle for you getting out of my way." 'Martinique?' Harry mouthed silently in amusement. Draco resisted the urge to flip him off, then realized the redhead was ranting at him. "... my way, you pasty little fairy!" Ron was saying as Draco tuned back in. "Well, since I am going to lunch in the Great Hall, the entrance of which is on the right side of this hallway," Draco countered logically, "and as it seems that you in fact are leaving the Great Hall at this time, then it is only reasonable that I walk on this side of the hallway and you move over to my left." Ron worked his mouth a few times in an attempt to come up with a reply, but Harry stilled him, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, Ron," he said amiably. "Let's just go and let him get to lunch. The last thing we need is to start a fight in the hallway right now." Ron huffed, but nodded, letting Harry lead him away, down the left side of the hall. As they moved past Draco, Harry turned to give him a quick look and... winked. Draco blinked stupidly for a second in response, the smiled, a small, knowing sort of smile. Harry returned it freely, then disappeared around the corner, Weasley in tow. Shaking his head incredulously, Draco continued on his way to the hall. Aside from having to do inventory, (which, if Draco was completely honest with himself, wasn't really such a bad thing), Draco decided it had been a very good day, indeed. * * * * * * The Gryffindor common room might as well have been empty for the amount of attention a certain prefect was giving it. Hermione was staring at a crumpled note in her hand, one she and four others had received with their dinner, stating quite clearly that they were to be in the Headmaster's Office at seven o'clock - only ten minutes away. She sat stiffly in one of the many comfortable lounge chairs scattered about the room, her eyes focused on the note, reading it over and over again. Harry watched her from where he was perched on the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories, then sighed, rising up and walking over to her. "'Mione," he began. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with worry. "It won't be so bad," he tried to reassure her. "Professor Dumbledore is very reasonable and understanding. I'm sure Professor Snape is blowing this all out of proportion." Hermione nodded, but didn't reply. The sounds of Ron and his two brothers stomping down the stairs broke up the moment. They all looked at each other before a silent agreement passed between the five of them and they left the common room, making their way to the Headmaster's office without a word. Harry knew he should feel more worried than he did. Instead, he felt his mind wandering back to the short altercation in the hallway with Draco, his heart fluttering in his chest just at the memory of that briefest of conversations. Martinique - Harry almost smiled. He had no idea where Martinique was in the world, but for some reason, he kept imagining warm, white-sand, private beaches, hot sun over head, and cool ocean breezes dancing along the waves. Draco would be lounging on a blanket, eyes covered in a ridiculously expensive pair of sunglasses, body barely covered by a ridiculously skimpy bathing suit. A large beach umbrella would shield the two of them from the sun, Harry almost smelling the sunscreen as he warmed it between his palms, rubbing his hands languidly along Draco's back and down... Harry stopped dead in the hall, eyes wide, not noticing as George nearly plowed into him. Draco! He'd been thinking about Draco! Like that! He felt his breathing suddenly get fast and shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh... this wasn't happening! Didn't they have enough to get through? Harry cursed his mind and body for betraying him like this and it took a few seconds to realize that George was pounding on his back and talking to him, the rest of his friends staring at him with wide-eyed concern. "Sorry," Harry gasped once his breath returned to him. "Sorry." "Are you okay?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, not really trusting his voice. "You looked like you were having some kind of attack," Ron said, his voice sharp with worry. "You were all flushed! We thought you were going to pass out!" "I'm sorry," Harry apologized again. "I was just thinking... my mind was wandering... I... I... Can we just go to the Headmaster's office now? We don't want to be late." "You sure you're okay?" Fred asked. Harry nodded again. "I'm fine," he assured them. "It was nothing. Let's go." They continued on to the Headmaster's office, all four of them shooting Harry worried looks the whole way. * * * * * * Draco tugged down the sleeves of his favorite cashmere sweater, picking up his wand to make the small heating globe glow a little brighter, never able to get used to the cold of the dungeons. Setting his wand back down, he picked up a bottle of dried bricklebush leaves, eyeballing it's contents and making a note of it on the clipboard balanced on his lap from where he sat cross-legged on one of the long tables closest to the classroom potion supplies. The potions classroom was quiet, except for the soft melodies of a Beethoven Concerto playing out of the small music orb he'd brought with him. Draco loved the peace the dungeons at night afforded him, chilly temperatures notwithstanding. Already an hour into his work, the evening passed quietly and without interruption, various bottles and jars surrounding him on the table. He peeled the yellowed label off the bricklebush bottle, then used his quill to rewrite the name on a fresh label, his neat and flowing script almost the standard for all the items in the room. Draco had been doing inventory for his favorite teacher since halfway through first year and, for all of his grousing, enjoyed it immensely. There was something about setting things up in perfect order that set the boy's mind at ease. He frowned, putting the bottle back on the table. Maybe he really was as overly fastidious as Severus implied. He dismissed the thought with a half-shrug. The door to the classroom creaked open, it's squeaky hinges echoing alarmingly through the large room, making Draco look up quickly and turn his head. He frowned again. "Hello, Mr. Lupin," he said flatly. Remus Lupin walked into the room, a large, shaggy, black dog at his side. The man looked healthier then when Draco had seen him last, his body a little more filled out, the dark circles under his eyes and the tired lines on his face completely gone. He smiled at Draco. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, always a pleasure," he said, sounding genuinely pleased. Draco blinked at the cheerful greeting, but said nothing. "What brings you down here this time of night?" "Inventory for Professor Snape," he answered shortly. "And you?" "Oh, just looking for Severus," Remus replied. "I just arrived at the school and thought we'd catch up." "As much as I'm sure he'd enjoy that," Draco said dryly, "I'm afraid he isn't here right now. He's in a meeting with the Headmaster. I don't know how long he'll be." So leave, Draco added silently. Remus didn't take the unspoken advice, sitting down instead on one of the stools behind the table right behind Draco's, the dog sitting down on his haunches next to him, glaring at the young Slytherin. Draco wasn't even aware that dogs could glare. "I'll just wait for him, then," Remus said. Draco shrugged and got back to work, determined to ignore the interloper who seemed determined to ruin his quiet time. "Is this Opus 37?" he asked after only a few seconds of silence. Draco squashed a growl. "Yes." "Oh, it's one of my favorite Piano Concertos. You know, I heard this performed once at Carnegie Hall back in '87. Of course, I had to sit in the box seats, but the acoustics there were just lovely and..." Draco tuned out the werewolf, gritting his teeth as he went about his work, silently wishing the damn dog would turn into Sirius Black and keep the man occupied in one way or the other. * * * * * * The Headmaster's office was just as Harry remembered it - warm and inviting, slightly cluttered with odd things, the Headmaster himself, sitting behind his desk, his eyes twinkling with some unidentifiable emotion as he looked at the five students in turn. Professor McGonagall sat in a chair on the right side of Dumbledore's desk, Professor Snape on the left. The Potions Master hadn't said a word since they'd arrived, sitting in his chair with a dark expression on his face, arms crossed over his chest. Hermione was shaking and a quick glance at the Weasley brothers told Harry they were all very nervous, fidgeting in their seats and glancing around. On the other hand, an odd calm had settled around Harry like a cloud. The punishment for the attack on Draco, even Quidditch, seemed unimportant in light of Harry's apparent case of confusion over his sexual orientation. He never liked boys in that way before! Was it something Draco was doing to him? Something involved with the strange bond between them? Harry wanted to ask Hermione, get her help in figuring all of this out, but he couldn't see himself doing that. It was embarrassing and weird and when Draco told him not to tell anyone, Harry got the distinct impression it wasn't about saving face or worry about what people would say. No, the only thing Harry sensed from Draco was fear - fear that if this got out, things would be dangerous for both of them. Harry didn't understand why, but he respected it. Harry forced his thoughts back to the present and realized everyone was staring at him, including the Headmaster. Harry looked around sheepishly. "What?" he asked. "Harry, I asked if you could please recount your version of what happened that day on the train at the end of last year," Dumbledore said gently. "Oh," Harry began intelligently, wondering what everyone else had already said. "Well, Draco came into our compartment with Crabbe and Goyle, he said some stuff that pissed us off, and we hit them with a bunch of curses. Then we left them there." Dumbledore was casting a critical eye over Harry and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Well," said the Headmaster after an extended silence, "I think I have enough facts now to make a decision. I think it all goes to a matter of intent. I don't believe the five of you intended to injure Mr. Malfoy and his friends." "No, not at all, Headmaster!" Hermione said forcefully. "It was just in the heat of the moment! We weren't thinking clearly!" "I understand that, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore replied kindly. "I know the five of you and I'm certain none of you would ever do something to intentionally injure another." Harry looked over at Professor Snape, expecting him to angrily voice his dissent. However, the man continued to sit quietly, his eyes shadowed. "However," continued Dumbledore, Harry looking back at the older man, "intentional or not, you did in fact attack three of your classmates in anger, using magic as a weapon. Therefore, I think it's reasonable for your detentions to continue and I will uphold the deduction of points taken from you by Professor Snape. Also, I am forbidding the five of you from going to Hogsmeade with your classmates for the rest of the year." "Headmaster!" Professor McGonagall protested, but Dumbledore held up his hand, stilling her. "My decision stands," he said firmly. "Nevertheless, as Mr. Malfoy nor his friends suffered any permanent injury and the five of you have already given them formal apologies, I do not think it is necessary to discuss Ms. Granger's Prefect status or the rest of your positions on your House Quidditch team. You five are on probation, however." Dumbledore leaned forward, his face stern. "If I hear that you are using magic inappropriately again, I will not hesitate to meet out the rest of your punishment as Professor Snape sees fit." The Headmaster sat back and shook his head. "I'm very disappointed in all of you," he said gravely. "We're sorry," Harry said. Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I know," he replied. "Now, why don't you five go on. You have detentions to do tonight." The five students rose from their chairs and left the office quickly. Dumbledore sat back and sighed, looking over at Severus. "I appreciate that you allowed me to handle this," he told the younger man. Severus snorted. "I only have to wait for them to screw up once more," he said, rising from his chair. He glanced over a Professor McGonagall and smirked. "Given your lovely students, that shouldn't take very long." "Severus..." Dumbledore warned as Minerva leaped out of her chair, her face flashing with anger. Severus just shrugged. "I have work to do," he said before the Deputy Headmistress could reply, then gave a small bow to Dumbledore and swept out of the room. Minerva muttered angrily under her breath and retook her seat. "He's insufferable," she spat, slumping down. Dumbledore chuckled. "That's one of the reasons why I hired him, Minerva," he said, oddly cheerful. "He keeps us young." * * * * * * Draco practically flew down the hall towards the Slytherin Dormitories, strands of long, platinum hair blowing behind him from the loose ponytail holding it back. His shoes clacked loudly against the stone floor with each rapid step, filling the empty hallway with sound. Shaking his head occasionally and muttering under his breath, he turned the corner and very nearly collided with his Godfather. "What is with me and running into people!" Draco cried a bit too loudly as he stumbled back. Severus had also stepped back, looking at the distraught boy with surprise. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, not harshly. Draco angrily adjusted his bookbag strap on his shoulder, tugging down the sleeves of his sweater. "You wanna know what's wrong?" he asked quickly, letting his grammar go in his irritation. "I'll tell you what's wrong! You have a mangy stray in your classroom right now who's only goal in life is to drive me crazy!" Severus blinked. "What?" he asked. "Our flea-bitten, friendly, neighborhood werewolf is hanging out in your classroom at this very moment!" Draco yelled. "I'm sitting there, doing inventory like you asked, and he just keeps talking and talking and talking, and he's driving me nuts, and it's a good thing I finished when I did because if I had spent one more minute in there, you'd have a DEAD werewolf on your hands and so you'll just have to deal with it because I'm going back to my dorm!" With that, all said in one amazing breath, Draco shoved the clipboard into Severus hands and pushed past his teacher, taking off at a near run back to the Slytherin Dorms, leaving a very confused Potions Master in his wake. Shaking his head to clear it, Severus continued on his way to his classroom, steeling himself for the inevitable conversation with two of his least favorite people in the world. The wooden door opened with a familiar creek. Remus turned around from where he was looking at a row of potion components, a large dog at his side, and smiled a far too annoying smile. "Severus, hello!" he said happily and Severus cringed. "Lupin, what did you do to my student?" he snapped. The werewolf laughed. "I was just making conversation. He's awfully high-strung." Remus looked Severus up and down, then smirked. "I wonder where he gets that from," he said smugly. Severus sighed and rolled his eyes. "Come on," he growled, walking out of the classroom towards his private office. He could hear Remus following, as well as the canter of the large dog at his heals. As soon as they were safely behind the locked doors of the Potion Master's study, the dog shimmered and changed. Sirius shook his head. Severus made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. "I see Los Angeles has treated the two of you well," he said moodily. Sirius really did look better - his hair clean and shiny, dressed in comfortable dark clothing, the thinness gone from his form, his once sallow skin bronzed from warm California sun. "And I see the dungeons have not done the same for you," Sirius remarked airily. Severus glared. "Well, some of us have real responsibilities and can't spend our time lounging about on the beach," he snapped, then walked around his desk and sat down. Remus and Sirius took their own seats in the armchairs in front of the desk. "Why are you here, anyway?" Severus continued. "I was hoping to avoid the pleasure of your company for at least a few more days." "We got a good deal on a flight and decided to leave early," Remus replied. "Hope that's not a problem." "You two are always a problem," Severus sneered. "I'd rather hoped you would stay in California long enough for an earthquake to swallow you." Remus laughed again and sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. "I see my potion is coming along well," he remarked. "It will be ready before your time of the month," Severus said, "which will be a great relief for me." "What was the meeting with Dumbledore about?" Sirius asked. "Remy and I were going to see him first, but Professor Flitwick said he was busy." "It's unrelated," Severus said with a dismissive wave. "Just your Godson being a jackass, as usual." "Hey!" Sirius started to rise out of his seat, but Remus grabbed his arm and shot him a warning glance. Sirius grumbled, but sat back down. "Well, he is, but I don't feel like retreading this ground right now." Severus flipped through the parchments on the clipboard, frowning now and again. "If you don't have anything else to discuss with me, the Headmaster should be free to meet with you and I have a great deal of work to do." Taking the hint, Remus and Sirius rose from their seats, Sirius transforming himself once again into his canine alter ego. "There's not much for us to report right now," Remus said mildly, turning to open the door. "Some unusual activity on the west coast, but nothing that's related to anything significant as near as we can tell. We figured it would be a good idea to get here well before the full moon, since Moody will be arriving in a few days." The clipboard clattered to the floor, Severus standing up quick enough to knock his chair back aways. "Moody's coming?" he asked, sounding a little alarmed. Remus turned back around, giving Severus a questioning look. "Yes," he told him. "We met up with him about a week ago. He had some information that he needed to pass to Dumbledore about Death Eater activity, but wanted to verify his sources first. He said he'd be here before the full moon." Severus closed his eyes briefly. "I thought he wasn't coming back here until after the winter holidays," he muttered. Remus shrugged. "It's not a big deal, is it?" he asked. Severus snapped his eyes open. "No, it's not," he said shortly, then retook his seat. "You two can get out of my office now." "Always a pleasure, Severus," Remus said with a chuckle and he and Sirius left the office, slamming the door behind them. Severus sat still for a moment, staring at the closed door, then stood up, drawing out his wand to lock the door securely. Another quick spell assured the soundproofing of his room and Severus dropped his wand back in the pocket of his robes, dragging a chair over to rest in front of the fireplace. Taking a small pinch of blue powder out of a jar on the mantle, he threw it into the fire, sitting down in his chair, watching as the flames turned bright green. "Connect me to Lucius Malfoy," he said clearly and waited. A few seconds later, the flames turned white and the head and shoulders of Lucius Malfoy appeared. "Severus!" Lucius said, sounding tired, but cheerful. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon." "We have a problem," Severus replied bluntly, wasting no time. Lucius sighed. "You know, every time people contact me, it's always bad news," he grumbled. "It's never, 'Hey, Lucius, how you doing?' or 'Good day, Lord Malfoy. You're investments are paying off.' Always bad news." He sighed again at Severus' dark expression. "What is it now? Is my son okay?" "Draco is fine. Much improved, actually," Severus told him. "Good, good," Lucius said. "I've been worried about him since we dragged him unconscious off the train last year." Severus nodded, then frowned. "I'm afraid this is very serious," he said. "Alastor Moody will be arriving at Hogwarts in a few days." "Damn!" Lucius cursed, reaching up a hand to stroke his newly grown goatee. "I know," Severus said with a weary nod. "The timing couldn't be worse." "There's no choice in the matter," Lucius said seriously. "The plan will just have to change. Things need to be set in motion before Moody arrives, otherwise there's a good chance he'll snoop around enough to discover what's going on." "There's a Quidditch game tomorrow," Severus mused. "The school always has a big dinner after the matches. The potion is easy to make and I can have it ready by then." "And I'll contact everyone involved and make sure they know of the change in plans." Lucius paused, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar to Severus. "After Moody gets here, Severus..." he trailed off, face lined with worry. "I know, Luke," Severus replied. "If there was some way we could convince Draco--" Lucius let out a short, barking laugh. "Not a chance, old friend," said the older man. "My son has 'Cissa's stubbornness, you know that." "Perhaps," Severus argued, "but Moody has threatened your family more than once. Hogwarts isn't as secure as the Headmaster would have us believe." "I know that better than anyone, Sev," Lucius replied, then shook his head. "Draco's smart. This kind of danger - it's what we've been preparing him for all his life. It's part of the price we pay for living the way we do and being who we are. We do the best we can." Severus nodded, but didn't reply, knowing there was nothing he could say that would make the situation any different. "I'll get the potion ready. The plan will go off tomorrow night." "And I'll be ready on this end," Lucius agreed, then added solemnly, "Be careful, Severus." "You too, Lucius," Severus said. After a nod from his friend, the fire turned back to a normal color, Lucius' visage vanishing away. Severus sat back and watched the flames, his mind a whirl of emotions. * * * * * * "What'cha working on, Drake?" Draco looked up as Blaise sauntered up to his desk, looking over his shoulder. "Just studying," he informed his dormmate. Blaise squinted at the book and at Draco's notes, then sniffed. "Invisibility cloaks?" he asked, skeptical. "I might want to make one someday," Draco replied smoothly. Blaise frowned. "Looks really complicated." "It is," Draco agreed. He picked up his notes, glancing through them. "It involves a lot of steps - getting the items necessary, setting a Gillipsee Stone's power center, interweaving the charms throughout a large cloth, tying it to a specific person - not something everybody can do." "I suppose if it was easy, everybody would have one," Blaise remarked sagely. "My family used to have one," Draco said a little wistfully, putting his notes back down on the desk. "It was made by Lord Tristos Malfoy, back in the seventh century. It got handed down throughout the years, but it apparently was lost when our family had to flee France during the Revolution." "That's a shame," Blaise said sincerely. "The more ancient they are, the more powerful, right?" Draco nodded. "Yes. While a cloak can hide you from physical sight, you can still be seen in other magical ways, at least until the charms woven into the cloth have time to cure completely." "It's better than nothing, I suppose." Blaise yawned "Well, think I'm going to go to bed." Draco made a noise of agreement, reaching over and turning off his lamp, then stood up, stretching. Greg and Vince were already passed out in their beds. Draco slid into his own, hearing Blaise do the same on the other side of the room. "Goodnight, Blaise," he called out into the darkness. "Pleasant dreams, Drake," came the sleepy reply. Draco leaned back on his pillow and smiled. * * * * * * Harry blinked stupidly as he took in his surroundings. A man in an odd looking suit walked past him, playing on some accordion-looking instrument, cars passing by on a cobblestone street nearby. Harry shifted in the comfortable folding chair he was sitting in, turning his head to focus on the crisp, white linen-covered tiny round table, upon which was set out a delicate looking meal and two glasses of wine. Draco sat in a chair across from him, dressed casually in a dark-green cashmere sweater and khakis, his hair pulled back in a half-ponytail, a pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose. "Where ARE we?" Harry asked, unbelieving what he was seeing. "Paris," Draco told him. "This must be one of those little side-walk cafés you hear so much about." Harry chuckled, then sat forward as the guy with the accordion thing came up behind him again. "What is that thing?" he asked Draco. "A concertina, I believe." Draco lifted his wineglass and took a sip, closing his eyes in pleasure. "It's good?" Harry asked. "It's a 1929 Calon-Segur Saint-Estephe, Harry," Draco said with delight. Harry's face remained blank. "Yes, it's good," Draco clarified, rolling his eyes a little. "Sorry," Harry said with a wry grin. "Wine-tasting wasn't offered at my primary school." "Mores the pity." Draco rested the glass gingerly on the table, sitting back and sighing. "You know, the more I think about it, it really is a good thing we spend time in your dreams and not mine," Harry mused. "Why's that?" Draco asked. Harry shrugged. "I've never been anywhere Draco. If we were to visit someplace in my past, we'd be in a closet underneath the stairs at my uncle's home in Surrey." "Well, I hate to break it to you, Harry, but I've never been to Paris," Draco said, his expression turning a little somber. "But..." Harry waved at the scene around them. "How do you know about this, then? Nobody's imagination is this good." "Remember how I told you I never really left the manor as a child?" Harry nodded and Draco continued. "My father wanted me to experience the world in someway. He has a pensive in his office, filled with memories from trips just like this. Every now and then, he'd take out a memory and share it with me." Draco paused, looking around, smiling. "This was one of my favorites." "That's amazing," Harry replied with awe, then shook his head. "Still, in my dreams, we’d be in a closet." "That might be interesting, though," Draco replied evenly, his eyes taking on an odd light. "I've never been one to live in a closet." Harry sat back, giving Draco a curious look at the innuendo. "Is that so?" he finally asked. Draco gave a non-committal shrug. "The wizarding world is different from the muggle world, Harry," he replied. "We're a lot more tolerant of such things." "But not of muggles in general," Harry remarked, deciding this would be a good time to redirect the conversation. Draco sighed again. "You don't understand," he muttered. "Then explain it to me," Harry said. Draco took another sip of his wine, then took a deep breath. "Muggles are dangerous," he began. "They fear things they don't understand. That fear becomes anger, that anger becomes hate, and hate becomes suffering." Harry snorted. "You sound like Yoda!" he laughed. He expected a confused look from Draco, but instead got a small smile. "You think George Lucas is a muggle?" he asked blandly. Harry fell silent in quiet shock. "Anyway," he continued, "muggles destroy things they don't understand and can't control. My family has been driven to near extinction almost a dozen times in the course of our history, mobs of angry muggles killing men, women, and children whom they identified as preternatural. We came to Wales because of the protection afforded us by the large percentage of Wizarding folk in the British Islands. It's no coincidence that one of the finest wizarding schools in the world is in Scotland and Diagon Alley, one of the finest places to get magical supplies, is in London. There's strength in numbers, Harry." "That doesn't mean you can just wipe them all out because of it!" Harry argued. "Of course not," Draco replied. "But by allowing children borne of non-magical parents to enter our schools and allowing wizards and witches to interbreed with muggles, it means that just that many more of them know we exist. Since they won't accept us, our only choice is to exist in anonymity." "But if a child is born with magical abilities, even if their parents don't have them, don't you think they should be permitted to explore their gifts?" Harry asked. Draco said nothing, starting at the table. He looked back at Harry, frowning. "You're not going to like what I'm going to say next," he warned. "Say it anyway," Harry said. Draco nodded. "Historically, children with magical abilities were identified at a very young age by a group of wizards whose job was to do just that," Draco explained. "These children were taken from their homes and raised among their own kind. The parents never knew what happened to them. In fact, the memories of that child were usually just erased from the parents' minds." Just as he expected, Harry looked utterly horrified. "That's terrible!" Harry cried. "A child shouldn't ever be taken from their parents like that!" "It was for the child's protection as much our society's," Draco said. "Like I said, fear, to anger, to hate, to suffering. Many times, once the child's abilities started to manifest, the parents would believe he or she was possessed by Satan or something similar, at which point they would ritually kill the him or her." Harry shook his head as if he were trying to shake something loose. "It's not like that anymore." "Yes, it is," Draco insisted. "It will always be this way. People drag other people behind their cars just because they have different colored skin or an alternative sexual orientation. How do you think they'd react to those whose differences are even more profound?" "That doesn't make what Voldemort is doing is right!" Harry cried, slamming his fist down on the table. The glasses jumped. "I never said it does!" Draco replied in kind. "I don't agree with what Voldemort is doing anymore than you do. All you asked me is about my opinions on muggles and mixed-bloods, and I gave it to you. You didn't grow up in our world, Harry, and you don't understand how it really works. All you've seen of it is some candy-coated version of it the Headmaster and his friends like to dish out, safe with in the walls of Hogwarts! Once we graduate, we have to live in a world where we're a secretive minority, where using your gifts in the wrong place could lead to you being stoned to death or hung up in a tree somewhere. And it does still happen, Harry, trust me!" Harry stared at Draco, his expression unreadable. A long, uncomfortable silence fell between them. Draco watched Harry, waiting to see if the rift that had opened had ruined any chance of salvaging the fragile bridge they'd just begun to build. "You don't support Voldemort," Harry finally said, his voice soft. It was a statement, not a question. Draco remained silent a moment more, watching Harry's face carefully. "No, of course I don't," he said quietly. "Why would you think that?" "Your father--" Harry began, but Draco cut him off. "My father is in a situation beyond his control," he said quickly. "If he... if he didn't make the decisions he did, I wouldn't be alive today." "Some life," Harry replied bitterly. "Trapped in your home, always worried about being killed or worse, never getting to go anywhere without your family..." "It's the only life I could have, Harry," Draco said, his voice firm. "If my father was legitimately guilty he'd be in Azkaban right now. Trust me, he has enough enemies in the Ministry to make that a very real possibility." Harry sat still for a moment, then nodded. "I'm glad you don't support Voldemort," he said simply. Draco smiled. "So am I," he assured the other boy. They sat in silence again, this time the void of conversation not the least bit unsettling, the world filled with the gentle sounds of Paris in the afternoon, the concertina player filling the air with soft music, the dream passing in an easy truce between them. A/N: What the heck is a "concertina," I hear you ask? Well, it's one of those.. accordion... things. Oh, heck, just check out this website. prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve back? |