Shades of Gray

When at last Harry spoke again, his voice was so diminished that Draco had to lean significantly closer to him to hear properly.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here." Draco made some noncommittal sound that Harry took as confirmation. Plunging recklessly on, he continued hurriedly, slurring his words slightly.

"It's just that, I didn't want to go back to the Muggles this summer, and I couldn't just leave, what with Voldemort running about and all, so I went to stay with the Weasleys. And then the Ministry wanted more raids, and so Arthur said he would help out a bit. I guess it looks like I work for them, but I don't, I just follow Dumbledore and Arthur about and do meaningless tasks. But I don't know how meaningless this one was, I was supposed to make sure you didn't go running off, or try and stop them when they look under the drawing room floor-" he stopped upon noticing Draco's sigh of what might have been relief. Furrowing his brow and trying to remember that conversation overheard three years before: "But isn't that where-" and this time cut himself off when he remembered that Harry Potter wasn't there, that was while he was under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion.

"I don't know how in the world you know what I think you know about what used to be under there, Potter, but let me be the first to assure you that the compartment under the drawing room floor is quite empty."

"So you delivered the goods to Voldemort yourself, eh, Malfoy?" Draco amazed himself by not simply hexing Harry, and settled instead for rising and returning to the desk rather quickly. Harry, who until then had been staring at a spot on the ground, watched Draco's retreating back with interest. "I'll take that as a yes. Kill any Muggles recently? I'm sure Dumbledore would love to know," he called, trying to provoke Draco for the sole reason of getting him in trouble with the headmaster. As he realized what he was doing, he temporarily was amazed by how Malfoy-like his actions were. Feeling vaguely guilty, he watched Draco's every move as he stacked the books on the desk and slid them to one side. His face was the definition of emotionless; he did not move with the loud and sweeping motions of the thoroughly angered.

Draco, for once, was finding it surprisingly easy to control his rush of hatred towards Harry; he suspected that the presence of the Ministry in the house was the main cause of that. Although he felt the eyes of the other boy on him, he was in no mood for a staring contest, and decided instead to clear the desk before pulling open a drawer and retrieving parchment and a quill. He Summoned a chair and sank down into it while picking up the sharpened eagle feather and dipping it into a small ink well onto the table.

"You're left handed." A statement, not a question, ringing through the large room.

"And?" Not looking up, Draco began writing.

"Just . . . most people aren't."

"So?" More defiantly this time, daring Harry to challenge him, raising his eyes at last to meet the other boy's, and then Harry saw it. So brief one not looking for it might not have seen it, so sudden and yet expected: the flash of sheer hatred. Harry dropped his eyes quickly and became fascinated with the hem of his robes. Draco smirked, satisfied at last, and continued his letter to the Leaky Cauldron, reserving a room for the following week, the last week before term started. Fifth year was fast approaching, and Draco was taking full advantage of the fact that he had already finished every homework assignment and devoting the long days to finding and learning a particularly difficult charm known as the Demounis Charm, that involved storing a Blocking Spell in an object in such a way that the bearer of the object would be protected during a duel from most spells. Unfortunately, the books in the Malfoy library were devoted almost entirely to the Dark Arts, and it was nowhere to be found. This was the fourth week of his search, and it was both grating on his nerves and getting quite tiresome.

At last he finished the letter and sealed it, whistling for an owl as he did so. An enormous tawny owl appeared at the window, nearly instantly. Harry rose and moved to one side while Draco stepped over and fiddled with the latch.

"How'd you do that?" he asked curiously as the bird swooped in and landed gently on Draco's arm. "Train it to come when you call, I mean," he added when Draco didn't answer.

"I didn't," he replied shortly and with such finality that Harry knew the subject was closed.

The owl was ridiculously patient; not moving at all while Draco tied the small roll of parchment to its leg. It didn't click its beak or nibble his fingers affectionately when it left, simply spread its wings and glided away calmly. In some odd way, the owl itself reminded Harry strongly of Draco: calm and well behaved but painfully distant.

"Malfoy?" Draco turned quickly, and Harry's eyebrows did a quick vanishing act into his hairline.

"Professor?" Draco asked, blinking a few times to make sure that his eyes weren't deciding to go bad. He sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair once he was quite sure that the head Slytherin House was most assuredly standing in the doorway. The sheer oddness of the day had begun to exhaust him thoroughly. The fact that Snape was there didn't bother Draco much; he was a regular visitor to the manor. But his appearance at the same time as the Ministry's, and the fact that he was wearing the red hemmed robes of an Auror disturbed him through and through. After all, as far as Draco knew, Snape was just another Death Eater.

"Dumbledore needs to speak with you both," the potions-master said darkly. "Come along."

They trotted after him obediently as he led the way through the dimly lit corridors to the large drawing room, where Dumbledore reclined lazily in a seat near the huge windows. Harry's jaw dropped open as he surveyed the room. It was easily a third of the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The vaulted ceiling was also similar to the one at Hogwarts, bewitched to look like the sky, however, here it echoed the night sky, the stars shining with a slightly green tone. One wall was covered in huge floor to ceiling windows every two feet or so, thick black drapes held to one side by green ribbons. The opposite wall had a large fireplace made of black granite, and the other walls, adorned with paintings of pale blondes wearing robes with the Malfoy crest, was painted a deep emerald sort of colour. Scattered throughout the room were a number of plush chairs upholstered with a silver fabric, and it was from one of those that Dumbledore rose and turned to face the three people entering the room.

"I suppose," he said to Draco, "I have some explaining to do."

"Indeed," he snapped back. The headmaster gave him a withering look, which Draco met with a steady gaze.

"Sit," Dumbledore said, motioning to a chair behind Draco and returning to his former seat across from him. "Now," he said, never breaking eye contact with the boy sitting in the chair opposite him, "The Ministry, so far, has found nothing of any consequence in this house. That doesn't, however, mean that there is nothing here. It has been my long held suspicion that this house is home to some of the most notorious Dark materials in all of Europe. The problem, Mister Malfoy, is that there are a ridiculous number of rooms and god only knows how many passages and hidden chambers there are here. As such, we need someone who has lived here for . . . quite some time to assist us. Or provide a blueprint of the house.

"I know for a fact that you would loathe to help incriminate yourself or your family. Or help the Ministry at all, for that matter. But there are ways this can be done without your assistance, and I believe you would find them most unpleasant." Dumbledore had that way of making an obvious threat sound like a comment on the weather, but Draco bristled all the same.

"Empty threat, Headmaster," he hissed.

"Not a threat, Mister Malfoy. Just the truth. There are other reasons, as well, why the Ministry has chosen this time to thoroughly and persistently search here.

"As you doubtlessly know, Voldemort has returned, and it is essential that we deprive him of resources as quickly as possible."

"We?" Draco asked, a smirk playing across his face.

"Which brings me to my next point. Professor?" he said, turning to Snape, who nodded. Dumbledore stood and walked out; pulling a somewhat confused Harry behind him. Snape slid easily into Dumbledore's recently vacated seat, smiling faintly at a brooding Draco.

"WE," he said firmly. "You must think, at the moment, that the return of the Dark Lord does not negatively affect you. And that assumption is not without reason. Your father must have told you already what . . . plans Voldemort had for you before his original downfall." Draco nodded quickly. "So his rebirth, so to speak, might appear to hold rewards for you, and your family.

"This, however, very well may not be the case. Dumbledore is attempting to counter every foreseeable move that Voldemort may make. And in some cases, he has been successful. The giants have already been persuaded; the werewolves and several other groups of magical beings have agreed to assist. The Aurors are recruiting feverishly; a movement has begun to push Fudge out of office. But that is not the matter at hand.

"The point is that Voldemort WILL fall again. It is only a matter of time before some way is found to defeat him. Last time all it took was a little boy. And this time something as inconsequential in appearance could do the same. But the strongest force the Light side will have in the coming battle is the army of spies Dumbledore is seeking to create.

"I myself became one, before the first defeat of Voldemort. Dumbledore has asked me to persuade you to do likewise." Draco looked somewhat shocked in mild, bored sort of way.

"You do realize that you are wasting your time," he said dryly. "I am not a traitor." Draco sneered at the professor in such a way that plainly said that he had lost all respect for the man that he ever might have had.

"Nor am I, Malfoy," he spat. "I would ask you to join with us because it is right, because the murder of someone based on the circumstances of their birth is wrong. Which it is, but I assume that you have been raised with your father's values, which have a complete and utter disregard for right and wrong or good and evil. So I will instead explain it a slightly different way.

"When he falls, the Ministry will throw you into Azkaban without another word. If you are so lucky. Last time the greatest mistake made was letting the Death Eaters – such as your father – walk free. This time they will most likely simply sentence you all to the Dementor's Kiss. But if you agree to join the Ministry, and wear the Dark Mark for us, when this is over you will have an Order of Merlin and your freedom.

"If you hesitate because you think Voldemort will kill you if he finds out, than consider this. Voldemort slaughters his followers with the same amount of care as he kills Muggles. None whatsoever. And if you displease him, you'll be dead before you can apologize. If you are to die by the hand of Voldemort, why not do it honorably?"

"I fail to see the honor in dying as a traitor."

"Traitor to what, though? Traitor to your father? Traitor to Voldemort? The term traitor is generally reserved for those who betray the cause of those fighting for justice.

"And the honor, Mister Malfoy, comes from saving countless people even as you die."

"Saving?"

"Indeed. We provide the Ministry and Dumbledore with what they need to counter the Dark Lord's attacks. And as a result, lives are saved." Draco thought that through for a moment, and then with a start remembered something that great prat Dumbledore had said.

"What's all this about searching the Manor and making my life miserable?"

"That is Dumbledore's idea of a threat. He already has the blueprints to this house, and can either search and confiscate quietly or drive you to your wit's end while doing so. If you won't join us he will do the latter."

"He is not very good at this convincing business, is he?" Draco asked with the barest trace of smile.

"No, actually, he's quite good at it when dealing with most people. But you seem to baffle him quite a bit. He never really knew how to deal with your father, either," Snape remarked, looking quite thoughtful and distant.

"I still fail to see the reason I should be a part of this insanity."

"Because there really is no choice. Dumbledore will be watching you," he hissed, leaning close to Draco, "and when you become a Death Eater he will know. And you can be sure that you will rot in Azkaban. I am offering you a way out, protection when the war is over no matter who wins. I did it because it is right. I should hope you would do the same. Think hard, Malfoy, there are no second chances in this game." Snape rose quickly and vanished with the small pop accompanying Disapparating.

Draco sank back into his chair and stared at the star-lit ceiling, lost in thought.