Shades of Grey

I was always quietly confident I’d get close to Draco Malfoy.

I’d heard of him even before I came to Hogwarts – our mothers were educated together in Italy and became friends, and although Narcissa broke off contact when she married Lucius, my parents would always point out the mentions of the Malfoys in the Daily Prophet. I think they might have even hoped I’d become friends with Draco – they probably reckoned I could do with a powerful ally at school. You see, there was never any doubt I’d be Sorted into Slytherin, but some members of the house might take less than kindly to the information that my parents never actually sided with Voldemort. Don’t get me wrong, we’re hardly Ministry pawns; my father simply refuses to compromise the historic Zabini neutrality. It can be a very profitable position in tense times like these.

Draco and I only started talking in our second year. The first one he never seemed to be without his so-called henchmen… God, I swear even Hagrid has more brains than those two. I’m surprised it took him a full twelve months to get bored of such idiocy, but at last he started looking for real friends in our house, and that’s when he found me.

I was glad. Against my parents’ predictions I hadn’t had any hassle from the Death Eater spawn in the house, but I still was happy to have someone intelligent in my own year as a friend. I’ve always liked school and done well in it, but that goes against the grain in a house where cleverness tends to be shown by ingenious methods of cheating. I got on reasonably well with a couple of girls in third year, but I still ended up spending time with Ravenclaws, as they tend to be bright enough to see that anti-Slytherin prejudices are hasty and ill-judged.

But when I got to know Draco, I saw that he didn’t work like the rest of the house. He still doesn’t. He knows that everything we’re taught is potentially useful, and that it pays to be prepared. That’s real cunning, not like Pansy’s little essay-thieving spell.

We weren’t really even that close. Yes, we’d sit together in History of Magic and sometimes he’d complain to me about how useless Trelawney or Hagrid were and how he’d asked his father to get them sacked, but nothing more. I remember how pissed off he was at the end of the year when despite his efforts that gormless half-giant stayed. “Fucking interfering Harry Potter,” he’d say, livid with anger, “he really has to suffer for spoiling my plans. When’s Dumbledore going to see that his Golden Gryffindor is a wanker?” Neither me nor the rest of the Slytherins had much of an answer for him.

Many things crystallised in our third year – Draco’s hatred of Potter and all the attention he got, for one. It’s not as if people ignored Draco – every single first year girl and even several of the older ones in our house had a crush on him. Even the prefects would let him hang around them on occasion – I reckon they saw how useful it could be to get in with the son of a man many saw as Voldemort’s second-in-command. He knew the benefit of his position but wanted something honest as well, and so our friendship got stronger.

The fourth year was much the same. The school was dominated by the Tournament, and the whole house was furious that the Hogwarts champion was not from Slytherin. I remember how Draco would watch Potter every step of the way, willing him to fall or trip, to mess up somehow. At least, that’s what I reckon – the resentment was so high he wouldn’t even talk about it. I still don’t know if his father had told him of Voldemort’s plans, as that would put a whole other spin on things. Pansy’s little interview with Rita Skeeter pleased him enormously, and the two of them became a couple as a result. By then I knew that I was attracted to him, but also that Pansy wasn’t much of a setback. A little rumour reached me about how, if she did any more than kiss a boy before she married, her father would send her to Durmstrang. They’re an old-fashioned family, the Parkinsons, and it was all for my benefit.

It was the Saturday night after a particularly rough Quidditch practice. Chris Warrington was furious that new team members Crabbe and Goyle had whacked a couple of Bludgers rather too close to him, and they’d ended up in the hospital wing with impressively hexed ears. I didn’t know Chris listened in class. Anyway, I was sitting in the common room trying to do a particularly nasty piece of Arithmancy homework (“Using the Pythagorean method, draw and label your primary vibration chart”), and when Draco came in I asked for a bit of help. I remember the exact words he spoke.

“You’re stuck on that?” he said dismissively, but his next sentence was friendlier. “I’ve already done it. The parchment’s in the dorm; come and have a look.” Such innocuous words, so laden with subtext.

And so I followed him down the narrow stone staircase that spiralled to his room. It wasn’t as if we were going to be interrupted (although later he turned out to know some pretty advanced privacy charms) and so, well… things happened. I was mildly surprised and rather impressed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been sleeping with Ravenclaws, even if they were the less swotty ones, but then who else was there in Slytherin? We were the only ones who got laid in our year – Pansy and her little crowd were still doing the giggly girl thing, and as for Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle, well, I didn’t even want to think about it. Draco confessed to the same problem, and so we came to an understanding.

And so that’s just how it’s been these last couple of years. Everyone knows we’re friends, and we work together in lessons as we’re doing mostly the same N.E.W.T.s. The fucking bit we keep quiet – any long term arrangement like that shows more attachment than is wise in a house like this. Last year Matt Bole, one of the Quidditch chasers, was found to be engaged to some Ravenclaw girl. To make it worse, she was on the other house’s team so of course he hadn’t been playing tough enough. He was beaten off the squad and the whole house started hexing him at every moment, even whilst he slept. He left a fortnight later without taking his N.E.W.T.s, and the last I heard he was some shop assistant in Knockturn Alley.

No problems… or so I thought for a long while. He was made a prefect this year, and with that came a private room. For the first time we could stay in bed together after having sex. I think it was justified on the grounds of keeping warm rather than affection - you wouldn’t believe how cold the dungeons get in winter. I never sleep when this happens. I just sit in bed for hours, watching him lie there with his hair all messy and falling over his face, the way he hates it. Strand by strand I’ll brush it back, but then he’ll roll over and it’ll all be for nothing.

I remember once standing by the window smoking, watching the dawn light up the room. It’s a stupid habit I picked up, the smoking… hardly anyone does it here, even in Slytherin. I started one summer when I was staying with my cousins in Italy, and I’ve kept it up as there’s something morbidly relaxing in it. That, and Draco thinks the way I make the smoke coil lazily out of my mouth is sexy. I would hate to break it to him that it’s a Muggle vice.

I wish I knew what he dreamt about. We both sleep with other people and that’s not a problem, but I’ve never heard him say another name in his dreams. Sometimes, though, his lips move silently, but I can never read what they’re saying. Could be anything, couldn’t it…

I didn’t realise something was amiss until a month ago. It was after Draco had fought Potter in a Duelling Club match. They were as evenly balanced as ever until Potter mumbled some spell no-one seemed to recognise, and Draco went flying backwards and hit the floor. He didn’t try to fight back, didn’t even stand up when Potter just walked up to him and stared down at him scornfully. Just wanted to see what the boy would do… know thy enemy.

Far too many of the people here think that Harry Potter isn’t like that, that he doesn’t feel any resentment or want revenge on anyone except Voldemort. I know that’s shit – he truly hates Draco, and he’s the only person who does. Even Granger admits he’s attractive: I overhead her saying so to the Patil twins, and Weasley’s too scared of him to feel hate. He knows that if he does anything, Draco would get his father sacked from the Ministry within seconds. Some people are so naïve that they don’t even believe Potter wants to get back at Voldemort, and they think he’s doing it all for them or because it’s his destiny to save the wizarding world… I don’t know. It’s sentimental thinking like that which gets us into half these problems.

I don’t know why Draco and I ended up talking about him. We’d been to Hogsmeade that day and were slightly drunk after spending most of our time in the Three Broomsticks. It was late when we got back to the castle, but neither of us wanted to sleep, and so we sat in the common room watching the embers of the fire. I mentioned that only we could see this vindictive side of Potter, that everyone else was blinded by his fame and the myth of the Boy Who Lived.

Draco’s reply was strange. “It makes him like us. Brave and noble Harry Potter believes in vengeance as much as any Slytherin.” There was respect in his voice, unwilling and quiet, but it was undeniably there.

That explained for me why Draco quit the duel, why he’s been even more distant and inscrutable lately… it explained a lot of things. He’s hated by someone he respects. It goes back a long way, maybe even as far as the rejection of his friendship in the first year. He got obsessed by beating Potter and the rivalry between them came to be a challenge, not a problem. He’d never admit it, but I think Draco’s also jealous. Potter, raised by Muggles and with a Mudblood mother, is a hero. All the while Draco has seen Potter as an equal, a worthy adversary, while Potter’s never thought anything but shit of him.

The poor stupid boy. I could let the secret of his fascination out; he’d lose status in the house and I’d probably gain quite a bit. But then, if he’s down, he might consider it worthwhile to tell about us, and that wouldn’t exactly do much good. At least he doesn’t know what I feel for him, though that’s scant recompense. I couldn’t hurt him (or his reputation, perhaps the same thing) however much I’d gain. All these questions and no answers.

Draco confuses everyone, even himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once I thought I had my whole life planned out before me.

I, Pansy Parkinson, was going to pass my O.W.L.s, be made a prefect for Slytherin house, then do N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. My father wanted me to add History of Magic to that list, but I told him I’d rather do Muggle Studies than that, and he didn’t pursue the issue further. The summer after leaving Hogwarts I was to marry Mr. Draco Malfoy, and we would live together on the Malfoy estate.

But I wasn’t going to be a passive little trophy wife like Narcissa; no, I intended to work in Flourish & Blotts on Diagon Alley. I’d thought about the shops in Knockturn Alley, but to be frank, I wouldn’t want to spend too much time with some of the people there. I mean, we’re on the same side, but that doesn’t mean I want to mix with them. My parents weren’t very happy about the idea of their daughter ‘going into trade’, and neither, I suspected, would Draco and his parents approve. Still, I was sure I could make them see that it’d be good for me to have a hobby, and besides, a job in a book shop would be innocuous enough to keep me safe if the Dark Lord’s plans don’t work out.

When Draco and I became a couple in our fourth year, I thought it was all coming together. Perhaps he wasn’t as romantic as I had hoped, but he always gave me special treatment, and it really helped my profile in the house. Before every Quidditch match he’d let me listen while the team strategised. I’ve never been a huge fan of the game – too rough – but it was an honour no-one else got. Draco always used to go on about Potter and how the team had to beat him, even if the match that day was against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. He’d stand there working out exactly what margin Slytherin needed to win by, arguing with Chris about who should be put out of action. Despite the older boy being captain, Draco always ended up deciding tactics. I was so proud of him.

I think that I was a respite for Draco, providing some relief from the company of those two thugs his father made him keep around. With me he could have a proper conversation, perhaps about how stupid the Ministry was or who he thought would replace Dumbledore. Much of the rest of the time he’d work, though subtly enough that few of the house really knew quite how academic he was. He only considered Blaise sharp enough to work with him, and many nights I’d go to bed without even getting to say goodnight. The two of them would sit, heads together, pouring over some arcane grimoire, entirely impervious to the outside world. I understood that he wanted someone to work with, but that didn’t stop the jealousy.

In hindsight, of course, I was an idiot not to see it. I knew Draco was frustrated and, to be honest, surprised by my wish to stay chaste before marriage, but I thought he’d understand. After all, he was going to get it eventually. But no, half way through the fifth year he decided that he needed more, and he broke up with me. Bastard. There went my plan, and I don’t like losing control.

I thought he’d start slutting around very publicly, sleeping with half the house, but that never seemed to happen. A lot of people still thought we were together, and he didn’t make much effort to inform them otherwise. He didn’t want his father to know, I’m sure of that much. It was pretty common knowledge that Lucius had planned for us to marry since we were little more than babies, and Draco wasn’t enough of an idiot to go so clearly against his father’s plans. I just waited. He’d come back to me eventually.

I desperately wanted to find out who he was with, but I couldn’t. As a prefect I had my own room, so I couldn’t tell if anyone was sneaking out of their beds at night. In the mornings I’d look to see who seemed tired and flushed, but that didn’t help. Even if I had seen someone looking suspicious, how would I know it was Draco they were sleeping with, not someone else? There was no-one he looked at more than usual – nothing changed. He glared at Potter and worked with Blaise just as he’d ever done.

I had to admit defeat and wait for the answer to come to me. I’m still waiting.

Twelve months later and as sixth years we talk maturely, as friends. What he says worries me, although I can’t show it. Some of the next generation of Death Eaters have already received the Dark Mark – three boys and a girl who had been two years above us and have now left Hogwarts. My father tells me that the Dark Lord isn’t impressed by anyone in the seventh year, so that means Draco, Crabbe and Goyle will be next.

A lot of the house thought he’d get the Mark early, being the son of Lucius and all. His vendetta against Potter seemed so promising, and he’s even been to some of the Death Eaters’ meetings. But we talk, and no matter how much he tries to keep up appearances, I can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows how strong Hogwarts is, knows that whatever he says about Dumbledore, the man’s still a powerful wizard. Most of all, every day he sees how zealous Potter is. We all know it; the question is what decision will we make?

I will follow my family, naturally, and that means siding with the Dark Lord. Of course, I am sure that he will win, but if he doesn’t I shouldn’t get punished by the Ministry of Magic too harshly. After all, I wouldn’t actually be responsible for anything, and I could always tell them that my husband forced me into it. Degrading, perhaps, but it’d keep me alive.

Very few women become Death Eaters – only the strongest and most aggressive of witches get called to him. It was always clear that I wasn’t capable enough in combat magic, and so my contribution would be as a wife to prominent Death Eater, namely Draco. I would get the status and the lifestyle I deserve, without too much danger. Bravery and loyalty are for fools.

But now I’m not certain Draco will even become a Death Eater, and surely if he were going to reach the Inner Circle like his father, he’d have got the Mark by now. I suspect he’s been putting the process off, waiting to see if the Dark Lord will be weakened or not. No-one wants to join the losing side, and it’s uncertain enough now that I can’t say which side that’d be. If he becomes a Death Eater but Voldemort dies, then he wouldn’t even reach Azkaban before getting the Kiss, and as the Malfoy heir he doesn’t want to risk that.

If I were in his position, I would probably do much the same, but that isn’t the point. I need to marry a Death Eater, and I am almost certain to marry him. He is reticent, and so I must find a way to force him. If the Dark Lord loses, Draco will almost certainly die, which is a shame, but I think the role of mistress of Malfoy Manor, widowed so tragically young, is one that I would play to perfection. Of course, if we win, then my status is assured and there’d be no problems.

I can’t make him join myself. Draco listens to no-one here and takes no advice. However, he has to respect his father. I’m thinking that Lucius really ought to know of his son’s unwillingness to join the Death Eaters. That it was me who’d done the telling, Draco is of course not allowed to find out. I can find a way somehow, and win Lucius’ appreciation. That would certainly secure my future.

I am getting my life back on track and I will suffer no obstruction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snape strode along the corridor, a scowl on his face. He was late, but he thought it hardly his fault that the dungeons were so far from the headmaster’s office. Besides, the previous lesson had been delayed by that idiot Potter putting hens’ teeth, of all things, in what should have been a simple courage-inducing potion. The boy should have got a detention, but the professor had the impending meeting on his mind and so just took twenty points from Gryffindor. They were still ninety points ahead of his own house and McGonagall, for all her supposed professionalism, wouldn’t let him forget it.

He stopped abruptly at the statue at the bottom of the staircase. What was the damned password? Sweets, always sweets, as though the headmaster’s tastes were no more than a child’s. Snape’s likings tended towards the more adult - the only confectionery he’d admit to enjoying was the dark, bitter continental chocolate his brother sometimes sent him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, half to himself and half to the staircase. “Every Flavour Bites, or Beans, or whatever they’re called?” The staircase refused to budge. “Liquorice wands? No, that was last week’s.” He stood in thought, glaring at the stones for a few seconds. “Ah yes, Ton Tongue Toffees. Those abysmal Weasley twins and their little enterprise.” Before his eyes the stones shifted, and still sneering he walked in the study.

“Abysmal, Snape? Shouldn’t we be encouraging the entrepreneurs among Hogwarts pupils?”

He jumped, then reprimanded himself for having forgotten that Dumbledore kept a few choice Listening Charms around the school. Of course, it made sense to have one just outside his office, in case anyone felt like a little plotting before going in to see him, but all the same. No-one could say that the old man was losing his touch.

“We should be encouraging hard work, headmaster. I wouldn’t want to be open to any accusations of slipping standards.”

“I doubt that will be happening to you any time soon. Did you know, I got a letter from the Patil twins’ parents. They said that they were so happy that the girls were –”

Snape interrupted the old wizard’s ramblings. “I don’t believe you called this meeting to discuss those two, professor. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to get to the point? There are some ingredients I need to prepare.”

Dumbledore chuckled for a moment. Others might have called the young Potions master insolent, but the headmaster knew how indebted the resistance movement was to him, as well as the caustic nature of the man’s character, and so always gave him a little leeway when the niceties of behaviour were concerned. Besides, despite his affable nature, he had precious few friends with the nerve to rebut him so openly. Most were far too overawed by his reputation to do little more than agree. The brave are indeed on the side of the good, he smiled to himself.

“I suppose I shall have to get over it. Now, I do not think you will be surprised that I have requested this little chat to discuss Draco Malfoy. How is the young wizard doing?”

Snape’s expression clouded for a second, but he kept his voice even. “As well as any other in Slytherin house. He works harder than I think he wants people to notice; he’s asked some perceptive questions of me at times, but never when anyone was watching. Well, no-one except Blaise, with whom he often works with in lessons.”

“Ah yes, I rather thought they might be friends,” added Dumbledore, his expression bland. There was a pause. “Is there anything else you might like to tell me about him?”

Inwardly scowling that his evasion had been noticed, Snape continued. “His parents are keen for him to do well in life, understandably.” The headmaster nodded. “I’m sure you can imagine the path his father believes will lead to such a situation –”

“And so, all too vividly, can Draco, and he’s a little less than certain.”

“May I respectfully enquire why you called me here? You appear to know quite as much as I do about the boy’s position,” Snape drawled under hooded lids.

“All in good time. I was hoping for your opinion on the merits of a certain course of action, which, if I may be allowed to continue, I will outline.” Popping a pear drop into his mouth, he started on what Snape would have liked to dismiss as another tangent, if he hadn’t known that the great wizard always knew exactly what he was doing.

“Lucius seemed very proud of his son when he visited me last week – he was enquiring that, given the boy’s intelligence and, ahem, ‘the unparalleled reputation of the Malfoy name’, Draco was indeed going to be Head Boy next year.”

“I would like to see a Slytherin in that role, as I’m sure you know. It has been a while. Have you decided yet?”

“No, not yet. Minerva is pushing me to make Hermione Granger next year’s Head Girl,” Snape raised his eyes heavenward, and Dumbledore continued to hide a private smile, “but I suspect that she would rather concentrate on her NEWTs. Five is rather a lot, particularly as she’s doing it without a Time Turner to avoid the fiasco we had in her fourth year… Anyway, Master Malfoy. Have his parents been in communication much?”

“Headmaster, I hardly read the boy’s post. He receives owls at breakfast several times a week, but bearing what I don’t know. However, I have reason to believe Narcissa writes separately to Lucius.”

“You wouldn’t disclose your sources for that last titbit? No, I thought not. How interesting, yes, that certainly puts a new slant on matters,” mused Dumbledore aloud.

“And these matters would be exactly?” Snape asked, his irritation apparent.

His manner suddenly grave, Dumbledore lowered his glasses and looked the Potions master straight in the eye as he spoke. “Draco Malfoy is almost certainly going to be ordered to receive the Dark Mark. This may happen soon, so it is a point of considerable urgency. There is a degree of doubt, at least on my behalf, as to whether he will follow his father’s directions – I wonder, and of course hope, that he may be more inclined to plough his own furrow. You are here so that I can establish your opinion on influencing that furrow so it is, so to speak, parallel to the one you once trod.”

Snape sat back and inhaled sharply. “You want him to be a Death Eater spy.”

“Precisely.”