Almost Human

Almost Human

Chapter 5

Draco wished he hadn't sent the Professor away. Only he didn't want to talk to him. He wished this had never happened. That the Professor had never killed Snuffy, and he could still trust him. He wished he had never heard of Voldemort. He wished he had never been born.

He was crying, and Snuffles's spout brushed against his face. "Snuffy, that tickles."

Snuffles nestled against his neck. Madame Pomfrey hadn't said anything about him being unhygienic. That was something.

"Come on now. Up you get."

He blinked. It was Madame Pomfrey, holding his wheelchair and yanking down his covers. "What?"

"Headmaster wants to see you." She manhandled him into the wheelchair. "Are you taking that animal?"

"Yes." Draco snatched Snuffy off the pillow. "What time is it?" He'd dozed and cried all day; his head felt like a cement block.

"Seven." Madame Pomfrey pushed the wheelchair down the corridors. "If he's killed before you forgive him, you'll regret it the rest of your life," she said abruptly, as they passed the empty Great Hall.

Draco straightened up. "What's happened?"

"Nothing. But his life isn't the safest, you know that." Then she said, "Green gumdrops," to the gargoyle at the door, and sent the chair up.

He knew what this was about. Dumbledore was going to try to make him forgive the Professor. He was probably there already, and Draco was ready to say, "I told you I don't like you anymore."

But he wasn't there. Not in his usual chair by the fireplace, and not lurking anywhere else, either. "Where's the Professor?"

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles. "In his rooms, I would imagine. Your solicitors have contacted me about several matters that I thought we should go over before I reply."

So it wasn't about Snape at all. Good. "Okay."

"Your father had several annual charitable gifts scheduled." Dumbledore handed him a list.

"Nix the Pure Mothers' League...and these parliamentary candidates. I've no idea which ones are evil, have you?" Maybe Dumbledore followed muggle politics.

"No, I don't either."

"This one's the local church, that's fine, and St. Mungo's...." He went down the list, eliminating the most obviously Dark items. Then he authorized repairs to some of his tenanted buildings, and replied to some questions his solicitors had about the alterations he was making to the Manor.

"You'll need Muggle workmen for some of these things," Dumbledore explained. "Your solicitors are handling the permits, but they need to know you're taking precautions to observe the Secrecy Acts."

"Okay."

"An adult wizard will have to be on hand to perform memory charms if necessary."

Yesterday, he'd have assumed Professor Snape would do it, on their summer holidays. "See if the firm can recommend somebody," he suggested.

"Very well. Now, we'll need to make arrangements for where you'll spend your summer holidays."

"At home," he said promptly.

"You won't be safe there by yourself."

"So I'll have bodyguards. Retired Aurors, maybe." That would stop Snape from dropping by, at least.

"Everybody who's fit is being called up for active service. It'll be difficult to hire anyone suitable. However, I've taken the liberty of making some inquiries, and Madame Longbottom has invited you to stay with her and Neville. The Longbottom home is remote and wel-protected, so you should be safe there."

"Absolutely not." Neville was okay, but his company got old fast, and spending a whole summer with his grandmother didn't bear thinking about.

"Mrs. Weasley has also agreed--reluctantly--that you could stay at Order headquarters with her family."

Even worse. Draco groaned. "I want to go home."

"That's not an option. Unless a responsible adult is willing to stay with you."

"If you mean Professor Snape, we're not friends anymore."

"So I heard. Should I tell Madame Longbottom to expect you?"

"No. Let's just...try to think of something else."

"Very well. But you only have five more weeks of term. We'll need to make arrangements soon."

"Okay. I'm sure I can think of something."

As he left, Dumbledore said, "I could speak to Professor Snape, if you like."

Draco just shuddered theatrically.

#

He made his own way back to the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey was packing up his books and his fruit basket. "What's going on?"

"You wanted to go back to your rooms tonight," she reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. Cool."

"Dobby volunteered to keep an eye on you. He'll come and fetch me if you have any trouble."

"Okay, thanks. Do you know what happened to my wand? If I'm to go back to class...."

"Oh, yes. Professor Snape brought it by earlier, while you were sleeping." She took a wand box out of his bedside table and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Hey--this isn't my wand." It looked similar, but the wood-grain pattern was different.

"The wood was damaged," Pomfrey explained. "It had to be mended. It's the same core."

"Oh." He tested it's. Lumos. Guess it's all right, then. Until I can get another one." It was still Snape's old wand, and he didn't want it anymore.

After piling his things on his lap, Pomfrey left him to make his own way down to the dungeons. Things were quiet--the meeting with Dumbledore had taken most of the evening, and everyone had probably gone to bed.

He passed Snape's door before his own, and hesitated. Before, he'd have stopped in to say goodnight. Angrily, he pushed on to his own rooms.

Dobby must have heard he was coming. There was a fire in the grate, and some biscuits on a plate next to a steaming teapot. He took one and bit into it absently.

Everything seemed to be how he'd left it, more of less. He let Snuffles down off his lap, and the teapot ambled around, sniffing things.

Well, he was home.

#

The next morning, Draco got himself up and went to the Great Hall for breakfast, even though Dobby offered to bring him a tray.

"Hi, Draco," Longbottom said. He apparently hadn't heard that Draco preferred to take his chances with Voldemort than spend the holidays at his house.

"We missed you yesterday," Granger said pointedly. She didn't approve of skiving off.

"I had a little relapse," he said. "But I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" she asked, a worried look on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Well, we have Potions first today. That's probably better for you anyway."

"We do? Shit." He dug through his bag for his timetable, hoping he hadn't thrown it away after he'd memorized it.

"What's the matter?" Granger asked.

He didn't answer, still looking for his timetable. There it was, crumpled up in a ball at the bottom of the bag. "This is Wednesday?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Draco, I'm sure I know what day of the week it is."

"Shit," he repeated. "Maybe I'll go back to bed."

"Why? What happened?"

"Does something have to have happened for me not to want to see Snape first thing in the morning on my first day out of my sickbed?"

"For anyone else, no. For you, Malfoy, yes."

"All right." He leaned closer to Granger. "He killed Snuffles," he whispered.

But Potter overheard. "What?" He looked up at the high table, and was on his feet before Granger could stop him.

Granger grabbed the back of his robes. "Harry, it's not what you think. Sit down."

Draco watched him in puzzlement. Potter didn't even know Snuffy.

"It's a different Snuffles," Granger explained, as he sat down. "It's his teapot." The she glared at Draco. "I told you not to say that in front of him."

"You did not. You said, 'don't tell Harry your teapot's name is Snuffles.' I didn't mention a teapot until you already had."

"The teapot part wasn't the important part," Granger said impatiently. "It's the name. 'Snuffles' was --a sort of a code name for Harry's godfather."

"Oh. Well, the Professor didn't kill him."

"He'd better not have," Potter said darkly.

"Don't be stupid, he wasn't even there," Granger told him. "He was in the Forbidden Forest, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Potter said.

"You have a teapot named Snuffles," Weasley asked slowly.

"Well I had," Draco said, ignoring the fact that he still did. "Until I asked him to look after him while I was ill."

"A teapot," Weasley repeated. "I always knew you were strange, Malfoy, but I had no idea."

"It was transfigured," Granger explained. "It's not quite as weird as it sounds." She turned to Draco. "What did he do to it?"

"He turned him back into a teapot."

Granger nodded. "That's not so bad. I'll do some research, and Harry's gotten really good at transfiguration. I bet we can fix him. I was doing some outside reading last week, I think--"

"You're volunteering me to fix Malfoy's teapot?" Potter demanded.

"McGonagall already fixed him," Draco said.

"Oh." Granger looked deflated. "Well, then...what's the problem?"

"I don't like Professor Snape anymore."

"Finally wised up, huh?" Weasley asked.

"Shut up, Weasel."

"Even if he's not evil, he's still horrible," Weasley said.

"He did save Draco's life," Granger said.

"Exactly," Weasley said. "Horrible."

"And Harry's."

"Exactly," Draco echoed. "That should've been a clue."

#

When Draco went to his next transfiguration lesson, McGonagall announced they'd be beginning human transfiguration practicals that day. Draco immediately felt a bit queasy. He'd been pretty keen to learn it, at one time, but now he thought teaching a bunch of kids to turn each other into household objects was a recipe for disaster.

McGonagall lectured them on safety and technique for about half an hour--from the bored looks on everybody's faces, he could have guessed it was a review, even if he hadn't read forty pages of Granger's notes on the subject--before dividing them into pairs. Draco got as far as away as he could from the remaining Slytherins in the class while she was doing so, and ended up partnered with a Ravenclaw girl named Sefia Talima.

"Remember," McGonagall said, "Transform your partner into an object of similar size. If you have trouble reversing the spell, or if your partner appears to be in any discomfort, raise your hand and I'll come to assist you. Begin."

"I'll go first, then," Talima said.

Draco nodded. "No funny business."

The Ravenclaw girl took out her wand and sketched a pattern in the air. "Homo--"

Draco raised his own wand and shouted, "Interdict," blocking the spell.

Talima looked irritated. "You're not supposed to fight it," she said scathingly. "Do you mind if I do the work, thanks?"

"Sorry," he said, tucking his wand away. He hadn't meant to do it--it just sort of happened. "Took me by surprise, that's all. Try again."

"Okay," she said dubiously. "Homo trans--"

That time, Draco hit her between the eyes with a stunning spell.

McGonagall rushed over. "Mr. Malfoy! What do you think you're doing?"

"Oops," he said, quickly restoring Talima to consciousness. "Just a little...ah...we're fine, Professor."

Talima got up and brushed off her robes, as McGonagall rushed away to attend to a boy who was stuck with the lower half of a double bass. "Circe's tits, Malfoy, if you make me fail this assignment, you'll wish you'd never been born."

He wasn't sure he didn't, already. "Go ahead," he said, shoving his wand to the bottom of his bag.

With a frustrated sigh, Talima raised her wand again. Draco took a deep breath. It was just a lesson; nothing was going to happen to him.

But as soon as Talima cast the spell, Draco ducked and rolled out of his chair. When he raised his head he saw that Augustus Bluckett--who had been working with another boy on the opposite side of the room--had turned into a small Ionic column.

Talima was livid. "Professor McGonagall!" she bellowed.

She rushed over. "Yes, Miss Talima, Mr. Malfoy? What's happened?"

"He. Keeps. Blocking. Me," Talima said through gritted teeth.

"I have unusually well developed instincts of self preservation," Draco said, clutching the remains of his dignity around him.

McGonagall gave him a coldly evaluating look.

Could she honestly not get it?

"Perhaps," he added, "It's not the best idea to have people pointing wands at me and saying spells. Just presently," he said pointedly.

She looked at him for another long moment, then nodded. "Miss Talima, you've shown you can do the spell, anyway. Go and restore Mr. Blunkett, please."

She did, but not before giving Draco another blistering look.

"I should have thought of that," McGonagall said apologetically. "Are you quite all right?"

He nodded. "If you'd help me into my chair?" He'd fetched up five feet away from it, and didn't much fancy dragging himself over to it on his belly in front of the entire class. He'd have to adjust the summoning charm on it, in case he was caught with both chair and wand out of arms reach again.

McGonagall summoned the wheelchair and levitated him into it easily. "All right?"

He nodded. "Thanks."

"Do you want to give the spell a try?"

"Sure." It was having it done on him that was the problem, not doing it.

"I'll send Miss Talima back when she's finished."

She and the girl had a hurried conference, from which Draco overheard the words, "Unfair," from Talima and "Combat stress," from McGonagall.

Talima came back. "All right, let's get on with it."

"What do you want to be?" he asked.

"I don't care, so long as you don't muck it up."

He considered. "How about an armchair?" Talima was a big girl, and already had sort of an upholstered look about her.

"Fine, whatever."

Draco waved his wand and spoke the spell, holding in his mind an image of an overstuffed black armchair. Talima's outline blurred and wavered, and she melted into a squat, overstuffed chair shape. Unfortunately, it was supported by two hands and two feet in brown brogues.

"Not bad for a first try,' McGonagall said encouragingly. "Try again."

He did, and the hands and feet became proper chair-feet.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy. You may restore her now."

He did, and Talima smoothed her robes and shook her hair. "You'd better not have sat on me," she said.

"I didn't. What's it like, being a chair?"

"I guess you'll never know," she said haughtily.

#

Severus had expected that once Dumbledore found out that he and Draco weren't getting along, the old man would swoop in and force them to make up. For the first day or so, he cursed his meddling ways. Then, when he still hadn't meddled, he started to worry. Finally, after four days, he invited himself up for tea and broached the subject himself.

"Mm, yes, I know," Dumbledore said, sipping his tea. "Toffee? No? I'll have one myself, if you don't mind."

"He called me a murderer," Snape said. "I said I was sorry, but he just said he didn't like me anymore."

"Mmph," Albus said, around a mouthful of toffee.

"And now he won't speak to me at all. Except in lessons."

"Mmph." The Headmaster swallowed. "That is a shame."

"Well?" Severus demanded.

"Well, what?"

"What do I do to fix it?"

Dumbledore thought for a long time. Finally, he pronounced, "I have no idea."

"What? You have to know."

"You already apologized?"

"Yes. Twice."

"Well. He's going through a very difficult time. I expect he'll forgive you, but it may take some time."

"That's all you have? 'It may take some time'?"

"I'm afraid so."