Worser Angels

Chapter 10

Chocolate Frogs

Draco sat in front of his fire, paging through Hogwarts, A History. He hadn't paid much attention to the sections that didn't deal with Salazar Slytherin or his father's time at Hogwarts in his previous perusals.

And it wasn't very interesting reading, even now. Without realizing he'd decided to stop reading, he found himself wondering what his friends at hospital would think if they could see him now.

Lydia would sprawl across the couch next to him, her feet up in his lap. She'd look around and drawl lazily, "Nice digs, Mystery Man."

Jenna would put on her working-class accent and say, "This is a bit of awright, ennit?"

Cyril would walk around talking to the furniture, and be completely unsurprised when the shepherdess on the door answered him.

Lydia would insist that, with no wardens breathing down their necks, it had to be time for a party. She was always talking about parties, music she liked, even trying to teach him muggle dance steps when a song she found acceptable came on the television. He'd get a wireless set somewhere--Slytherin common room had one, he could nip up there and steal it, Jenna would love that--and have Dobby bring some butterbeer and things to nibble on. Maybe he'd even transfigure some of it into wine, and they'd all get a little buzzed. He'd dance a few with Lydia, and then pull Jenna in. She was shy, but under all that weight she was really quite reasonable to look at.

He couldn't carry the fantasy any further. His friends wouldn't fit in here. And he didn't belong in their world any more than they belonged in his. If he wanted a party, he'd have to invite wizards. Witch girls could dance, too, probably just as well as muggle ones. He could even show them the muggle dance steps, the ones where you had to get all close and hot. The Patil girls weren't bad, and Lavendar Brown. Even some of the Ravenclaw girls were fairly decorative when they took the trouble.

It would be mean not to invite Granger, and he did owe her. Weasley would be fun to argue with, and Draco wouldn't mind showing him how the other half lived. And maybe they'd finally get over themselves and snog already. If that happened at his party, they'd be even, wouldn't they?

Thomas, the muggle-born kid, followed football. They would have something to talk about, and maybe he could find out how Leeds U was doing in the league.

Potter--shudder--would help to draw in the girls.

That stopped him. None of those people would so much as piss on him if he was on fire, much less come to his housewarming party. Longbottom might turn up out of pity.

His happy fantasy of a crowd of people enjoying themselves turned to one of him and Longbottom sitting on opposite sides of the table, the only sound the crunch of biscuits. After twenty awkward minutes--the minimum a reasonably well-brought-up person could spend on a call--he'd stand up and say he was having a really nice time, but he had a lot of homework to do.

Draco slammed Hogwarts, A History shut, and took himself and his misery off to bed.

#

The next day was Friday, and that weekend was a Hogsmeade one. At the breakfast table, he could hear students all around him making plans.

"Are you going to the village?" Longbottom asked him.

It wasn't quite an invitation to go with his crowd. Draco toyed with the notion of pretending it was; Neville was too decent to withdraw an invitation he'd offered, even accidentally. "Wish I could," he said shortly. "But I'm sure Professor Snape will say it's not safe."

"Oh." Was it his imagination, or did Longbottom seem relieved? "If you want anything from the shops, I'll pick it up for you," he offered.

"I could use a couple of boxes of Chocolate Frogs, actually." He had gotten depressed and eaten his last ones a few days before. Only... "Shit, I'm skint." A Jenna-word. "Damn Ministry's still got my estate locked up. I haven't had any pocket money in a month and a half."

Across the table, Weasley was shaking with poorly suppressed mirth. 'No pocket money...month and a half...wonder what that's like?

"Oh, shut up," he said, without much rancor. "I'm temporarily out of pocket, that's all. Nothing like your situation. If I'd known my father was going to be killed, I'd not have spent my last pocket money the first week I had it."

Mentioning his dead father won him a little sympathy, whether because he was dead or because f what kind of father he'd been, Draco wasn't sure. He used it to claim the last piece of bacon, and abruptly changed the subject.

In Care of Magical Creatures, the half-giant Hagrid was talking to them about house-elves, with an enthusiastic Dobby on hand as a visual aid. He was explaining, with frequent interruptions from Granger, how house-elves lived practically forever and were bound to serve old magical families. Draco half-listened, pondering his problem. He was beginning to have an idea when he heard Hagrid says, "Can even pine ter death if they don' have wizards to serve. They--"

"Excuse me." He couldn't quite bring himself to call Hagrid "Professor."

His huge hairy face bunched up. "Malfoy? Yeh have a question?"

"Yes. How long does it take for them to die?"

There were exclamations of disgust from the class.

"God, Malfoy," Potter said. "That's really foul."

"I didn't mean--we have more house elves back at the Manor. I was wondering if they'd be all right with the place empty while I was at school." Why was he even asking? Hagrid wouldn't know. He'd have to ask the Professor. Or maybe Dumbledore.

"You ought to set them free," Granger put her oar in. "It isn't--"

"You just heard him say they like serving wizards. Dobby's weird--I think he cracked under the pressure, living with my father."

Dobby squeaked in agreement, "Lucius Malfoy is a very bad wizard. He has set Dobby on fire, he has."

Draco winced. "Please--let's not air our dirty laundry in public, all right?" He rather liked Dobby--the house elf had always been nice to him before he had left the Manor, and he had done a good job on setting up Draco's new rooms. But he also knew exactly what had gone on in the Manor, and that was not a subject Draco wanted to introduce in the middle of a class.

"Yes, Master Draco," the house elf said, his ears drooping.

"Anyway, Hagrid?"

"Oh, yeh. They might no' do real well if there aren't any wizards in the house all year long."

"Okay, thanks. Maybe I could get a housekeeper or something to keep them company."

"Yeah, I reckon that'd be all righ'."

The class ended with instructions to write a 1-foot essay on the differences between house elves and brownies. One thing to say for Hagrid as a teacher, he didn't assign much written work.

They had twenty minutes between Care of Magical Creatures and Potions. Draco looked around for Snape, and didn't find him--McGonagall seemed to have taken over lurking duty for the moment. He headed straight for the dungeon.

"Professor?"

Snape was in his office marking papers, but put them aside as soon as he saw Draco. "Yes?"

Draco, who had been planning this, put on his best guileless expression. "You'd want me to come to you if I had a problem, right?"

Snape looked like he was almost sure that Draco was having him on, but didn't quite want to take the chance of not taking his problem seriously.

Exactly the reaction he was going for.

"Yes, of course I would," he said cautiously.

"Well, I do." He slipped into the seat opposite Snape's desk.

"Well, you know the Ministry is still sitting on all my money."

"Yes, I know."

"The problem is..." He paused long enough for Snape to use his imagination. "I'm completely out of Chocolate Frogs." Draco widened his eyes, an expression that had positively no effect on his parents, but had been known to make shopkeepers dispense free samples far in excess of what was reasonable. "And, well, Longbottom said he'd bring me some from Hogsmeade, but I don't have any way to pay for them."

He was prepared to do some groveling, and was even holding in reserve the idea of offering to do some lab-assistant work to actually earn the money. But it turned out not to be necessary.

"How many do you need?" Snape was rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Ah....I usually buy...two or three...boxes."

He found what he was looking for, and poured a handful of coins into Draco's hand. "Share some of them with Longbottom if you can think of a way to do it without being insulting."

Draco shoved the money in his pocket. "Uh, thanks." That had been almost too easy. "I'll pay you back, once--"

"Yes, I know. Just don't tell any of the others where you got it. Wouldn't want them getting any ideas."

Draco smothered a giggle. "Can you imagine Weasley coming in here to hit you up for money?"

"Believe it or not, you aren't the first one to have tried."

"Bet I am the first to succeed, though."

"I know you're good for it."

"Unless the Ministry finds some excuse to keep it all. Then I'll have to get a job to pay you back." He tried to think up the most ludicrous thing he could. "Maybe Hagrid will let me shovel up after the hippogriffs."

Snape didn't look amused. "The Headmaster would find something suitable. Not that it will be necessary," he added quickly.

"Right." He gathered up his bag, still a little embarrassed to have had to beg anyone--even Snape--for money. "I'll just...get ready for class. To start. Bye."

#

"So I just started shoving money at him," Severus confessed. "I don't even know how much I gave him."

Albus granted him absolution. "I'm sure it's all right. Nobody saw you, did they?"

"No. And I'm sure I can rely on him to be discrete." Severus sighed. "I was worried he'd be embarrassed to have to ask for money, but I don't think he was. Brazen little...he was scamming me, I'm sure of it." Draco was probably laughing at him for being such a soft touch.

"I thought you trusted him," Dumbledore reminded him.

"I do. About the important things. About everything else I trust him to be devious, underhanded, and sly."

#

"Longbottom, can you get me those Chocolate Frogs after all?" Draco sat down next to him at the dinner table.

"Sure."

He put a Galleon, six Sickles, and a knut on the table next to Longbottom. He was going to have to see if the Professor wanted the rest of his money back; he'd given him far too much, and Draco was vaguely aware that teachers weren't paid all that much. "Three boxes of frogs, and whatever else looks good, if you don't mind. Thank you."

"No problem."

"I do appreciate it," he said, trying to sound sincere.

"Where did you get all that money in one day?" Weasley asked suspiciously.

"Uh...sources," he said cagily. He ought to have thought of a story ahead of time.

Neville drew his hand back from the coins. "What kind of sources? If there's something dodgy, I'm not sure I--"

"Non-Dark sources. Nothing the slightest big underhanded. Family friend. Borrowed it. Non-evil family friend, that's it," he babbled.

Longbottom still looked suspicious, but he took the money, wrapped it up in his handkerchief, and pocketed it. "Okay, but you'd better not be getting me mixed up in anything."

"I'm not. That is non-blood money, from the cleanest of sources." Snape must have gotten it from the school, after all. How much cleaner could you get?

"I didn't know your family had any friends that weren't evil," Weasley said.

"Imagine that, something you don't know."

#

"Professor?" Someone was tapping at his door. Malfoy, had to be. No one came to visit him--even Dumbledore preferred to visit with him in his own cozy tower. Shouldn't let him in. Set some limits, that was it.

He opened the door. "Draco?"

"Can I come in for a minute?"

"Yes." He could set different limits. Something might have happened, after all. He let Draco in. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I, uh--I think you gave me too much money. So I came to see if you wanted the rest of it back."

"Oh, well. That might be wise." Draco gave him a handful of coins. Severus plucked out the galleons. "Here, keep these, in case you need something else before your estate comes in." He handed back the sickles and knuts.

"Okay." Draco grinned. "I overestimated your resistance to the famous Malfoy Charm. I'll have to give it to you half-strength next time."

Next time? "I'd forgotten. Your father hasn't been the least bit charming for at least fifteen years."

"I didn't realize he ever was."

"Oh, yes. You look almost exactly like him at that age. It's very disconcerting."

"I bet." Draco shuddered. "Maybe I should change my hair colour."

"There was nothing wrong with him at that age. A little ruthless, maybe."

"He's more than a little ruthless now."

"Yes, he's a lot dead."

"Did you go to school with him?" Draco wanted to know.

"He was four years ahead of me. We didn't really know each other, but he was one of those school heroes everybody knew of. You know the type."

"Mm. Yes." Draco hesitated. "He always said he was Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, and top of his year in every exam."

"He might have been below your mother once or twice. On exams, I mean."

"How did he..."

Draco didn't finish the question, but Snape thought he could guess. "Turn out like he did? I don't know." That wasn't an answer. "Your father, like you, was capable of tremendous loyalty. He deserved someone better to give it to."

Draco watched him like he was waiting for something more.

Snape tried to give it to him. There were many layers to the question--Draco deserved to be told there were some things about his father he didn't have to be ashamed of. But he also needed to understand that his heritage and his nature didn't condemn him to a life of evil, any more than Lucius's had. "It isn't that he was weak or easily led. He wanted to be the power behind the throne. He didn't realize what the cost would be until it was too late. In other circumstances, he might have been completely different."

"You got out. Why didn't he?"

He couldn't really answer that--he didn't really understand Lucius Malfoy now any more than he had when he had been eleven and Lucius had looked like he could do no wrong. He was uncomfortable with personal revelation, but if Draco could understand how his choices had put him in the position he was in today, perhaps he could be kept from making some of the same mistakes. "I...I got out because I was tired of being hurt." Sort of like you. He didn't say it. "I got in because I was angry and I was suffering, and it took me a long time to realize that killing muggles and mudbloods didn't help. When I did, I went to Dumbledore and I begged him to save me. I was in far too deep for that, but he found a way I could save myself. It worked. So far." That wasn't the answer Draco was looking for. But it was the only one he had.

"And Father....didn't want out."

"He may have had doubts. For his soul, I hope he did. But he didn't want out the way I did." He hesitated. "You have to understand, I fully expected to die. I just decided I would rather do it fighting Voldemort than serving him. No one was more surprised than I when the war ended, the smoke cleared, and I was still standing. I ended up in Azkaban for a week until Dumbledore came and got me out. He arranged to clear my name, and gave me the Assistant Potions Master job. Which was helpful, because I had nowhere else to go, and no one else would have given me a position." He realized he had digressed a little bit. "You should look to Dumbledore and not to me. He...."

"I don't think I can."

"I don't deserve your...loyalty. I'm pretty vile."

"Compared to who?"

He didn't answer. "I want you to have more choices than whether to die on your feet or on your knees. You've been saying your ambition is to live. I'm not sure I can take you there."

"I'm not sure that anybody can. There's a war on, if you hadn't noticed." Draco smiled a little, wanly. Malfoy charm on half strength.

Severus realized they were still standing by the door. "Let's ...sit down." Very impressive setting of limits, Severus. "And I need a drink."

Draco sat down on the sofa, and Snape joined him with a tumbler full of scotch.

"I'll tell you," Draco said, "Why I'm loyal to you and not to Dumbledore."

Severus waited.

"If you had to choose between saving me or Potter, you'd pick me," Draco said simply

"You're not wrong. But Dumbledore...there's a prophecy."

"Everybody knows about the prophecy." Everybody didn't. But most of Voldemort's supporters did. Lucius had probably mentioned it in his hearing. "Everybody also knows that prophecies are unreliable. And even if it wasn't, I'd still rather I lived than he did."

Snape couldn't argue with that. It was different for him. He has stains on his honour that no loyal service could wipe clean. Not even dying for the cause would make him stand even with those he had killed.

But Draco was innocent. Severus refused to believe his father's debts carried over to him. He deserved to live and be happy, as much as anybody did.

"That's not likely to happen, you know. Dumbledore having to choose between you and Potter."

"I don't care. He does have a disturbingly cavalier attitude towards placing his students in mortal peril."

"You don't know the half of it," Severus murmured. "Go on."

"I just can't trust anyone who thinks I'm inherently worth less than everybody else."

Snape couldn't really argue with that, either. He did sense that Albus had some reservations where Draco was concerned, as though he did still have to prove he was worth as much as anybody else. Severus, on the other hand, was prepared to be completely unreasonable where Draco's safety, or even his happiness, was concerned. "Well," he relented. "As long as it's not Voldemort."

"Besides," Draco said cheerfully. "I think he has enough to be doing, between looking after you and Potter. Not to mention running the school."

Severus ignored the suggestion that required looking after. "Whereas between teaching motions, masquerading as a Death Eater, and serving the Order, I have plenty of free time."

"That's different. It's like how you can be too full to finish your dinner but still have plenty of room for dessert."

"I'm not sure I like where this analogy is going."

"I just mean, you have your work and the war, but you don't have any other family."

"I don't?" He didn't, but how was Draco so sure? "And you're my family?" He wanted to be sure that's what Draco meant.

Draco nodded. "I looked you up in the stud book. Me and somebody called Andromeda Tonks are tied for closest relative you have alive. We're eighth cousins, four times removed."

He hadn't thought of the Pure Blood Genealogy. "Oh which side?"

"Mother's. We're eight-enth cousins on Father's side." He set down his glass and said. "Eighteenth," with a quizzical expression. "Or did I have it right the first time?"

Severus realized belatedly that when he'd set down his drink, Draco had picked it up and polished it off. "Eighteenth," he said. "And you're tight as an owl."

"I've been drinking at home since I was four," Draco said. " 'cause we're French. We may have come over with William the Conqueror, but we still keep up the old ways. Was William the Conqueror a wizard?"

Severus had a bit of trouble keeping up with the change of topic. "I don't believe he was."

"That's funny. He's probably the only muggle Father's even mentioned at the dinner table."

He was glad Lucius hadn't considered what he did with other muggles to be suitable dinner table conversation, anyway. He decided to let Draco rattle on for a while--he couldn't really send him back to his rooms in the state he was in, but there was no point trying to talk about anything serious. "Did he?"

"Uh-huh. Probably to explain to somebody why my baby bottle was full of cognac." He cocked his head to one side. "Do you think I have fetal alcohol syndrome?"

Severus had no idea what that was, but he said, "Probably not."

Draco was off the couch and wandering around Severus's rooms, poking into things. He took books off of the shelves, read the backs of postcards (most of which were ten years old and said "you really must go on holiday one of these days, my dear boy"), and hefted a jar full of eyes floating in alcohol. "Do these belong to anybody we know?"

"No. The other one's a fetal dragon. It's more interesting."

Draco put down the eyes and examined the fetal dragon. Perhaps mentioning it hadn't been such a good idea after all. His hands were far from steady.

"Please don't drop that."

"I won't." But he put it down and examined a small collection of fossil teeth, which at least had the advantage of not being particularly fragile. Or messy.

"What's this?" He returned to the sofa with a small, flat box in his hand.

"My Order of Merlin. First class."

"How did you--oh."

"Yes. Top secret, of course." He hoped Draco wouldn't go around mentioning it.

"Bet you wanted to ram it down Lockheart's throat while he was here."

"Mm. From time to time." Every time Lockheart mentioned his--which went to say, twelve or fifteen times a day.

"Is there...aren't there records somewhere?"

"They're spelled with an Unobstrusive Charm until my death. Dumbledore insisted on the full presentation ceremony, even though we had to erase the memory of everyone who was there." It had been the proudest day of his life. Dumbledore had even made a speech.

Pity no one else got to remember it.

Draco was still playing with his medal, turning it around so it caught the light and reflected flashes onto the walls. "It's pretty. Was there something in particular you got it for, or the whole business?"

"The--whole business, as you put it." Draco seemed fully anesthetized now, and Snape thought it might be a good time to ask him something he'd been wondering about. "Your father."

"Yeah?" Draco put down the Order of Merlin.

"Did he do...anything...besides use the Cruciatus Curse on you?" Not that that wasn't enough.

Draco looked at him sidewise. "Knocked me around some. No big deal."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"You?" Draco asked shrewdly.

Perceptive of him. "Yes. But it was a different time. Most people--" Most wizards hadn't seen anything wrong with hitting their children, but most people hadn't done it until they lost consciousness. "Yes," he repeated.

Draco didn't press for details, and Severus followed his lead. Albus had coaxed every humiliating detail out of him, but Severus remained far from convinced it had done him any good.

Draco had changed the subject once again, and was talking about somebody called Lydia. "....are assholes. I didn't realize till then that most people don't have parents they're supposed to be proud of. Of course, the wardens kept saying our parents were acting in our best interests, but I know that's not true." He frowned. "Maybe it's different for muggles."

"Maybe." Severus thought better of that. "No, I think it's just Dark wizards who are like that."

"Yeah. Like, I used to think the Weasleys wouldn't let them go around looking like the bottom of a rag-bag if they cared, but now I'm not sure. His mother sends an awful lot of owls."

Severus wasn't sure where the Weasleys came into anything, but he decided not to pursue the point.

"Wish they had died, and you'd been my guardian, like you said."

It took Severus long enough to realize that Draco wasn't talking about the Weasleys anymore that he almost missed the second half of the sentence. "Like I said when?"

His tone sobered the boy up a bit. "Uh...when you were talking to Dumbledore and I was eavesdropping."

"When was that?" He said a lot of things to Dumbledore that he didn't want Draco hearing.

"Uh...right after I nearly crucio'd Weasley."

He relaxed a little. He could have picked worse things to overhear.

"I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but once I heard my name I couldn't help it."

"Don't do it again. You wouldn't like anybody listening in when we're talking."

"Okay. I didn't--I wouldn't do it now that I know you. But did you mean it?"

"Yes." He hoped Draco would be satisfied with that and not start asking why.

He wasn't satisfied, but he didn't ask why. Instead he said, "I can't quite imagine you changing nappies."

"It's not any more difficult than brewing potions." Actually, he had stuck his fingers with the pins several times, but he supposed one got better at it with practice.

"Would we have lived here?"

"Most of the staff with families have lodgings in the village." That wasn't quite an answer. When he had imagined it, he had always pictured them living in the castle too.

"Some of the staff have families?"

"We're not a cloistered order, you know." Heads of House almost had to be single, though in the old, Pre-Voldemort days they'd often had married couples as co-Heads. Which had surely cut down on the awkwardness when the 2^nd and 3^rd year girls went into the loo and thought they were bleeding to death.

Most of the Slytherin girls had the good sense to go straight to Madam Pomfrey with such problems, but Flitwick often recounted highly embarrassing conversations with his Ravenclaws.

Draco was giggling and saying something about flying nuns.

"What's Dumbledore going to say if he finds out I let a student get stinking drunk in my rooms?" Severus would tell him, of course. Other considerations aside, he could only be effective as a spy if he kept no secrets from the Dumbledore. No tales others could carry back to the Headmaster and make him doubt at a crucial moment.

"I'm not that drunk, really. Just drunk enough that it doesn't hurt. I suppose that would take a lot, for you," he added keenly.

"Yes." In fact, he made a point of never drinking to dull pain, because if he did he'd never stop.

"I'd better go. I'm sobering up, and I'd like to get to sleep while I'm still a bit drunk."

He did seem sober enough to get himself back to his rooms without incident. "Goodnight, then."

"'night, Professor."

#

Draco felt a bit green around the gills the next morning, so he breakfasted in his room--a procedure Dobby protest on principles, but acquiesced to "just this once, Master Draco." His memories of the night before were sufficiently clear that he was sure he could face Snape with only mild embarrassment. He'd been a bit silly, but he could blame that on the liquor. He took advantage of the relative peace and quiet once the others had gone to Hogsmeade to walk around the grounds a bit, and even got out his broom when his stomach had settled enough.

After flying around aimlessly for a while--which was nowhere near as much fun as it had been when he was ten--he went to the library and put in a few hours on his homework. He was behind in every subject--not only had he missed school when he was in hospital and at his hearings, but most of the teachers were letting him make up the work from the period when he'd written every essay on why the subject at hand was irrelevant because Lord Voldemort was going to kill them all.

Snape wasn't of course, but that was par for the course.

Dobby brought him some sandwiches at lunchtime, and the fussy librarian didn't even object, just moved some of the more valuable volumes to the other end of the table until he was finished. Being known as a maltreated orphan definitely had its perks. He worked through until supper time, then went down to the Great Hall, where Longbottom had an enormous box from the candy shop for him.

He was dimly aware that giving him some of the sweets and sending him on his way would come off like he was tossing the delivery boy a tip, so when the pudding came he opened up the box and said to nobody in particular, "I suppose we ought to share these, what?" When he'd gotten packages at the Slytherin table he'd dispensed sweets to his friends according to how they stood in his favor at the moment, but he suspected that wouldn't go over at all well. Instead, he heaped some of the ice mice, sugar quills, chocolate frogs, and other things onto the table.

Nobody took anything. "It's all still in the packages," he said, irritated. "I haven't had time to do anything evil to it."

"It's not that, Malfoy," Granger began.

"Yeah," Weasley said, "Maybe us poor peasants just aren't interested in your charity."

Draco was furious. "I'm trying to be nice, you idiot! Honestly!"

"Well, you're not very good at it."

"Excuse me. Some of us haven't had the advantage of seeing at home how decent people behave," he snapped.

It took the Gryffindors a moment to sort through that, and then Weasley said, "If you were trying to insult my family, Malfoy, I don't think it came out right."

"Good, because I was trying to insult mine." He swept the sweets back into their box and stalked out.

#

"That wasn't very nice," Neville said, his voice shaking a little.

"Come on. You don't want to give him the idea we're actually friends, do you?" Ron demanded. "I mean, if he has to sit with us at meals because nobody else will have him, I guess that's OK--but that's as far as it goes."

"I'm in favor of keeping him where we can keep an eye on him," Harry added, "But there's no reason to get carried away. He's still Malfoy. Leopards don't change their spots."

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly. "If he is trying to change--well, if he gets kicked in the face every time he tries to do something nice, he isn't going to keep at it forever."

Neville was a bit relieved. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the leaders of Gryffindor, but everybody knew she was the brains of the outfit. If the others disagreed with her about something, she could eventually bring them 'round.

Besides, if she agreed with him, there was a chance he wasn't making a huge mistake.

"It's like operant conditioning," Hermione went on. "Rewarding a behavior increases the chances of that behavior occurring again."

"Well, I don't want to encourage him to hang around sucking up to us," Ron said.

"Would you rather he sucked up to them?" She looked pointedly at the Slytherin table.

"Are you saying it's our duty to the Order to be nice to Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps."

Neville found his voice. "I'm going to go apologize to him for you all being such gits."

"You'd better not," Ron said. "Who knows what he'll do to you?"

"I'll go with you, Neville." Hermione stood up.

"If you're not back in twenty minutes, we'll send a search party."

Neville followed Hermione out of the Great Hall. "I think it's down this way," she said, pointing to the staircase they took to Potions.

Neville shuddered. He hated anything that even reminded him of Potions lessons.

"Sometimes boys are so stupid," Hermione was saying. "I'm glad you're not like that. I think Ron really hurt Malfoy's feelings.

"Yeah," Neville agreed.

"Snape's office...broom cupboard...here it is. 'Malfoy House,'" she read the plaque on the door. "Setting himself up a bit, isn't he?"

"You knock," Neville suggested, chewing his thumbnail.

She did, and a muffled voice came through the door. "Who is it?"

"Longbottom and Granger."

A long pause, and then a bolt slid back and the door opened. Malfoy stood there, barefoot and with his tie off. "What do you want," he said flatly.

Hermione prodded him, and he stammered, "We came to apologize. For Ron and Harry being such gits, and for not standing up for you when you were still there." Neville realized that Harry hadn't said anything until Malfoy had left, but he didn't try to correct himself.

Malfoy was looking at them coldly. "I see."

Hermione spoke up. "In this situation, a decent person would say, 'Apology accepted, no harm done.' Whether he meant it or not."

Malfoy almost smiled, then parroted, "Apology accepted. No harm done." He hesitated, then, "Do you want to come in for a minute?"

Neville look at Hermione. "Just for a minute," she decided. "We have a lot of homework."

Malfoy stepped back to let them in. "That, and the rest will think I've killed you if you're gone more than, what, fifteen minutes?"

"Twenty," Neville said. "We agreed on twenty."

Malfoy actually did laugh at that. "Yes," he agreed. "I had my father killed, attempts made on my life, and humiliating stories about myself placed in the paper, all in the hope that I could lure you two here and murder you. And you've walked right into my clever trap." He shook his head. "You might as well sit down."

They did, Neville and Hermione on a sofa and Malfoy in an armchair with his feet propped up on an ottoman.

Funny, Neville had never thought of Malfoy having toes, like anybody else.

"Why do you make jokes about being evil and killing people all of the time?" Hermione asked. "It's a bit creepy."

"Black humor," Malfoy said grandly, "Is a psychological defense mechanism. You know all about psychology, I expect, since it's a muggle science."

"I happen to know a bit about it," Hermione said stiffly. "But there are plenty of muggle things--"

"I know. I was doing it again, you see? Black humor, it's a way of bringing up subjects that are too painful or awkward to address seriously, but oughtn't to be allowed to fester unspoken-of. Such as my evilness and bigotry."

Neville wondered if he ought to be cracking jokes about his parents being locked up on a hospital ward, barely able to remember who they were, much less who he was.

It might be a sight better than behaving as if he were ashamed of them.

"Here, I'll give you an example. It's years from now, and the war's over. Death Eater walks into your laboratory of really intelligent things, or wherever you plan on working when you're grown, and says, 'Why didn't we have witches as clever as you on our side?' And then you say, 'because you killed them all.'" Draco smirked. "See?"

"That's not funny," Hermione protested. "Nothing that has to do with Voldemort is funny."

"Of course he isn't funny. But if you can laugh at it, the whole situation is a bit less terrifying, isn't it? It's like boggarts," he added. "Try picturing him in your grandmother's hat, Neville."

"I don't know what he looks like," Neville said.

"Tall, dark, and scaly. Maybe add a tutu, the hat alone isn't doing it for me."

The image of the Dark Lord prancing around in a pink ballet skirt did make Neville grin.

"Of course," Malfoy added seriously, "that's not the image you want popping into your heard if you're ever actually faced with him. Unlike boggarts, being laughed at only ticks him off."

Malfoy spoke as though he had plenty of experience being face-to-face with the Dark Lord.

"You'd best be going," he continued. "And watch you don't fall on the stairs. I'm sure I'll be held responsible if you don't return in the same condition you left."