A Mortal Enemy

Chapter 17: A Traditional Duel

There was silence like nothing either of them had heard before.

Sitting in their respective chairs, facing Snape's desk, alone for the first time. It was as if Hell had frozen over and they had just learned they were to spend eternity with one another. In the face of such profound revelations, what does one say? Apparently nothing.

Draco got up though and walked across the room. One of the spinning gadgets tempted him and he picked it up, placed it in his palm and watched it spin. Harry looked up to see the orb, which he knew had once been Dumbledore's, happily moving in Draco's hand. Soon after he felt the bile rise up inside his stomach. Maybe he shouldn't have had so much pumpkin pie at dinner.

What did they expect them to talk about, anyway? Was there supposed to be apologies for past transgressions? Who would start first? Harry knew in the back of his mind that Draco needed this chance and he also knew that Professor Lynch would never compromise his safety for that purpose. But what did they expect, a miracle? There was no way Draco and Harry were going to leave this room as friends. It would take a lot more than one conversation to make that happen. In fact, it might actually take Hell freezing over. Harry shivered as a cool breeze came in through the office's south window.

The tension in the room was too much and he got up from his own chair and started pacing. When he looked up again, Draco was staring out the open window.

"You know he never was one for the pep talk." The voice sounded muted and airy. "Even to his own House he was like that. It was never encouragement or praise, always just commandments and subtle threats. I've forgotten how much I liked it."

"You're sick, Malfoy," was the only comment Harry could think of.

"Not really. Well yes, okay I am, but not because I enjoy Snape's methods," he closed the window and walked back towards the desk. He slumped down into the Headmaster's chair.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning? How my father forced me to kill you, how I became a Death Eater, and how horrible it was, et cetera? Do you want to hear all of that or should I just skip to the part where we make up?"

Harry wasn't prepared for this. He didn't know what he wanted, or what he should want from Draco. The only thing he knew was he wanted to be anywhere but here and he wanted the blond haired boy to be far away.

Harry was surprised at the question that formed in his mind and came out of his mouth before he had a chance to think twice.

"What happened to your hair?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Draco got out of the chair quickly and looked around for a reflective surface. He found a silver ball sitting on one of the shelves and he looked deeply at it. "Bloody hell. Phoenix tears."

Draco must have read the confused look on Harry's face because he continued talking.

"It's one of the only known ways of removing the Dark Mark. Phoenix tears. I think the bird tried to bathe me in them. It stained everything, I guess, including my hair." He ran a hand through his hair feeling if the texture had changed.

"So you're not marked anymore?" Harry asked.

"Nope," Draco said triumphantly with a smile as he lifted his sleeves and turned his arms over for Harry to see. Harry felt a save of confusion drowning him.

"I guess maybe you should start at the beginning," he said softly. Draco's smile faded quickly.

"Both of my parents families have long been into the Dark Arts. Potions, hexes, you name it. It's a family tradition." Draco sat back down into the Headmaster's chair and propped his feet up onto the desk. Harry had a feeling that Draco had either told this story before, or had practiced it. He decided to remain standing at a distance.

"My father took it to new heights after he met the Dark Lord through his grandfather. This is while he was still at Hogwarts and before Voldemort turned himself into... well whatever you'd call him. He's not human anymore." Harry nodded in response so that Draco knew he understood. "From the very beginning he expected me to do the same. He seemed to think that I was blessed for having him as a father. Lucius Malfoy, world's best mentor of the Dark Arts." Draco gave a little laugh. "When I came here, I was armed with a head full of hexes and had explicit instructions to befriend you."

"I remember. The train." Draco nodded.

"He kept sending me notes with advice on how to be your best friend. I could write a book about it I bet, if I tried. I think I would call it How to befriend the Boy Who Lived. But things always turned out wrong. We'd end up with detention or fighting or some such. In our second year the goal was no longer to befriend you, it was to keep you out of the way but I failed at that as well.

"My father was furious after the Chamber of Secrets incident and after losing Dobby. Right before the World Cup a few years ago, he told me his plans for the future. It was then that I learned who you were, heir of Gryffindor, destined to wipe out Voldemort, and so on."

Harry snorted. "You found out before I did."

Draco gave him an odd sort of look.

"You look surprised to hear that," Harry said.

"Immensely, considering Dumbledore's plans to train you."

"What do you mean? What plans?"

Draco's eyebrows rose sharply and he took his feet down off the desk. He settled on top of it, crossed his legs and stared at Harry intently.

"The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the World Cup, all of that was to train you. Granted, I don't think he planned for people to die or for Sirius Black to escape from Azkaban."

Harry sat and pondered for a moment.

"How could he have known any of that could happen? There's no way he could have known your father would have given Ginny the diary, or that Quirrell would embody Voldemort"

"He had seers. Real ones," Draco said firmly. "I don't know who they are, but they're dead on."

"And how do you know this?"

"Torture," he replied.

"Excuse me?"

"A few well placed spies and torture. Give people the right incentive, and they will talk. I'm really surprised you don't know all this already."

Harry thought first to Professor Lynch. She was a true seer, or at least had the capability. Maybe Dumbledore had known her while she was still making potions at Pritchard's Apothecary. But everyone knew now that Lynch was an Oracle, why would Draco not assume it was she? And what about Trelawney? Hadn't Dumbledore once said she had been right once before?

"Anyway, when I learned what this whole thing was all about, killing you and letting Voldemort rise to power, I realized I didn't really want a part of it."

This sounded vaguely unrealistic to Harry.

"And why not? You just said it is your family tradition. Why wouldn't you want to carry it on? And why would you care whether or not I die?"

"Oh don't get me wrong, Potter. I'm all about the power and glory and after standing in your bloody shadow for the past six years I'm quite eager to have both. But I never wanted my parents to die, and I never wanted to watch my friends tortured while kissing the feet of some demonic sick bastard."

The bile in Harry's stomach rumbled and he felt nauseous for a moment. He couldn't get this concept of Dumbledore manipulating events in order to train him out of his mind. It made sense, but it somehow created a perverse image of his beloved Headmaster. He wanted to avoid that, especially given what he knew about Dumbledore that Draco and no one else did. And Harry wasn't sure where this conversation was going. Was this going to turn into an apology at some point?

Draco, noting Harry's contemplation was quiet for a moment before he continued on.

"Then he told me to kill you. It was a direct order from Voldemort. I was to eliminate you and as many of your friends as possible and then he would take the school. Once had the school, he would take the Ministry."

"Why is the school so important?"

"You, Dumbledore, Snape, Lynch. He can't do anything with the four of you alive."

"But you didn't kill me," Harry said, pushing aside more questions implicit in Draco's last statement.

"I thought about it a lot. I didn't have a lot of choices and it was clear what was expected of me, and what the consequences would be if I failed. Whatever I did it had to look like I was simply inept, and not disobeying my father. He would have had no qualms killing me. I know that now." Draco looked down at the floor and was quiet.

"When you failed to kill me, he made you become a Death Eater, didn't he?"

"That was the price I paid for my failure."

"But didn't you want to be a Death Eater anyway?"

"I don't know," he whispered while wringing his hands. "It's sort of romanticized to kids our age. 'There is no good or evil, only power.'" Draco repeated. Harry could hear Quirrell's voice saying that to him.

"In reality, though, it's horrible -- torture, murder, and other sick things. I had to do them all. I hate it and as soon as I was in, I wanted out. To me, none of those things are in line with what I want or necessary." Harry wondered if perhaps that's what Snape felt too.

Torture, like what he'd seen at the World Cup. He remembered the Muggles dangling in midair, their limbs being stretched and pulled.

"What about Muggles?" he heard himself ask.

"What about them?"

"Has your views on Muggleborns changed?"

Draco looked guiltily at the floor again. "I don't know."

"How can you not know? Either you think they belong here or you think they don't," he said loudly.

"It's all I've ever known, Potter. You don't just change overnight. I'm still figuring that one out."

Draco hopped off the desk and walked over to Harry looking defensive.

"I'm here to apologize to you and to make you feel warm and fuzzy about my sincerity. I'm not here to justify my political views," he said loudly as he placed himself about 3 feet in front of Harry.

"If you want me to accept your apology, then apologize for what you said to Hermione."

"Leave Granger out of this. My feelings towards her have absolutely nothing to do with anything at all."

"Are you stupid or have you simply forgotten that you called her a Mudblood to her face and wished her to be sacrificed to a basilisk?" Harry could really hear himself shouting now. He wondered if the teachers could hear downstairs.

Draco hit him and Harry felt a warm sensation filling his nose.

"No one calls me stupid, Potter."

Harry hit back before he realized what happened, but he missed and the forward momentum of his body caused him to run into Draco. They fell to the floor and Harry ended up on top. He put his hands around Draco's throat, but they didn't stay in the position long before Draco had rolled over on top of him and hit him again. Harry was losing quickly and he knew he couldn't use magic, even though the Imperius curse sounded good right about now. Draco dancing around Snape's office like a ballerina sounded like the right idea to Harry.

"Stop," he said loudly. "This is ridiculous. They're going to hear and come up here. Then what are you going to do?"

Draco got off of Harry and walked to the other side of the room.

"My dislike for Granger has nothing to do with the fact that she's Muggleborn, so don't bring it up." Draco said it with a hint of hurt and finality.

"You owe her an apology," Harry said as he lifted his shirt sleeve to his nose to wipe away the blood.

"Yeah well she's going to have to wait for it then, isn't she? Unless of course you go straight to your little friends and decide to tell them I'm here."

"I won't do that." Draco didn't look so convinced. "I promised Professor Lynch and the last thing I want to do is cross her."

"Look I'm here to apologize for what trying to kill you and that's all you're getting. Let's hurry up and get it over with so I can get out of this blasted room and sleep."

"Fine." Harry walked over to Draco and held out his hand. "I swear I won't tell anyone you're here if you stay away from Hermione. I don't want you to talk to her, look at her, ask her for help with homework or even think about doing so much as saying hello to her in the hall."

Draco gave him a nasty look. "Fine." They shook hands.

Harry turned and went to get the professors without saying another word. He wasn't sure what they'd say about his bloody nose and swelling eye. Draco looked as though he hadn't been touched. The look on Sirius's face when the gargoyle moved aside was answer enough. But curiously none of them said anything. Maybe they expected it. Maybe they wanted them to get it over with. Snape handed Harry his wand and Sirius escorted him back to the Gryffindor common room without once mentioning it. Harry only hoped that Malfoy would keep up his end of the bargain. Harry knew he could deal with the threat of death at the hands of the blond boy. It was Hermione he was worried about.

Harry couldn't help but wonder why Draco disliked Hermione if it wasn't for the fact she was Muggleborn and the question kept him up most of the night.