Snakes and Lions

Houses and Risks

On the way back to Hogwarts, Harry decided to invite Draco up to Gryffindor. His House was so much nicer than Slytherin that he couldn't resist the chance to show it off.

"I can't conveniently dispose of everyone," he said, "but there are only two of them. If we leave dinner early, we should be able to get up to my room."

In fact, it turned out to be just that easy. Harry whispered the password, so that Draco would not hear, wondering as he did so if this type of unsanctioned visit was the reason the passwords were always changed the first day after holidays.

Draco goggled at the cheery common room. Belatedly, he shielded his eyes. "Bloody hell, Potter! What is it with Gryffindors and gaud? I've seen Thai street markets that were more sedate!" For all that, he crossed over to the chairs before the fireplace and sank into one. "Comfy, though." He smirked. "You lot are all soft, really."

"We better get up to my room," Harry urged. "Davey never eats much."

Draco nodded and followed him to the stairs.

"Put that back," Harry ordered, catching sight of Linda's Shrinking Chess Set in Draco's hand.

"But it was just out there," Draco protested, wide-eyed.

"I don't know about Slytherin," Harry retorted, "but in Gryffindor, we respect each other's property. You do not steal from my housemates, Malfoy. Put it back."

In the tower room, Draco seemed drawn to the windows. The night was still moonless, but the dark was broken by splashes of light at Hagrid's hut, and an eerie glow somewhere in the forest.

"I'd like to see this in the daylight, sometime," Draco commented. "What can you see, when you can see?"

Harry came up beside him and pointed. "That fire is next to Hagrid's -- no idea what he's doing -- and the glow is a bit into the Forbidden Forest. It's a pretty good view in the day, or when the moon is close to full."

"Can I stay the night? Or come back in the morning?"

"Whatever." Harry grinned. "I don't have any cognac, though."

"Shall we get it?"

"God, no." Harry shuddered, and Draco laughed maliciously.

"I suppose we should be well-rested when the others return," he said idly. He looked down at the worn sill and ran the side of his thumb along it. "So. . . ."

"So?"

"When people come back."

"Oh."

Harry watched Draco curiously. The blond boy was looking at the grain of the wood with great concentration, as if it was a crystal ball and no more inclined to reveal the future than the crystal balls Harry had used. Backed by the Gryffindor tapestries, he looked less pale than usual, his hair more gold than white.

"I think we had best behave towards each other as we always have," Draco said pensively. "It won't be the same, of course -- more of a game -- but they shouldn't know that."

"Would you really get in trouble for being friends with me?"

"Of course." Draco looked up. "And, honestly, Harry, what would they do to you? Granger? I mean, the only person I've been worse to is the Weasel, or maybe you."

"Could you not be quite so awful to them?" Harry asked quietly. "I mean, nothing noticeable like being nice, just not go to such lengths to get at Ron. . . ."

Draco tossed his head dismissively. "I'll think about it." He grinned. "Shall we catch some of your sweets, Harry?"

Harry got out the bag of Tease Toffees, which he had quite forgotten, and they had a fun and exciting time chasing the elusive candies around the room. Harry managed to break a rod of Neville's four-poster leaping on a sweet that had perched there, and Draco had to mend it. By the time they had caught the last one, both were breathless and flushed. Harry flopped, spread-eagle, back on his bed, and sucked on the soft toffee, which was still squirming slightly.

"Is that your bed?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "Whose is this?" Draco asked, pointing at the bed next to Harry's.

"Ron's."

Draco smirked, and settled himself territorially on Ron's bed. "I can sleep here, then -- unless you'd rather I was in reach."

"Honestly, Draco!" Harry exclaimed, almost laughing. "I don't mistrust you that much."

They rested for a while. Draco examined the various objects on Ron's bedside table. He looked closely at a perfectly ordinary, though beautiful, seashell as if trying to figure out what it did. He read the postcard from Bill, who was vacationing in Indonesia. He picked up a magical timetable that highlighted in red upcoming classes for which you had not completed your homework. It was currently quite festive.

"I can't imagine why he bothers to have this," Draco commented. "Unless he just likes the Gryffindor color."

"It was a birthday present from Hermione."

"That I can imagine." Draco put down the timetable. "Why do you like Ron, anyway?" he asked, a bit petulantly.

"He's fun," Harry returned, surprised. "He likes games, he tells jokes, he's willing to risk getting into trouble to go places and find things, whether because we need to or just for fun. . . ." Harry shrugged. "At least, it used to be like that. I don't know if it will be again when he and Hermione get past this ... stage, or if he's just grown up in some other way than me. And he's more bitter, now. I'm tired of that. At least while he's obsessing about Hermione, he's not obsessing about money."

"And Hermione?"

"Hermione is great. She's really smart, she's really nice, she's brave as anything, and she can break rules when she thinks it's the right thing to do. The only problem with Hermione is that she thinks everyone should try as hard as she does. The Hat said I could go anywhere, but Hermione's really the one. She's clever as a Ravenclaw, diligent and loyal as a Hufflepuff, ambitious as a Slytherin, and so brave and ... well, chivalrous, really -- a protector -- that no Gryffindor would ever question that she's one of us."

Malfoy ignored Harry's praises of Hermione. "The Hat said you could go anywhere? The Sorting Hat?"

"Well, not exactly anywhere. I don't think it ever implied Hufflepuff. It really wanted. . . ." Harry stopped. Draco was staring at him. Harry hadn't intended to bring up his Sorting.

"Does it ... I remember how long it took to choose for you, and you looked terrified. . . . Did it think at you?"

"The Hat thought I'd do well in Slytherin --"

"Slytherin!"

"More precisely, it said that Slytherin would help me to achieve greatness. I just sat there and said 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin,' until it put me in Gryffindor. It had noted at the beginning that I was brave and smart, so I guess it had been considering Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

Draco continued to stare. "Slytherin!" He shook his head. "I always wondered why some people took so long. I knew I'd be in Slytherin -- when the Hat touched my head, I was thinking it had better be Slytherin -- it would horrify the family if I was put anywhere else."

"Maybe if you're certain, it just believes you."

"But I'm certain Slytherin is where I belong. I suppose I could qualify for Ravenclaw, but I'd be bored silly." Draco grinned at Harry. "You too. And it's just as well you're in Gryffindor -- you turn such a fine Gryffindor red --" he smirked -- "when I get you to act like a Slytherin."

Harry, to his embarrassment, could tell he was blushing a "fine Gryffindor red" at the observation.

"Why do you put up with Crabbe and Goyle?" he asked, dragging the conversation back to friends. "I mean, I'm sure they're fine bodyguards, but you hate it when people are stupid, and Crabbe and Goyle are the absolute essence of stupid."

"It doesn't matter that they're stupid when they're my things," Draco replied. "They were trainable. Their fathers know my father, and he thought they were suitable companions for me -- as long as I kept them in their place -- so we already knew each other before Hogwarts, and they knew they needed me to survive."

"I've seen their fathers with your father," Harry said.

He felt a wave of cold wash over him as the words slipped out. He had stopped feeling that time alone with Draco was dangerous, but discussing what he knew of the Death Eaters took the association to a different level. Harry rolled onto his side, and brought a hand across his chest to be near his wand.

Draco just looked annoyed. "Yes, I heard father ranting. You saw all of them, he said, then escaped."

Harry laughed. It sounded a bit hysterical to his own ears. "Voldemort is an idiot, really. He could have killed me so easily after the Triwizard Tournament, but he had to show off -- no, to play. To prove he could kill me after I had my wand back."

"He had your wand and gave you it back?!" Draco sounded horrified.

Harry smiled in grim satisfaction. "I had a twisted ankle, I'd been bled, he'd hit me with the Cruciatus curse -- I'm sure it seemed safe. But really -- he could have just slit my throat while I was tied, or at least cast the Killing Curse while I was unarmed. But that wasn't good enough -- oh no -- so he gave me my wand, and I escaped."

Draco bit his lower lip until it turned dark.

"Does that bother you?" Harry taunted, rolling onto his side. "That Lord Voldemort makes stupid mistakes?"

"Of course it bothers me!" Draco snapped. He settled back, looking sullen. "Father's doing it, too, since He returned. He's gone from being effectively ruthless to damaging his own efforts with ... with useless displays of power."

"Voldemort was not convinced of your father's loyalty. He chided him for it. Your father may be trying to prove his devotion."

"If Vo- the Dark Lord wants devotion, he should recruit Hufflepuffs," Draco spat.

Harry stared at Draco in amazement.

"Do you know what they do?" he whispered. "The Death Eaters? I watched then crawl, one by one, to kiss the hem of his robe and call him 'master.' They debase themselves before him. Your arrogant father, edging forward on his knees -- I suppose I should have enjoyed it, but it was too sickening. He wasn't the worst -- Avery, Wormtail --" Harry choked on the memory. He couldn't say any more.

Draco turned over, so his back was to Harry. Harry rolled on to his back and looked up at the canopy. After about five minutes, Draco pointed his wand at the lights and doused them. Harry wasn't sure whether to get up and get into his pajamas or just stay in his clothes. It seemed safer not to move, and have Draco stay silent.

After about five minutes of lying in the dark, Draco spoke.

"The Cruciatus Curse is awful, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Did you scream?"

"Yes."

"Good. It's not just me, then. I hate being weak. I still scream."

"Everyone does." Harry stared into the blackness. He wondered what Draco was talking about. "When did you get hit with Cruciatus?

"Father does it, sometimes. For training, or just because he's angry. It used to be only for training, but since ... You-Know-Who ...."

Harry didn't know what to say. He wondered what one could possibly learn from being the target of a Cruciatus Curse.

"Have you ever cast it on anybody?" Draco asked.

"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed. What was Draco thinking? The Cruciatus was one of the Unforgivable Curses. . . . He suddenly realized that perhaps the Cruciatus Curse itself was one thing to learn from being hit by it. "Have you?" he asked.

"Of course not," Draco said, blandly. "And I wouldn't tell you if I had, now would I?"

After Draco's breathing shifted to the sounds of sleep, Harry got up, changed into his pajamas, and came back to bed. He looked across to the vague form in Ron's bed. He wondered if Draco thought he had a good deal, or not. How much stuff and prestige was it worth to take the Cruciatus Curse?