Snakes and Lions

The Death Eater's Son

Harry was rather preoccupied when he entered the next day's Potions class. That morning, he had received an owl from Snape. The letter, tersely, had said:

Provide me with a list of those persons we discussed last night, and I will prepare information for you.

Harry had made a list of Death Eaters known to him during Divination, while Trelawny sadly hinted at his imminent demise. (Ron had actually gotten a laugh out of him by teasingly predicting that he would get in a fight with a dragon.) Harry hoped to have a chance to pass the list to Snape during or after Potions class. He had wondered if he should risk asking Draco for additions to the list, but had decided not to do so. When Draco leaned close, Harry found himself hoping he had not appeared nervous.

"In your house," Draco whispered, "whom do you trust?"

"For what?"

"I need to get the cloak back to you."

Harry tried to restrain a delighted smile as he thought. Not Ron, he decided. The thought hurt. He should be able to trust Ron with anything. His other roommates -- perhaps, perhaps not. Neville wouldn't willingly give him away, but might mess up out of nerves. Seamus? Unknown. Perhaps one of the girls? Ginny? Perhaps. Or perhaps Ron had been filling her head with thoughts of how Harry needed to be protected from himself. Finally, reluctantly, he said:

"Hermione."

"What?!"

"I know it doesn't make sense. Hermione. She's stopped thinking punishing me is doing any good --"

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry froze at the sound of Snape's voice. He had no idea what the professor had been saying.

"Sorry, professor?"

"The question, Mr. Potter, was 'why is the unicorn horn crushed, while the wormwood merely coarsely chopped?'"

Harry relaxed. "For two reasons, sir. First, the unicorn horn, because of its physical integrity, releases its essence to the mixture less readily than the more degradable wormwood, so if they were evenly broken, the wormwood would have greater power in the mixture. More importantly, we want purity as a dominant element over farseeing, to counteract the hallucinatory effects of the wormwood, so the division must be weighted towards the unicorn horn."

Snape looked at him intently. Finally, he said, "An acceptable analysis, Mr. Potter. Had you not needed the question repeated, I might have considered awarding points to Gryffindor."

In the Gryffindor common room, that night, Harry was attempting, not very successfully, to do Transfiguration homework, when Hermione entered.

"Harry," she said, not pausing as she passed him, "my room, now."

Harry followed Hermione to her small, but private, prefect's room. As soon as he was in, Hermione closed the door and cast a silencing spell on it. Then, she opened her bag.

"Malfoy," she said, "pulled me into a classroom for a little talk, today."

"I hope he wasn't rude --"

"He was polite," Hermione growled, almost as if this was an offense in itself. "He called me 'Miss Granger', and asked me please to return this to you." She pulled Harry's invisibility cloak out of her bag and put it on the edge of her desk. Her hand stayed on the shimmering garment. "He said to thank you for the loan."

She nearly spat out the work "loan". Harry felt his stomach plummet as if filled with lead.

"Oh," he said.

"When, Harry," Hermione asked, "and why, did you loan Draco Malfoy your invisibility cloak? The truth, now."

Harry shuddered. From the look on Hermione's face, he thought he had better comply.

"Draco was with me when I saw the Dark Mark," he admitted.

"And you loaned him this?!" Hermione shrieked. Harry was glad she had cast the silencing charm on the door. Everyone in the common room would have heard her, without that.

"We started back. I was drunk, he wasn't -- he hates being out of control -- so he was trying to kind of pull me. Except it wasn't working very well, because being towed really wasn't much easier than flying. We crashed in a ditch at the edge of some sheep pasture, and I realized it would take us too long to get back. I knew if I got caught I'd be in trouble, but if he got caught, people would think he'd been in on the attack. I gave him the cloak and told him to Apparate to Hogsmeade and fly in from there, and I'd work my way back slowly and carefully."

"And you don't think he flew back and joined the party?!"

"I know he didn't. He was back here, cleaned up, less than half an hour later, when Snape checked."

"Snape was lying."

"He was not!" Harry looked pleadingly at Hermione. "Hermione, please believe me. I know him better than you do. A year ago... yeah. He'd have been dying to prove himself. This spring ... he just wanted to get away."

"You trust Malfoy?"

"Not for everything -- but yeah, I trust him. We'd done this before. Three times, he could have just called his father and said where to ambush me. I've been passed out drunk in his room, Hermione! What would Voldemort give him for my head on a platter, you think? But he's never betrayed me. He's sick of it all."

Hermione stared at him, unbelieving. Harry sighed. "What else? Any messages?"

"He wants you to meet him. 'In the usual place' he said. Tonight." She put a hand on the cloak. "Very melodramatic. He said it was a matter of life and death."

Harry hissed out a breath and moved forward. Hermione stepped in front of the cloak.

"No, Harry."

"Hermione, please!"

"No."

"I know what that means. We've discussed it. I need to see him."

"I'm not supposed to let you out."

"And what good is that doing?"

"I can't let you go into danger."

"I won't leave the castle, Hermione. I promise. And I'll be back by midnight." Harry looked pleadingly at her. "It's desperately important, Hermione!"

Hermione hesitated. "Whose life?" she asked suddenly.

"What? Oh, his first -- then mine."

"Literally?"

"Literally."

"I suppose you can't tell me. . . ."

"His secret."

Hermione took a very deep breath. Quite suddenly, she picked up the cloak and thrust it at him. "Here. When you come back, you come up here, and you hand that cloak back over to me. Before midnight, or I go straight to McGonagall." Harry nodded his consent. "Put it on, now," Hermione said. "I'll go out for a walk and be slow closing the portrait hole."

When Harry got down to the Chamber of Secrets, Draco Malfoy was already there. He had transfigured the two inflatable chairs into a bi-colored couch, and was sitting at the green end of it, with a snifter of cognac. Despite the prop, his sullen pout made him look like a young child. Harry stopped in the door and took off his cloak.

"Hi."

Draco looked up, and an expression of relief passed across his features and was gone. Afterwards, though still glum, he looked closer to his age.

"She did it." He sounded reverential. Harry smiled.

"With a little persuading. I've promised to be home by midnight."

"We could do that." Draco managed the wavering ghost of a smile in return. "Drink?"

"Please."

It wasn't until Harry was settled on the couch with his own glass that Draco raised the issue of the night. "I've been ordered to come home for Easter," he said grimly.

"And you don't think it's for an egg hunt?"

Draco didn't even smile. "This is it, Harry. I'm sure of it." He took a deep breath. "After Easter ... you can't trust me anymore. Don't speak to me. Forget it."

"You're not just going to do it!" Harry burst out.

"Harry," Draco's jaw clenched. "We've talked about this before. I live. Period."

"You could ask Dumbledore for protection."

"Dumbledore can't protect me from my father! Not when he hasn't done anything. How long would this school last if Lucius Malfoy came and demanded his son, and the headmaster refused to release him?! It would be shut down by morning, and I would die for the attempt."

"You could escape Voldemort."

"How?"

"I don't know -- it's not impossible, though. I've done it."

"You've done a lot of things, Potter," Draco said bitterly.

Harry trembled. "What if I can think of a way?" he coaxed.

"For me to escape?" The words started out scornful, but despite his intent, a note of hope crept into Draco's voice. He looked imploringly at Harry. "Do you actually think ... could you?"

"Probably. I might need Hermione to help."

"Please, not the Mudblood."

"Hermione's good at this sort of thing. Anyway, with or without her -- if I come up with a plan, would you try it?"

Draco looked at his drink. He swirled the amber liquid pensively.

"If you come up with a plan," he said, "and if I think it has a reasonable chance of working -- it doesn't need to be foolproof, but say at least an even chance -- I'll do it." He shivered. "Once Father has offered me to Lord Voldemort -- then I think Dumbledore has some leverage to keep me here. Saying it did happen is very different from saying I believe it will."

At eleven-thirty, Harry headed back to Gryffindor tower. He got there in plenty of time, cut through the empty common room, and crossed to the short staircase up to the door of the prefect's single. He whispered the password, and Hermione looked up when the door opened. He closed it before taking off his cloak.

"Before midnight," she observed. "Barely."

"Sorry. He needed company."

"Malfoy doesn't need anything besides a swift kick." She stalked over to him and bent close. For a confused moment, Harry thought she was going to kiss him, then she said:

"You were drinking."

"Just a bit." Harry looked at her in surprise. "I'm not drunk, Hermione, really."

"You said he needed to talk to you!"

"He did. And it was bad enough that he handed me a glass first." Harry sighed. "Look, Hermione, I need to go to the library tomorrow. And I need to talk to Draco again, the night after."

"I'm not allowing this again."

"If you don't want me to drink, I won't. I didn't realize that would be a problem for you."

"Do you realize how much trouble I could get into for this?"

"It's important."

"No. It's you and Malfoy partying in the dungeons."

"Dungeons?"

"You smell like that, too. Damp places."

"Hermione, forget that. He really is in trouble, I really need to help him, and if you understood the problem, you'd want me to help him."

"Fine." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Then make me understand it. Out with it. No 'life or death,' no 'really important.' Tell me exactly what's wrong and what he needs."

"I can't."

"Then you can't go."

"He doesn't want me telling anyone."

"Then he will need to get through it on his own."

"Please, Hermione! Trust me."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. An expression of pain crossed her face. "No," she whispered.

Harry sighed explosively, and sat down on her bed hard enough to bounce the books that were on the covers. "Let me think," he said. Then, because she was looking angry again, he continued, aloud, "I can't bring you with me, because he'll panic. He'll attack you before he's realized what's going on. Maybe if I warned him first -- you could give him a note, for me, perhaps. I had talked about bringing you in, but he wanted to try without it." Harry looked at Hermione. "How about it? He and I have one exchange of messages, through you -- or, well, you can read mine -- and if he approves, you and I can both go, and he can explain it to you."

Hermione considered this. "You're both more powerful than I am, I think," she said timidly.

"Hermione!" Harry was shocked. "I would never hurt you! I wouldn't let him, either!"

"How about a Memory Charm?" she asked wryly, her nose wrinkling.

"No." Harry shivered. "How could you think that of me?"

"I don't know what to think of you!"

Harry patted the bed beside him, and Hermione came and sat down. He took both her hands in his own, and kissed her cheek, then each of her hands. "Hermione," he soothed, "sweet, clever witch, my dear friend, I would never, ever harm you, nor let any friend of mine harm you, in any way, physical or otherwise. I will swear this under Testamonio, if you wish."

Hermione leaned against his chest, hiding her face from him. "I'm sorry, Harry. I hate doing things I'm not supposed to do. I get so frightened and guilty, I can barely think."

"Mmm." Harry nuzzled her hair. He wondered if he'd be interested in Hermione, if not for Ron. He didn't think so, but she felt warm and comfy in his arms. If he was just meeting her, he thought, it would be different. "I love it," he confessed. "It makes me feel giddy and special and clever."

She pulled away, laughing. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Will you agree, though? One exchange of messages, and the decision is his?"

"He gets both of us, or neither," she clarified.

"Agreed."

"Deal," she said, sticking out her hand. They shook on it, and Harry got up to leave.

"Library, tomorrow?" he asked.

"How about the message?"

"The message will depend on what I find in the library."

They spent hours in the library the next day. Hermione could tell Harry was researching portkeys and told him Hogwarts had been blocked to portkeys after the Triwizard tournament. Restricted floo was now the only magical way in or out. Harry already knew that, and told her so, but would not tell her what he was looking for. He could tell Hermione found it immensely frustrating not to be able to advise him.

When they got back to Gryffindor, they went directly to Hermione's room. Harry asked for parchment and quill, and wrote his message there, so she could read it.

D.,

The girl will not permit another private meeting, but is willing to accompany me. Will you agree? After tonight, I suspect we need her, as I said before -- me for what and her for how. Be civil, and I think she'll go along.

-- L.

"What's 'L' for?" Hermione asked.

"'Lightning.' It's his pet name for me."

Hermione shot him an odd look, then checked the letter against a previous draft.

"Could you have made it any more obtuse?" she asked. "'I've only done one evening of research,' has become 'after tonight.' I was 'Hermione,' then 'H,' then 'the girl'. Will he understand this?"

"We don't want you associated with it," Harry noted. "He's already in trouble with his father, and you can't be caught doing this. This way, I could mean someone I'm seeing, or he's seeing, or someone we're doing business with."

"Will he understand it?" Hermione asked again.

"Yes."

"I'll go along with what?"

"My plan, when I have one. What I can't tell you about."

"Oh, right."

Hermione went up to the Owlry before breakfast, and sent the letter by a school owl. Draco slipped it into Harry's bag during Potions. On the back, he had written simply "Volo."