Our Fathers

Chapter Three - Revelations

Draco couldn't have been unconscious for long, as the sky outside the windows of the Hospital Wing was still slightly pink with the setting of the sun. He was immediately aware of the presence of others in the room and glanced around from beneath hooded lids surreptitiously. Snape was hunched in a chair by his side, the worried expression on his face more emotion than he'd exhibited in the long years Draco had known the Potions Master. Madame Pomfrey was bustling about and the other Heads of House - McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick - were gathered around the Headmaster at the foot of the boy's bed. None seemed to notice Potter watching from nearby.

"I'm really not sure where to place him. As he's the enemy of many of his fellows, remaining in his dorm may not be the best option," Dumbledore was saying.

"His mind is keen enough," squeaked little Flitwick. "I would gladly take him on in Ravenclaw if Slytherin proves to be too much a danger."

Snape snarled darkly. "Slytherin is not a danger, it's the children of the Death Eaters who are. I'll remind you, Filius, there are several in YOUR House who are a danger, as well."

"Yes, but not so many as in Slytherin!" McGonagall countered. "The Ravenclaws who are at high risk can be counted on the fingers of one hand, Severus! Your House is notorious for them - do you really think it's safe to leave him there?"

Before Snape could jump to his feet, Dumbledore frowned at McGonagall and Flitwick. "This isn't the time for arguing over House loyalties. If a definite problem is found, we'll deal with it as it comes. I'll not uproot him and throw him into a House where he'll not belong, not yet. And if the time comes, the Sorting Hat will have another go at him. I know it's not normal procedure, but he's suffered the most terrible loss any child could be forced to face - the loss of not just both of his parents but of everything he was taught to believe in. Do you think pulling him from Slytherin and putting him in a den of lions - no offense, dear Minerva - is really the best of ideas?" The loss of both parents...? No, his father was alive... his father would get away, and he'd be safe... he'd promised... but they seemed to know that Lucius was dead...

"I am the Head of Slytherin House, Albus, and as he's a Slytherin and I'm his legal guardian with the loss of his parents, he is my responsibility. No one in Slytherin will turn him over to Voldemort - not when I have control of them. He's a Slytherin! Do you think the Sorting Hat would've put him anywhere else? It's in his blood!" Snape snarled, moving around in his seat uncomfortably.

Dumbledore crossed the room and patted Snape's shoulder, though the man flinched away visibly. "Severus... of course you're right. You know him better than any of us, of course. But really... we all change and grow as we age. Do you think the Sorting Hat would put you in Slytherin now? After all you've been through? If - and only if - he is in very grave danger, the option remains. If the time comes, will you consent to it?"

"Only if he does," Snape snarled. He shot a glare in McGonagall's direction and turned away from the others. "He needs to rest. I'll be here, for when he awakens. He'll need someone to comfort him, I'm sure."

"Indeed, he will. Shall we?" Dumbledore stepped away from Snape, gesturing for the rest of the teacher to follow. Draco closed his eyes completely, feigning sleep and hoping that Snape would leave as well. There was much to think about - particularly the dangers of his own House.

After a few minutes, however, he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. "You can stop pretending, Draco. You're breathing far too quickly to be asleep."

Draco scowled and opened his eyes. "I'd rather like to be alone, you know. The orphan and everything."

"Draco..." Snape let out a sigh and slumped back into his chair, a tired expression flitting across his face. "You've gone through a lot. It would be beneficial for you to talk to someone about it. I may not be the most... comforting of individuals, but I am nonetheless your Head of House."

"How did you know?" Draco demanded.

A dark eyebrow flickered up in confusion. "Know what in particular? With your mother dead -"

"In the Great Hall, when I came in," he explained. "You said you knew she was dead. How did you know?"

"Potter. It turns out that Dumbledore's pride and joy is a Seer, to add to his list of peculiarities. He had a particularly serious seizure last night at the Weasley household and was rushed here for treatment." Snape halted for a moment, appearing slightly hesitant to continue. "What he Saw was your mother's execution and your escape, just tonight. And your father being tortured."

The breath caught in Draco's throat and he pushed himself up from the bed. "You mean, father's alive? I'm not an orphan? He's alive?"

"Draco -" Snape grabbed his shoulders and firmly nudged him back to his seat. "Draco, your father is being held by Lord Voldemort. There is no spy in a position to rescue him, no Auror willing to risk life and limb to save a Death Eater, and I... I'm useless in this mess. Only Potter's visions give any insight into the situation. No one can save your father from the hole he's dug himself into."

And Draco's dash of hope melted. "What's to happen to me?" he asked listlessly. His gaze locked on Potter, lying unconscious on a bed across the room. He was practically an orphan then. Just like Potter. He suppressed a sudden surge of jealousy for the other boy - the spotlight always focused on the golden boy, the friends and surrogate family that surrounded him at every bad turn. And then there was Draco, the other boy who survived. The Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who Had Nothing. "Mum's brother was a Death Eater. Aunt Ophelia is still in Azkaban. Those are my closest relatives," he murmured.

"I'm still your godfather," Snape replied, snapping Draco from his reverie. The professor gave a strangled smile. "I was probably not the best choice for the position, but your parents never really believed I'd be called upon for this. After all, I'm not really suitable parenting material, am I."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, until Draco forced himself to speak. "I don't know. You can't be much worse at it that my father."

Snape gave a snort, though whether in amusement or annoyance, Draco was unsure. "You'll certainly see more of me, as you'll no doubt be confined to Hogwarts grounds. You are in a terrible amount of danger, Draco, perhaps even more danger than this ex-Death Eater." He gave a sigh, rubbing his temples with a wince. "Your death and your blood can restore Voldemort to his youth. He'd have the power of his teenaged years once more, and the ability to easily blend instantly into society, both wizarding and Muggle. He'd be nearly invincible..."

"... while right now, he's a frail old man," Draco finished, giving a frown at Snape's nod of affirmation. He stared down at his hands; at the veins through which ran the possibility of defeat. All of a sudden, he knew exactly how it felt to be Harry Potter. He never wanted to be.

Professor Snape patted his shoulder again. "I'll be going for a few moments. There are some potions texts that were sent to me to peruse. I can look at them just as well here."

"But I don't need -" Draco began.

"Yes, you do," Snape cut him off. "You certainly do need someone here with you. It's my job and duty. I'll return in a few minutes."

Draco sunk down against his sheets. A duty. He rolled onto his side and tried to forget that he'd just stopped being someone's son and begun, for the rest of his life, to just be a job.

He supposed he must have fallen asleep, as what seemed like moments later, a low voice brought him awake. With a grunt, he forced his eyes open and peered around the room. Snape was back, he noticed, dozing off in the chair beside his bed with a stack of papers on his lap. Across the room, however, Granger was bent over Potter's bed, shaking the boy awake.

Granger raised a finger to her lips. "Don't be loud," she whispered, "You don't want to wake Professor Snape. Will you tell me what's going on now? Ron and I are so worried."

"I'll do the best I can," Potter whispered back, pushing to a sitting position. "When I collapsed at dinner - it was another vision. It was Malfoy, getting the Imperius used on him by Voldemort. He overcame it, just like we learned in Defense last year, and - get this - he punched Voldemort in the face!"

"The slimy Slytherin... punched the Dark Lord?" Granger stared at Potter, and Draco quickly feigned sleep as he felt her eyes stray to his side of the room. "If the situation wasn't so dire, I'd laugh."

"It's not funny at all," Potter countered. "He very nearly died. His mum's dead, and his father's still in Voldemort's hands."

He heard Granger sigh loudly. "It doesn't make sense at all. He's a pureblood and all - he's reminded us of it often enough. Why kill the Malfoys when there are plenty of Muggle-borns like myself to target?" Draco risked peeking beneath his lids to catch her expression on saying that. She looked angry - as angry as the time she'd slapped him in Hogsmeade. He concentrated on staying very still and pretending to sleep.

"That's what Professor Dumbledore was telling me, after we came here from the Weasleys'. A few weeks ago, he said, there were several books stolen from the Ministry. Not all of them seem important, but one of them was a scroll telling about a spell that required Veela blood to turn the one casting the spell back to health. Professor Dumbledore thinks that's why the Malfoys were targeted - they're not REALLY pureblooded, because both his parents are part Veela. That, and Voldemort thought they were working against him. I saw it in a vision."

Draco let out an indignant snort at the insinuation of a tarnished bloodline - some things were more important than intelligence about the enemy, after all. "For your information, Potter, a good number of wizarding lines include Veela blood. I doubt YOUR family had a Veela ancestress less than a dozen generations back."

Potter and Granger whipped around, staring over at him in shock. Finally, the Mudblood spoke first. "Malfoy - how long have you been listening?"

"I've been awake since you came in and started talking loud enough to wake the dead. Honestly, Granger, you could give a bit of foresight to things - this is an Infirmary, after all. People tend to be resting here. I thought you were supposed to be the bright one."

Potter launched out of his bed and Granger grabbed hold of his shoulder, restraining him. With a smirk, Draco stretched languidly and sunk back against the pillows. "Now then, if you have anything to say about my family, it's certainly my business. What else did Dumbledore say?"

"Why should I tell you?" Potter countered.

Draco started laughing, unable to believe the ridiculous amount of stupidity his counterpart was displaying. "Do you think I'm going to use it against you or something? Honestly, Potter, we're on the same side - whether you like it or not. I'm not likely to offer my neck to Voldemort just to spite you. I've grown rather attached to it."

Potter fumed and Draco, loving every moment of it, offered back another smirk. Finally, the Gryffindor boy gave up and released the rest of the information. "There were four books stolen. Two have to do with the Veela spell, he said. The others don't make much sense in the whole context of it - an Egyptian one full of various protection and mind altering spells and a book of poetry."

"Poetry?" Draco gave a snort. "From what I've seen of the Dark Lord, he doesn't seem the type. It obviously contains extra information. Why don't you send your little Mudblood girlfriend to look read them? I'm tired and she's disturbing my peace."

"And you are all disturbing mine," a low voice snapped from Draco's bedside. He glanced over and, with a wince, finally noticed Snape glaring over the top of a stack of books. "This is an infirmary, not a common room. Granger will leave, and the two of you will be silent."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Granger make a mad dash for the door. "Professor Snape, I'm sorry I woke -"

"I was not sleeping," Snape growled back. He snapped open the book on his lap and, giving a final glare in Potter's direction over the top of the spine, began reading.

Draco rolled over to face the empty side of the infirmary, wishing desperately to have his mother by his side to comfort him, or his father free to take him from that place. All he had now was one snarky professor who couldn't care less.

Draco woke to a scream. Bolting upright in bed, his eyes locked immediately on the form of Harry Potter, across the room. His thin frame was shaking in some sort of seizure - a condition that, to Draco, immediately screamed Cruciatus Curse. But that wasn't possible - there was no one holding him under the curse -

"Draco, I'll need your help." Snape had been awakened as well, it seemed, and caught Draco's attention only when he was halfway across the room. The professor grabbed Potter's shoulders, holding the shaking body down to the bed. "Bring an extra pillow over here, would you? He might injure his skull on the headboard. He's Seeing again."

It took a moment for the information to click into place in Draco's groggy mind, but he finally launched to his feet and hurriedly collected a pillow to place behind Potter's head. If he was Seeing, he might see something important. Or he might See Lucius Malfoy.

"Potter! Snap out of it!" Snape was yelling, giving the boy's body a jerk. It didn't seem to make any difference as the Boy Who Lived thrashed around, kicking at nothing and screaming incomprehensibly.

Madame Pomfrey made an appearance, rushing from her office to glare scathingly at Snape's actions, though he ignored it. "He's having another Vision, Poppy. He's not responding to verbal commands."

"He won't," she replied, "so stop shaking him like that! Didn't I warn you the other day? Keep the pillow right there, Mr. Malfoy, and thank you for your help..." She bustled around, reaching to put a hand on Potter's forehead as Draco tried not to get kicked.

And as suddenly as it had begun, Potter stopped shaking. He gave a deafening scream as his eyes snapped open, startling Draco to the point that he jumped back to protect himself. He seemed confused, locking first onto Draco's and then Snape's faces. Hardly what he'd expected to wake to, Draco mused.

Potter blinked a few times as Snape backed away and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Malfoy, your dad - he made Voldemort furious -"

"Is he dead?" Draco whispered, fearing the answer. If he was dead, then it was over. It would be over and he'd be the last Malfoy, but at least his father wouldn't be in Voldemort's hands anymore...

"No. I think... I think he's trying to anger Voldemort enough that he'll kill him. Kill your dad, I mean. Voldemort used Cruciatus, and another I didn't recognize - your dad was making jokes about it, about how Voldemort looks old and feeble - God, I'm so sorry -" Potter choked, turning on his side and burying his face in the bedclothes.

From the shaking of his shoulders, Draco decided he was probably crying. For once, however, he kept the potential insults to himself. He turned stiffly, trying to banish the memory of his father's Cruciatus seizures, as Snape called for a Dreamless Sleep potion for Potter. Draco perched on the end of his bed and stared down at his hands.

A few moments later, he sensed, rather than saw, the presence towering over him. "Are you alright, Draco?"

"Fine," he croaked out, fighting back the images and the tears. "I'm fine, just leave me alone." And Snape did.

If Snape had been a father, however, he probably would've known that Draco was lying. Instead, he went over and perched at Potter's bedside, leaving Draco alone to fear his fate.

The majority of Slytherin House was awaiting Draco's arrival on Sunday morning, after his time in the Hospital Wing. Classes were to begin Monday, giving Draco an entire day to hide from his fellows in the hopes of maintaining some sort of dignity, one Light Wizard (by default only) among a House trained to fear the Light. He thought back to the conversation he'd overheard - perhaps taking Flitwick up on his offer of solace in Ravenclaw would help?

But no. Snape had been right. He, Draco Malfoy, Light or Dark, was a Slytherin. This is where he belonged, among the political intrigues and power plays. Burying his nose in a book just wasn't him.

And so he swept into the den of snakes like a king with Snape as attendant and marched past the glares of those he'd once called companions, and even friends. Draco hadn't a clue what information the Headmaster had announced after he'd been taken to the Infirmary, nor what any Death Eater had been told, and what had been passed on to the children of those Death Eaters. However, the gazes of those of very Dark descent were closed off and withdrawn - they knew, then, of his family's disfavor and the deaths haunting him. Several out there, Blaise Zabini for one, were intensely frightened but sending curious glances at the aristocratic front Draco was presenting - those, as Draco knew, who were not the children of the Dark.

Perhaps, in weeks to come, Blaise or Saraid, or even Graham Pritchard, the little second year, might extend a hand of friendship to another opposing the Dark in the midst of their fear, but such offers would take time. For now, Draco kept his head up. He might have gone from darkest of the Dark to a slightly tarnished beacon of Light in scarcely a week, but it didn't change his heritage or his attitude. Nor, of course, did it change the fact that most of the Slytherins hanging around in the Common Room believed his life span to now equal that of the Boy Who Lived - that is to say, non-existent.

Draco kept his face impassive as he approached the stairwell leading back to the boys' dormitories, though he heard the snide whispers from Ross Blake and the murmurs of shock from some first year whose Sorting he'd missed. The rest stood in silence as telling as any words. Draco Malfoy had just become as infamous, and as dangerous to Slytherin, as Harry Potter had ever been - Draco was the Slytherin who took the less traveled path.

As they reached the stairwell, Snape set a hand on Draco's shoulder and leaned in to whisper. "If they try anything, I'll be in my office. A number of them received letters at breakfast; many more than a usual Sunday morning owl post."

Standing tall, Draco brushed Snape's hand aside. There it was, the duty to look after him, not the wish for it. "Thank you, Professor, but I believe I can handle my own kind."

"Draco," Snape hissed, "be careful... You've just become the lone snake in a pen of raging griffins. This isn't the time to develop a Gryffindor streak of stupidity and courage." With his usual foreboding grace - and the impeccable ability to get in the last word - Snape gave a glower to Ross Blake, who happened to be nearest him, and stalked off. Draco took off up the stairs before anyone could address him.

There were no hexes awaiting him on his sheets, nor curses hanging on his clothing, though he searched the entirety of the fifth year dorm thoroughly. It was quiet. Neither Crabbe and Goyle nor Blake entered the room on his heels - which, of course, meant they were planning something. They were respectable Slytherins, after all, if a bit dull. With nothing to occupy himself, Draco rummaged around and found his timetable.

It felt nice to be doing something mundane as he examined his classes. He'd probably beat Granger in even Arithmancy, her best subject, with all the extra time he'd have to do homework, alone in his room. If, that is, his blood was still properly flowing in his veins by exam time.

When the door of the dormitory creaked open, Draco had his wand at the ready in an instant. He was expecting a stampede of Blake's minions or Voldemort himself bearing a gilded knife but, to his surprise, someone even less expected made an appearance, gliding with feline grace to perch by his side. "I thought you were ordered not to see me," Draco mused wryly. He kept his wand in hand, just in case.

Pansy gave a sigh and tossed a black envelope on his lap. "You're my ticket into the Death Eaters. The reward for bringing you intact to Lord Voldemort is immediate entrance and advancement to the Inner Circle. Ross, Vince, Greg, Davie, and most of the Quidditch team were all offered the same deal."

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco snapped. The stress of the situation was boiling to the surface, threatening to blow - and losing his control was something Draco the fugitive couldn't chance. "Are you expecting me to willingly submit to you out of affection? I'm terribly sorry, my dear Pansy, but dying really wasn't on my list of things to do -"

Pansy silenced him with a glare. "Oh, stop it. Sarcasm certainly isn't going to help this situation a bit."

"And what will? Throwing myself out a window? Hey, at least Voldemort won't be the one spilling my blood in that case -"

"Draco!" she exclaimed, eyes narrowing dangerously, "It's not funny at all. Look, I may not be allowed to get too close to you anymore, but we've been engaged practically since birth. I've known you for the entirety of my memory and I'm not about to turn you over to my parents' lord and master for something as ridiculous as a cosmetic spell!"

He gave a grin at the irony of the situation. "Voldemort, the Dark Lord, is a narcissist. And his ticket to youth is none other than the Slytherin Pretty Boy, isn't that right?"

"Lord Voldemort can rot, thank you," Pansy snapped. "And yes, that's what Ross has been going on about. I'm not turning you over, I'm just warning you to be careful around them. Maybe you shouldn't stay here..."

"And where else would I go then?" Draco returned, tossing his course schedule aside and sprawling across his bed. "They were talking about tossing me to the Ravenclaws. Pansy, can you see me as a bookworm? Can you honestly see me anywhere but this dormitory? And I'm sick and tired of people telling me to be careful when they don't mean a sodding word of it - just get out." He rolled over, putting his back to Pansy.

"Please, don't do this to yourself... sulking won't fix it."

Draco gave a derisive snort. "You think I'm trying to fix it? How long have you known me, again? I can't fix it, you can't fix it, Golden Boy Potter can't fix it, and the fuck we call a Head of House can do nothing. Did you know Voldemort is holding Father captive, and keeps torturing him? Did you know that Father is egging him on, trying to die and get put out of his misery like a dog? How am I supposed to fix any of this, damn it?!"

The bed creaked as Pansy perched on the edge, reaching over to rub his arm soothingly. "I didn't know. About your father, I mean. I always liked him, Draco... he was always so nice to me..."

"Well, he isn't dead yet," he snapped back. "I don't need your pity. Get out of here before you ruin your social standing over me. It's so Gryffindor."

Pansy leaned over to plant a kiss on Draco's cheek. "If being a Gryffindor means I can stand up for someone I care about, then sign me up for a transfer. I'd even put up with that annoying Weasel twit. Just... hang in there, alright? I'm worried, even if no one else does. Greg and Vince and Ross... they won't hesitate to offer you up, if given the chance... watch out for them..."

"I know," Draco whispered. Without a goodbye, Pansy rose and shuffled toward the door. He caught the sounds of Sunday night in the Common Room as the door creaked open, cut off as she left. Any Sunday of last year, he would've been down avoiding homework with the best of them. With the rest of them.

Draco yanked the velveteen green hangings shut and tried, valiantly, to pretend he wasn't crying, because Malfoys didn't cry.