Our Fathers

Chapter Four - Enmity

By the end of breakfast on Monday morning, the first of classes, the tension within the ranks of Slytherin House had become almost palpable. Draco was left alone at one end of the table, a radius of untouchability seeming to extend twice his reach in any direction. He spared a glance down the table, noting that someone seemed to be missing - though he couldn't quite think of who it might be.

As he looked back to his food, he noticed a number of eyes resting on him from all different corners of the Great Hall. He, of course, refused to back down under the pressure. He carried himself like a prince and sneered at anyone giving him looks of pity as if they were mere insects under his boot. It was carefully orchestrated of course - letting a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor be seen near him would crumble the foundations of possible alliances he was cementing within the dregs of Slytherin House. After all, would Blaise or Malcolm wish to been seen with a Hufflepuff-lover when their own reputations were already on shaky ground for not actively supporting the Dark Lord?

One pair of eyes, however, refused to look away from his glare. Potter actually seemed to be concerned, rather than pitying, though Draco doubted the sentiments went so far as to an actual like of him. He'd been terrible to the Boy Who Lived over the years, after all, and with that pathetic Weasley at his side, who wouldn't be?

As if on cue, Potter rose from his seat at the Gryffindor table and marched out the door, followed by his fan club. Draco rose to leave as well. Potions, while the class he always excelled in, was still taught by Snape, and he had the terrible feeling that guardianship wouldn't make the snarky professor any easier on him. A few steps back from Potter and his tail, Draco had the misfortune to overhear a bit of the conversation. "... yeah, and what about the git?" Weasley was asking, a puzzled expression on his face. They halted a few steps from the stairs down into the dungeons and Draco ducked behind a coat of armour to listen.

"He's just like me now. Orphaned by Voldemort. And he must've made it obvious that he wasn't going to follow Voldemort to the rest of the Slytherins, otherwise they wouldn't be avoiding him. I feel... sorry for him." It was Potter. He sighed and rubbed at his scar. "He's got no friends and no family. Don't you think we should be a little nicer?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. He needed no pity. He backed up sharply, turning to take another route to the dungeons to avoid the pity of Harry Bloody Potter and his gang of hangers-on.

Suddenly, a thick hand clamped onto his shoulder and another covered his mouth, dragging him behind a tapestry into a corridor, which Draco didn't recognize. He kicked toward the bulkier man's legs, cursing himself for being off guard. The hand on his mouth moved to clamp his wrist and Draco found his face pushed against the stones of the wall before he could cry out for help. He squirmed, trying to fight for freedom, but his arm was wrenched painfully by his assailant.

"Mighty sorry 'bout all this, Draco, but it's the only way I'll ever make the Inner Circle," a gruff voice muttered - and slipped his wand from its holster on his forearm.

Draco cursed quietly, wincing against the pain. He finally realized who had been missing at breakfast - Vincent Crabbe. The hand on his shoulder moved to grip his hair cruelly, pulling his head back and slamming his face into the stones again. That would certainly bruise.

He kicked at Crabbe's knee-height once more, thanking whatever deities were watching over him as his foot made contact. Crabbe let out a squeal of pain and released Draco's hair, giving him enough time to wrench his wrist away and make a mad dash for the tapestry through whence they'd come. He pushed the fabric aside, letting out a yell as Crabbe snagged the collar of his robes and yanked, choking him. Draco thought he caught sight of someone in the main hall before being pulled back into the darkness and tossed to the ground. "Lord Voldemort didn't say you had to be uninjured, anyways, just living."

Draco rolled to his side, making a reach for a rock or anything to use as a weapon, but curled reflexively as Crabbe's boot met his stomach. Before he could breathe again, Vince was restraining him by sitting on his chest and hitting him across the face. There were dark spots in his vision from lack of oxygen, but then... salvation.

"Mr. Crabbe, get off him!" The heavenly voice was none other than that of Professor McGonagall, formerly hated Transfiguration teacher, but if she could get the Death Eater spawn off of him, he would certainly promise to stop transfiguring her desk into an angry porcupine... and mercifully, the leaden weight of his former lackey was pried from his chest. Draco gasped madly for air, backing to the wall to try to lever himself to his feet even as the black spots swam in his vision.

When he was finally able to focus again, he found himself face to face with a worried expression on the old witch's face. "Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?"

"Wouldn't have been if you hadn't come around the corner just now." Draco winced - talking hurt. He brought his hand to his face, tentatively feeling out the damage. His lip was split and bleeding, his stomach ached, and he was sure he'd have a lovely black eye the next morning when he woke, but it didn't seem serious.

"Would you explain what's just happened?" she demanded, sending a glower in Crabbe's direction.

Vince, for his part, tried to appear innocent. As usual, it didn't work. "It wasn't nothing, Professor. I was walking along, when Draco cursed me from behind the tapestry, so I just had to defend myself -"

"Bollocks," Draco replied with a snort, ignoring the professor's admonition to watch his language. "You weren't at breakfast, as half a dozen Slytherins would have to admit under Veritaserum, though I doubt anything less potent would force them to open their mouths to help me. There's a price on my head now - seems if I'm brought to Voldemort, the lucky little initiate gets a free ride to the Inner Circle, and Crabbe here decided he'd be the one to turn me in. Isn't that right?"

"We'll be off to see the Headmaster then. Expulsion is probably too good for the likes of you," McGonagall spat, glaring at Crabbe and sending a comforting glance to Draco. She snagged the back of Crabbe's robe, snatching his wand from him and muttering something, which sounded to Draco like "leaving a helpless victim in a den of snakes."

Draco straightened indignantly. Helpless? Certainly not. Den of snakes? "That den of snakes happens to be the place I spent the last four years. Do you really want me polluting your precious little Gryffindors with my Dark Arts knowledge and Dark tendencies?" He limped away from the wall, silently cursing the pain in his leg. "Gimme my wand, Vince. I'm going to class."

"Mr. Malfoy -"

Crabbe offered up the wand silently and Draco snatched it away. "I'll go to the Hospital Wing after class. Can't have the evil Head of Slytherin House wondering where I am - he might lose his temper and curse a stupid Gryffindor." He spun on his heel with a visible wince and limped past the tapestry as fast as he could manage. Draco certainly wasn't going to put up with that old bat, even if the reward would be getting to watch as Dumbledore snapped Crabbe's wand to expel him. "Den of snakes, honestly," he growled, using the wall as a crutch as he hobbled toward Potions.

He slammed the door open, making sure to attract all the attention he could as he stalked into the room, favoring his uninjured leg heavily. Standing as tall and proud as possible, he faced the angered expression of his guardian and the shock and horror of most of Gryffindor House. The Slytherins, of course, were smirking. "Please pardon my tardiness, sir." Rather unimaginative, yes, but what else was there to say under the circumstances?

"What happened, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape glowered darkly, eyes sweeping the classroom and coming to rest on the empty chair beside Greg Goyle.

"Oh, nothing too important," Draco drawled, setting his sarcasm on overwhelming. "I was just attacked by Vince Crabbe outside the Great Hall. He offered to take me off on a jaunt to see the Dark Lord, but I declined, quite graciously I thought. So he nipped my wand, kicked me around a bit with those disgusting steel-toed boots his father bought him for his birthday, and generally made a mess of me until Professor McGonagall happened along. I do believe he's being expelled at the moment."

Just as intended, the room went silent. Draco caught Potter staring at him with something akin to awe and leveled a sneer in the Gryffindor's direction. Snape unfortunately noticed which seemed to snap him out of his stupor. "No points will be taken for fighting, then. Shouldn't you be seeing Madame Pomfrey for that?"

"I'm growing quite fond of the dripping blood look, actually. Where shall I sit?" He locked eyes with his teacher, daring him to make the move to send Draco to the infirmary without his permission. When Snape visibly backed down, Draco glanced around to find the empty seats - only two, one beside Goyle and one -

"I think that sitting beside Potter should be enough of a punishment for fighting in the halls," Snape commented snidely.

Draco didn't bother to stifle his groan of annoyance as he limped over to join the Boy Who Stared Dumbly. Well, Snape might never be any sort of father figure, but he certainly knew how to punish someone for living - though really, punishment probably wasn't the reason for seating Draco beside Potter. In a choice of Potter or Goyle, harmless or plotting Draco's downfall, he was quite certain he would've chosen Potter himself. He went into a highly practiced sulk, glaring accusingly at Potter as he slid into his seat. "It's a quiz on Healing Potions," Potter snapped helpfully. And as Draco reached for his bag, "You're not allowed to use your book."

Only a superior sneer was needed to send Potter looking back to his cauldron. Draco held back a sigh as he started to arrange his ingredients - he hadn't a clue how to make a viable Healing Potion. He'd spent most of the summer praying to stay alive long enough to get back to school. The Granger girl, one table in front of him, set a fire under her cauldron and tossed in a handful of lacewings, so Draco followed suit. Cheating was a time-honored tradition of Slytherin House, after all.

Suddenly, Potter let out a yelp of pain and stumbled heavily against the desk. His cauldron spilled over onto the floor, splashing Weasley and Granger in the process. Draco jumped back, out of the way, as Potter's weight slammed the table forward and the Boy Who Lived fell to the ground with it.

Someone screamed but was cut off quickly as silence and shock enveloped the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught Snape hurrying into his office for the emergency kit just as Potter let out a primal, chilling scream and lapsed into the same uncontrollable spasms as he had in the infirmary. Just as he had that night, Draco flashed in his mind to the many evenings he'd spent during the past summer, helping his mother care for his Cruciatus-hit father.

Potter's convulsions grew worse, much worse than Draco had been witness to in the infirmary, and Draco was likely the only one who knew how to help. When Potter's head slammed against the stone of the dungeon floor, Draco didn't hesitate - he ripped off his outer robe and balled it up to serve as a makeshift pillow. One hand wrapped behind Potter's neck as he knelt down by the Gryffindor's side, to support the weight while the other rested behind his head to immobilize and keep him from harming himself further. Draco barely noticed the Slytherins looking on in shock and disgust. "Weasley, get over here and hold his arms down so he doesn't smack me," he snapped. When the redhead gave a blank stare, Draco snarled loudly. "He's having a seizure, you stupid, sodding git! Isn't he supposed to be your bloody friend?"

That, of course, snapped the youngest Weasley boy into action. He practically leapt over the table to Potter's side, following orders like the good little minion that he was. Draco was able to refocus his attention on Potter's situation. He let go of Potter's head, still supporting his neck, to adjust the robe-pillow, and got a glimpse of wetness on his hand. Red. Blood. "Shit. Weasley, robes. Now."

"Mr. Malfoy, language. What's happening?" Draco glanced up at the looming figure of Snape, complete with large red first aid box.

"He cracked his head on the stone when the seizure got worse. We shouldn't move him without Madame Pomfrey's help, he might've broken something, sir." Draco accepted the bundle of robes presented to him distractedly and added them to those cushioning the skull of Potter.

Snape gave a curt nod. "No one is to move," he announced, focusing mainly on the Slytherins. "I'll return shortly." And he was gone out the classroom door.

Draco became aware of Granger crouched at his side, offering her own robes. "How do you know all of this?" she asked quietly.

"One of the side effects of the Cruciatus Curse is seizures in the victim. My father ended up with a severe concussion in early July after one particularly severe session." He shrugged, suddenly feeling the eyes of his Slytherin classmates boring into him. Perhaps visiting the Infirmary wasn't such a bad idea, especially with the hexes likely to be waiting for him in the wake of Crabbe's expulsion.

"Why are you helping him?" Weasley demanded, finally snapping out of his stupor. "You aren't supposed to help him, you hate him!" On second thought, he was still trapped in a world of his own devising.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Weasley, who else here actually knows what to do? You?" he sneered.

The words had their intended affect - Granger looked vaguely hurt and Weasley ready to launch himself over Potter's body to strangle Draco. He caught Blaise giving him a worried glance from the corner of his eye, and nodded to himself. The plans were working.

Luckily for Draco, Potter chose that moment to let out another anguished cry. Weasley dropped back to his side, looking down at his hero worriedly while Granger appeared ready to cry. Moments later, Potter went limp.

Weasley yelped, hands shaking as he latched onto Potter's shoulder. "Harry! Harry, can you hear me? Oh my God, is he dead?"

"Of course not," Draco snapped, restraining the urge to punch the weasel just to shut him up for a change. It seemed even his usual stupidity had hit an all time high. "The vision is just over. At least he can't hurt himself now."

"Vision?" Draco glanced up in surprise at the fourth voice joining the conversation. Pansy. Though the look of confusion on her face was priceless, Draco winced internally - that was one piece of information sure to make its way to the Dark Lord.

He gave an extra-derisive sneer in his ex-fiancée's direction. "Yes, vision. He must've caught a glimpse of your ugly face in his cauldron and collapsed, unable to function."

Pansy's lower lip quavered and she shrunk back against her desk. While the information was sure to transfer through Goyle or Blake, the insult to Pansy had certainly brightened Draco's chances with Blaise. The other girl, who hated Pansy with a passion, was nearly glowing.

Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape dashed in, the nurse gasping for air after running the entire way. Taking in Potter's still form, Snape demanded, "What's happened now?"

"He passed out," Draco reported with a shrug. He pushed himself to his feet, rocking unsteadily on his injured leg. "I think I should go up as well. I think Vince did something fairly nasty to my leg, now that the numbness has gone away." He gave his best whiny child face to his guardian and was rewarded with a frown. Draco took that as an affirmative and limped after Pomfrey as she levitated Potter from the room.

Goyle smirked broadly as he passed by and mouthed "We know where you sleep." Rather obvious, of course, as they'd been roommates for four years, but still hinting at a massive plan to bundle him off and sneak him from the castle to the waiting knife of Voldemort. Maybe McGonagall had had the right idea after all.

Half an hour after Potter's seizure, Draco crouched outside Madame Pomfrey's office, using his honed observational skills much in the same way he had to watch his parents' arguments. Potter was still passed out and plenty of whinging to Snape had assured him that he'd be spending the night in the Infirmary as well. The conversation he overheard, of course, was all about Potter.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Pomfrey and - oddly enough - Professor Lupin of his third year were crowded around Pomfrey's desk. None of Potter's relatives was to be seen. "Nothing can be done, then?" the werewolf was asking. "Dreamless Sleep isn't strong enough?"

"It would be enough, were he actually sleeping. As it is, the visions have become waking as well as in sleep. He collapsed in Potions - we can only be grateful the potion he was working on was harmless." Pomfrey sighed, tapping something on the table. "There are stronger potions, of course; ones that would inhibit him receiving visions altogether -"

"Well, use them, then!" Lupin snapped. "If he's in pain, stop it!"

"The potion she's speaking of, while even easier to make than Dreamless Sleep, is incredibly addictive. Why do you think people pay so much for a weaker substance? Honestly, Lupin, I knew you were abominable at Potions, but if you'd bothered to pay attention instead of -"

McGonagall cut Snape off with a glare. "Yes, yes, Severus, we're quite aware of the properties of the Hyupnos Draught. You needn't lecture us."

Snape gave an indignant snort. "If you're so keen on using it, go ahead. It will take three, maybe four ministrations before he's dependant. Have any of you been addicted to something before? Any of you?"

Draco leaned forward slightly, suddenly very glad he'd decided to listen in. Having blackmail on professors could always be useful around exam time. Surprisingly enough, however, the one who spoke next was the werewolf, though he seemed quite hesitant to do so - forgivable, considering the topic. "After James died, and Sirius - there were some clubs in London - I-I mean, it was the early 80's, after all -"

"I'm sure none of us care enough to hear your dirty secrets, Lupin." Another snort from Snape. "Suffice to say, you understand what I'm talking about. Once every few weeks, I can authorize you to use it, on the worst of nights. Hyupnos will block out any sort of vision. Effective, if dangerous."

"Will you authorize the treatment, Remus?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

There was a long silence before the werewolf replied. "I'm hardly the one to be doing so. His guardians are his aunt and uncle, as little as I think of them. And shouldn't you be asking Sirius, rather than myself? At least Sirius is his godfather. I just knew his parents."

Draco bit his cheek, trying to keep back his yelp of shock. Sirius? As in Sirius Black, the deranged madman who'd escaped Azkaban and attempted to murder Potter back in third year? But he'd been working for Voldemort - and he'd murdered a dozen people, including his best friends - ! "Remus, Sirius didn't tell you this, because he knew you'd object," Dumbledore was saying, "but when he was last here, he named you a secondary guardian, should anything happen to him. As he's unable to be contacted, and as those Muggle relatives replied to my owl with a rather rude letter about where I should place my wand, you are certainly the one with the authority to allow it."

"If something happens to those Muggles, Albus, you can't seriously be considering having me be his guardian. I'm a werewolf! It'd be dangerous to him, not to mention bloody illegal! According to the Ministry, I'm a beast, not a being!" Lupin snapped, banging his fist loudly against the table.

"If you keep denting furniture like that, I'll have to agree with them," Snape added snidely.

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore put in, "we all know those laws are the remnant of a bygone era, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion. When the next Minister is installed, a man hopefully more freethinking than Cornelius Fudge, I have every intention of suggesting they be repealed."

"Well, Fudge is our main problem," McGonagall shot in. "We have enough support - I still believe the best action would be to depose him. If you took over, Albus -"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Minerva, dear, adding more factions to a crumbling society will do nothing but play in the Dark Lord's favor. There are any number of wizards and witches who are none too fond of me - if we take over, there will inevitably be a counter-coup; the perfect moment for Voldemort to swoop in and destroy us all. Besides..." Draco could hear Dumbledore's voice growing even more somber. "Besides, Minerva, I am old. I have been Headmaster for forty years. The only one at this table who was alive when I began teaching was Poppy, and she would've been only an infant. When I went to school here, Muggle-born students were not allowed, the Snapes were wealthier than the Malfoys, and Queen Victoria was in her prime. I'm old, worn, stretched thin... don't misunderstand me, I will see this conflict through to its conclusion barring any unforeseen circumstances, but afterwards I fully intend to retire to a nice little cottage that has been waiting for me in the south of France since before Grindelwald threatened Europe. I have no wish to ever be Minister of Magic." There was a short but heavy silence until the Headmaster pressed on. "Now, then - we'll need to discuss provisionary plans for Harry's care in a few moments anyways, but we first need to make a final decision on his treatment. Poppy? The floor is yours, my dear."

"I was born in the fifth year of your tenure, Albus," she snipped, giving an indignant sniff. "Harry Potter, however, is suffering rather serious side-effects from the visions. I decided not to consult Sibyl on the whole manner, as I believe she's quite mad," Pomfrey paused, and Draco could see her glaring at Dumbledore in his mind's eye, though his view was blocked. "I did some research on it myself. It appears he's not a natural Seer. That ability likely manifested as a result of the curse in 1981. The curse causes him to continue to feel the spells You-Know-Who casts on his victims, as Harry himself was a victim. The sharing of blood at the end of last term may've been the catalyst event for the victim connection. The reaction itself is sharpest when the Cruciatus Curse is used, according to the accounts he's given of the visions, but responses to all actions seem to be worsening. He's developing a bruise on his face and another on his arm, though there appears to be no physical reason for it. I believe that You-Know-Who was beating Lucius Malfoy at the time of the last vision, and Harry's bruises parallel Lucius' - though, of course, without examining Lucius, I have no way of supporting the theory."

Draco hissed softly. The staff seemed not to be bothered by the fact that his father was being tortured - how could they call themselves the Light, leaving a man to die like that? He barely heard Snape's response, though it only convinced him further of the staff's apathy - his own guardian's apathy. "And how will Potter be affected when Lord Voldemort kills Lucius?" Not if. When. No hope. Like an experiment.

"I don't know," Poppy replied frankly, giving a loud sigh. "If Potter is immune to Voldemort's Killing Curse, as Albus thinks, it would do nothing. If he is not... he'll die."

"Then use the damned potion," Lupin snapped. "If it'll save him, any dependency is worth it!"

There was a short commotion before Dumbledore's soft voice broke through the arguments. "Hyupnos may not block the affects; only the visions themselves. Harry may continue to develop bruises when Voldemort hits someone or break into a seizure when he uses Cruciatus... we have no way of knowing. Due to its addictive side-effect, little research has been done on the potion since its invention."

"But it might help?" Lupin sighed. "If it will help at all... I can't lose him, Albus. Sirius can't lose him. He's all that's left of James. It would kill him."

"Then Hyupnos it is... in small doses, and not every night. Severus, would you brew the first dose after we are done here?" Snape must've nodded, as Dumbledore continued. "Now, then... a reserve plan for Harry's care, should something happen to his relatives. James' closest living relative, his cousin, died in one of the attacks this past summer. Henry Ross was the last blood relative with a close enough relationship to use the wards that are currently on the Dursley home. However, Voldemort has Harry's blood - those wards are no longer of any use."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "If that's the case, Albus, remove Harry immediately! I know this is the umpteenth time I've mentioned it, but even if they aren't physically abusing him, they are starving him. You can see as well as I how thin he is. James was stocky and taller than I by his fifth year, and Lily wasn't petite. Harry barely reaches above my shoulder, he's skin and bones -"

"Minerva... that was the best place for him. I still believe that -"

"You're not sending him back." Draco held his breath, caught up in the conversation. Oddly enough, that had sounded like Snape's voice - didn't Snape hate Potter? "If you want to lose him to the Dark, Albus, that's the way to do it," he continued. "If you send him back, you'll drive him to hate you for leaving him there, hate Black for not rescuing him, hate Muggles for treating him badly, and hate his parents for leaving him when they died. It isn't healthy for him and it's certainly not in his best interest, despite what you say. Lily would have my head if she knew I was going along with this."

Dumbledore's reply was very quiet, almost inaudible. "Where do you suggest he go, then, Severus? To live with you? As I recall, the Snape line and the Potter line intersect more than once - you may have more of a blood tie than many others -"

"Of course not!" Snape snapped - much more in character, Draco thought to himself. "I've already got one adolescent under my care, I'm certainly not volunteering for another. Or have you forgotten about Draco? They'd tear each other apart!" Draco hunched down next to the door, hugging his knees to his chest in sudden revelation and shock. His godfather didn't want him. I've already got one adolescent under my care; I'm certainly not volunteering for another.

The voices still drifted from the office, though they were no longer as interesting. "Of course I remember, Severus," Dumbledore continued, "but if you're concerned about his care, you must have a suggestion."

"The Weasleys," Lupin shot in. "They're practically his family already. Molly came to watch the Third Task last term, you told me..."

"They can't afford an eighth child," McGonagall countered, "they can barely afford the seven they have, even with two out of the house! And they certainly won't accept Harry's money to help them, they're too proud."

"I will continue to look into it," Dumbledore finished. "I can't think of a better place than his family, but I will try. Remus, you have a dose of Wolfsbane Potion to take, don't you..."

Draco scurried over to his bed, managing to crawl in before the first professor left the meeting. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for Snape to come and check on him again, hoping to bring up the subject of his father and his future and his life... but no one did.