Another Turning Point

Leap of Faith

(Draco's POV)

Hermione told me "Harry's always pitied by strangers and he has so much to deal with, he's expected to save the world, but he manages fine and he's happy. It scares me sometimes because I know people can only tolerate so much before they crack and I know that with everything that happens he's that little bit closer to breaking down. Who knows what will happen then. I want to help him, but I can't until he needs help and it'll be too late then. What he needs is to be able to work through his problems, to talk about them and have someone listen. But I know him well enough to know that he wouldn't talk to someone about himself unless, unless he was trying to help them, he's very selfless. I think you should talk to him, he'll tell you about himself to make you feel better and deal with his problems that way. I've thought about it before. I never thought I would ever have the chance to actually share the idea with you though," she laughed then, and I realised it was rather a strange situation. Somehow I felt no resentment anymore though, I don't know why but I felt that there was no reason for me to hate this girl just because of her parentage, it didn't seem to matter. Maybe I was ill, but whatever it was it gave me the chance to see that I could be friends with whoever I wanted and that this 'little swot' was actually a very intelligent and compassionate individual. But all the same... go to Harry Potter for help?! It seemed absurd.

Harry Potter, the annoying little suck-up, teachers' pet always getting his own way. Instead of getting in trouble he got rewarded for breaking rules and putting his life, and the lives of his friends, in danger. The boy who should have had nothing but in actual fact he had everything, and he was always so NICE about it. Unassuming, polite, clever. But what Hermione said made me stop. Maybe he didn't really have everything at all. He should have had nothing and in fact did have nothing. No family, no proper home, no safety or security. He was wanted dead by one of the most powerful wizards ever and everyone expected him to save the world. That's no life for a 15 year old.

There I was, telling my secrets to a Mudblood and feeling sorry for my worst enemy. I should have known something was wrong. It wasn't until later that I found out that my father had been killed thus breaking the magic bond that all Malfoys have. I was no longer bound to his opinions, he always had a way of knowing if I had done something he didn't approve of and this kept me from disobeying him too often. Subconsciously I must have known he couldn't punish me anymore.

Hermione and I went to our next lesson: Defence Against the Dark Arts. I wasn't going to go but Hermione realised the time and stood up to leave. I found myself following her simply because I didn't have anywhere else to go and it was rather cold on that roof. When we got to the lesson it had already started but Professor Weaving didn't seem to mind, she was always rather relaxed about that sort of thing providing all the work got done in the end. That was really just one of the strange things about her, she was the only DADA teacher we had that lasted more than a year, she didn't mind people talking or being late, and she had a really cool name: Professor Aeryn Weaving; she also insisted that the timetable be changed so that we got DADA with the Gryffindors, I never found out why.

Weasley started quizzing Hermione in a particularly loud whisper as soon as she sat down next to him but she shushed him and said something about telling him later, I could have sworn she also said something about making it up to him, but I didn't want to think about that in too much detail.

Potter however, along with half the rest of the class too, was too busy staring at me to take any notice of Granger. I must have looked awful, swollen red eyes from crying, and I dread to think what my hair must have looked like. In my experience the neatly gelled-within-an-inch-of-its-life look doesn't appreciate worried hands being raked through it. I would dearly liked to have run away from the curious stares and hidden in my room, but my dignity was only just hanging on by a thread. Running out of my lesson when I had only just arrived would having shattered the precious little of it I had left. So instead I held my head up high and stalked to the only spare seat at the back of the class, diagonally behind Potter. Had I not been feeling so vulnerable I would have shot death glares at anyone daring to look at me, but I didn't feel up to it that day.

Potter twisted round in his seat to look at me and for a moment he seemed he was going to speak to me, but then Professor Weaving began talking again and his head snapped back to the front. I sat through the lesson staring at the back of his head and thinking about what Hermione had said. I suspected that she may have been being a bit of a double agent, that she thought me helping Harry would help me, the way she was tricking Harry into helping me because it would help him. But that didn't really bother me. The decision whether or not I took her advice didn't seem to be affected by being 'tricked'. It also crossed my mind that perhaps Harry would laugh at me, use the information I could give him to exact his revenge. I wouldn't blame him I had been awful to him over the years; but then again he had been horrible right back, so he didn't need revenge. And anyway he was a Gryffindor for heavens sake. They don't scheme and plot and use people's vulnerability against them. They're good and honest and if they want to hurt someone they'd just hex them outright or something. Sure I would have been fully prepared to attack someone when their back was turned, I probably still would now, but somehow I couldn't imagine perfect Potter doing so. Harry Potter is good and honest and kind; if someone needs his help he'll do his best to help them. That's one of the reasons I hated him, but it was also the reason I decided to trust him in the end. Seemingly of its own accord my hand picked up my quill and scribbled a note on a scrap piece of parchment. "I need your help, I want to trust you. Meet me at 8 in the potions classroom. Tell no-one. DM." I passed the note to him and he read it, he looked at me suspiciously thinking perhaps it was some sort of trick but I guess I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because he simply nodded once and went back to his work.