Dragon's Eye

Binding

"The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth." ~William Shakespeare

Harry Potter rested his forehead against the glass of the train compartment window. His scar was on fire with an ache that never quite went away, just lessened and sharpened with time. The clear cold of the window eased the pain slightly, for which Harry was grateful. He inhaled a ragged breath as the fire flared to excruciating for a moment before guttering like a candle flame back to bearable. Harry’s eyes opened to slits and he groaned softly. He leaned back against the seat. The window had lost all comforting chill and become hot to the touch. Harry swore softly under his breath as he closed his eyes again.

The compartment was empty but for Harry. Hermione and Ron had left for the prefects’ meeting not ten minutes ago. Even Ginny and Neville were off somewhere else. Other members of the DA dropped in on him from time to time, but none stayed long. No one seemed to know how to talk to him since the events of last year. Oddly, the only person in whose company he was truly comfortable was Luna Lovegood. But even her airy chatter could do little to assuage his darker moods, and she had left soon after Ron and Hermione.

It seemed that with every passing breath, his friends were floating further and further away from him. More separated them now than brought them together. It saddened him--and scared him. He felt more alone than ever. Even including the dark days under the stairs when he had no one, not even a distant Hermione and Ron.

How many friends would he lose to this war? he wondered. All of them? Would he find himself one day standing alone in the Great Hall with no one left to fight for? Then even if he could defeat Voldemort, what would be the point? There would be no wizarding world left to save. He would have already failed them all. Unbidden, his brain conjured the image of Sirius’s face--that last surprised look as he slipped slowly behind the veil…

The sound of the compartment door sliding open broke his thoughts into pieces.

Harry briefly considered feigning sleep. His eyes were already closed and his head leant against the seat cushion. He thought better of it, though--hiding was hardly the answer. But as soon as he opened his eyes, he closed them again.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the weariness from his voice.

“For you to die a hideous and painful death,” Malfoy responded as he stepped into the compartment, sliding the door shut behind him.

Harry opened his eyes again to glare at the invading Slytherin. Oddly, Malfoy’s expression was neutral. It was the first time Harry could remember seeing his face without a smirk or a sneer. Malfoy helped himself to the seat across from Harry.

“And where are your two hulking shadows?” Harry asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Off playing Exploding Snap with some first-year’s face, I imagine,” Malfoy said.

Harry’s glare intensified. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else? Like Outer Mongolia? Or, say, the prefects’ meeting?”

Malfoy growled at him. “The prefects’ meeting ended a couple of minutes ago. In fact, I’m surprised I beat the bushy Mudblood and the stringy Weasel here. They must have paused to lick McGonagall’s boots.”

“Say what you want and go, Malfoy,” Harry hissed.

Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He leaned back against his seat, his gaze on his lap. He was silent for a full minute. Harry sat still and silent, as well. Damned if he was going to break first.

Finally, Malfoy said, “I need your help.”

Harry was flummoxed. “What did you say?”

“Are you deaf? Or just stupid?” Malfoy sneered. “Don’t make me say it again, Potter.” Malfoy’s glare lost a little of its force at the end.

Harry felt fury--his normal reaction to Malfoy--but with effort he stamped down his temper to merely simmering. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat. “I don’t believe you. Is this some daft trick? It’s not going to work, Malfoy. Get. Out.”

Malfoy turned his ice-gray eyes to capture Harry’s green ones. “It’s not a trick, Potter-” He spoke so softly, Harry barely heard him. It was the expression in Malfoy’s eyes that gave Harry pause.

Harry couldn’t believe Malfoy would really come to him for help. It made no bloody sense. What about his precious father? Harry started a little when he remembered that Malfoy the elder was actually in Azkaban, and that Harry had helped put him there. He felt a twinge (just a twinge) of guilt for a moment, but then shook it off. If anyone deserved Azkaban, it was Malfoy. Both Malfoys. And come to think of it, wasn’t it even more odd for Malfoy the younger to be asking his aid?

“Assuming it’s not a trick,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Assuming it’s not, what is it you want me to do?”

Malfoy took a deep breath. “I need you to come with me to see Dumbledore. I’m switching sides.” He said it all in a rush, his words running together.

For the second time in five minutes, Harry’s jaw dropped. He searched Malfoy’s eyes for some clue that he was lying, but Harry was no Legilimens. He’d all but given up on practicing Occlumency. Now he wished he’d tried a little harder. Malfoy’s eyes were clear and unreadable.

Harry frowned. “You want me to go with you to see Dumbledore.”

“With such staggering intellect, Potter, it’s a wonder the Sorting Hat didn’t put you in Ravenclaw. Yes, I believe that is what I just said.”

“Why me?”

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Malfoy said under his breath. “Because you’re Dumbledore’s Golden Boy, you daft pillock. With you there, he might actually believe me.”

“I don’t understand,” continued Harry, through clenched teeth--Malfoy was just this side of getting the shit kicked out of him. “Why not ask Snape to go with you?”

“Because I can’t, okay?” Malfoy’s eyes flicked to the door nervously. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Harry shook his head, exasperated and unbelieving. “You’re mental! Even IF I decided to believe you, which is like saying ‘if I decided to kiss Voldemort’s arse,’ why on earth would I want to help you?! We’re enemies! You’ve done everything you could think of to get me and my friends expelled! You’re a nasty, pointy little bastard, and you’re completely thick if you think I’m going to help you for no better reason than because you asked.”

Malfoy leapt to his feet, his anger near to sparkling in the air around him. “So much for the good and noble Boy Who Lived,” he flung at Harry. “I thought heroes were supposed to help people.”

The accusation stung Harry more than it should have. “What would you know about it, Malfoy?” he replied scathingly. “How could you know anything about being a hero?” Harry spat the word. “Heroes don’t help the bad guys.” Heroes don’t let their friends die.

“What about second chances?” Malfoy asked, arching an arrogant eyebrow. His glare didn’t let up one bit. Neither did Harry’s. Harry watched the muscle in Malfoy’s jaw tense, probably clamping down on all the nasty things he actually wanted to say involving Harry’s parentage, politics and friends.

But something sharp tugged at Harry’s mind at Malfoy’s words. He thought about second chances. He thought about murderers who became godfathers and werewolves who became friends. He looked down at his hands, suddenly unable to meet Malfoy’s accusing glare any longer. He fidgeted with the end of his red-and-gold-striped tie. Malfoy sat down again, unconsciously mirroring Harry’s position. But where Harry fidgeted, Malfoy was still. Where Harry looked at his hands, Malfoy looked at Harry.

“Look, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, still glaring. “I didn’t expect you to just give me your…assistance…without having to pay for it. With my father indisposed…” Malfoy paused to take a shaky breath. “With my father indisposed,” he continued, “I have the entirety of his assets at my command. Name your price.”

Harry blinked at him. “You’re offering me money?” Well, that’s something Voldemort’s not tried before. Suddenly, Harry felt like laughing. The edges of his mouth quirked up involuntarily.

Malfoy’s glare got hotter. “I swear to Merlin, Potter,” he hissed--“if you’re laughing at me, I will hex you into next March.”

Harry shook his head, trying to get his treacherous lips under control. “All right, Malfoy.” He tilted his head to the left a little and considered the boy across from him. “IF you can convince me that you’re telling me the truth, then I will go with you, ON THE CONDITION that you never bully another Gryffindor ever again. That is my price--take it or leave it.”

The look on Malfoy’s face was comical. His eyes widened and he let out a breath as if he’d just been hit in the stomach. He leaned back and looked down as he considered--actually considered!--Harry’s offer. Harry firmly suppressed another urge to laugh. He knew, of course, that any minute Malfoy would explode and storm out of the compartment.

He nearly choked when Malfoy offered him his hand.

“All right, Potter, it’s a deal. It’s nasty and low, even for a Slytherin, but…”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry said, staring at Malfoy.

“Deadly,” Malfoy replied with a feral grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry took Malfoy’s hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he turned it palm up and pushed back Malfoy’s sleeve. The skin of the Slytherin’s left forearm was smooth and pale with a tracery of faint blue veins just beneath the surface of his wrist. It looked as fresh, unblemished and delicate as fine porcelain. But where porcelain was cold, Malfoy’s skin radiated gentle warmth beneath Harry’s fingers. Harry’s breath hitched a little, and he blinked his eyes to clear his thoughts. He let go of Malfoy’s arm. The flesh was unbroken, unmarred by symbols and scars.

Malfoy cleared his throat, breaking the strange stillness that had settled over them. “Do you believe me now?”

Harry searched Malfoy’s arctic eyes again, but they proved just as deep and unfathomable as the sea. Even less fathomable was the expression on Malfoy’s face as he searched Harry’s eyes in return. “Tell me why--” Harry stopped. “Why are you…” He trailed off.

“My reasons are my own, Potter.” Malfoy’s face closed.

Harry took a deep breath, sensing he was on thin ice. He almost believed Malfoy. Almost. And he was appalled to discover that a part of him wanted to believe him--if for no other reason than to have one less front to fight in this war.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Malfoy nodded and stood to go.

“Hold on! You haven’t paid, yet.” Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed Malfoy’s arm.

“Sorry?” said Malfoy, turning back in alarm.

Harry smiled at him. “You don’t just expect me to take your word for it, do you? You’re Slytherin, after all. Give me your wand.”

Malfoy’s gaze turned murderous. “I don’t think so.”

“Your call, Malfoy. No oath, no deal.” Harry let go and crossed his arms, firm and implacable.

Malfoy considered him for a moment. “Fine,” he said and drew his wand out of his pocket, slapping it into Harry’s outstretched palm, as he leaned against the door and affected a bored expression.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up in amusement. “Here,” he said, holding Malfoy’s wand in his closed fist at its midway point out in front of him, parallel to the floor. “Hold the wand on either side of my hand with both of yours.”

Malfoy shot him a dubious look but obeyed.

“Conveniro,” Harry whispered. The wand began to glow a dark red. Malfoy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t let go.

“You better know what you’re doing, Potter,” he said.

Harry shot him a disgruntled look. “Of course I know what I’m doing.”

Malfoy smirked at him. “Tell me Granger taught you this spell, and then I’ll believe you.”

Harry gave him a withering glare in response.

“This had better be worth it, Potter, or I’ll personally make sure my original wish comes true.”

“Repeat after me,” Harry said, ignoring Malfoy’s threat. “I Draco Malfoy-”

“I Draco Malfoy-” As Malfoy spoke, the red haze that surrounded the wand spread up his arms and over his body. Harry felt an answering tingle spread into his body, as well. He didn’t have to look to know that the red haze was covering him, just as it covered Malfoy. The magic thrummed through him, linking him to the wand and to Malfoy as thoroughly as Malfoy was linked to the wand and to Harry. All three were bound together in this oath. It made Harry nervous, but it was too late to turn back now. Hermione had better have been right about this spell.

“-do solemnly swear-”

“-do solemnly swear-”

“-to never again by my own will-”

“-to never again by my own will-”

“-mistreat, hex, or harm-”

“-mistreat, hex, or harm-”

“-any Gryffindor ever again.”

Malfoy sighed, but dutifully finished, “-any Gryffindor ever again.” The red glow vanished and Harry relinquished the wand.

“Merlin’s beard, I hope nobody saw that,” Malfoy said, as he belatedly turned to the window set into the door to the compartment. Harry didn’t see anyone standing there, but someone could have watched them talking and he wouldn’t have noticed. He gave a mental shrug. So what if someone saw? It was much more a danger to Malfoy than to Harry.

Malfoy turned back from the window to glower at Harry. “What did you do to me, Potter?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling wickedly. “Just made sure my price would be paid in full.”

“Brilliant,” grumbled Malfoy. He looked a little ill.

Harry plopped back down into his seat, waiting for the requisite Malfoy explosion. Again, Malfoy surprised him.

“You just better keep your end, Potter,” he said, finally, still glowering. “Meet me in front of the Headmaster’s office just after the First-of-Term Feast.” And without another word, he slid open the compartment door and left, slamming it shut behind him.

Harry sat for a while, gazing out the window and not seeing anything. He couldn’t believe it. He’d just made a deal with Malfoy. He’d just made a deal with Malfoy. And he’d gotten the better end of it. He shook his head. Of all the unbelievable ways to start the school year, that was the least expected.

Then it occurred to him that he’d just spent the last quarter hour not thinking about Sirius, nor his scar, nor his problems. He felt a strange sensation, then, with regard to Malfoy. He’d call it gratitude, but, well, it just couldn’t be that. He rubbed his forehead. The ache was muted now--still there, but less. He smiled then, sincerely, for the first time in months.

Then something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something beyond the train was glittering in the setting sun. He turned his head to get a better look and nearly fell out of his seat. He stared at the distant rock jutting high into the air. It was on the other side of the lake, but Harry could still make out what was perched on a rocky outcropping of that promontory.

“Dragon,” he breathed.

It was the largest dragon he’d ever seen. Despite its distance from the train, he could see its features clearly, sculpted gracefully into points and ridges, curves full and elongated. Its eyes were luminous, and Harry felt as if it were looking straight into his soul.

It raised its wings wide, catching the full glare of the sun’s golden light. Its skin sparkled in a thousand different colors. Harry knew then that he’d never seen or heard of a dragon like this one. It was not a Hungarian Horntail nor a Norwegian Ridgeback. It dwarfed any dragon he could remember. And the colors…

He felt warm breath on the back of his neck and tasted a hint of sulphur. His eyes widened and his muscles froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he stared at the dragon. He heard a voice in the back of his head like giant stones grinding together. It was a whisper a thousand times louder than an avalanche--it was a mountain crumbling to dust. “Harry Potter.”

The compartment door slid open with a bang. Harry shot out of his seat like a bolt from a crossbow, every muscle tense. He whirled to face…his friends.

“Harry! You’ll never believe what we found out!” cried Hermione.

“Yeah, mate, you’ll never guess in a million!” said Ron.

Harry stared at them for a full second before whirling around to the train window.

“Harry…are you all right?” asked Hermione tentatively. Her tone set his teeth on edge. She was always tentative around him now.

Harry ignored her question as he frantically searched the skies, the rocks, the water. But he could find no trace of the dragon.

*    *    *

Draco Malfoy stalked back to the other end of the train--as far away as he could get from bloody Potter. That foul Mudblood-lover had touched his wand. Draco had even shaken his bloody hand. The thought of touching Potter made Draco ill all over again.

Not to mention that oath. Bloody hell! He slammed his fist into the wall as he walked by, startling the pansy-arsed new Head Boy. Draco snarled at him and was rewarded with a muffled squeak from the Ravenclaw half-breed. He barely noticed it, though, as he mentally cursed that bloody oath.

His father had said to give Potter “anything,” after all. And “anything” could’ve been much worse. But, Merlin--that oath would be the death of him.

He walked into a train compartment full of first years and barked at them to get lost. The compartment quickly emptied, leaving Draco alone with his brooding.

*    *    *

Ginny Weasley sat across from Luna Lovegood as the Hogwarts Express sped past open countryside. Luna was scratching notes into a bright purple journal with an equally bright pink quill. After a sentence or two, she would stick the quill behind her ear and turn to stare blankly out the window for several minutes before pulling the quill out and writing another line.

Ginny had glanced at the page once out of curiosity but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Luna seemed to be writing in gibberish. Or at least it looked like gibberish to Ginny. No doubt it made perfect sense to Luna.

Luna left Ginny in peace, though, as the train chugged ever closer to Hogwarts, which made her the perfect traveling companion in Ginny’s mind. Neville had shared their car for the first half of the trip and had nearly chatted Ginny’s ear off about the magical properties of venomous tentacula. She was relieved when he finally decided to go find one of his Hufflepuff herbology friends.

She’d spent the last hour watching as small Muggle villages appeared at the far edge of the window, and then disappeared over her shoulder. Sometimes she would track a specific building with her eyes on its path past her window; other times she let the scenery blur into indistinct shapes of greens, browns, and blues. She preferred to watch the vague impression of color, rather than the sharp outlines of uninteresting buildings. The harsh, linear reality was just too confining.

“I could read it to you, you know.”

Ginny landed with a thud back into that reality. “Sorry?” she said.

“I could read it to you,” Luna repeated, indicating her journal.

Ginny blinked at her.

“I saw you looking at it. Earlier. I could have read it to you then, but I wasn’t finished, yet.”

“No, no. That’s all right.” Ginny blushed scarlet at Luna’s noticing her nosiness.

“Well, I wouldn’t really have read it to you,” Luna continued. “I just wanted you to know that I could.”

“Oh,” said Ginny, in an attempt to end the conversation. She turned back to the window.

“You’re unhappy,” Luna said.

“I beg your pardon,” Ginny said. She stared at Luna with incredulity.

Luna didn’t seem to notice Ginny’s indignation.

“I said ‘you’re unhappy,’” Luna repeated, increasing her speaking volume.

“I’m not unhappy,” Ginny said, making a gesture at Luna to lower her voice.

Luna blinked at her.

After a pause, Ginny caved. “Okay, okay. I might be a bit depressed, but it’s nothing, really. Please, go back to your…writing.”

Luna blinked again, obviously waiting for something more.

Ginny sighed in frustration. “It’s silly, really. I just feel…left out, I guess. Like I’m not worth much. I’m just the girl who got hoodwinked into channeling the Dark Lord. No one really takes me seriously.”

“I know what you mean,” Luna replied, nibbling on the end of her quill.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Great. Now, she was in the same boat as Looney Luna Lovegood. Just perfect. This conversation was making her feel so much better.

Luna went back to scratching ink into her journal, ignoring Ginny completely as if the exchange had never happened. Ginny shook her head in disbelief and turned again to stare all her misgivings out the window.

But after several minutes, Luna spoke again--without looking up from her writing.

“You are who you are, though, Ginevra.”

Ginny’s breath stopped in her throat for a moment, though she showed no outward signs of having heard.

They spent the rest of the journey in silence.