Morality

(5) Schemes

The Weasley house -- if you could call it that -- had a warm atmosphere that seemed to cool visibly whenever Draco entered a room. Dinner had been terrible, to say the least. He had struggled with the urge to laugh at the awkward attempts at conversation.

They had finally set him up a place to sleep, and they seemed to have made sure that he would have no privacy at all. His "bed" just happened to be the couch in the living room, which was musty at best. But Draco took it without complaint. From his seat, he was easily able to observe the comings and goings of the Weasley cohorts, which he supposed was for the best anyway. Among the people traipsing through the house were the girl with the pink hair, Lupin, and another crazy ex-professor named Moody. He had expected to have them watching him constantly, but had found, much to his liking, that they seemed rather too busy to pay him notice. So he sat and did the only thing he could think of, twiddling his thumbs and peering through the archway into the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley could be seen running to and fro, her frizzy hair sticking out; he had yet to see her husband, who worked at the Ministry. He had seen another Ministry official, though, a bald-headed man whose name Draco couldn't remember. The man glanced at him, his eyebrows knitting together, before nodding cautiously in greeting. Returning the gesture, Draco went back to his nonchalant observation.

So the plan had been executed early, he thought. So what? As long as he managed it, Draco was fairly certain the Dark Lord wouldn't be calling him to the gallows anytime soon. He was rather proud of himself for managing to fool them, but he could tell from the way the youngest girl looked at him that she was fighting the impulse telling her to hex him. No doubt she had been told to lay off.

Granger and the Weasley boy had avoided looking at him at all costs, so he wasn't quite sure what to think. They would be hard-pressed to believe his innocence. He knew, despite the fact that the Order had decided he was honest, that his peers would be the ones most likely to figure him out. Besides the mudblood being too clever for her own good, she was also the one most likely to tell one of the members her suspicions. And Draco was sure she suspected him of much, though she had yet to voice any of her concerns.

"Malfoy, can I talk to you?" came a voice from the stairs. Looking up, he saw Granger peering down at him, biting her lip.

"Sure," Draco responded. He followed her up the stairs, hating the fact that he was being forced to be polite. If he had his way, she would be on the floor covered in boils. However, Draco refused to lose his cool. She stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs, leaning against the handrail. He paused a few stairs down. "We're talking here? Right here?"

"Ron doesn't want you in his room. Besides, this is far enough away that they won't hear."

Draco couldn't argue with that, so he came up the last few stairs and stood across from her, arms crossed over his chest and chin up proudly.

"Alright. So this is what I'm thinking. You know a ton of dark magic."

He waited for her to continue, but she only stared at him. "If by dark magic, you mean the unforgivable curses...yeah. I know those."

She nodded. "But you know other things too. I bet your father had a real collection of stuff at your house. After all, he had Riddle's diary, didn't he? So what I'm thinking, is that maybe you have access to some dark arts books."

Draco gave her an odd look. He couldn't help but be confused at this. Hermione Granger, goody two shoes to conquer all others, asking him about the dark arts. "We did have a large library. Some of the most dangerous texts were removed after my father was sent to Azkaban."

"I just need to know if you have access to the books."

"Unless I go back, which I can't do, there's no way to get the books."

"Right. That's all I wanted to know. You can go back downstairs now," she said, turning to go through a door. Draco stared after her, still confused. Giving it up as a bad job, he returned to his couch, only to find that it was occupied by the girl with the pink hair. She kept her eyes trained on him as he came into the room.

"Where'd you head off to, then?" she asked.

"Granger wanted to ask me a question."

He sat on the arm of the couch. This whole interrogation process was getting old, fast. The woman caught his eyes and said, "I don't care what Molly thinks. You're a snake in the grass."

Caught off-guard, Draco let himself shoot her a devilish grin that he would have otherwise restrained. "I'm glad you think that. I really need one more person distrusting me."

The girl only blinked at him once, twice, then rose and headed back into the kitchen, where Lupin stood, hands on hips. She said a few whispered words to him and Lupin replied equally softly. Draco turned away from them, deciding that it was as good a time as any to sleep. His eyes no sooner closed than he was enveloped in the murky dream-world he was quickly becoming accustomed to.

Tonight, like last night, Draco found himself in the dark, a figure towering above him. The black robes it wore hung loosely on its body, covering any skin that might have been exposed. Draco watched, fascinated, before hearing his father's voice in his ear, telling him all his failures. Seeing the Dark Lord for the first time, wretched and hovering. Dumbledore's voice, soothing and yet fearful in the way that no one seemed to notice.

The creature above him leaned down, bringing its face closer to Draco's. Pulling its hood back, he could see green flesh, rotting and scabbed; even worse was the smell that escapes its mouth. Draco tried to break away but couldn't. He knew what was about to happen, he was about to be Kissed by the Dementor. That was what it was. But just as the creature lowered its face to Draco's, that dream-world he occupied swirled away from him, dropping him in the middle of another familiar place.

The Dark Lord's voice, higher than natural and dangerous, with breathy gasps inbetween words. Draco found himself, his ear against a door, listening to Lord Voldemort speak. He cringed at the sound, as well as what they were saying. "The final battle is upon us, Severus. Does the boy know yet what it is he must do?"

The response was muffled, and the Dark Lord laughed.

"If that is so, then we have little to worry about. This plan is perfect." Draco heard a wand clatter to the floor; he realized it was his own. The door flung open, and just as Draco expected to be hit with the killing curse, he was again sucked out of that reality and into a new one.

Wormtail ran quickly through a forest, his face betraying the panic he felt. Looking back over his shoulder, Wormtail caught sight of Draco, and gave a sharp cry, stumbling over the underbrush. Shouting, so much shouting.

And then he woke up, a bright light shining down on him. Draco squinted to make out the figure above him. It was Ginny Weasley. She looked down at him, her brother Ron at her side.

"You're on our couch," they observed.

"You noticed? I rather thought in the clutter you would have missed me."

"You know what you're lacking?" Ginny asked angrily.

"A proper bed, nice clothes, good company?" he ventured.

"Morality, Malfoy. You have none."

Draco shrugged. "I could say the same for you, but we have different standards. Why are you downstairs anyway? What time is it?"

Ron glared fiercely. "You should be damn happy we even let you stay here. And it's morning already."

Sitting, Draco ran a hand through his hair casually. "Great. Why do you need my bed, again?" he questioned.

"Because it's our couch, and we'd like to sit here," Ginny answered.

Draco gave it up and headed into the kitchen, where a nutty-looking man sat at the table, drinking from a flask. He looked up when Draco entered, causing one of his eyes, to spin around in his head. It was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, he remembered. The teacher that had turned him into a ferret. Wonderful.

The man made a growling noise as Draco sat across from him at the table, before thrusting a bowl of what looked to be oatmeal at him. "Molly made this for you. Can't see why she bothered. I heard that imposter, Crouch, turned you into a ferret and bounced you all along the entrance hall. Best thing for you, I'd think."

It was too early to respond with any grace, so he opted for saying nothing at all, instead choosing to eat in silence. He glanced across the room to the large clock set atop a pile of laundry, only to remember that it showed nothing but the state of the Weasley brood. His watch was still at school with his other belongings, and the fact that he had still not received his school things irked him to no end. This constant irritation, coupled with the fact that Moody was staring at him with his magical eye, chased off any thoughts of a real meal. Draco pushed his bowl away sullenly.

"It's not poisoned, Malfoy," said a voice from the doorway. The Weasley girl stood, leaning against the wall, her eyes fixed on him. "Besides, it's oatmeal. How would you go about poisoning oatmeal, do you think?"

"You wouldn't tell me even if it were," he hissed.

She shrugged, her eyes flickering in amusement. "Guess you're smarter than you look. Anyway, since you're here, Mum thought she'd put you to good use. You're supposed to help me de-gnome the garden."

Draco smirked at her. "Lovely. I'll just go get my gardening gloves, then."

He made to go past her and into the living room, but she pushed him back. His eyes flashed dangerously, but the girl only cocked her head to the side and grinned. "Oh no, Malfoy. You're most definitely helping." She took his sleeve and pulled him outside.

He looked around at the messy yard. It wasn't nearly as well kept as Malfoy Manor's gardens, that was for sure. Draco watched as Weasley walked to a bush, bending down and yanking up a potato-shaped creature that was having a right good time shouting, "Gerroff me!"

"Have you ever done this before?" she asked, taking the gnome by the ankle and swinging it in circles above her head.

Draco shook his head, staring at the gnome pityingly. "No, I can't say that I have. Where I come from, we have money enough to pay people to do this sort of thing for us. Foreign concept to you, I suppose."

Shooting him a glare to rival a Slytherin's, she stopped spinning the gnome and threw it, hard, over the fence. Thinking back, Draco remembered that the girl was a Chaser at Quidditch, and that she wasn't half bad.

"Well, money can't get you out of doing real work here, Malfoy. You're going to have to suck up your pride. All you have to do is reach down and grab them, then swing them around a bit. After that, let it loose."

For some incomprehensible reason, Draco he did as he was told. The gnomes were emerging from below ground in great frequency, and he found himself enjoying the stress-relieving repetition.

"It's not hard at all, is it Malfoy?" she asked.

"No, Weasley, though that one I just chucked over there bit me." He looked at his hand, but there were only small bite marks. They continued like this for a while, exchanging pleasant enough banter, until Mrs. Weasley came outside to bring them in.

"Good job, Malfoy. I didn't know if you had it in you."

Draco shot a look at her. "I'm not weak, Weasley."

"No," she replied. "Just evil."

He stared after her. Mrs. Weasley apparently had heard her comment, and Draco was pleased to see her get a few words of reprimand before Mrs. Weasley waved him indoors.

"I'm sorry about Ginny," she told him as he sat at the table. "She really does mean well. It might just take a short while for her to warm up. I'm sure you two would get along just fine if you spent a little more time getting to know each other."

Ginny was watching their exchange from the couch. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"I'm sure Ginny and I will be great pals," Draco said, hiding any traces of scorn from his voice. Mrs. Weasley seemed not to notice his jibe, but the girl did. She glared at him, and Draco added, "Isn't that right, Ginny?"

"Oh, yeah. Completely right, Malfoy. We're going to be best friends and start crocheting together."

"That's enough, Ginevra," Mrs. Weasley interrupted.

"Is that your full name?" questioned Draco. Ginny ignored him, looking pointedly at the wall. Laughing, Draco sat at the table and finished his oatmeal.

Mrs. Weasley stood at the sink, looking out the window expectantly. "He should be arriving any moment now," she muttered.

Raising his eyebrows, Draco asked her, "Who?"

"Ah, there he is!"

A moment later, the door banged open and Lupin stumbled in, carrying a black chest with a silver and green crest embossed on it. Draco jumped up, eager to have it. Lupin handed it over gladly and Draco pulled it into the living room. He sat on the couch next to Ginny, who scooted as far as she could to the other side.

"I couldn't seem to get the lock open," Lupin admitted blandly.

"That is because," Draco replied, sweeping his hand across the lock and hearing the echoing click, "only a Malfoy can open it." Pulling the lid up, he smiled, seeing all of his clothes folded neatly inside.

Lupin nodded, coming forward. "Before we let you have that, we have to search it and make sure there's nothing dangerous inside. I'm sure you understand." He indicated that Draco should scoot closer to Ginny to allow Lupin a seat. Ginny seemed very uncomfortable at having to be in such close proximity to him. Draco cast her a smirk and leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Watching interestedly, Draco saw Lupin pulling out his shirts, one by one checking the pockets. Lupin deposited the shirts in a messy pile, which left Draco gritting his teeth. After he had finished with the clothing, he handed them all to Draco, who immediately began the folding process.

"I suppose I should thank you for returning this to me," he conceded.

"Molly said you hadn't any clothes, and I realized you must have left yours at Hogwarts. I had one of the teachers retrieve them for me. So."

Lupin pulled out a few spell books, checking inside to see if there were any papers inbetween the pages. Then he moved onto the paraphernalia: a ring with the Malfoy emblem, spare parchment and quills, a collapsible cauldron, and Draco's watch. He checked them all quickly, before shoving them back into the trunk. Draco snatched the Malfoy ring and watch out of the werewolf's hands. He put them on gladly.

Then, he set about returning his clothes to the trunk, leaving out a new outfit to replace this one that he had been wearing for...so long, Draco shuddered at the though. Ginny was still sitting to his left, her face contorted in an awkward manner. She breathed a sigh of relief as Lupin stood and vacated the couch, giving Draco room to move over.

"Where can I change?" he asked her. She gestured upstairs and muttered directions to the bathroom. He changed and returned downstairs, feeling much more himself.

The Weasley girl was still sitting on the couch looking bored. Sitting beside her, he glanced towards the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley and Lupin stood, conversing quietly.

"What are you doing?" Draco inquired, trying to maintain his politeness.

"SHH," she hissed.

Draco did, turning his ear to listen to what they were saying. "Completely free of any dark objects. Surprising, yes, I know. However, I still don't think--" Lupin was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley.

"You know, he is just a child."

"Perhaps, Molly. But you know as well as I do -- that child, as you say, will bring chaos and danger to us. He reeks of ill-intent."

Draco turned away, knowing exactly who they were talking about. Ginny caught his eyes, her mouth parted slightly. Draco could tell she was about to apologize -- that's what the goodies did.

"Don't bother," he growled. "I know you think it too." He rose, heading upstairs. He had no idea where he was going, but he continued up several flights of stairs until he heard voices emanating from behind a closed door.

"This says that a Horcrux can be almost anything. Even a living thing. I don't think that would be the best way to go about it, though. Do you?"

He could hear the Weasley boy's reply. "Erm. Well. I don't know."

"But, perhaps You-Know-Who doesn't care about that, and really what he cares about is--" Draco jumped as a furry ginger animal pounced on his leg, attacking viciously with its abnormally sharp claws.

"SHH!" he heard from inside the room. Then the door swung wide; from inside, Granger and Weasley stared at him as if he had grown an extra head. Draco was stuck doing something like an Irish jig in an attempt to shake the cat off. Finally looking down, Granger made a move to pull the creature off him, and Draco heaved a sigh of relief as she held it tightly in her arms.

"You were eavesdropping," she announced loudly.

"I was most certainly not!" he lied.

"Oh yeah you were. We set Crookshanks as a guard, to keep out any intruders."

"Namely, you," Granger said.

Draco's mouth hung open, but he regained his senses and shut it quickly. "Well, I might have been walking by and caught a few words. But nothing more."

Raising an eyebrow, the girl stared at him. "Right. But you might as well go back downstairs, seeing as there's no way we're letting you inside."

Draco shrugged and turned to go back downstairs, but instead of heading down, he chose to sit on the landing and think.

This new mission was, surprisingly, not turning out to be as difficult as he had anticipated. It was, however, becoming increasingly boring. Without some company, he felt he was likely to go off the deep end. However, there was one problem with the matter of company.

The only person even remotely likely to spend even a short amount of time with him was the Weasley daughter, Ginny. And she didn't seem too keen on that. But, he thought, there had to be a way. There just had to be.

Besides, she had dated the famous Harry Potter. If anyone knew how to go about dealing with him, it would probably be her.

"Yes," Draco muttered to himself. "I do believe we'll make great friends."