Perfect Potter

"I've been waiting

a long time

for this moment to come..."

- "Waiting" Green Day

After the partners had all been chosen and the moans died down, Snape waved his wand at a chalkboard, and a list of ingredients, followed by a short recipe, appeared on it. Snape stood and looked at the class, who was already thoroughly disgusted with him.

"You will complete this Veritaserum potion today, and then it shall simmer until we next meet. It must have a specific length of simmering, and must be done perfectly or there will be serious side effects."

Neville looked at Snape with horror, and then let his head fall to the desk with a thump. Blaise, his partner, looked at him then buried his face in his hands. Draco sneaked a sideways glance at Potter, who was staring determinably at the ceiling.

Glowering at the snub, Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote the ingredients down, pausing to make sure he had each one. He was running low on powdered bicorn horn, and the bundimun secretion they were going to need, two ingredients he had completely forgotten to buy at Diagon Alley.

"Potter, will you grow up and get out some bicorn horn and bundimun secretion? I don't have much, and we need quite a bit," hissed Draco, lighting the fire underneath the cauldron. Potter eyed him suspiciously, and Draco knew he need to insult Potter somehow, but his heart wasn't in it. This must've surprised Potter into compliance, as he pulled out his materials and pulled the parchment over to him.

"We have to add the crushed scarab beetles and spider legs at the exact same time."

"Yeah, but not until after we add the dried nettles."

There was an air of civility as Potter crushed the scarab beetles and Draco carefully stirred the bicorn horn powder into the bundimun secretion. More than a couple groups were watching the two, especially Weasel and Granger, waiting for some big blow up, but they were disappointed. There was only the frigid air around each brusque sentence, and the silent refusal to say each other's name.

Finally something happened. Potter had been measuring the mixture of bicorn horn and bundimun secretion when Neville and Blaise's cauldron let out a sharp bang. Potter yelped, and dropped the mixture and glass bottle straight on Draco's hand. Snatching his hand away, Draco bit his shout of pain back. He rushed over to the stone sink and washed the burning mixture off his hand. When he turned back, the class, including Snape, was watching with baited breath. Draco tried to imagine what they were all thinking. Perhaps he would curse Potter, or just plain punch him.

Grinning inwardly at how disappointed they would all be, he only said offhandedly, "Watch that," and positioned the spider legs over the cauldron. "We have to pour this and the beetles in now, right?" he said peacefully, looking at Potter. The whole class was gaping at him, and Potter looked stunned, and he had definitely paled.

But he realized this was, while not an offering of the olive branch, but a short pause of hostility, picked up the crushed beetles and held them over the cauldron. "On three...one...two...three..." they tipped their bowls forward, and when the two ingredients hit the dark blue potion, the cauldron gave a sputter, then the whole potion went absolutely clear. Draco leaned in to look at it.

"It looks like water."

"As it should," said Snape, who had gotten over his own surprise at the truce seconds after it had happened. "Take it off the heat and cover it to let it simmer to full power. Good job, Mr. Malfoy," he glanced at Potter, who looked affronted, before adding, "and you, Potter."

At the end of class, Draco was instantly joined by Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle, all who were regarding him with looks of suspicion.

But the confusion in their eyes barely reached the fever pitch that danced in Weasel and Granger's eyes, who stared at Draco as he left the dungeon. He felt their eyes on him as they turned one way for their next class and he headed off to the North Tower for Divination.

Professor Trelawney was waiting in her normal poof chair, and Draco chose a seat near the back. He had always hated this class and didn't really find Divination to be a true branch of magic. He had thought often while listening to Professor Trelawney babble on about inner eyes and tea leaves, that it had been created to occupy all the loonies in the wizarding world.

"Welcome to another year of Divination," Professor Trelawney said once everyone had been seated, "I do hope you've exercised you're inner eye over the summer. This year will be a tumultuous time for all, especially for one in our class, who will be forced to choose between his family and his feelings."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as she brushed up and down the aisles, randomly pointing at some students and making such a vague prediction that it was bound to come true sooner or later. Draco stared at the crystal ball at the front, full of smoke and indistinguishable shapes. Soon Trelawney was upon him.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy. I daresay this year will be both your best and your worst. Choose wisely your path, for it will define your whole life." With that, she billowed past. Draco sat stunned for a moment. Had she meant him when she made her normal opening prediction? Draco knew it was probably just the babbling of a crazy old woman, but her nonsense had left him feeling anxious.

"This semester we shall be doing palm reading and tarot cards. Tarot was first used by the group of witches and wizards who called themselves Pagans. We use it now, but ours are enchanted to read much more than the ones Muggles purchase."

The class went to the front to choose withered decks, then listened in a dull stupor as Trelawney described each card, and they were forced to write down each description. Then she passed out a small but thick book on palmistry. "I expect this to be half-way done by next class," Trelawney said airily. Draco looked with despair at the book in his hands, and at the tarot cards scattered on the desk. The last thing he needed was to have an entire class armed with articles that could supposedly see everything about a person.

He trudged from Divination with a heavy heart, and was withdrawn through dinner. He was dimly aware that many eyes, from all houses, were on him, but he didn't understand why. Assuming it was concerning the Potions episode, he felt a dull fire in his stomach. Why was that such a big thing to get worried over?

When he stood to go to his dormitory to curl up in his bed and dream about death, more than a few heads turned his way. Pansy Parkinson followed him into the hallway, then he felt her wrap her arms around him from behind. "Oh, Dracy-poo," she sobbed into his shoulder, "I'm so sorry!"

Pushing her back, disgusted with the nickname and the feel of her arms on him, Draco demanded, "What are you talking about, woman?" Pansy looked at him in confusion, then held up a special edition Daily Prophet. It took a moment for the headline to hit Draco, but when it did, it did it all full force.

He jerked it from her hands and read.

----

Ex-school governor and prominent figure Lucius Malfoy is a fugitive from the Ministry of Magic, Sarah Erato of the Daily Prophet reports. Malfoy, sought in question concerning activities of Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup last summer, was discovered missing from his manor early Monday morning. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, who claims innocence, says Malfoy brought a suitcase with him to Platform 9 ¾ and apparated after dropping off their son, Draco Malfoy, at the Hogwarts Express. Draco is starting his fifth year at Hogwarts, and could not be contact at press time.

"[Lucius] claimed he was on the way to a business meeting," Narcissa Malfoy told reporters this morning, "and I had no idea that he wasn't going to be coming back." At this point, she burst into tears and was led back into her manor by her mother.

A source in the Ministry who requested to remain anonymous said this on Lucius: "The man cannot be trusted. The whole family cannot be trusted. I don't believe for a second that Narcissa and Draco Malfoy are innocent of activities concerning the Dark Arts, or at least know of Lucius' activities."

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, refused to confirm or deny the rampant rumours that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had risen again, nor could he confirm or deny is Lucius Malfoy is to be arrested.

"He is simply wanted for questioning. And I again must stress that regardless what you have heard, You-Know-Who has not risen again."

Last June, the newly revived Triwizard tournament ended in tragedy with the death of Cedric Diggory. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was also involved somehow in the events leading up to Diggory's death, but efforts by reporters to reach the boy for question were blocked by Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

----

Draco looked up at Pansy in shock, his jaw hanging open. The story went on to highlight the history of the accusations against Lucius Malfoy, but Draco knew those. What he was most shocked about was how he himself had been blatantly targeted as a member of Voldemort's minions.

Once his breathing had slowed, he realized he probably looked and acted like someone who would be practicing the Dark Arts. But that was irrelevant. He was mortified that they had hounded his mother like that, and desperately wanted to get home to her.

"Those meddling...fools..." Pansy sobbed, "I cannot wait until the Dark Lord strikes them all down."

"Right..." Draco said quietly, glancing at the moving file photo of his father on the paper in his shaking hands, "meddling bastards."

"Don't worry though," Blaise said, coming out of the Great Hall, "no doubt your father has gone to Voldemort. That's probably the best thing to do. My mum was thinking about not making me come here this year and instead sending me with my father, but oh well, right? We can keep an eye on precious little Dumbledore, and his precious little Potter. I plan on watching that boy like a hawk, and telling my dad everything."

"I just want to throttle him. Him, and his friends," hissed Pansy, her cheeks coloring slightly. Draco listened to the conversation with half an ear. So this is what it was like during war. The drawing of the lines of loyalty had begun. Shaking his head, he pulled out of his reverie.

Trying to sound exhausted, he yawned and said, "Well, I'm going to go write to my mother, and go to bed. Don't worry about my father," he gave a chuckle, hoping it sounded evil and light, "the Dark Lord probably has him covered." Pansy nodded sympathetically, patting his arm and going back to the Great Hall. Blaise lingered a moment, then punched Draco's shoulder as if they were friends and saying, "Yeah. You know, your father and mine would make a great team. They could probably rid the world of Mudbloods all by themselves."

Forcing a laugh, Draco slugged Blaise back, a little harder than friends would, and turned to go back to his dormitory. Every step down the winding Hogwarts staircases prompted his mind to think of more and more reasons why his father would run, not just lie. He had been questioned before, there was no reason why he couldn't lie again.

Was this the beginning of the end? Was Voldemort finally launching his war on the Ministry, so soon after his resurrection?

And who was Draco supposed to support?

~

Chapter 5

"cast out buried in a hole

struck down forcing me to fall

destroyed giving up the fight

well I know I'm not alright"

--Green Day "Stuck With Me"

That night, after Draco realized sleeping was a futile wish, he crawled from bed, pulled on some robes and went for a night stroll. He commonly did this sort of thing at the manor, wandering until he was too tired to move, or until he met a servant, who would lead him to bed again.

As he walked, he rubbed his hand, wincing as his fingers trailed over the tender skin. He had a bruise in the perfect shape of the glass bottle. Now that the pain had really settled in, he wished dearly that he could have yelled at Potter. The momentary pleasure of disappointing his classmates didn't measure up to the want to let Potter have it.

Hogwarts was eerily quiet at four in the morning, the bustling hallways now empty of students. Draco knew he was lucky that Filch's cat Mrs. Norris never came into the dungeons this late at night. Last thing he wanted was detention in the first week of school.

Draco's wandering brought him to the stairs leading up to the main hallways onto the Great Hall and the foyer, but Draco sat down on one of the steps and began to meditate. He felt ridiculous, knowing very well that Dumbledore could have some system of spying on the students, besides the obvious Filch and the system of portraits. But the staircase was void of portraits and cats and crotchety Squibs.

He was halfway through a breathing exercise when he heard footsteps behind him. Panicking, he turned quickly, flinging his arm out. There was nothing visible to the naked eye, but his arm caught someone's leg. With an almighty 'argh!', he and the person tumbled down the stairs.

But there was still no one there.

Peeves appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down at Draco. "Eh, eh, students a walkin' and students a talkin' when they should be a sleepin'," teased Peeves, dancing mid air. He looked delighted to have caught Draco.

The person that Draco had pulled down with him was lying on Draco's arm, and he lost it and yanked at the thin air. To his surprise, his hand grabbed a bundle of silk robes and pulled them away. Out of no where, Potter appeared. He looked at Draco in horror, then they both turned their attentions to Peeves, who was looking in shock between the two of them.

"I'm thinking Mr. Argus Filch would like to know where you all is going. Should I call him?" Peeves dropped his head back, opened his mouth, and screeched, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED!"

"Run!" Draco yelped, grabbing Potter's arm, but Potter needed no coaxing. The two boys dashed down the hallway, deeper into the bowels of the castle. But they could hear Peeves cackling as he zoomed after them, intent on leading Filch to them.

"In here!" Draco hissed, pulling on Potter's wrist and shoving him into a deep crevice in the wall that Draco had found in his first year. After Potter had squeezed in, Draco followed, and just in time, as Peeves rounded the corner and zoomed past the crack.

The only sound was the panting of Draco and Potter as they leaned against the damp stone. When it was assured that neither Filch nor Peeves was coming back, Potter whispered, "Thanks."

"What the hell did you have on?" hissed Draco, painfully away that all the nerve ends of the parts that touched Potter danced and sang with joy.

"An invisibility cloak. My fathers," gasped Potter. "What were you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep. What about you?"

"Same." There was a pause, then Potter said in a croaky voice, "Do you think it's safe to go outside now?"

Blushing and grateful for the cover of darkness, Draco eased from the crevice, glancing up and down the corridor. "It's safe."

Potter slipped out of the split in the way and the two boys stood uncomfortably in the hall. The loud silence was interrupted by both their stomachs grumbling. They both had been trying to have serious expression, but Potter snorted and Draco grinned.

"Hungry?" said Potter jokingly. Draco gave a brisk nod.

"Well, my stomach doesn't grumble for the hell of it," said Draco, putting far more venom in his voice than he wanted too. Potter jolted, and his ears were stained red, but he said, in a meeker voice than before, "I know how to get food from the kitchens."

"Why the bloody hell do you care if I go hungry or not?"

It became too much for Potter. "Okay, fine, Malfoy. Forget it. I was trying to be nice. I don't know if your father ever taught you that...oh, wait. Sorry, you haven't talked to him lately; he's too busy being a Death Eater."

Draco felt anger and despair fighting for dominance in his stomach. "Shut up."

"Well, I am pretty damn sick of getting whiplash every time I talk to you."

Throwing his hands up, Draco countered, "Fine! Let's go to the bloody kitchens!" Potter held up the Invisibility Cloak and gave Draco a knowing look. Draco's shoulders slumped.

"Oh bloody hell," he cursed as they draped it over themselves and began to manoeuvre, making it an art trying to keep from touching each other and still remaining under the protection of the cloak.

Potter knew the way, and Draco had to watch the boy's feet to keep up with him, but soon enough, they were standing in front of a large painting of some fruit. Potter reached up and seemed to tickle the gigantic pear, which wheezed and chuckled before morphing into large green handle. Potter reached out and yanked it open, and Draco and he climbed into the large room.

Draco gaped at the frenzied activity of the house elves as they prepared for breakfast the following morning. They looked downright chipper as they fried bacon, extracted fresh pumpkin juice, and prepared pancakes.

There was a sudden yelp from the back, and a green blur as an elf raced forward and flung itself at Potter. It wrapped its arms around Potter as hard as it could and said with delight, "Master Harry Potter!"

Draco expect Potter to peel the elf off his legs, but he instead beamed down at the elf and said, "Hello, Dobby."

Jolting, Draco realized the little elf was indeed Dobby, his old servant. Dobby was almost unrecognizable. He was wearing a tea cozy upon his head, a horribly ugly shrunken maroon sweater with a vomit-green tie, and two different socks. He was certainly fatter than Draco remembered, and he had always seen the long, pencil thin fingers bandaged from Dobby's self-imposed punishments.

Dobby spotted Draco too, and pulled from Potter. "What is Draco Malfoy wanting? I is not serving my old masters anymore!" Draco blushed and stepped back. It was amazing that not only did the human species detest his presence, but servants did as well.

Reading his body language, Potter said to Dobby quietly, "Don't worry, Dobby, we were just hungry." Dobby looked suspicious, but the other elves perked when they heard Potter say this, and in moments they appeared again with platter laden with food and sweets.

"Wow!" Draco exclaimed. The elves bowed as the two boys picked from the platters. Potter lingered to speak with Dobby, who was talking rapidly about life as a paid house elf. Draco chewed on a mexerica orange, a fruit that you couldn't chew up enough to swallow, but instead drank the juices and then spit out the pulp, as he wandered through the front of the kitchen.

The elves courteously bowed to him as he walked by, and for his own entertainment, he bowed back occasionally. Eventually, Potter came over and told them they had best be getting back to their dormitories, since pretty soon the teachers would be up and about, and it was difficult to manoeuvre around people with two people under the cloak. After saying goodbye to Dobby, they began to slip out, and Draco was surprised as he heard Dobby yelp, "Good bye, Draco Malfoy!"

Draco inwardly shuddered, and was instantly ashamed. His own name disgusted him. They were silent as they made their way back down to the stairs leading to the dungeon. Draco ducked out from under the cloak and Potter momentarily let the hood fall, so his head hovered mid air.

"This doesn't mean we're friends," murmured Draco. Potter shook his head.

"Yeah."

"Because I don't want to be friends with a goody-goody, teacher's pet, valiant Gryffindor," continued Draco, studying Potter's face.

"And I," retorted Potter, frowning, "would rather pluck my eyes out with wooden spoons than be friends with a back-stabbing, Voldemort supporting Slytherin."

Spinning on his heel, Draco stomped down the stairs and went back to his dormitory. He got three and a half hours worth of sleep before Blaise ripped open the curtains and nudged him. "Come on, Draco, breakfast."

Rubbing his eyes and moaning, Draco pulled on his robes and trudged from the room after glancing in the mirror. His face was marred with deep bags under each eye. When he got to the Great Hall and glanced at the Gryffindor table, he saw that Potter looked no better. Weasel was listening to Potter talk, and he kept shooting daggers at Draco with his eyes.

Honestly, you go to the kitchens once with your arch-enemy and the whole world is against you.

Pansy looked carefully at Draco's face, her own mousy face screwed up in worry. "Oh, Draco, you look awful. It looks like you didn't get any sleep and..." she reached out and touched the almost invisible bruise on Draco's cheek from his father, then her finger traveled to the scabbed cut on his forehead. "You have a bruise and the cut looks awful!"

"Uh..." Draco muttered, scouring his mind for an answer. "I got in a...in a fight...last night."

There was a couple gasps. "With who?" eagerly asked Blaise. Draco cast a glance at Potter, who was being examined by Granger, and looked just as desperate for a reason to the questions Weasel was obviously firing at him.

"With...Potter. With Harry Potter," Draco said in finality.

Everyone seemed happy with the response, and Draco began to worry that Potter would be telling a different story, or worse, the real story.

Both boys' qualms were put to rest in the corridor, when Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from the Great Hall to be faced with Potter, Granger, Weasel, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan. The two groups glared at each other, until Pansy hissed at Granger.

"All you Gryffindors better leave us Slytherins alone, especially you, Beaver." The name was irrelevant, since Granger's teeth had somehow shrunken last year, but it obviously was still a sore spot with her, because she bristled at the insult and Weasel came to her offense.

"You should talk," he said, and Draco scoffed at the pitiful insult. Weasel's attention went to him.

"And what about you? Picking fights in hallways late at night?" Draco glanced at Potter, who was blushing and looking away. How...pleasant...that their stories should coincide with each other.

"Piss off," replied Draco, glaring at Weasel.

"Come on, Ron, let's go," Granger said, turning her nose up at Pansy and grabbing her friends arm. Weasel gave Draco one last cold stare and muttered, "Fag."

Draco launched himself at Weasel, bringing him tumbling to the floor, as Granger screamed.