Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.
Chapter 16
Chapter Summary:
Everyone deserves to be loved, even Draco Malfoy, but can he choose between what is right and what is easy?
Posted:
06/17/2003
Hits:
476
Author's Note:
I know I am adding chapters sporadically and I apologize. This was written a long time ago for me so it is hard sometimes for me to remember to put it up.
“Tell me why no one’s listenin'.
Is there nothing at all left to say?
In a world so unforgiving
you mean more to me each every day…
”
-Flogging Molly “May the Living Be Dead (In Our Wake)”
Voldemort looked down at Draco, his eyes flashing coldly, his wand trained on Draco’s heart. “So, you’ve fallen in love with Potter?” he said, in a dangerous whisper. Draco’s throat was frozen in fear, and he lay prostrate on his back in front of the tall, dark-robed wizard. Clicking his tongue, Voldemort waved the wand a bit, his motions short and clipped with anger. “Did you father teach you nothing?” Then he turned sharply and called to unseen minions. “Bring her out!”
Draco’s mother, struggling against invisible bindings, was pushed into view by whoever lingered in the shadows of the unrecognizable surroundings. When her eyes landed on Draco, she cried out in desperation and tried to run to him, but only managed to fall onto the ground. Moaning, Draco tried to get to his feet to at least crawl to his mother, but fear had glued him to his place.
“Maybe this will remind you never to betray the Dark Side again,” Voldemort said, his voice a harsh whisper that froze the very blood in Draco’s veins. With flourish, the wizard that couldn’t possibly be a man, whipped around, pointed his wand at Draco’s mother. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
“No!” The scream ripped from Draco’s mouth so roughly and loudly it echoed over the clearing. But it was too late…his mother had stopped moving. Tears, unbidden and hot, ran down Draco’s face as he turned his face to Voldemort, who was looking at him with a hungry satisfaction.
“Why would you do this to me?” he begged. Voldemort shrugged uncharacteristically.
“Because you’re abnormal,” he said, except his voice was Lucius’ and his eyes had turned to the snobbish gray that plagued Draco’s everyday thoughts.
“Bastard!” Draco screamed, and suddenly the scenery melted and he was sitting up in his bed and panting. Someone lit the candles and ripped the curtain surrounding his bed away. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle, their eyes shadowed with sleep and all with looks of confusion and exhaustion, stared at him.
“What are you yelling about?” they all said at the same time, with Crabbe and Goyle dragging the sentence out excruciatingly long.
“Nightmare…” gasped Draco, staring straight ahead into the darkness and still hearing and seeing his mother’s final moments. It had been so real and frightening that he even though he was safe in his bed, his heart wouldn’t calm, and sweat dripped off him in tiny rivulets, soaking his hair.
Blaise sighed as Crabbe and Goyle grunted and lumbered back to bed. “Draco, honestly. You about gave me a heart attack.” His face was indeed pale and drawn, and he looked on Draco with genuine concern. But Draco was so panicked he couldn’t see, and only wanted to find Harry so someone could hold him and comfort him.
“Sorry,” he replied dryly. “Let me tell my mind to stop giving me nightmares.”
“Maybe if you weren’t sneaking off in the dead of night, maybe you’d sleep better!” accused Blaise, his comforting manner dropped, and his voice hurt and bitter. With his jaw dropped, Draco watched Blaise let the curtain fall back. The freshly lit candle was snuffed and Blaise jumped into bed loudly, letting the sounds imitate his anger.
Waiting an hour until Blaise’s angry breaths had melted to soft, measured breathing, Draco quietly slipped on his invisibility cloak and rushed from the dungeon. It was a blind run, until he could slow down and lean against a wall, pressing his face into the cold stone and weeping.
‘What is wrong with me?’ thought Draco as he slid to the floor and buried his face in his knees to muffle the pitiful crying. Life was peachy. He was supposed to be finished with wallowing in his misery over his mother! He was with Harry, he was in love, or so he thought. He shouldn’t be crying in dark hallways and having nightmares.
Once his crying had lessened, Draco listened with pricked ears to the sounds of the sleeping castle. The late November wind was fluttering by the windows, while the sounds of owls hooting from the Owlery, which wasn’t far from where he was sitting, provided soft music to almost fall asleep to.
But a different, misplaced sound made Draco freeze. It distinctly sounded like the shuffling of feet across stone, and it was coming closer. Draco made sure he was completely covered by the cloak and clamped his hand to his mouth to stop the lingering effects of his crying session.
Whispers that were barely recognizable cut through the air, but there was no one visible.
“Here,” one person said. For a moment there was no noise, and then two boys appeared in the middle of the hallway, out of no where. Biting back a yelp of surprise, Draco took in who it was.
Weasel had his arms crossed against tattered, too-small pajamas, and was looking at Harry, who looked frustrated and tired. “Can we talk here?” Weasel asked, his voice tight and unreadable. Harry ran a hand over his face and sighed.
“I don’t know why we had to come here at...,” he paused to glance at his wrist. Scowling, he waved his hand around and yanked off the watch. “I don’t know why I still wear this stupid thing…” he muttered, holding the watch to his ear. Draco noted and stored away that piece of information.
“Quit changing the subject,” Weasel said, his cheeks glowing red under his freckles, which weren’t as noticeable as they once were. Harry silently conceded, dropping the watch into the pockets of his quaint little pajama pants. “Harry, what has happened to you?” Weasel asked.
“What do you mean?” Harry said in a too innocent voice.
“You know damn well what I mean! The only time you talk to me and Hermione is to talk about the pain in your scar, You-Know-Who, and school work! You’re being nice to everyone, INCLUDING the Slytherins, and especially Ferret. I don’t know what happened to you, but Hermione agrees that it started after Halloween, when we left you after you dropped your stuff. You came back all weird, and now you’re a completely different person! What happened?”
Harry shifted on his feet, ducking his head and turning a bright, bright maroon. Clenching his fists so hard his nails came dangerously close to slicing the skin, Draco began to telepathically send the message ‘Don’t tell him anything’ to Harry.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to blow it out of proportion,” Harry began. Draco’s heart plummeted and his stomach leapt to his throat. ‘Don’t tell!’ Draco pleaded silently as Weasel uncrossed his arms, looking a little pale.
“Draco and I…” ‘Oh, please, no!’ “are friends now.” An immense, refreshing sense of relief washed over Draco, and he unclenched his fists and settled down again. Coloring, Weasel grabbed Harry’s arms and shook him as he spoke sternly.
“What is wrong with you? He’s Draco Malfoy. His father is Lucius Malfoy. He probably has cups of tea with You-Know-Who over the summer! Did you forget that we thought he was the heir of Slytherin in our second year? Has he brainwashed you?”
Shrugging Weasel off, Harry took a step back. “We talked. It is that simple. You and I aren’t dating,” Draco almost laughed at the irony, “I can have other friends.”
“I never said you couldn’t have other friends, or that we’re dating. But why him, of everyone else in this castle? In this country!”
“Because his mum died,” Harry said, holding his hands up, “and I know how that feels. Once you get past all that bitterness, he can be a pretty nice guy.” Weasel stuck fingers in his ears and grimaced.
“I’m not hearing this, I’m not hearing this,” he sang. Fighting back a smile and biting his lip, Harry pulled Weasel’s hands from his ears and looked at him pleadingly.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately. I’m trying to deal, okay? It’s taking a lot more effort than I thought it would.” Weasel studied Harry’s face, and then smiled reluctantly.
“Fine.”
“Friends?” Harry asked, holding out his hand. Weasel glanced at it, and then shook.
“Friends. But I am not, and will never be, friends with Ferret.”
“Fine.”
They walked off together, chuckling over their little tiff, leaving behind Draco to sit in disbelief. He had no idea what had just gone down. And he couldn’t remember when he had ever had a friend who would make up so quickly, and walk away laughing.
It hurt a little.
Pulling himself together and to his feet, Draco walked back to the Slytherin dungeons. At least the little trip had given him something—an idea for Harry’s Christmas present.
The next day during Physical Combat, as they worked on pinning their opponent, Draco had Harry pinned to the mat in the far corner. Professor Clio stopped by to look at them and smile.
“Very good,” she complimented, before rushing over to detangle a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Once they both got into attack stance, Harry quickly had Draco on his back and pinned against the mat. Both pretended that neither had intended to end up in the position—Harry straddling Draco—but their bright red faces gave it away. Thankfully, the Ravenclaw that Professor Clio had set off her wand, and people were occupied with that.
Gathering his courage, Draco looked up at Harry, who was resting his palms on Draco’s chest and watching the mayhem in the center of the room, and said, “Harry, I have something to tell you.”
Smirking, Harry looked down. “I know you’re gay.”
“Oh, you shut up,” Draco said, grinning. Harry smiled genuinely.
“What?”
“I…I heard you talking with Weasel last night…” he ventured. Harry frowned and got off him. Draco sat up, resting on his forearms.
“You were spying on me?” whispered Harry, exasperated. Draco shook his head.
“Of course not. I was…I was just wandering around and I was sitting against the wall when you came into the corridor, and I couldn’t leave because you’d hear me and Weasel probably would have hexed me.”
“True,” Harry said. He turned to Draco. “It’s just…Ron and I have been friends for so long, and I really, really, really hate having to hide this from him.” Draco nodded.
“I can’t give you advice. I don’t have a friend like that, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t like them that much anyway. I don’t like people.”
“Gee, really? And it is so hard to tell.”
“You’re cute when you’re sarcastic.”
“You’re cuter when you’re talking about how cute I am.” Under the premise of pinning Harry, Draco moved up and pressed Harry into the mat, shot of a discreet cloud of smoke in the slowly clearing chaos in the middle of the room, spurring everyone to action again, and they kissed.
They set it up so they could meet in the Great Hall at midnight, and both were fifteen minutes early. After they kissed and talked about meaningless things for a couple minutes, Harry held Draco at arms length, and looked him in the eyes.
“I have a really important question to ask you,” he said softly. Draco kissed him again.
“Shoot.”
“Do you still support Voldemort?” Immediately, Draco dropped his arms from around Harry’s waist and stepped back, disgusted.
“How could you ask me that?” he asked coldly.
“I need to know,” replied Harry.
Pacing, Draco tried to suppress his anger. Finally, he flew at Harry.
“My mother is dead and my father beats me because of that man. Of course I don’t support him. If I supported him, I guarantee you that you would be dead by now,” he said, his voice furious.
Instead of apologizing, Harry’s face brightened as he grabbed Draco’s wrist and exclaimed, “Follow me!” The sentence was ridiculous, because Draco didn’t have a choice. He was dragged by Harry, who moved at a quick pace and had a surprising amount of strength, through the castle. He didn’t realize where they were going until Harry skidded to a stop in front of a familiar looking gargoyle.
“Oh, no!” Draco said, trying to pull away. “What, are you going to prance up there and tell Dumbledore I converted? No,” he said. Harry rolled his eyes and gave the password and yanked Draco inside before he could scramble away.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” Draco chanted under his breath as they went up the winding stairs to Dumbledore’s office. “He’s probably asleep,” Draco protested as they grew level with the office door. But Harry just knocked once and almost immediately, Dumbledore opened the door.
“Ah, Harry, Mr. Malfoy, please, come in,” Dumbledore said, looking down at them fondly and moving to the side to let them in. Harry pulled Draco in but released his hand when Dumbledore turned around.
“What is this all about?” Draco said uneasily as both Dumbledore and Harry looked at him. Dumbledore’s eyes seemed like they could read Draco’s mind, and he wanted to hid behind Harry to protect his thoughts.
“Harry tells me that you have…converted?” Dumbledore said, smiling. Draco briefly wondered if he had heard them outside.
“I suppose you could put it that way…” Draco said, glancing at Harry. Smiling, Dumbledore reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment which he handed to Draco.
Accepting it, Draco unrolled it and read out loud, “’Order of the Golden Phoenix.’” He glanced up. “That sounds like a book title.” Harry nudged him.
“Just read it.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“’The Order of the Golden Phoenix is an order created by the original Aurors, made up of the most powerful wizards who remain on the side of truth and justice. They strive to rid the wizarding world of the threat of torture and fear.’” Draco stopped reading to lower the parchment. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Harry has insisted that you would be an important addition to this order. Your knowledge of the inner workings of the Death Eaters, coupled with one other spy’s, would be invaluable. But it would be under great personal risk. I know you suffered a loss that your mourned deeply at the hands of Voldemort, and your reluctance to join would be understandable, even encouraged, as this order requires great mental strength,” Dumbledore explained gravely, taking the parchment from Draco, rolling it back up, and putting it back in his robes.
“And if I refuse?” Draco asked. Harry sighed and placed his hand over his eyes. Frowning at Harry, Dumbledore pulled his wand from another fold in his robes.
“Then I will be forced to wipe your memory of this meeting.”
Stepping back from the wand, Draco said, “Not needed. I want to join.”
“Are you positive?” Dumbledore asked, fixing Draco with that damned stare.
After a beat, Draco drew himself up and squared his shoulders. Images of facing Lucius down and causing the defeat of the Dark Lord intrigued Draco. “Absolutely sure.”
Resting his hand on Draco’s shoulder, Dumbledore said with a smile, “Then, welcome, son.”
Draco couldn’t remember Lucius ever touching his shoulder like that. The memory, or lack thereof, only steeled his nerves even more.