Catharsis

Harry walked slowly through the corridors, once again caught up in his previous night's dream. He had run to Dumbledore the next day, dream journal in hand, horrified by the possibility that the vision might have been true. Dumbledore's expression had been grim, as he read the journal entry, and he had sat silent for many long moments while Harry had counted the ticks of the clock. Seventy-five ticks later, Dumbledore had said in a quiet voice, "This bears looking into." Then he sent Harry away, with a promise to call for him if any information were to turn up.

Now, it was late Saturday night, and he couldn't sleep. It was no surprise, after a dream like that, but it was in no way comforting either. So he did what he usually did when he couldn't sleep. He walked. And thought.

As he paused before a door on the third floor corridor, it occurred to him that his footsteps had once again taken him to the piano room. It was entirely quiet. Mild curiosity caused him to push open the door. A wish for silence and solitude made him step in side and close the door behind him.

Harry stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room. The waning moon hadn't yet reached the western sky, but there was just enough light to pick out a figure sitting in the window. That pale blond hair really gives him away, Harry thought. "Malfoy?"

Draco glanced toward him, but didn't reply. Harry cautiously stepped closer. "Malfoy, are you okay?"

Draco sighed quietly. "Sure, Potter. I'm just dandy. I have an essay I haven't completed, and I always do my best work when I'm suffering from a sleep deficit." He stared out the window, his face a dispassionate mask.

"You can't sleep either, eh?" Harry sat at the piano bench and regarded Draco intently. "What's going on?"

"Oh, the usual Death Eater stuff," Draco replied morosely. "What about you?"

"Nightmares," Harry blurted out without thinking.

Draco looked at him. "I'm not surprised. If I were you I don't know that I'd ever get a decent night's sleep."

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. Was Draco identifying with him? Not for the first time, Harry wondered what had happened to the Draco Malfoy he had sparred with over the past five years.

They let the silence fall between them, and then Harry spoke again. "So what's going on?"

"Truly?" Draco pulled his knees up against his chest. It was an uncharacteristic gesture of vulnerability, and it gave Harry a twinge to see him like that. "I got a letter from my father. He's going to take me to be Marked." He laughed, without humour. "Marked - that's what we call it. Like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant. No wonder the Death Eaters are all such a bunch of dysfunctional assholes."

Harry would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so obviously serious. "Draco," he said instead, "you've got to get some help. This won't wait until Halloween anymore."

"Yes, yes," Draco replied, crankily. "I've got to go to Dumbledore. I'm way ahead of you, Potter." He sighed again. "I just don't like it. I don't like being out of options. Do you realize I was seriously considering running away from home?"

"Oh?"

"Yes," Draco slid his palm against the cold glass. "The only thing stopping me is that I know, I know he'd send people after me. And I know they'd catch up with me eventually. And I really know I wouldn't like the results of that." He turned his face to Harry, a mirthless smile on his lips. "'The ultimate in intelligence is to know the limits of it.' I forget who said that to me. I'm clever enough to know I wouldn't fancy a life on the run."

"Wouldn't be very comfortable, I suppose."

Draco shrugged. "I suppose not." He swung his legs around and dangled them from the window-seat. His feet barely touched the floor. He stood and walked to the piano, Harry automatically making room for him at the bench. Sliding back the keyboard cover, he sat silent and motionless for a moment, his eyes closed as if meditating.

Harry broke the silence. "Do you want me to go with you?" He felt immensely foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. Why would Malfoy want moral support from him?

"What?" Draco looked up with a startled expression, his hands on the keyboard.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Harry repeated, raising his chin. "To see Dumbledore."

"I don't need anyone to hold my hand, Potter," Draco scoffed, but surprisingly he didn't seem annoyed.

"That wasn't what I was offering," Harry said firmly. "I just thought you might like some company."

Draco's fingers moved in silent patterns across the keys. "All right," he said, finally. "You can come with me. I suppose you want to hear what I have to say to him anyway. I don't mind indulging your curiosity, Potter." His lips twisted into a familiar smirk.

"Believe what you like, Malfoy," Harry replied evenly. "But answer me this - would you be going to see him if I hadn't insisted?"

"Probably not," Draco allowed, reluctantly.

"Right then," Harry nodded, satisfied. "You owe me." He stood and started for the door, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Malfoy favoured him with a sardonic smile. "My saviour."

Harry spun around to stare at Malfoy. "Don't say that!"

Malfoy grimaced. "What?"

"I'm not anyone's saviour." Harry was backing away, looking very upset. Malfoy frowned. "I'm not. That's the problem, you see." Harry's expression twisted as he backed slowly to the door, where he stopped, clutching the doorframe. In his mind's eye he saw Cedric's parents again, and Cedric's lifeless body. The cabin in the woods. The bundle in the water. The dead man on the floor, and the woman hanging from the rafters.

"What are you raving about now, Potter?" Malfoy's voice sounded harsher than he meant to be.

"I'm not a hero," Harry blurted out. "I couldn't stop Voldemort from killing Cedric, and I don't think I can stop him from killing anyone else. I'm a... a curse, and I'm going to get my friends killed. I'm a danger to the people I care about the most." His eyes blurred as he fumbled with the latch. I'm not going to cry! I'm not going to cry in front of Malfoy! I'm not! He wrenched at the door furiously and it finally opened. He pelted down the hallway, not caring if anyone saw him.

By the time he got back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry was sobbing with pain and fear. He collapsed against the stone wall and sank to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. He sat like that, forehead against his knees, tears streaming down his face, for several minutes. When he finally pulled himself through the portrait-hole and dragged himself up to his dorm, he felt completely wrung out, like an old dishrag. An old wet dishrag, he realized as he pulled off his trousers, which were damp at the knees. Harry pulled on dry pyjamas and fell into bed, tiredly wondering again when this was supposed to get better.

Malfoy stared stupidly at the door as it swung closed with a click. With a groan that was part frustration and part pain, he got up and walked to the windows. Leaning his head against the cool glass, Draco just stared at the night sky until he noticed the waning moon hanging low in the western sky. He finally stumbled back to his dormitory where he collapsed on his bed, too exhausted even to undress.

***************************************************************

Monday afternoon, Draco met Harry by the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. They were expected - Harry had made sure of that. Draco wasn't sure what he thought about Potter's close relationship with the Headmaster, but it smacked faintly of favouritism.

"Sea Foam," Harry spoke the password. The gargoyle leaped aside and the wall split open, creating an entrance. A circular staircase could be seen just inside. Draco gestured for Harry to go first.

The moving spiral staircase carried them up to Dumbledore's office. Draco fixed his eyes on the steps directly in front of him, watching Harry's shoes making their circular way up the stairs. The heavy wooden door was standing open.

"Please do come in, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore called from inside the office. They entered the room tentatively, looking around. The Headmaster was not to be seen. "Have a seat. I'll join you momentarily." The voice seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere.

Harry took the seat farthest away from the desk, gesturing to Draco to take the nearer chair. He sat uneasily.

"You look tired," Harry said, frowning.

"I didn't sleep well," Draco said flatly, folding his robes into pleats over his knees. He locked his fingers together and laid his hands on his lap.

They both looked up as Dumbledore entered the room. He had a jar under one arm, and a handful of papers in the other. "Just finishing up some filing," he said cheerily as he swept to the desk and seated himself in a flurry of robes. He set the papers on the corner of the desk and opened the jar. "Lemon drop?" he asked, offering the jar first to Harry, and then to Draco, who was startled at the concept of the Headmaster offering sweets.

Dumbledore folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. "Mister Malfoy," he began. "Mister Potter tells me that you have something you wish to discuss."

"Yes sir," Draco replied, looking Dumbledore straight in the eye. His father had trained him well. Any time you are being called to account for your actions, Draco, you must meet their eyes directly and speak without hesitation. Show neither fear nor guile.

Draco was working hard not to show fear. It was not so much that he was afraid of Dumbledore - Harry was right, the Headmaster was an essentially good person, and not to be feared - under most circumstances, he amended. It was mostly that his situation was serious, the consequences of which were looking to be truly fearful. He thought Dumbledore looked moderately approachable, however, and that was encouraging.

"I had a conversation with my father this summer," he began, and despite his training and best intentions, he found himself glancing to Harry. The other boy simply nodded for him to continue. Draco took a steadying breath. "You must understand something, sir, before I continue." Dumbledore looked at him intently from behind his half-moon spectacles, and nodded. "My family is... well, we value our privacy, sir. Malfoy family business is not to be discussed outside the family. This is how I was brought up, what I believed my whole life." He fell silent, staring at his hands.

"And I take it that something has changed, which now requires you to reveal what would normally be considered Malfoy family business." Dumbledore's soft voice caused him to look up at the Headmaster. "I understand, my boy. Please be assured that any information you share with me will not leave this office. If there's one thing I do know, it's how to keep a secret."

Draco stared at the Headmaster as it suddenly occurred to him just how many secrets Dumbledore was likely to have been privy to over the many years of his long life. "Yes sir." He licked his lips, wishing for a glass of water. "It's about the Death Eaters," he blurted out in an uncharacteristic and decidedly un-Slytherin rush of words. "My father..."

Dumbledore turned away from the boys for a moment, and when he turned back it was with a pitcher of pumpkin juice and three glasses on a small metal tray decorated with flowering pumpkin vines. "Draco." He poured the glasses full and set one before each boy, and one for himself. "Draco, I may be able to assist you here. Let's do this - I will tell you what I know, about your family and the Death Eaters, and then you can fill the gaps for me."

Draco sipped the pumpkin juice gratefully, nodding his agreement.

Dumbledore sighed. "Your father, of course, is a member of the Death Eaters. As have been many before him; many whom I have known personally. I would say that some of my best friends have been Death Eaters, but that is not precisely true. However, it is fair to say that too many people, of whom I've been truly fond, have joined the Death Eaters. Some are still there, others have died. Still others left the group." He paused for a moment to take a long drink. "Ah yes. That quite hits the spot." He settled back in his chair, hands folded over his robes. "Your father is someone I can't claim much fondness for, though I can't say I enjoy seeing anyone go to Voldemort. Your mother is, to the best of my knowledge, not part of the group, at least not directly. Your friends Crabbe and Goyle, who are now at Durmstrang, also have parents in the Death Eaters. Alas, it is all too frequent that sons follow their fathers in such things." Dumbledore looked sharply at Draco, who stared back at him unflinchingly. "Perhaps you would like to pick up the discussion from here."

"Yes sir," Draco replied evenly. "You are correct on all points. My father is a member of the Death Eaters, and he does want me to follow in his footsteps. This is not, however, what I want."

"And what do you want, Draco?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"I..." Draco couldn't help feeling suddenly surprised, though he had expected the question. "Well... it's not so much what I want as what I don't want." He looked helplessly at Harry, who frowned, looking puzzled. "I want... to attend classes. I want to play music. I want to figure out - for myself - what it is that I want. Mostly, I suppose, I want to make my own decisions. And I particularly don't want to be forced into joining something that will change my life forever when I'm not at all sure I support the cause."

Harry stared at Draco open-mouthed. "But you were always on about that pure-blood thing..."

"That's different," Draco snapped, finding Harry's shocked expression inexplicably irritating. He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at Harry. "And most children follow their parents' lead in forming opinions, Potter. I'm sure those Muggles you live with have filled your head full of all kinds of nonsense."

"No," Harry shook his head vehemently. "I never believed anything they said. If they said it, then there was no way it could be true."

"I believe Mister Malfoy has a point, Harry," Dumbledore interjected. "Most of us go through a period where we re-examine everything we have been taught - the things we have believed to be true. And often times we find that much of what we had accepted as truth was not what we had believed it to be. Things are not always as they first appear, or as they are told to us." He glanced at Draco and nodded, seeming to find something acceptable.

"So let me refine my question a bit, Draco," Dumbledore continued. "What do you want from me?"

Draco took a deep breath. "My father intends for me to be Marked. This year." His mouth suddenly went dry, and he took another sip of juice. "At winter holidays."

"Hm," Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "That's very soon."

"I've told him I don't want it," Draco gripped the glass so tightly his fingers went white. "But he... insists." He looked up at Dumbledore. "I want you to help me. Help me get out of this."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "The Death Eaters is an illegal organisation," he mused. "There might be some precedent for removing you from parent's custody and placing you temporarily under the protection of the Ministry. However, the Ministry doesn't believe that Lucius is a Death Eater. He denies it. Even if you were to testify against him - a step I would hope we never come to," he added seeing the look on Draco's face, "even so, I seriously doubt we would be able to convince the Ministry to remove you from his custody." He sighed. "Yes, this is a pretty problem, and one that will require much thought."

"But you can help him, can't you?" Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and studied Harry. "I will certainly do my best. That is all I can promise." He stood. "And now I have much to consider, and you have essays to write. I will ponder this and meet with you again in, say, three days. By that time I will have more information. Draco?"

"Yes sir?"

"It would be best if I were able to discuss this with the Head of your House. And he will likely want to speak with you. Would you have any objection to that?"

Draco glanced at Harry, who looked doubtful.

"No sir. I would not object."

"Very good, then. Come back and see me on Thursday."

"Thank you, sir." Draco stood shakily, suddenly feeling all the energy draining from his body.

Harry held the door for him and they made their way back down the spiral staircase. The wall slid shut behind them, the gargoyle shuffling back in place after they exited.

"Malfoy?"

Draco was so exhausted he didn't even turn around. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Harry touched his arm reassuringly, then jerked his hand back as if it was burned. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and trudged alongside the Slytherin.

"About what?" Draco glanced at his companion, curiosity overcoming his fatigue.

"About last night," Harry looked embarrassed. "I was... not in very good shape. I'm sorry I dumped on you like that." He cleared his throat. "You have enough to worry about without having to listen to me."

Draco shook his head wonderingly. "You really are something, you know that Potter? Not many people would apologise for something like that."

"Well I just felt bad about adding to your already high stress level."

"Don't worry about it," said Draco firmly. "I'm not."

Later that evening, as he was getting ready for bed, Draco was still wondering about Potter and his obvious concern for Draco's feelings. It was odd, he decided, having Potter go from being his worst enemy to being, well, almost a friend. If this thing was what most people called friendship. Draco wasn't entirely sure. He had always understood that a friendship, as opposed to an alliance, requires a closeness between two people. Draco hadn't been close to anyone in his house. Distance is required for superiority, his father had explained on more than one occasion, and he had dutifully practiced maintaining distance from his Slytherin housemates. Draco suddenly understood he wasn't going to be able to have any kind of superiority to Potter.

Draco mulled over these thoughts as he cleaned his teeth and got into bed. He really had enjoyed the time he'd spent with the Gryffindor boy over the last two weeks. It was a relief to be able to talk with someone, even Potter (or maybe especially Potter), about things that were important to him. Things that he couldn't share with anyone else. Partly because, he was surprised to realize, he could trust Potter. And partly because Potter has things he can't share with anyone either, a small voice in his head said. They were more alike than he had ever thought. He fell asleep with this startling realization floating on the surface of his thoughts.

*******************************************************************

"Mister Malfoy! A word, if you please."

Draco paused and set his bag back down on his desk. He had been loading books into it, in preparation for leaving the Dark Arts classroom after a particularly brutal session. He walked to the front of the room, leaving his bag on his desk.

"Yes, Professor."

Snape folded his arms into his robes. His black eyes were cold and his countenance, severe. "I spoke with the Headmaster yesterday. He seems to think I need to meet with you."

"Yes sir," Draco's expression was serious. "If you have no objection."

"I would have preferred to have heard about this from you, Mister Malfoy, and not from Dumbledore." Snape glared at his erstwhile favourite student. "It was somewhat... disappointing."

"I'm sorry sir," Draco replied, meeting Snape's eyes without hesitation. "He thought it would be best if he approached you himself."

Snape glanced around the room. "We will continue this discussion in my office," he said tersely, gathering up rolls of parchment.

They walked together to the dungeons, where Snape's office was located. The new Dark Arts professor muttered a password and the door swung open silently. A chilly draft made Draco shiver as he stepped into the room.

Draco was startled to see that Snape had re-decorated his office since the last time he'd been here. The bottles with things suspended in them had been replaced with books, a few odd boxes, and an interesting contraption that looked like something HG Wells might have invented. What surprised him even more, however, was realising that he hadn't come to see his ex-Potions professor and Head of House at all this year. He instantly determined to remedy that.

Snape gestured to a chair, which Draco sank into gratefully, dropping his bag to the floor beside him. While Snape put the parchment rolls away, Draco took a few minutes to admire the change in Snape's office.

It wasn't doilies and tulips in crystal vases, but there was something different. The place seemed, lighter, somehow. Friendlier, even. Draco wondered if he was imagining things.

He was surprised to realise he was feeling less anxious, more relaxed. Perhaps Potter had the right idea after all, he mused. Draco turned his attention to Professor Snape, who was eyeing him with an evaluating stare.

"So, Mister Malfoy." Snape once again folded his hands into his robes, though the effect was less menacing than when he was standing. For Draco, who understood that the Professor's hands pained him when they got cold, there was no menace to the gesture at all. "What's all this about Death Eaters?"

"I assume Dumbledore told you about my father."

"You assume correctly."

"My father wants me to take the Mark. This year. At the winter holidays." Draco's gaze was intense and sincere.

"Ah yes," Snape snorted. "Lucius was always impatient. One of his more unfortunate faults." He shifted in his seat. "They should wait until you're out of school."

"Did they wait for you?"

Snape stared at Draco. "What exactly has your father told you about me?"

"Not much," Draco acknowledged. "He certainly didn't tell me that. I'm guessing."

"I see." Snape stroked his chin. "An astute guess, Draco. You've impressed me."

"Thank you, sir."

"Since you're doing so well, let me make a few guesses now. You don't want to be Marked?"

"No sir."

"And you went to Albus for assistance in your quest to remain un-Marked?"

"Yes sir."

"And he sent you to me."

It wasn't a question, but Draco agreed nonetheless. "Yes sir."

"Why?"

Draco frowned in confusion. "Why?" he repeated.

"Why do you want to refuse the Mark?"

"Because I won't let someone else control me." Draco's shoulders were set determinedly.

Snape laughed softly. "A fool believes he deserves freedom. A wise man understands freedom comes at a cost. Are you willing to pay the price, Draco?"

"That's hard to say, not knowing exactly what the price will be." Draco stood and paced the small space between the chair and Snape's desk. "My father, of course, will be terribly unhappy with me."

Snape snorted. "That's an understatement."

Draco looked at him seriously. "Don't I know it."

Snape looked him over, evaluating. "I'm sure you do, Draco. I'm sure you do. As for the rest," Snape continued briskly, "It seems likely that your father will cut you off - monetarily, that is. You will lose your allowance, he may even remove you from school. Send you back to Durmstrang." He looked suspiciously at Draco. "Are you certain that's not what you're angling for now?"

"This is about much more than the school I attend, Professor. I need my father to respect my decisions. He needs to allow me make my own choices in life - not force me into following his path, blindly or obediently."

"That isn't very likely, though, is it?" Snape reflected quietly. "You will more than disappoint him. He won't tolerate disobedience - am I right?"

Draco nodded.

Snape sat silent for several moments. "Draco, you may want to consider another approach. You are, after all, a Slytherin. You're the brightest student I've had in years. It seems likely that a direct effort against your father is doomed to failure." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You may want to examine a more indirect path. Ambition and will are all very good, but don't forget about cunning and deception. These tactics have served you well in the past. Do not abandon them now."

"He already knows I don't want this." Draco gave an involuntary shudder as a memory of 'Crucio' flooded back to him. "I refused."

"That makes it more challenging," Snape agreed, his eyes narrowed, studying the boy. "But still attainable, with the proper preparation."

"Perhaps," Draco agreed reluctantly. "I can't see how I could make an apparent reversal believable."

"You must appear to struggle, and then to give in to his demands." Snape slid a desk drawer open and pulled out a parchment and quill. He wrote something on the parchment and handed it to Draco. "If he has become accustomed to your rebellion, then you must use it to your advantage. You can do this, Draco." He gave Draco what might be considered an encouraging smile, if it had been on anyone else's face.

"What is this?" Draco looked at the parchment. Please give Draco Malfoy access to all books in the restricted section. Professor Snape's elegant signature finished the note.

"I thought you might find it useful," said Snape languidly. "Now," he said brusquely, all business again, "I believe you owe me an essay?"

"Yes, sir," Draco agreed, his attention still on the parchment.

"That's all right, Draco." Snape waved one hand carelessly toward the door. "You can bring it to me tomorrow. Perhaps an hour in the Library will do the trick."

"Thank you, Professor." Draco excused himself, and hurried to the Library.