A Writer's Tale

Chapter Two: The Passing of the Gate

~~~~~~~~~~

Even with the best of maps and instruments,

We can never fully chart our journeys.

-- Gail Pool

~~~~~~~~~~

Draco had read book after book about the Bulgarian Quidditch team, and Viktor Krum in particular. He was a Chaser at heart, but since he had joined the Slytherin team in second year as Seeker, he'd done everything he could do to better himself in that position. He bought how-tos and technical guides, and began studying the world's best Seekers in his attempts to bring himself up to par. In doing so, he became quite a fan of Bulgaria and their world-famous Seeker.

No matter how closely he scrutinized Krum's flying style and signature moves, he was still struck totally breathless when he witnessed his perfect Wronski Feint live at the Quidditch World Cup. Nothing he had heard or read could have done justice to seeing the real thing in person. This is exactly how Draco felt about Harry Potter.

For as long as he could remember, Draco's dreams were filled with pictures of Hero Harry. Tall, burly, masculine, even as a child, he had a handsome face and a pure heart. Harry was born equipped with many advanced spells, hexes and charms, despite the Ministry restrictions. Even as a boy, he had the power and skill needed to use all of these spells expertly and with strength rarely--if ever--seen before the young wizard. Harry wasn't just a super hero; he was super-human.

When Draco first came in contact with the shorter-than-average, scrawny, messy-haired, bespectacled near-Squib calling himself Harry Potter, it was a huge blow. Was he not really as strong as ten adult wizards? A simple look at him proved that he wasn't. It took little more than a few Charms classes to show that he was no more skilled than most, and Draco himself had won enough battles of wits with Harry to know that he was no more clever than average. What it took Draco three years to decide was whether the realization that Harry was just a normal boy made Draco idolize him more or less.

For the biggest part of first year, Draco was simply angry. Everything he had been told about the boy to whom they all owed their lives was a lie. He couldn't look at Potter without thinking of how greatly he had been deceived. All those elaborate and exaggerated tales and descriptions were false. The truth was that no one had known a thing about the boy hero other than that he had Lived. So he ducked. Big deal. For a little bit of luck on Potter's part, Draco had been fooled. He had been led to make an idiot out of himself, dreaming about Potter's adventures and victories, writing meters of his own tales. He and his best friend, Harry Potter--what rubbish! Draco spent the year writing about Potter tripping and impaling himself on his wand.

As the son of a Death Eater, Draco had heard--on occasion, and sometimes quite by accident--how amazing Lord Voldemort had been. He was noble and wanted the best for the wizarding world, and thus took it upon himself to cleanse it of the filth that was Muggles and Mudbloods. A strong leader and an even stronger wizard, he was never questioned or challenged. He was undoubtedly the most powerful man that the wizarding world had seen in generations. But, Draco was also constantly reminded of little Harry Potter. Harry, at the mere age of 18 months, had bravely stood up to the Dark Lord and come out, not only with his own life, but having nearly killed Voldemort. The constant worshipping of the Dark Lord all around him as he grew up had only made Draco idolize Harry more.

But that Harry Potter and the one he watched repeatedly make a fool out of himself in Potions could not be the same boy. At the end of the year, however, when Harry had defeated Professor Quirrell, Draco couldn't help but wonder if the tales he had been led to believe were true after all. The downfall of Voldemort had been explained away by Lucius and the other Death Eaters as luck, a series of events aligning themselves just so that things turned out as they had. None of it had anything to do with the boy. After meeting Harry, Draco found it very easy to believe those explanations, but by the time Draco was on holiday after his first year at Hogwarts, he once again let his mind wander at the possibility that under his utterly inept exterior, Harry Potter was a hero after all.

As the years passed and Harry continued to breathe, the idea began to grow on Draco. When Harry walked out of the Chamber of Secrets, Draco, remembering what his father had told him about a mysterious deadly monster, had no choice but to be impressed. Harry crawled through the small hole and, as he stood up again, found himself if the Chamber. Harry seemed to have discovered an underground cave. There were rock formations sticking up from the ground and down from the low ceiling at strange places, forcing Harry to duck and weave around them while navigating his way through the darkness, one hand on the damp wall of the passage for guidance.

Harry survived an attack by notorious murderer Sirius Black third year and Draco wrote a blow-by-blow account of the whole ordeal in his journal, of course many of the details were Draco's own. "All right, Black. You want me, you've got me. You murdered my parents, and maybe the Ministry of Magic and the Dementors in Azkaban can't handle you, but I'm a whole other story. Pick up your wand and prepare to face Harry Potter, if you dare." As Sirius Black bent to retrieve his wand from the floor where it had landed a few feet away, Harry squared his shoulders and prepared to fight for the honor of his family. He took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes and extended his wand.

In fourth year, when Harry had mysteriously been selected as an extra competitor in the Triwizard Tournament, Draco--like the rest of the school--didn't know quite what to think. Still unsure if Harry went out in search of Trouble or if Trouble simply fought its way to its only real opponent, Draco didn't even venture a guess whether Harry had entered his name and somehow tricked the Goblet of Fire.

The truth was that it made no difference to Draco how Harry came to compete in the Tournament. What mattered was that Draco was going to be able to see, finally, what Harry was really made of. Always caught between belief and rejection of the Legend of Harry Potter, the tales of his perpetual world-saving, always behind closed doors, did little to strengthen Draco's faith. With the coming of the Triwizard Tournament also came truth.

Of course, in the common room and in the corridors, Draco spoke in loud voices about Hero-Complex Harry and his need for attention. After four years of leading his fellow Slytherins in hating Potter, he couldn't very well change his tune now. Draco wore his "Potter Stinks" pin--and even sold a few to his classmates--mainly because he was still sore over what had happened on the train to school four years prior. Back when Draco still had ultimate faith in Harry and what he was for the wizarding world, he had been crushed by rejection. He had offered to Harry that which he had wanted to offer Harry since he could remember, his friendship, and Harry had turned it down in favor of the friendship of a Weasley. Draco was utterly humiliated, and wouldn't forget it any time soon. But none of that seemed to matter much as Draco sat in the stands in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest.

I sat in the stands nervously as all the names were called one by one, and watched with my breath held as each Champion faced their fate. Each competitor did whatever he could to trick and distract the huge beasts, and with every burn on their skin, I wondered how Harry was going to survive the task.

When three Champions had taken their turn and somehow come away with both their lives and their golden eggs, Harry's chance finally came. There was a collective gasp as the Hungarian Horntail was brought out. If Harry ever had an opportunity to lay any doubts to rest, this would be it.

Bagman called his name, and Harry, looking a bit green, walked stiffly out of the tent. He looked nervously up at his Task, swallowed hard, and muttered something that could not be heard over the sudden roar of the dragon. For what felt like an eternity, Harry just stood there, seemingly paralyzed to the spot. Even the Horntail appeared to be holding its breath, watching Harry to see what he would do.

I was pleading to myself so fervently that Harry do something, that when the Firebolt appeared so quickly and quietly at Harry's side, I thought for a moment that it was a trick of my eyes, wanting it into existence. As Harry mounted his broom and kicked off the ground, I felt my heartbeat quicken. He was going to get the egg the same way he always caught the snitch. Go with what you're good at, I suppose.

For two years, I'd Seeked against Harry, and for three, I'd marveled at his skill in the air. I remember that day first year when Harry had flown after me to get Longbottom's Rememberall. I was shocked at his natural talent on a broom and since then, I've never seen anyone who was so effortlessly graceful in the air. But that day, in front of the Triwizard judges and in the face of a Hungarian Horntail, Harry flew like never before.

He's made a believer out of me.

The night of the third task, everything changed for Draco. Watchers of the task were once again seated in bleachers to watch, but because of the high hedges of the maze, no one could really see any of the action as it unfolded inside the living labyrinth. There was a very long wait between the time the last Champion entered the maze and when something finally happened. Most of the audience filled the time talking in loud voices about everything from who they thought would win the Tournament to complaining about exams. Draco, on the other hand, quieted Crabbe and Goyle with a hard glare and daydreamed about what Harry was doing inside the task and what he would do with the gold that he'd be sure to win.

When Harry appeared suddenly outside the maze with the Triwizard Cup in his hand, Draco felt his heart leap, until he saw a motionless form in his arms. Harry was quickly surrounded by a crowd of panicked witches and wizards and swept away by Professor Moody. Draco didn't see him again until much later, after Harry had named his father as a Death Eater to Cornelius Fudge.

He had known for years that his father was a loyal follower of Lord Voldemort, but to him, that had always meant rallies and dinners. He'd heard stories of murder, torture and rape, but none of this could be true. Draco grew up watching Lucius throw around his political power and get what he wanted that way. Surely, with a man as powerful as his father at the top of the Death Eater ranks, there would be no need for anything as tasteless as the things he'd heard tall tales about.

Unfortunately, none of those beliefs made Cedric Diggory any less dead. As he listened to panicked voices all around him theorize aloud that it had been Harry himself who'd killed Diggory, Draco thought of the return of Voldemort's most loyal servant, Sirius Black, and the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup. When Dumbledore made his speech about Voldemort's reincarnation at the Leaving Feast days later, Draco grudgingly admitted to himself that he was hoping--just as everyone else in the room, just as he had when he was a little boy--that Harry would once again save them all.