The Princes of Fire & Ice

The Princes of Fire & Ice (6/?)

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

~Fire and Ice, by Robert Frost~

***

CHAPTER VI: This Side of Purgatory

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls.

~John Donne~

It is difficult not to be unjust to what one loves.

~Oscar Wilde~

Harry lay with his face buried deep within his pillow on his bed with the curtains drawn shut. He knew Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville would all be coming up eventually and he didn’t want to have to talk with them. Especially Ron. What could he really say to Ron?

The main problem was Harry didn’t know what was churning his stomach more – the growing threat of Voldemort and the ultimate showdown or his confusing feelings towards his other greatest enemy. Or was it greatest love? Harry shook his head violently but had to stop when he discovered this smashed his nose in the pillow painfully and he couldn’t breath. Gasping, he rolled himself over and lay on his back, eyes closed. This was also a mistake because behind his eyelids all he could see was Draco’s face. He groaned inwardly, but didn’t banish the image from his thoughts. He had to figure this out sometime, right? And the way things were going it was the sooner the better.

Maybe the feelings had always been there, hidden beneath his other obligations and disguised by hate. He had always concentrated so much energy on hating Draco that he had never considered him in any other way; he had never looked closely at him or believed there was anything but two-dimensional snobbery and evil. Draco seemed an open book to him, easy to figure out because he was simply a spoiled brat who cared for no one but himself. But, now Harry was realizing the error of his ways. Draco was much more complicated than he thought, and he obviously had many sides to him. Harry had assumed he was up to mischief at the Quidditch game against Gryffindor, when actually Draco had been acting out of the desire not to harm him. Draco had defied his father and Lord Voldemort all for him. And even if he had regretted this later, when they were in the cell, he didn’t leave Harry in the clutches of his father. Instead, he had escaped with him and they had even managed to help each other out and have a few moments of peace where they weren’t bickering and dueling with each other. This was something new for Harry – and something he never had suspected Draco Malfoy being capable of.

And then, there were the other moments. The tension under the bed, the kiss on the train, and now… Draco accosting him in the hallway. That was partly a relief for Harry, and partly terrifying as hell. Up until that point he had feared that simple hormones had blown everything out of proportion and that Draco really couldn’t stand Harry anymore than he had used to and that was why he was ignoring him. But after Draco’s method of harassment in the hallways, it was obvious Draco at least didn’t mind the idea. Of course, the action still had the hint of the bully in Draco; the snogging session had been quite manipulative and had a specific purpose, but it was still a telling method.

The sound of footsteps and the opening of the door startled Harry out of his thoughts and he held his breath as Ron and Seamus entered the room. He could tell it was them because they had been whispering at the threshold, and now there was movement near his own bed. Harry immediately sensed Ron was hesitating on the other side of the drapes. Harry squeezed his eyes tight in case Ron drew them back to check on his friend, but Ron didn’t. There was a small sigh and then the redhead went about his own routine to get ready.

Harry briefly wondered what time it was; it had to be rather early. He hadn’t really been planning to go to bed when he had returned after his spontaneous shower, but when he had run up here in a huff the only thing he could do was lay on the bed and attempt to sort out his thoughts. And for how long exactly had he been doing that? Time and Draco didn’t seem to be on a normal schedule when they were mixed, the minutes ticked by like hours.

How trite, Harry muttered to himself. Don’t they say that about people in love? That a minute feels like a lifetime.

Harry rolled back over, wiggling under the covers, and finally dozing off into a very restless sleep.

***

“Look, he’s perfect, Master, just as you made him.”

“I cannot see into his soul, Lucius. Is he loyal?”

“Always.”

“To me?”

“And no other, Master.”

Draco was watching his father talk to the Master nervously. They were both hovering around him, and Lord Voldemort’s face was hooded in darkness and his voice grated on Draco’s ears. He recoiled instinctively as the Dark Lord neared him.

“He recoils, Lucius. He flinches. He is weak.”

“Master-”

“No matter, give him this.” The Dark Lord handed something to Lucius, and he took it in his hand delicately. Still mute, Draco said nothing. His father was admiring the thing that glinted in his hand.

“Shall I?” The Dark Lord said, not without some impatience. This seemed to spur on Lucius. He moved forward towards his son.

“Draco,” he said in an ominous tone. “This will help you serve your purpose. This will help you find your destiny.”

“Yes, father,” Draco finally spoke up. He could see now it was a necklace his father held. Lucius leaned in towards Draco and clasped the chain around his son’s pale neck.

“No matter what, this holds you to us. You cannot escape your destiny, my son. You are meant to serve our Master. And you will.” Lucius stepped back and regarded his son with pride.

“How am I to serve, father?”

Lucius gave a quick glance at the Dark Lord, who indicated that Lucius could proceed.

“Why, you are to kill Harry Potter.”

“Good, father, I want to kill Harry Potter.” Draco said eagerly. “And this necklace will help?”

“If it does not,” Lord Voldemort spoke up suddenly, his voice sending shivers down Draco’s spine, “then this will.” He held out his hand and suddenly a sword appeared. He dangled it in front of Draco. “There will always be something, young Malfoy, to tie you to me. Harry Potter will be killed. And you will do it.”

“Yes, Master,” Draco said, looking in awe at the beautiful sword that was in front of him. The silver shined brilliantly, and there were ornate settings for the emeralds and onyx stones which were set in the hilt. It fascinated him. As he closely examined the blade, he noticed a distorted image. It was well polished blade and had the effect of a mirror and…

Draco spun around furiously. Standing before him now was Harry. Draco tried to move his eyes away, to look back at his father and the Dark Lord for help but he couldn’t – and a sinking feeling told him they were no longer in the room with him.

“Draco,” Harry said softly. Draco jumped at the use of his first name.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered back at him, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Draco,” Harry continued serenely. He was advancing on Draco with his hand outstretched.

“No, it must. It’s all I can do…” Draco said darkly. “They made me.” Harry was upon him now, his eyes searching deep into Draco’s soul and his hand resting loosely on his shoulder. “And now you’ve unmade me…”

“They didn’t count on us,” Harry said simply. “Together we are stronger.”

“I’m not that strong,” Draco whispered, his voice cracking. “Not even for you.”

Numbly he felt his fingers closing tightly around the hilt of the sword. It was heavy, but now it seemed a mere attachment of his arm. He raised it and Harry gave it a startled look.

“Draco, I lov-”

“No!” Draco shouted, aiming the sword for Harry’s heart. “There is only one ending they’ll believe, and in it you can’t live.” With a final cry he moved to drive the sword straight through Harry’s chest and-

Draco bolted upright in his bed and gasped. His heart was racing and his eyes peered frantically around in the dark. Dark. It was the middle of the night. He sighed a little as the vivid reality of his nightmare sunk back into its proper perspective.

It was only a nightmare.

But don’t dreams mean something?

Nonsense. The dream was merely a manifestation of those talks with your father, the letter and…

And?

The… developments with Potter.

Harry.

Harry. Whatever.

Draco dropped back on his pillow with a thud and shut his eyes, forcing the two voices in his mind to stop analyzing. It wasn’t very successful.

What was it Dream Voldemort had said to him? “There will always be something, young Malfoy, to tie you to me. Harry Potter will be killed. And you will do it.”

And yet, Voldemort hadn’t truly wished for Harry’s demise at the Quidditch game, nor was he eager for Lucius to dispatch him. But as for Draco’s role in all of it…

He knew I wouldn’t kill Harry at the match.

But the question was why did he think that? Draco couldn’t imagine that Voldemort would have suspected the growing relationship between the two boys, so then what was it? Perhaps the simple fact that Draco would never want to be so obvious and risk getting caught. Then again, maybe the letter he received with the order had been charmed in some way so that subconsciously he knew that his Master’s wishes were not an actual killing.

He’s not my Master.

Fine.

But then why stage it at all? To throw off Potter? To get those around him, protecting him (including Dumbledore) all ruffled and distracted? Maybe to lead them on the wrong trail so they didn’t notice the plans Voldemort was putting in action for his real arrangement of Potter’s death?

He wished, not for the first time since receiving the letter from Lucius, that his father had punished him. Yelled out him. Dragged him home. Done anything other than what he had done – which was nothing. So far…

The punishments Draco could endure, the yelling and beatings he was used to. He had openly defied his father and even embarrassed him, by running away from his own house and taking Potter with him. He felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for his punishment, and Lucius simply had his hand frozen in midair. What was up with his father? The almost nonchalant way Lucius had blown off Draco’s mutiny made Draco even more nervous and scared than if he had been called back from Hogwarts.

Draco’s head no ached intensely with the effort of trying to figure it all out. But one thing was sure: he had been right to stop Harry from telling Dumbledore. Draco needed to keep his father and Voldemort’s trust so that he would be in the loop for the plans. They would never suspect he now, er, lov- cared for the boy he had been destined to rival and then attempt to defeat, so to they did not see the signs of it in his escape with Harry. This was an advantage – as long as it remained this way. Wasn’t love and caring just another way to get at someone? Control them?

Yes.

But I’ll have to control him.

He had to go on as he had done before all of this. For six years he had complained to his father about Harry, describing all the ways he’d love to get back at him, so if he could just control himself this should be a cinch.

But he had to control his emotions. And Harry’s reactions had to be real.

Cringing again, Draco fell back into a restless sleep.

***

Hermione sat on one of the couches looking impatiently from the clock to the stairs. She wasn’t normally in a rush to get to breakfast, but she was slightly on edge this morning due to Harry’s strange behavior and the fact that her potions presentation (with Seamus) was today.

Ron emerged from the boys’ dormitory first. He gave her a faint smile which she returned as she stood up to greet him.

“Morning Ron.”

“Morning.”

“Any sign of Harry or Seamus?”

“Not as of yet. Well, actually, I think Seamus was brushing his teeth when I saw him last.” He looked at her curiously. “Are you okay?”

“Oh?” She looked up at him as if surprised to hear him. “Um, no, Just… you know… everything with Harry and then Seamus and I have our own stupid presentation for Snape this morning…” she trailed off.

Ron looked at her aghast.

“Did you just call a school assignment ‘stupid’?” 

“Heh, I guess I did,” she said wryly. “Oh bugger!” She muttered as something else crossed her mind.

“What?”

“Prefects’ meeting,” She said, pulling a face.

“I thought you loved those,” he replied with a smirk.

“Usually, yes,” she sighed. “But it’s an unavoidable situation which throws Harry and Malfoy together.”

“Oh yes,” Ron frowned.

“Oh well,” she continued. “I guess I’ll be there, and maybe I’ll learn something new.” She looked anxiously back at the stairs. “What are they doing?”

Ron regarded her for a moment before making a decision and moving in closer to her. She looked up at him curiously.

“Hermione?” He asked softly.

“Yes?”

“Is there… something between you and Seamus?”

There. It was out. He had said it.

Hermione flushed; though it seemed to quickly go from embarrassment to a touch of irritation.

“Just a potions project,” she snapped back quickly. Ron looked hurt at her tone and she suddenly smiled at him. “I’m sorry, Ron. I just mean…” she sighed. Sometimes it wasn’t easy having two male best friends. “I’m sure you think some things but… well, you know Seamus.” She winked at him. “He fancies himself quite a ladies’ man. He’s witty. He’s clever, insightful, and charming but I just don’t see him committing to any one person.”

Ron rolled his eyes, acknowledging this fact, but he wasn’t sure if there was something wistful or not in Hermione’s tone.

“But if he did…” He gently prodded. She sighed again at him and opened her mouth reluctantly – and then was saved by the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs. Both she and Ron whipped their heads around to see Seamus walking towards them cheerfully.

“Oi, top of the mornin’ to ya!” He said with a gleeful grin and exaggerated accent. He shoved Ron playfully and then leaned in to them both. “Harry’s behind me.” He whispered confidentially.

All three heads turned around sharply to encounter a stoic looking Harry shuffling towards them.

“Morning,” he mumbled in a subdued tone. Then, suddenly, just as he was passing them he stopped and turned around to face them and took a deep breath.

“Harry?” Hermione questioned with a hint of concern.

“I just…” Harry looked at all of them in the eye now. “I just wanted to apologize for last night. You’re my friends and have backed me up through so much stuff. I just hope you understand that, well; frankly I don’t get everything right now so it is hard for me to explain it to you guys. Don’t worry about the whole Malfoy thing or telling Dumbledore; I’ll cross all these bridges when I come to them.”

“A correction,” Ron said immediately, walking over to his friend and placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll cross them.” Seamus and Hermione nodded eagerly in agreement and Harry smiled back at them.

I’m lucky, he reflected, to have such wonderful friends. But at the same time, knowing the volatile situation with Draco that he was in, there was going to be times they wouldn’t understand and things he couldn’t tell them. But he couldn’t bear to think about all that now. This was the time for his friends, so together all four of them stepped out of the portrait hole.

***

“Interesting… and rather thorough, if lacking in any practical or insightful information. Mr. Finnigan, Ms. Granger, you may take your seats.” Snape gave the Gryffindor duo and imperceptible look and then cleared his throat again. “Next we are going to start taking notes on a very advanced and complicated potion. It is, of course, known as the Draught of the Living Death. Who can tell me what it does?”

Hermione, as ever, was the first to have her hand in the air, but Snape waved her aside and called upon Seamus instead.

“Mr. Finnigan?”

Harry looked over at Seamus and winked. He was reminded of when Seamus had done the same to him on their very first day of potions six years ago…

“It causes someone to fall into a deep sleep, Sir.” Seamus said lightly. Snape frowned but nodded slightly, scribbling something on the chalkboard. Harry smothered a knowing smile, guessing Seamus’ increased knowledge in the area of potions had to do with all that ‘studying’ with Hermione.

“And, what are the main ingredients?” Snape continued. He glanced around at the room and quickly called on Draco, who never even bothered to volunteer.

“Asphodel in an infusion of wormwood,” he answered nonchalantly. Harry sucked in a breath as his attention was drawn down to the blond. For once he was grateful that Draco sat in front of him; this gave him a way to stare at Draco all he wanted without the silver-haired boy knowing. Finally, after about two minutes, he forced himself to turn away when Ron tugged on his robes. Apparently Snape was letting them work with partners of their choice, so Hermione and Seamus had teamed up and Ron was looking expectantly at Harry.

“Do you want to write it down, or do you want me too?”

“Huh?” Harry looked at him blankly before blushing. How obvious had he been? He’d have to be more careful.

“To write down the steps we’ll have to take. Do you want to write ‘em or do you want me too?” Ron repeated with a mixture of concern and bemusement.

“Oh, I’ll do it, I guess,” Harry muttered, pulling out some parchment and a fresh quill. He was getting distracted in potions when he wasn’t even having contact with Draco. They hadn’t even looked at each other. So then what was going to happen at the afternoon’s prefect meeting?

***

“This is a disaster!”

Harry looked up in surprise at Noel Summers, seventh year Hufflepuff and Head Boy. He wasn’t quite sure what the blue-eyed, sandy-haired boy was talking about since he had been focusing on something else completely.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

Harry let one eye glance over. Draco was sitting across the table from Harry, but further back so that he was more across from Hermione than Harry himself. Harry secretly thought Hermione had made sure Draco was seated behind Harry so they wouldn’t have to make eye contact. However, she was probably doing for completely opposite reasons. She expected a fight, or glares and sarcastic remarks, as was their usual habit during the often lengthy and boring meetings.

“It’s not that bad,” a raven haired, hazel-eyed girl said to Noel. Harry returned his attention to the front when Morgana Fawcett spoke up. She was a Ravenclaw and Head Girl. In Harry’s fourth year he knew them only by name when both of them had tried to age themselves for the Goblet of Fire, but when he became a prefect last year he had worked with them and found them both to be intelligent, determined and vibrant.

Last year… when being a prefect had seemed so important and exciting to him. Had his mind ever wondered so completely when Roger Davies and Devon Merridew conducted meetings? He didn’t think so. Possibly it was guilt that Cedric should have been Head Boy that year? Or maybe it was his efforts to move on… and his focus on reinstated the Quidditch House Cup final. And fighting with Malfoy.

Oh, how they had argued…

Really argued; they hated each other. But now…

Harry shook himself again as Hermione spoke up behind him.

“Noel, I’m sure we can come up with something. We’re all, er, smart and creative people here, right?” she asked looking around. Harry could feel Draco scoffing at this. What were they talking about? The last he remembered it was something about monitoring assignments…

“Well, that’s what I’m counting on,” Noel said, running his hand through his hair nervously. “We have two weeks. Two weeks until the Halloween Dance. And we have nothing. Notta. Zilch. No theme. No decorations. No menu. No games. No band. No ideas. And no time.” Noel’s voice seemed to be rising unnaturally.

“What ever happened to those committees we formed?” Morgana asked taking control.

“We have nothing to report,” Draco said drolly from his side of the table. Harry shut his eyes to keep from turning at the sound of the cold, familiar voice.

“You weren’t suppose to report, Malfoy, you were suppose to do,” Noel muttered with poorly disguised irritation.

“Er, we have some suggestions for games and have a few bands lined up but…” It was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“But what?” Draco sneered.

“We need a theme.”

“How about Halloween,” Draco muttered under his breath. Hermione glared across at him but he ignored her.

“We could do a murder mystery,” she suggested.

“Ooooh, and we could pick a time period!” Hannah Abbott chimed in.

“We could start with giving everyone a role to play,” Hermione continued eagerly. “And then the whole mystery could begin. Maybe a mealtime murder?”

Harry was listening now, and what Hermione proposed sounded interesting. He recalled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia going to a similar type dinner part once. They hadn’t liked it. Harry didn’t think they had much imagination.

“We should narrow it down to a few themes,” a seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect was saying. “Then we can have the school vote.”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea!” Noel smiled.

“I agree,” Morgana said. “Suggestions?”

“The 1940s!”

“Elizabethan times!”

“Ancient Greece!”

“Egypt!”

“Victorian times!”

“The 1920s!”

“How about the period of the Hogwarts ghosts?”

“Ah! Leave it, already!” Draco suddenly exclaimed in exasperation. “This is such a stupid thing!” 

Harry finally lost the last ounce of his self-control and his head immediately turned to face Draco. The blond boy was looking more irritated than usual and tired, but his stoic glance returned quickly, with just a touch of his scowl.

“Malfoy?” The word escaped his lips before he could stop them. But Malfoy ignored him for the time being.

“Malfoy!” Noel yelled. “If you’re not going be productive at least keep your negative comments to yourself.”

“Someday, Summers, you’ll wake up and realize you’ve lost the ability to fake intelligence,” Draco snapped back. Morgana gasped audibly and Harry’s jaw dropped farther than he would have liked.

What had gotten into Malfoy?

Nothing. This is the old Malfoy.

The real Malfoy…?

Harry tried to look Draco in the eye to see if he could read anything, but the Slytherin was intent on glaring at Noel. 

“Do I need to bring Professor McGonagall in here or send you out?” Noel replied, attempting to keep his voice even and the meeting in order.

“Your incompetence is mind-boggling,” Draco continued unrestrainedly. “Why they would ever make you Head Boy is beyond me.”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Harry said hotly, finally recovering his senses and his temper. Draco’s icy stare shifted to him and Harry saw nothing but cold contempt in them.

“Ah, yes, Wonder Boy Potter,” Draco said contemptuously. He looked briefly over at Pansy Parkinson, his fellow prefect who was watched him with narrowed and curious interest. “I guess we have you to blame for the curse of the Hufflepuff Head students.”

“What!?” Harry, Hermione and Noel all hollered at the same time.

“You know what I mean, Potter. Summers here is a semi-qualified Hufflepuff. So why is he in the spot?” Draco’s head cocked to indicate Noel, but his eyes never left Harry’s face. “Why haven’t there been any Slytherin Head Boys or Girls recently?”

“Because you’re all gits,” Hermione muttered angrily.

“Malfoy, there haven’t been any Gryffindor ones either, since Percy,” Harry muttered irritably, but Draco ignored him. Or at least he thought Draco ignored him; upon hearing this Draco’s eyes had glanced over to Hermione and then back to him. Maybe he thought there were Gryffindor chances in the future. Either way, he continued unfazed.

“It’s that guilt over Diggory. You all thought he should have been Head Boy last year, but, alas, he was dead. So they picked that Hufflepuff dimwit Merridew to counter Davies. And now Summers. Hufflepuff after Hufflepuff in an attempt to replace him or make up for him. Diggory, however, was an exception to his house.” Draco’s eyes suddenly got very dark and Harry felt them pierce him through the back of his mind. “It’s a shame you had to go and get him killed, Potter.”

Harry went rigid with shock.

Hermione on the other hand seemed prepared to leap across the table and choke Malfoy.

“You unimaginable bastard!” She hissed at him. Harry heard her and Noel shouting for order in a daze. Morgana seemed to have left the room to get McGonagall… or Snape. The other prefects had jumped up from their seats, their eyes going from Draco to Harry to Noel back to Draco nervously.

Draco’s silver eyes never stopped boring into Harry and he felt the nausea building in his stomach.

He’s reached a new low.

What did you expect?

But… he’s been civil.

He’s manipulative. No surprise. He’s a Malfoy.

And he just said…

Harry blinked, but he could not block out Malfoy’s words or the fact that the other boy was obviously relishing this moment. Pansy suddenly stood up and whispered something to Malfoy, who nodded as a reflex, and then she left the room. Malfoy then began to walk casually towards the door, going around the opposite end of the table from where Noel was watching him, his hand half on his wand. He continued walking around until he was right in Hermione’s face. Automatically Harry pushed her to the side, so that it was just Draco and him.

“It’s okay, Potter,” Draco went on lightly, mock sympathy written across his features. “One day soon I’ll return the favor for you.”

“Don’t waste your breath with threatening me,” Harry said back through clenched teeth. “You’re nothing to me.”

Draco smirked, perhaps sensing the two meanings such a statement could have, though Harry hadn’t intended that at first.

“Ah, yes, I’m a mere knat buzzing around the ear of the mighty Harry Potter,” Draco laughed scornfully as he flicked a curl of hair just above Harry’s ear with his long fingers. “I’m sure there’s some way to even the score.”

“Go to hell, Malfoy,” Harry spat out before turning abruptly and exiting the room.

“What the-” He heard as he stormed out, apparently almost knocking Professor Snape over. Snape might have stopped and said something to him if McGonagall had not been on his heel, pressing him forward.

Harry was walking blindly and furiously down the hall, unaware of where he was or where he was even going. He didn’t care.

Where did Malfoy get off saying things like that to him?

He fooled you.

Shut up.

Admit it. You thought he was different. You thought you had found another side to Malfoy. Sensitive Draaaaaco.

“Shut up!” Harry cursed and the mocking voice in his head. He stopped suddenly and leaned against the wall, sinking down to his knees.

Had Malfoy played him like a fool? Was his civility all an act?

But I looked into his eyes…

Harry banged his head back against the wall and shut his eyes tightly.

It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. He’s always been a prick to me. He’ll never change, he’ll never change…

“Harry!”

Harry heard the footsteps running towards him but couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes. It sounded like two sets.

“Harry! Are you okay?” It was Hermione’s voice. He opened his eyes reluctantly and saw Ron looking winded and worried standing right by her.

“She caught up with me in the hallway,” he began as a sort of explanation for why he was there. “She told me what happened.”

“McGonagall spoke to Noel for a minute and then made all of us leave. I think she and Snape are having it out with Malfoy now.” Hermione explained. Harry sighed and pressed himself further into the rock wall until it hurt.

Hurt?

His mind started to wander as he contemplated how his back would have gotten bruised. Then it came to him.

Malfoy.

Draco.

He slammed me against the wall…

…in the hallway.

Before he…

…kissed me…

He sighed again and decided he better answer before Hermione and Ron became even more worried and concerned. He didn’t want to burden them with all the intricacies of how Malfoy was affecting him differently now. How, when Draco had flung such despicable insults at him, it wasn’t anger Harry had felt initially, it was… pain. Draco had hurt him.

“I’m fine. Really. Just a bit… worked up,” he murmured, accepting Ron’s extended hand and allowing himself to be pulled up.

“I’m going to fucking kill that bastard Malfoy,” Ron said maliciously as they began walking. “Kill. Him.”

“Ron!” Hermione said in a hushed, reproachful tone.

“Just leave it alone, Ron,” Harry said, feeling a darkness and strange warmth creeping up into his stomach. He was feeling sick again.

“Hell no,” Ron said. “He’s really done it this time. He deserves everything he gets.”

They were finally approaching the Gryffindor common room entrance.

“He’s getting punished. Maybe they’ll even make him resign as a prefect. Don’t do anything stupid,” Hermione said again in a warning tone.

“That’s not nearly good enough,” Ron growled.

“Just leave him alone!” Harry suddenly heard himself fuming aloud. “JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

***

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

Draco made his way slowly from the meeting room towards the Slytherin Dungeon.

Snape must have worked on McGonagall for a bit, he mused. He had gotten off better than he had hoped: a week of detentions – with Snape. They’d made him apologize to Summers and Fawcett. He’d have to apologize to the whole group at the next meeting and to Potter.

Potter.

Harry.

And, he was on ‘notice’. Any more incidents like this and he could kiss his prefect’s badge good-bye.

Well, this was war, sacrifices have to be made.

Like Harry?

For a minute the scene flashed fresh across his eyes. Harry’s face when he had said all that stuff to him about causing Diggory’s death. There was more than the usual fury, anger and hate he had grown used to after all the years of provoking the green-eyed Gryffindor. There had been something else this time, something that made Draco cringe for what he had done.

Hurt.

Pain.

And I caused it.

He swallowed thickly.

I had to do it.

Will he understand later?

Will he forgive…?

The question hung over Draco’s mind as he came upon the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Will it matter if we’re dead?

Draco snorted ruefully at this line of thought. He thought of his father. “Malfoy’s don’t need forgiveness,” he heard his father’s voice say in his head. He shook his head, took a deep breath and entered through the portrait hole.

“Malfoy!” It was Malcolm who called out, walking up and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I heard you bloody well laid into that Potter freak today. Well done, mate! ‘Bout bloody time.”

Malfoy forced himself to grin and nod.

“Congratulations!” Blaise came up and winked. “Hope Snape, ‘ole boy, wasn’t too hard on ya!”

“No… no… I’m serving detentions with him,” Draco shrugged. Now the whole common room was talking, smirking, doing Potter imitations and throwing congratulations his way.

They’re so proud I insulted Potter. They’re so excited I put him down, he mused.

Normally I would be too.

This is a victory celebration.

Slytherin 1, Gryffindor 0.

He smiled grimly at the thought and then searched around for Pansy. She was obviously having trouble explaining something to Crabbe and Goyle, but then all three looked up and smiled at him.

“I must admit, Malfoy, I was a bit surprised at how far you went in that meeting. Especially with Summers and Potter,” She stood up and grinned at him. “But you made us all proud.”

“Well, I try,” he flashed his most charming smile at her and proceeded to make his way towards the stairs that led down to his cell.

“Where are you going?” Blaise hollered at him.

“I have to get some homework,” he called back. “I’m due in an hour in Snape’s office for my first detention.”

Blaise nodded and then turned back around to finish his conversation with Malcolm. Draco sighed and began descending down the steps.

***

Listlessly, Draco picked up another glass canister and wiped it down with the cloth.

“Make sure you get the inside too,” Snape barked from his desk. Draco merely nodded and swiped the inside quickly with the rag. A couple of weeks ago he might have complained bitterly about this work, but right now he was glad of the silence. It gave him time to think. Unfortunately the image of Harry kept creeping into his subconscious and distracted him.

He must have had a weird look on his face because he suddenly focused enough to see Snape giving him an appraising look.

“Sir?” Draco said softly. Snape looked as though he was considering something.

“Is something wrong, Malfoy?” He asked with what might be termed concern if it wasn’t coming from Snape. It was probably as close as he came, Draco figured. He suppressed a faint smile at this thought.

“No sir, I’m fine.”

“Really?” Snape’s eyebrows raised and he stood up from his desk. Instantly, Draco rose from his kneeling position in front of the shelves. Malfoys were never submissive, even if it was by coincidental placement. “You seem out of sorts lately.”

“ ‘Out of sorts?’ ” Draco repeated, perplexed.

“Not your usual self,” Snape continued dryly. He eyed his pupil carefully.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said faintly, looking Snape right in the eye without batting an eyelash. His father hadn’t taught him certain talents for a reason. Of course, Snape hadn’t been a half-ass spy either.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Mr. Malfoy, but I sure hope you do.”

I hope I do too.

Draco remained silent. Snape looked at him for another second before changing his expression again.

“Have you apologized to Potter yet?” he asked roughly.

“No.”

“Fine. Do it tomorrow at breakfast. Drag him in front of McGonagall so she can see it and not argue.”

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of having to apologize to Harry essentially in front of the whole school. Oh well. Duty calls.

“Okay,” he said in a resigned tone and then added a thought. “Not that I see what good it’ll do.”

“What?” Snape asked.

“Well,” Draco began in his lilting, superior tone he had learned he was so infamous for.  “I would never apologize to Potter of my own free will. He knows that, so it’s not like he’ll believe me. But, whatever…”

Duty calls.

Will Harry still think it isn’t genuine?

Do I want him to?

Snape eyed his suspiciously.

“Be careful what you do and say,” Snape snapped. “Don’t think I don’t know all the lengths that Lucius would go to get-” He stopped abruptly and looked away from Draco.

I wonder what he does know about my father, Draco mused in the meantime.

I might need his help soon.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He shifted his weight from side to side for a moment in thought and then decided to get back to cleaning the jars. He didn’t have all night. And he needed his beauty rest if he was going to be forced in front of the Hall tomorrow morning.

“Forget it,” Snape said suddenly. Draco looked up at him puzzled, a vile in his hand. “Forget it,” Snape repeated with emphasis and Draco suddenly understood. He placed the vile back down gently on the shelf and put the cloth back where he had found it. In three long strides he was with Snape at the door. “You can finish it later,” Snape mumbled as he locked his office and supply rooms up. Draco nodded solemnly, trying not to be too obvious that he was overjoyed to be released from detention and hour or two before he would have been done.

He followed Snape out of the Potions’ Dungeon and then departed from his professor to make his way back to the Slytherin Dungeons. He entered through the portrait hole and then navigated his way through the room, trying to avoid as many people and questions as possible.

When he finally reached the stairs he practically slid down them in an effort to get to his own room. He entered and then locked the door. Glancing around the room he saw nothing had changed since he had last been in here. The small window, barely showing any of the outside world, remained closed. Draco still grinned at the fact that not only had he been given this room to himself, but it was also the only room that had the closest thing to a window. The top of his window was maybe a foot off of the ground level, but any natural light would do. And Midas was small enough to land on the ground and then crawl through the window if necessary.

But Midas wasn’t here.

With an exhausted sigh, Draco lay down on the top of his sheets. He closed his eyes briefly and wondered if tonight he would have a dream similar to his one last night. Would he get any sleep at all?

The day flashed before him in highlight fashion. It slowed at the prefect’s meeting. He thought it had been the perfect opportunity; after all, there were plenty of people there to witness it.

He thought of Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and even Blaise and Malcolm. Once again he was glad he didn’t have to deal with roommates. Once again he thanked his father for arranging this room for him.

My father!

With a start Draco sat up and eyes the wall opposite him suspiciously. There wasn’t much there, just the old mirror and the fireplace. His glance gazed over to his desk where nothing seemed out of place or unusual, and then to his wardrobe. His eyes settled back on his desk suspiciously and he was suddenly reminded of his father having Lector search for something on his desk at the Manor.

“There’s nothing here, Sir.”

Indeed.

Suddenly Draco had an urge to laugh. Had he underestimated his father? Possibly. He’d find out soon enough.

In fact, maybe he would get his answer tomorrow morning at breakfast before he had to look in Harry’s face and lie once more.