Descent into Darkness

It was the morning of the Quidditch Match. The spectators were already beginning to assemble in the common rooms, dressed in house colours ready to cheer from the stands. In the Gryffindor common room the mood was positive, and several fourth year girls were listening with interest as Oliver Wood, the former team captain visiting Hogwarts to watch the match, recounted stories of his recent triumphs with Puddlemere United.

Hermione found Harry in the dormitory, sorting through a large trunk. Hedwig hooted softly from the window ledge, Harry looked round. "Hello, I thought you might be Oliver, just trying to find my lucky socks."

Hermione smiled, "The ones that Dobby gave you?"

"Ah ha."

"Are you in need of extra luck then?"

Harry shrugged, "Yeah, the team is a little less enthusiastic then I’d like. I tried to give them the team talk. I mentioned tradition, honour, and pride. I ended with a rousing, ‘Do we want to win this bloody match?!’"

"And?"

"On cue they all replied, "Yes! Well, it would be quite nice really!"

"Oh dear." Hermione hadnÂ’t liked to say it, but the Quidditch team really didnÂ’t have the same fighting spirit since of previous years. She stood in awkward silence for a few moments, watching Harry tip the contents of the trunk across the floor. "Um, HarryÂ…" she ventured.

"Umph?" HarryÂ’s voice was muffled as he leant right into the trunk, trying to find the secret compartment he could have sworn he had read about in the manual. He re-surfaced and raised both eyebrows inquiringly.

A black speck on the wall above HarryÂ’s head suddenly fascinated Hermione. "This is, um, difficult to explain," she began, attention still firmly focussed on the plasterwork.

"Herm, is everything alright?" Harry sounded anxious.

"Oh no, itÂ’s not me, IÂ’m fine," she reassured him.

"Right, thatÂ’s OK then. Only I thought it might be about Ron."

Hermione gasped involuntarily, "You already know then?"

"Yeah," Harry began to pack his possessions back into the trunk, he paused, "Well, Seamus didnÂ’t tell me what it was exactly but I figured something was up."

"Seamus?"

"He told me about your row last week. Plus, RonÂ’s been acting dead weird since Christmas. So whatÂ’s the big secret?" Harry looked curious, but not overly concerned.

"He’s been – it’s - " Hermione was once again lost for words. "Harry," she spoke quickly, for fear of suddenly not being able to, "Ron has been spending a lot of time with Malfoy."

Harry snorted, "Yeah right! Why would he want to do that for?"

"HarryÂ… Ron and DracoÂ… they have a thingÂ…" Hermione finished falteringly, "going on."

Harry looked back at her with a perplexed half-smile. "What do you mean ‘Ron and Draco have a thing…’?"

Hermione felt incredibly self-conscious, "Oh Harry, you knowÂ… theyÂ’reÂ…"

"What, some sort of club?" Harry looked confused.

"No." She willed him to understand.

"Oh god - " Hermione saw the dawning realisation light HarryÂ’s eyes.

"IÂ’m really sorry, I know itÂ’s a shock - "

"ItÂ’s not drugs is it?"

" - I thought you should know. Drugs? No! Look, Harry and Draco are having a relationship."

"TheyÂ’re what?!" Harry exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yeah."

"Bloody hell!"

"Well, yes." Hermione watched Harry with concern as his eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

"IÂ’ll kill him." Harry spoke with a terrifying matter-of-factness.

Hermione was horrified, "Harry, heÂ’s youÂ’re best friend!"

"No, not Ron, itÂ’s obviously not his fault. ItÂ’s all part of an elaborate plot by Malfoy. CanÂ’t you see that itÂ’s just a distraction to stop me winning the match? Well, the conniving little gitÂ’s really going to get it this time." He stood, lucky socks long forgotten. Hermione felt a growing sense of unease.

"Harry, what are you going to do?"

"IÂ’m going to get my best friend back. HeÂ’ll be just fine as soon as Malfoy leaves him alone."

"Er Harry, I donÂ’t think it really works like thatÂ…" Hermione ventured but Harry had already marched off purposely.

****

At the same time as the Gryffindors were banner waving and reminiscing, Draco found himself summoned to SnapeÂ’s office. He had yet to change into his Quidditch robes and sat absent-mindedly picking at the sleeve of his expensive black "weekend wizard-wear robe of choice". He pondered the greater consequences of another rather disturbing talk with his father the previous night.

He was vaguely aware that Snape was in the final stages of his rant about how Slytherin could no longer be denied glory, "The shame, the humiliation of loosing to Gryffindor!" Snape hit the "Gryff" bit hard, and Draco winced with distaste as flecks of spit sprayed the desk in front of him. It was remarkable, he reasoned, to see the House Master so passionate about anything, usually he hid any emotion behind that wall of greasy hair.

Draco looked up in time to catch the curt nod that meant he was being released. He got to the door and had his hand on the handle when Snape called after him, "One last thing," Draco turned to see Snape hurl something tiny and glittering at him. By reflex alone he reached out and felt it fly into his grasp. A Golden Snitch, "Well caught, Mr Malfoy".

Draco held up his fist as the Snitch beat his tiny wings against his fingers and buzzed irritably. He felt a surge of relief, at least it wasnÂ’t a Portkey or a Veritus charm. How embarrassing if he had fallen for the old, "Catch!" trick. Despite SnapeÂ’s appearance, he always kept the House Master at a reasonable distance, being a traitor-deatheater-spy and all. He looked back at him.

"ItÂ’s the match Snitch," the Professor explained shortly, "Madame Hooch will be wanting it safely returned."

Draco nodded and left. He speculated about what the next motivational exercise Snape might come up with next. It seemed to be a personal mission for Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup. After years of falling short of winning the House Cup (Slytherins were not, on the whole, academically gifted) here was something they should be able to win, by fair means or fowl. And yet the jolly Gryffindor gang snatched it every bloody year!

He walked soundlessly but his head pounded with unease. He couldnÂ’t possibly pull it off, something had to go wrong somewhere. The Snitch fluttered innocently in his hand. The throbbing in his head had increased. Spots of red and black clouded his vision; he stumbled blindly and fought to regain control. He tightened his grip on the Snitch and felt its delicate wings crumple and snap like a butterfly caught in a vice. The world began to right itself and Draco stood composed, alone in the corridor. He opened his fist and the shattered Snitch tumbled to the floor. It lay at his feet and twitched convulsively.

Draco watched the broken Snitch idly for a few seconds. It began to glow, dimly at first and then with dazzling brilliance. Its regenerated wings flew out again and it shot up to his eye level. It hovered briefly, buzzing reproachfully before zooming off down the corridor and out of sight.

Bugger, he thought with feeling, IÂ’m never going to see that again.

But in the distance he heard the SnitchÂ’s buzzing abruptly cease, accompanied by the unmistakable snap of a catch. Impressed, Draco wondered who could stop a really pissed-off Snitch at full pelt, and without a broomstick. The blindingly obvious answer came as the Gryffindor Seeker stepped into the light.

"Potter" he said, glad for a distraction, he held out his hand, "I believe you have something that belongs to me".

Harry walked unhurriedly toward Draco. As he drew closer Draco began to feel uneasy, Potter was just a bit too calm and expressionless. He watched as Harry placed the Snitch carefully in his robe pocket and was still processing this odd behaviour when Harry replied evenly, "So have you, you bastard" and caught Draco on the chin with a neat left hook.

The full force of the hit made Draco reel back into the wall. After his vision had cleared and the initial numbness subsided, he winced and regarded Harry wearily. "So Potter," he hissed through the pain and lockjaw, "Was there something you wanted to talk to me about or are you just going to beat me to death with a Firebolt?"

Harry smiled grimly, "That can wait, but believe me Malfoy, its day may come".

"And on that day", replied Draco recovering enough to match HarryÂ’s glare, "I intend to beÂ… elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" Harry queried.

"Yes, somewhere different. Away from the broomstick that you plan to beat me to death with."

"Yeah, I understood the word. IÂ’m just disappointed with the comeback." Harry watched Draco as he stood straight, a purple bruise forming on his jaw.

"Well, get used to disappointment, itÂ’s character building. If youÂ’ve finished the assault and battery, I have a Quidditch match to prepare for". Draco turned to leave.

"Malfoy" HarryÂ’s voice carried easily down the corridor, "I want answers. Now."

Draco turned back, clearly irritated, "Right this minute, Mr Potter?" He stopped as he remembered the recent implications of HarryÂ’s slightly psychotic stare.

Harry spun on his heel and walked off, his red Quidditch robes streaming after him. "Yes, right this minute. Somewhere we wonÂ’t be disturbed and we can have a nice little chat about what the hell youÂ’ve been doing to my best friend."

****

Draco followed Harry, keeping a safe distance as he led the way through the matrix of corridors, passages and staircases, eventually arriving at a classroom on the fourth floor of the Astronomy Tower. Harry stood in front of the window, the sifting beams of light from the late morning sun making it difficult for Draco to focus on his face. Draco stopped halfway across the room and leant casually against a desk.

"Well Potter," he said, breaking the silence, "I think you may have broken my jaw".

"Who are you, Malfoy?" Harry asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

Draco was keenly aware of time passing and of the many other places he should be. He considered answering HarryÂ’s questions simply and quickly, just to get him off the trail for a bit. But he was Draco Malfoy, and the opportunity to further antagonise Potter was just to good to miss.

"Me?" Draco smiled, "IÂ’m just one of those bad things that happens to good people".

Harry leapt forward, "ItÂ’s dark magic, isnÂ’t it?" he yelled, "YouÂ’re tricking him!"

"So you think that IÂ’ve got him under some sought of thrall? ThereÂ’s really nothing to it. I tell him how special he is and how much I lurve him" Draco watched HarryÂ’s face blaze with colour, "It doesnÂ’t take a genius you know."

"Obviously."

"Potter," said Draco with mock-exasperation, "donÂ’t start throwing your toys out of your pram, itÂ’s embarrassing. Just accept that the better man won, let him go".

"Leave him alone!" Harry exploded, "He doesnÂ’t want you and your Slytherins, heÂ’s a Gryffindor. HeÂ’s got us."

"Has he?" Draco left the question hanging and smiled conspiratorially, "WhenÂ’s the last time you spent any time with him, can you remember? You have no idea want he wants. Give it a couple of months and you wonÂ’t recognise him when he passes you in the corridor. If there are any corridors thenÂ…"

Harry fought the torrent of emotions, mostly violent and life threatening, that he felt towards Malfoy at that moment. There was also the feeling of complete failure, he had failed Ron, and he had let this bastard take him away from Gryffindor. However, besides this was his sixth sense (or maybe his scar sense) telling him that whatever Malfoy was hinting at in subtext was rapidly becoming text.

"What do you mean?" he asked curtly. Getting no immediate reply, Harry made to storm out, but Draco moved swiftly to block his path. Harry recoiled as their cloaks brushed.

"Friendships come and go," Draco said softly, "Yours withers and dies. Poor Harry, such a sad life". A spark of malevolence lit his pale eyes, "What about Ron? A life wasted in the shadows." Malfoy began to back away into the doorway, "Stick around Potter" he said lightly. "Things are about to get interesting".

As he left, Draco congratulated himself on his parting line. It combined just the right amounts of menace, foreboding and style. He was really getting into this evil villain role; he could have been born to do it. He reached the top of the stone stairs and considered whether getting a white Persian cat would be a good career move. He was aware of HarryÂ’s green eyes still glaring into his back and he half expected a comeback line. Glancing back, the world suddenly tilted as a combination of HarryÂ’s left hook and getting his boot caught in the hem of his designer black robe took full effect. He toppled gracelessly down the stairwell, every contact with the stones adding bruising and concussion until he settled, unconscious, halfway down the steps.

Harry, having shot forward when he saw MalfoyÂ’s fall, reached him seconds later. HeÂ’s alive, Harry thought. His initial relief turned to anxiety as he wondered what to do about the comatose Slytherin cluttering up the Astronomy Tower staircase. Could he leave him there? He looked pretty healthy, he reasoned doubtfully, giving him a kick, if a bit unresponsive. Unfortunately, his doubts were mitigated by the appearance of the infamous Mrs Norris. She began to yowl loudly for her owner, caretaker Mr Filch. Abandoning all pretence of innocence, Harry ran.

To be continuedÂ…