Fidelitas ac Proditio

>.>.>.>.>.>.>

Chapter I

>.>.>.>.>.>.>

"That was plain stupid, Ron."

Harry sighed inaudibly. Ron had let something slip about Malfoy in front of Hermione and they had to tell her about their short skirmish with the Slytherin. They had arrived at Hogwarts with her still lecturing away.

"Dumbledore tells us not to look for trouble, and you provoke Malfoy?" Hermione was glaring at Ron who spluttered into his pumpkin juice.

"I told you Hermione, he started it! He hit me too!" he replied indignantly as he slammed his goblet onto the table. "He was lucky I didn't beat him to a pulp." He fingered his chin scowling.

"Oh, Ron, stop playing the martyr; you don't even have a bruise!" Hermione frowned. "Strange though, that being angry and all Malfoy didn't even get a decent hit."

"Right!" Ron snorted. "Now you're sorry Malfoy didn't hurt me? Not that he could of course," he continued quickly. Harry rolled his eyes. Ron and Hermione would probably continue to argue till they went to bed. He wished that at least they would change the subject. He tried to focus on his food and block out their voices, but it was useless...

Malfoy...

Malfoy...

Malfoy...

Sirius.

Harry clenched his fists. Lucius had played a part in ruining any chance Harry had had of having a real family. Bellatrix Lestrange had killed his godfather. Malfoy's father and his aunt. He owed all this to Malfoy and his family.

"Harry? You all right mate?" Ron was looking at him in concern. "You haven't said much since we met Malfoy on the train." Harry shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want to talk about Sirius.

"I'm fine, only tired," he lied. He took a piece of bread and chewed on it for a while. "His lot aren't too happy this year."

"Yeah, well, everyone knows their fathers are Death Eaters now," said Ron darkly, "They should be worried at what's coming to them."

"How the mighty have fallen." quoted Hermione, looking over at the Slytherin table. "He doesn't seem to be taking it well does he?"

Harry looked across the hall to see Draco Malfoy, surrounded by the usual crowd of hangers-on. Yet, rather than drawing attention to himself, as he was want to do, the blond boy was ignoring the conversation. Harry could see what Hermione meant. Malfoy seemed... diminished. He had lost weight, and his hair fell untidily about his face, longer than it had ever been. Probably the fact that Lucius was still imprisoned at Akazban, was weighing heavily on Draco. He felt a savage twist of joy at the thought as he glared at the Slytherin. You deserve it Malfoy, he thought silently. You deserve all this and worse.

>.>.>.>.>.>.>

The powerful do not have friends. They have allies, enemies and servants.

Draco surveyed the Slytherin table. Few new first years had joined their table; they looked young and afraid. A few months in Slytherin would toughen them up. There was no place for the weak in the house of cunning and ambition, for those who would be shunned and labelled by all who called themselves open-minded. He remembered himself when he'd started Hogwarts, still a child, still naïve, whatever he had believed. Draco had been afraid that he would fail, that he would be unworthy to follow in his father's footsteps. He had hidden his insecurities behind a mask of arrogance, played all his cards in order to climb to the top. He had everything, the name, the money, the power to control. To people from the other houses he had been an arrogant bully, despised and disliked; in his house he became the undisputed leader, someone admired and looked up to.

Never show your true self. Always leave them that disadvantage. No one can defeat you if they don't know who you really are.

Now he knew, as he looked at his house mates, that things would, or could no longer be the same. Things were changing and people were afraid. Those who came from families working for the Dark Lord, those from families who stood at the sides, waiting till the very last moment to declare their alliance... all in the same house, living warily side by side. It would be hard to keep them together this year, now that they were thus divided. Moreover, he knew that he was falling from favour and could no longer be sure of anyone's loyalty. No one would be foolish enough to associate so closely with the son of a known Death-Eater. Draco had not been the only one to have his father taken to Akazban, but he was one of those who had the most to lose.

He looked at the first years and felt a sudden surge of pity. It would have been so much easier for them if they had been sorted into another house, where politics and intrigues were a problem of the older ones, where children had no part to play in the game, where they could be children, not pawns to be discarded when they lost their value. Draco pushed his food around on his plate, pretending to eat as he watched them all. Pansy Parkinson, flirting with Blaise Zabini. Crabbe and Goyle shovelling food into their mouths. Theodore Nott, staring dreamily into space. Morag and Juliette, Delilah and Malcolm, Andrew, Elishka, Gerald... and many others, all together, yet ultimately divided.

Dumbledore indicated that it was time for the prefects to show the first years their common rooms, and Draco, together with the other prefects rose from the table. He noticed with detached amusement that Pansy came immediately to his side, smiling coyly in his direction. She was still watching, evaluating the situation as were all the others, wondering whether she would get a better deal with him or with some other Slytherin, preferably with a father out of Akazban. He couldn't blame her, not really. They had all been brought up in that way; one's own survival came first.

Suddenly, Draco was overcome by a wave of nausea. Not now, please, not now, he prayed silently. Not where everyone can see you. He struggled to keep his breathing even as he channelled his face into the usual mask devoid of any emotion. Draco pretended to lean on the wall to allow the first-years to follow Pansy; he made an effort to maintain his balance. He had to get to the dormitories without collapsing. He had to.

By exposing your weakness, you show your enemy how to break you.

>.>.>.>.>.>.>

"Draco? Are you asleep?"

Draco lifted his head wearily to see Theodore Nott standing beside his bed. Draco was exhausted - he'd barely made it to the common room without fainting, and there had collapsed into one of the chairs. No one seemed to have noticed anything - his father's insistence on his being able to mask any emotion had come in quite useful. Only Snape had looked at him rather strangely, but the Potions master had other more pressing duties to attend to. Now, what he wanted most in the world was to slip into dreamless sleep, and forget all about his worries.

"Not yet." Draco shifted himself into a sitting position and wrapped his blanket tightly around him. "And no chance of it either with you here," he added dryly.

Theodore smiled slightly at him as he sat down on Draco's bed. Though different, they were what could be called 'friends' in the Slytherin way. Theodore was introvert to the point of being completely antisocial. He avoided the limelight and lived at the very periphery of the Slytherin community, whereas Draco was its centre. Theodore Nott was one of the very few Draco liked and respected. He was unobtrusive and intelligent, and was surprisingly honest for a Slytherin; he wasn't averse to telling a few home truths. At least, he was honest with Draco; he ignored the rest of his schoolmates completely. He was a loner and didn't put much stock into being what others thought he should be.

The blond looked searchingly at Theodore. The boy seemed nervous, playing with the hem of his dressing gown, blankets, anything he could put his hands on.

"How was your holiday?"

"Much like yours I suppose." Draco smiled bitterly; both their fathers were imprisoned in Akazban, and their homes had been overrun my pompous ministry officials trying to find out dark artefacts to produce further evidence of their alliance to the dark Lord. "Not a good summer then," he said. "Are you all right?"

Nott shook his head "Not really. I had a bad dream and I didn't feel like staying alone." He passed his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. Draco didn't know anyone else who would actually admit to being afraid of a dream, knowing that they would be teased mercilessly. But Nott didn't really care. Anyway, he knew the blond wouldn't tell on him, he respected Nott too much to let anyone make fun of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't think I want to," Theodore replied tranquilly. "Now that I'm sure it was just a dream, I feel better." His eyes looked searchingly at Draco. "Are you all right? You didn't eat much and you look pale."

Draco stiffened. "A case of the pot calling the kettle black," he snapped back. "You don't look that good either." Theodore's smile faded, and he shrugged.

"Touchy," he said mildly.

Draco shook his head helplessly. "I just...Look, I'm fine." Liar. He knew he looked awful. He couldn't sleep because of his constant nightmares, he was terrified he'd have one of his fainting spells in class, he knew that it would be only days before he'd find himself completely abandoned by his allies and then... there was... it. Draco shivered slightly. There was too much to tell, and even more to hide. "I'm just worried, who wouldn't be at a time like this? But it will soon be over."

Nott looked away, biting his lip. "Yes, it will soon be over I suppose." He stood up. "Be careful of Blaise, Malfoy. He's probably the one you'll really have to reckon with."

Draco nodded slightly. Blaise was a threat to him, that much he had always known. "Thanks, I will." He rested his head on the pillows. "Oh, and Theo?"

"What?"

"Wake a house elf when you next have a bad dream."

Theodore grinned. "Where are my manners, Master Malfoy? I forgot to say thank you." He made Draco a mock bow.

"That's better." Draco allowed himself to smile as he closed his eyes. "Good night, Nott."

"Good night."