Fidelitas ac Proditio

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Chapter 3

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He awoke with a start, the last wisps of his dream escaping elusively. He tried to throw the bed covers off him, but strangely enough, he found he could not; there weren't any. Startled, he sat up. He was in his dormitory, in his bed, but still in his school robes. Draco swallowed. He remembered having stayed behind in the common room while the others had gone to bed. He had been working on an essay - Potions? Transfiguration? He couldn't remember which- but he'd had a headache and it wouldn't pass, so he rested his head for a minute and the next thing he knew he was in his bed.

Draco crept cautiously out of his dormitory, taking care not to wake any of the others, particularly Theodore, who was a very light sleeper. The common room was deserted, but his books and quills were still scattered untidily about on his table. Draco frowned. He simply couldn't remember getting up and going to bed. The only options which suggested themselves to him were that he had either been sleep-walking or someone had carried him to his bed. He shuddered at the last one. Merlin! He had to be tired to think of something like that. A third possibility which he preferred not to consider, was the fact that he might be descending into insanity. Being a pure-blood, did carry some risks, Draco thought wryly, especially when your family-tree included people like Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange.

A piece of folded parchment, half hidden beneath one of his books, caught his attention. Of course, Narcissa's letter. He had tossed it in his bag and had conveniently forgotten about it for the remainder of the day. He would have to send her a dutiful reply the next day. Draco wasn't curious as to the contents of her letter; after five years of receiving the same type of note - brief, pointless, and as dry as dust- he thought he could pretty well guess what she had written. Not like his father's letters. He felt a sudden pang at the thought of his father. Draco missed him, his presence, his voice, even the familiarity of his meticulous script in the long letters he penned and never failed to send, week after week....

Draco opened Narcissa's letter. She wrote once or twice a week; it was essential to keep up appearances of course. Narcissa doted on her son didn't she? Such a devoted mother... His lips curled into a smile as he scanned the contents of his letter.

Draco,

Your father is still in Azkaban and I have no means of communicating with him as you well know. Do nothing that will shame the family name - keep out of trouble and avoid unnecessary confrontation with others. Do not disappoint us.

Take care of yourself,

Narcissa Malfoy

Take care of yourself... Draco snorted. That, at least, had been a new addition to the usual letter. The summer's events had certainly made his health a matter of concern to Narcissa and other interested parties. Angrily Draco tore her letter and threw it into the fire. He didn't want her stupid notes, he wanted his father's letters not hers. He wanted Lucius out of Azkaban, taking care of everything, being there for him, protecting him...

Draco swallowed. What was he thinking? His father would have been ashamed of such a thought - Draco didn't need protecting; it was a childish whim, stupid even. A choice had been made, a decision taken. Lucius could have done nothing, even if he had been free. Draco was no longer a child. He was... he was...

Draco turned to gather his belongings. The house elves would soon be coming to clean the rooms.

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".... I woke up and saw you going to bed."

Draco looked up from his books. "You saw me go in?"

"Well, yes. You just walked in and drew the covers round your bed. Lucky I'm the only one who woke up - the rest wouldn't have been too pleased." Theodore frowned. "Didn't you hear me call you?"

"No... I was thinking bout something," Draco lied. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'ok. You know me, I'm a light sleeper. I though you didn't want see anyone, that's why I didn't come to talk..." Nott started to collect his belongings.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly feel like company anyway." No one who was apparently sleep-walking would actually want anyone to surprise them doing so would they?

"I got that." Nott shoved his last book into his bag, and paused briefly. "Is there something wrong, Draco?"

"No, Theo, everything's fine."

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Weeks flew by. What with strange nightmares plaguing his life out, striving to keep up his reputation in Slytherin while trying to keep out of trouble, studying and quidditch, life was not what Draco considered boring. Rather, he felt he could do with a little boredom now and again, and some decent sleep would have been nice. At least, he had not walked in his sleep again.

"Do you want that?" Crabbe was eying a plate of toast near Draco's elbow with a greedy look in his eyes.

"No," Draco replied shortly and shoved the plate towards the other boy. He sighed as he poked unenthusiastically at his oatmeal. Never a hearty eater, his appetite had dwindled into nothing. Every time he tried to put food into his mouth he had felt his stomach recoil.

This morning was no different. The pre-quidditch game nerves he suffered before every game, even Slytherin-Hufflepuff, were not pro-breakfast. His gaze roamed across the Great Hall, and lingered slightly on Potter. He could feel the familiar surge of hatred seep through him. He scowled. Bloody, sodding perfect Potter would not beat him again. Draco hand slipped automatically into his pocket and he fingered his father's ring. He would catch the snitch this time. He would.

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Harry Potter flew across the grounds, shouting encouragement to his team, but mainly keeping his eyes skinned for the golden snitch. Gryffindor and Slytherin were at a draw; if he could get the snitch now they could win the first match of the season... Ginny had the quaffle, damn! The Slytherins were in possession, they were going to shoot... Ha! Good for you Ron...

Suddenly Harry saw it. The snitch! He started towards it, aware that Malfoy had spotted it too and was speeding towards it. Faster, faster, faster... He had to win, he had to. They were there, neck and neck, both trying to catch it, almost there... almost...

Then suddenly that pain, that horrible searing pain which reminded him that he was irreversibly linked to Voldemort, a tie he neither wanted nor cared for, which threw him down, down into a whirl of darkness and screams

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"Well I dono, maybe they cursed him and got Malfoy too by mistake and then..."

"But it doesn't make sense because Harry was holding his head, so it has to be V-Voldemort! And anyway..."

Ron? Hermione? Their voices seemed to be coming from far away... His head was pounding hard, and his bones were aching. What had happened? He remembered the intense pain, the snitch... Oh no... the game! Harry groaned. If he woke up to discover that Malfoy had taken the snitch, he would honestly think of asking Snape for poison, something which the man would only be to glad to give.

"...Oh look Ron, I think he's waking up!"

Better get it over with, I suppose. Harry tentatively opened one eye, and then both. "Ron?" he croaked, "Did we lose?"

"The game's been rescheduled Harry!"

"What?!" Harry sat bolt upright, gaping at Ron. Then he smiled. He couldn't help it. He had made a prat of himself by falling off his broom again, but he hadn't lost his first game as captain. Hermione gave him his glasses and he mechanically put them, still smiling. "Why? I mean really? But how?"

"They didn't have a choice." Ron was grinning too. "Malfoy fell off his broom at the same time you did - not much point in continuing to play without seekers right?"

"He did what?" This suddenly didn't make sense anymore. Wait... it never had actually made sense. Slytherin rescheduling because Harry Potter had fallen off his brrom was equivalent to Snape handing out candy.

Ron laughed. "Honestly, Harry, I'm starting to think you really are thick." He shrugged. "You clutched at your head and slipped off your broom and Malfoy bent double over his and you both slipped off at the same time. We'll win the game next time, Harry."

"Honestly, Ron, you might have asked how he was first!" Hermione glared at him and he blushed. "There are more important things than Quidditch!" She turned to Harry, an anxious look on her face. "Are you better now, Harry? Does it still hurt?"

"No...I'm fine now," Harry replied slowly. The initial jubilation he had felt at the knowledge that they hadn't lost to Slytherin was quickly fading away. "But it's weird... I fell because my scar hurt. Why should Malfoy fall too?" Ron shrugged his shoulders, and Hermione shook her head and frowned. "I don't know, Harry." She lowered her voice. "But Dumbledore seemed worried. He told us to call him when you woke up." She turned to Ron.

He nodded. "I'll go tell him you're up, Harry."

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Ginny smoothed her hair one last time. It could do no harm to try to look good did it? She only had to remain calm and composed. Even if Harry was nothing but a friend. Right. Clutching a packet of chocolate frogs, she walked towards the infirmary. Harry liked them best of all; she had got some from the last visit to Hogsmeade, now she could give them to him because friends brought things to friends when they were in the hospital wing didn't they? And she was so pathetic, trying to make up excuses for why she was visiting Harry.

Ginny, stop behaving like a fool, she told herself sternly as she opened the door to the infirmary. Remember, calm and composed. Calm and comp...

Ginny stiffened.

Tom.

She swallowed. Tom couldn't be there, Tom had gone. He was gone.

Tom

No. No, it couldn't be.

But he was there. She could feel it, his palpable presence, his darkness, still pulling her towards him. She walked towards him, knowing that he was there, waiting for her.

Step after step. Closer and closer to Tom, her Tom. She had missed him so. Her Tom.

"Ginny?"

Ginny jumped, as though she had been awakened from a dream. Ron was standing in front of her, looking concerned

"Wha-at?" she asked dazedly. She was losing him... he wasn't there anymore... she couldn't feel him. Tom? Tom?

"What's the matter with you? Do you want to sit down?" Ron had taken her arm. Ginny stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by a strong desire to cry. What had happened to her? She couldn't really have thought that he had been there.

"I wanted to see Harry," she managed to say, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Harry's ok, you don't need to get so worked up about it." Ron smiled comfortingly at her. He thought she was upset because of Harry, Ginny realised. "He's there. You were going in the wrong direction, Gin, the ferret's in that one." Ginny looked blankly at where Ron was pointing. Suddenly, she just didn't feel like going through with it anymore. She needed to be alone. Ginny pushed the chocolate frogs into Ron's hands.

"Here, give these to Harry," she said hurriedly, "I forgot, I have to... see Professor Sprout." She turned and ran, leaving a bewildered Ron behind.

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She had been lonely in her first year. Tom had been her first everything, her first friend, her first love. She had loved him with the passion a forlorn child could feel for the one who she thought, cared only for her. He had made her feel important, not the seventh addition to an already large family. But he had betrayed her, used her... And now she had sensed his presence again. It was wrong. All wrong. She couldn't tell anyone. She couldn't - they would think she was going mad.

Perhaps, she told herself, she had imagined it all. The brief sensation of a few minutes could easily be the result of overexertion, lack of sleep, or whatever. Yes, that was it. She would sleep and forget about it. The next day she would be sure it had been nothing but a dream.

Tom had gone forever.

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