Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Clair de Lune ❯ Brisement de la Tradition ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter Four:

Brisement de la Tradition

“Breaking Tradition”

If Draco had ever thought nothing could be worse than being forced to be both Potter's friend and civil to a Weasley, he knew now how deeply wrong he'd been. They were nothing compared to the brief five minutes of hell he went through crossing the lake with Nott, Pansy, and the Bête. In all honesty, he liked Nott best. At least he didn't talk, no Nott simply watched with his intense thoughtful silence, absorbing the scene with that creepy calm that always unnerved Draco. Pansy on the other hand had no qualms with telling him exactly how horrid she thought his behavior and how low he was sinking. The Bête would of course insert his opinion every now and again, cutting off Pansy before her shrill voice made their ears bleed. By the time he'd escaped the boat he almost thought it was worth Potter and Weasley's presence to escape them.

“There you are,” Weasley said with a nervous smile. Potter turned at the words and his loathsome green eyes lit up happily. Draco mentally groaned, only the reminder of Pansy's `scolding' and Blaise's presence keeping him from fleeing.

“We thought we'd lost you,” Weasley continued amiably, his blue eyes much too friendly. Draco's nerves were close to snapping as the Weasley promptly pulled him foreword with an uncalled for familiarity of an arm around his shoulder. Only the timely intervention of a dark-haired witch prevented Draco from using one of the many curses he'd looked up in his father's library during the summer.

She looked brisk, stern and well kept and Draco knew instantly that this woman with her intelligent hawk eyes, and no nonsense air was Professor Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Teacher, Head of Gryffindor, and Dumbledore's Right Hand Woman. Draco wondered what this woman's, who his parents both shared a mutual campaign of dislike, hate, and grudging respect with, reaction would be if everything went according to plan. He certainly doubted she would be overjoyed, but his mother was counting on the fact she'd be forced by her sense of justice and fairness to give him some form of help.

Seeing her now Draco was beginning to regret agreeing to the plan and wondered if perhaps he could still accomplish his goals if he tweaked it a tad. Then again, considering Potter, the boy would no doubt do something incredibly stupid and suicidal. Like sorting himself into Slytherin. Following the mob consumed in his thoughts Draco only half listened to the witch's introduction. Was he the only one who noticed the twang of dislike when she mentioned Slytherin, or perhaps did he imagine it? Doubtful. With an order to look presentable she left eyeing his hair warily. Draco glared at her defiantly. He knew very well his hair was messy, but so what, it wasn't like it even mattered much. He'd had a very stressful summer so he hadn't exactly spent time `primping', as Blaise called it, in front of the mirror.

Spinning on his heel Draco dragged Potter and Weasley close by, along with the round faced boy from earlier. Draco didn't care to try and remember his name, but Weasley informed him it was Neville. Draco's hands quickly efficiently straightened Neville's cloak practically sneering at how he'd fastened it under his left ear. The boy yelped and Draco suspected he'd tugged with a bit more force than strictly necessary. Weasley protested weakly as Draco gave him a handkerchief to wipe his nose, but after threatening to do it for him, the taller boy caved. Turning to Potter, Draco was flummoxed on how to handle it. The boy's hair was hopeless and almost as messy as his white blonde disarray. Instead he settled for straightening his clothes until the hung snuggly and neatly. Well, he thought grimly examining his annoyances, at least now they were presentable and wouldn't shame him. Gods if he was going to forced to be in their company for years on end he would have to whip them into something halfway respectable.

The three boys did not guess their companions thoughts, but they all sensed something stirring as he examined them with dark determined eyes. Looking at each other the three of them wondered rather or not they'd have to go through that embarrassing incident again. Noting the way he looked at Harry's hair the three decided that yes, they probably would. It almost made Ron regret accepting Draco as a decent bloke and made Neville wonder how he'd gotten dragged into it.

“How exactly do they sort us?” Potter questioned nervously, disrupting Draco's plans on turning them into something he wouldn't have to hang his head in shame at being seen in public with. Weasley looked nervous he noted and Neville (what was his lat name anyway?) looked slightly ill.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.” Weasley replied, not looking too sure himself. Draco would have snorted, but he noted the looks of terror that passed over Neville No-Last-Name's and Potter's faces. Looking around he realized it was mirrored on the others faces too, even those who knew how the sorting was done paled a little at Weasley's words. Merlin were they all idiots? And now that bothersome Granger girl was reciting spells under her breath. Draco eyed her darkly wondering if she'd like a lesson on curses if she didn't shut up.

“It doesn't hurt,” Draco snapped, deciding to win himself brownie points, a nauseating idea in itself, and besides their fear annoyed him. They looked up at him uncertainly. “I'm not telling you how, but you'll be fine and you don't need to know any spells so shut it Granger, none of us need to hear it!” Granger snapped up her brown eyes glaring at him under her bushy hair as she flushed a bright pink. A few others chuckled, but they relaxed now. Draco wanted to vomit at the friendly, thankful looks they were all giving him. Oh Merlin, look at him, comforting them all, making them, he almost retched, feel better. What was he a bloody Hufflepuff? The Bête looked incredibly amused and Draco was more tempted to curse him than he had been of Weasley.

Then the ghosts appeared and the squealing started. The stupid looking one in the outfit with tights and ruff floated overhead, his foot going through Draco's head and the boy silently vowed to find a way to hex ghosts if it was the last thing he did, as he shivered from the ice cold feeling. The Fat Friar happily cheered at the sight of them and instantly tried to convert them to Hufflepuffs. Draco decided the annoyingly cheerful ghost would be next on his list if he got revenge on the tight wearing one.

“Move along,” the familiar stern voice called. “The Sorting's about to start.” Suddenly Draco felt much kinder to Professor McGonagall for saving him from the spectral pests. Following behind a sandy haired boy, who Draco highly suspected of being Irish, if his accented murmurings were any sign, Draco wondered if the Great Hall would do his parents' stories justice.

Draco couldn't speak as he examined the room they walked in. True it wasn't as expensively furnished as Malfoy Manor, true it probably wasn't even too decorative, but it took his breath away. Thousands of candles lit the expansive room and it seemed to crackle with energy, with life, with magic. Looking up at the velvety black ceiling with its bright stars, Draco was reminded nostalgically of star watching with his parents when he'd still been very, young, maybe five. It was a beautiful room and as his eyes met Potter's to see the wonder and appreciation in those green depths for a split second he almost liked the boy, sensing he understood Draco's feelings. But just as soon as it occurred it was gone, interrupted by Granger's awed muttering about it being enchanted. Suddenly his hate flared up anew and Draco turned back. His joy at seeing the hall dissipating quickly as he remembered the goal he was going to accomplish tonight.

He, Draco Arcturus Malfoy, was going to be sorted into Gryffindor, even if it meant burning that hat, he would get what he wanted. After all Malfoys and Blacks alike were both an ambitious lot. And what was more ambitious than getting into the enemy encampment? So to speak.

He waited impatiently for Professor McGonagall to get to the M's. And finally after Neville, now Longbottom, gave it to Morag MacDougal. After the girl was sent to Hufflepuff, looked like a duffer too with those big cow-like brown eyes, Draco's name was called and he went foreword a numbness spreading through his limbs. Could he really do it? Break away from everything he'd been taught for one person? Shame himself for someone he hated? Spend seven years with people he couldn't stand or respect? Draco almost faltered, almost gave into his weak urge to tell the hat he wanted Slytherin, but one memory of his Mother's pained face was enough for him to slam the hat down determined.

Well this is easy you're obviously SLY-

Wait! Draco protested cutting off the hat before he could shout. It went silent and Draco could feel the impatience radiating from it. You have to put me in Gryffindor. He felt the shock and almost flinched as the hat began to go through his mind. He shivered feeling the light dusting as its fingers, for lack of a better word, trailed trough his brain and grabbed onto certain memories or thoughts hear and there.

A Life Debt, eh? Well this is certainly unexpected. I've never had a Slytherin, much less a Malfoy wish for Gryffindor. Draco felt a twang of annoyance. Did the hat have to mention that? Remind him how much he was failing his family name by doing this. The hat chuckled at this, causing Draco to mentally glare at it hatefully. Wait, could he glare with his mind?

Could you just put me in Gryffindor, I have to go. Now that you know why it should be easy. Draco pointed out placating.

Put you in Gryffindor. No, no my boy. You are Slytherin through and through, your ambition to save your hated enemy only makes me more sure where you belong.

Draco growled. I'm brave too! I dived in after Potter!

Only because you would suffer if you didn't. the hat replied calmly.

My reasons don't matter so much as my actions, honestly isn't doing good for the wrong reasons better than doing bad for ones that you think are good?

Depends on perspective.

Either way it still was brave, self serving, but brave. And think of what I'm doing, going into a House that will be hostile, turning those who should have been my friends into enemies, going against everything I've been taught all for Potter! That's brave isn't it? I know I could be hurt, but I'm still doing it.

Still self serving though. The hat mused and Draco bristled. Dammit it had to work-

But you are correct it is `brave', but that isn't why I'm doing this. You decided to convince me despite being able to choose otherwise. That was…bold of you I suppose, so I shall allow you to go to Gryffindor, but believe me Mister Malfoy you will have to prove yourself. So it seems you are going to GRYFFINDOR!

The complete and utter silence in the room was less than comforting. Pansy, he noted from his still sitting position looked as if she'd been slapped. The choking sound coming from further down the Gryffindor table as they all gaped at him dumbly wasn't helping. Draco was more than a little startled when Longbottom of all people started clapping for him first. It was timid and quiet, yet determined and soon the sandy haired one, Finnigan was following in suit. The rest of the table joined, but it was a subdued quiet clap that was stifled with shock. Standing straight and proud Draco swaggered down to the table and calmly sat next to Longbottom looking up at the startled McGonagall expectantly. The Great Hall was quiet, more focused on him than the sorting, until one very particular name appeared. It was Potter's turn.

Draco knew the moment Potter started arguing with the hat and his heart clenched in panic. Dammit if that hat dared sort him somewhere else just to spite Draco he swore he'd burn it, repair it, and do it over and over again. His hands clenched on the table before him. And after one tense moment Draco went limp as the table around him exploded at the loud proclamation of “GRYFFINDOR!” Dazed Potter slipped in beside him looking at Draco with a sheepish confused expression. Raising an eyebrow at Potter's expression, Draco leaned foreword at Potter's urging to hear what he had to say.

“The hat said to tell you, `that you owe me one, you arrogant bugger, and that you're lucky I like you.'” Potter blinked up at him innocently. “What did he, or it, rather, mean?” Bastard, Draco cursed, making up some nonsense about being worried about being alone. Potter accepted this and turned to watch the rather green Weasley be sorted. He was of course sent over to join Potter and him and noting Longbottom and Granger, Draco realized his set from hell was completely. Oh the Joy, to be Cannon Fodder.

It took him awhile to notice that he was being ignored or when he wasn't being ignored they watched him suspiciously, as if they suspected him of murdering them in their sleep. Draco acted as if he didn't notice and tried to enjoy his tasteless meal as he listened to the chatter of the first years. Granger spoke to Weasley's brother about classes. Finnigan and the others were gossiping about their blood status. Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes. And here he was under the impression they were too pure and high-minded to care for such things.

“Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” Draco heard Potter ask, his voice shaky. Looking up bored he saw it was Severus.

“Oh, that's Severus Snape,” Draco said casually, interrupting Weasley's brother before he could speak. The red head frowned at him disapprovingly, but Draco ignored him. “He's the Potions Master of Hogwarts. He's one of the best Potions Master in the European Order.”

Draco hadn't been able to resist bragging a little. Besides his mother and father, Severus was the closest thing to family he had. Draco's chest hurt as he wondered rather Severus was disappointed in him or not. He was a Gryffindor now, of course he'd be disappointed. Severus hated Gryffindors. The thought was depressing.

“How do you know?” Weasley's brother questioned. Draco looked at him bored.

“Well, obviously because he's my godfather.” Draco said, bristling instinctively at the dislike he saw in Weasley's brother's eyes.

“Godfather? That cool! What's he like Draco?” Potter looked up at him curious.

“He's clever, cunning, and the most talented Potioneer you'll ever meet.” Draco said, deciding there was no harm in converting Potter and the Gryffindors to his views. “He won't tolerate any cheekiness or dunderheads, so look at your Potions book ahead of time. He'll probably want to make sure we're ready. He's intimidating, but he only acts that way because any mishaps could be deadly. Even with the simplest potions. Just pay attention and do what he tells you.”

The first years were absorbing it like water all eager for knowledge on the infamous Snape. Draco rolled his eyes and noticed that Potter wore an oddly wary look. Draco watched Potter turn and give Severus a searching glance. Draco looked away confused. Severus hadn't been near Potter yet. Why was the boy so wary? Thoughts like this occupied Draco for the rest of the feast.

It wasn't until they were in the Gryffindor dorms—with those horrid scarlet curtains—that Potter told him.

“My scar hurt when he looked at me.” Potter said quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. “He looked like he hated me.”

Draco assured the boy, he'd probably imagined things. And finally Potter's confused expression faded and Potter was sound asleep. Draco stayed up the rest of the night not sure what to do. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run away, but he stayed. He stayed like he was supposed to. Draco no longer had the luxury of those choices. Even if he liked to deceive himself by saying that he did. A few hours before dawn Draco fell into a troubled sleep about deserts and beautiful pools of water. And dying. Dying over and over and over again.