Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Oath Breaker ❯ Harry in Slytherin ( Chapter 6 )

Part 6

Though fully robed, Draco turned on the shower and let the hallucinarium dust rinse off of him. In the stall beside him, he heard Potter stripping off his soaked clothes and dropping them on the floor. Neither of them spoke. Draco didn't know what was going through Potter's mind, and he didn't care. For now the hot water pouring over his head and down his body was all he wanted to think about. He used to believe that re-living his ancestors' memories was nightmare enough, but after seeing his father's lifeless eyes, his mother's blood on both of them, he understood that his nightmares were just lessons. Nothing had prepared him for the shock of actually seeing them dead.

"But they're not dead," he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall. "They're not dead. It was just a dream. A bad dream."

The worst part was that he didn't know for sure. Somewhere in the world his parents might be dead, discovered by Voldemort and tortured to death. Perhaps he'd been lucky that he hadn't seen Pansy stacked on top of his parents. Pansy, and Goyle, and Crabbe, and Theodore, and... He choked down a sob. He hadn't cried before. He would not cry now, not with Potter right next to him.

He put his hands together. "Sithen--" His words choked as he remembered his father's eyes staring vacantly at him, but he forced himself to focus. "Sithenes sceandu kasta en niht ic dragan, heonon ren an cleonsian min sawol." The body of his mother still lay before him. He repeated the chant. Wisps of darkness slipped off of him, but soon he was chanting the words over and over without any magic left to cleanse. The chant became a prayer and a wish for rain of a different sort, a meditation to destroy the images burned into his memory. Over and over, he whispered the words to the water washing over him, and gradually the words forced out the memories of his hallucinations out of his mind. He knew he'd remember them again, perhaps in a nightmare or during a lonely moment in the empty Slytherin common room, but at least for now they were gone.

Light footsteps pittered behind him suddenly, and he turned around and spotted several elf silhouettes running back and forth behind the curtain. He turned off the water and toweled dry, but when he bent to pick up his robes, he discovered that they were gone. Only his wand remained on the wet tile. With a grumble, he tied the towel around his waist and stepped out.

A dozen house elves busily set out towels, bath robes and sandals at each shower stall, preparing for the rest of the students in Slughorn's potions class that could walk or stumble to Slytherin. Draco grabbed another towel to dry off his hair and dropped it in a heap as he tugged on a white robe. The towel was gone and replaced before he finished dressing.

Beside him, Harry squawked in surprise when he found that his clothes were gone. He came out holding the towel rather loosely around his hips and squinting as he put his glasses on one-handed. Water dripped down his hair and chest, and Draco took the opportunity to look Harry over before he could notice. A few old scars marred his skin, and a couple of light pink slashes across his chest were so recent that he wondered what Potter had done to get them.

"Didn't know you were an exhibitionist," he drawled.

Harry just sighed as if dealing with him was not worth the effort. "They took our clothes, didn't they?"

One of the elves stopped and nodded with a big smile. "Oh yes, Master Potter, gone to be properly cleaned and made safe. Not to worry, though, we's bringing student clothes from the dorms so's you can dress." And he ran off again with his armful of towels.

Harry picked up the nearest robe and winced. "This can't be right. This thing is tiny."

Chuckling, Draco looked down at himself. The bottom hem went to his mid-thigh and tied at the waist, leaving a fair amount of his neck and chest revealed. Whoever had chosen this must have had a love of Asian aesthetics and he didn't think it was too revealing, but Potter certainly seemed to think so. "Well, I don't have to worry. My own robes are in my room."

With a glance back at the shower stall, Harry considered hiding inside until an elf came round with his clothes, but both of them knew that all the showers would have to be free when Snape finally brought the other students in. Draco's derisive laugh at Harry's shyness dwindled as he began to consider what had just happened, now that the blinding fear and despair had faded.

The hallucinarium explosion had come from behind him but the poison cloud had spread so quickly that no one would know whose cauldron exploded. Not only that, but Draco Malfoy, suspected dark wizard with ties to Voldemort, had insisted on participating in class and partnering with the Boy who Lived. Dumbledore could not hush up an accident like this and tomorrow the Prophet would probably run the headline Hogwarts Potions Disaster, Malfoy Heir Implicated. He looked at Harry again.

"You can borrow one of my cloaks," he offered. "They should fit you."

Harry looked at him in surprise. "Really?" Then his eyes narrowed and he frowned. "What's the catch?"

"Nothing horrible," Draco said, waving for him to follow as he headed for his room. "You just make sure you tell Slughorn and anyone else who asks that it wasn't our cauldron that blew up. They'll believe you."

The Slytherin dungeons meandered and broke off in various directions to different chambers, but his room was only a few doors down from the common room. Resembling the Gryffindor bedrooms in that it held five beds, four of them were empty at the moment. He opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and drew out the largest cloak, one that had been tagged as his size but was actually one size larger. When he had complained to Severus, though, his master did not acknowledge any mistake but dryly responded that "hope springs eternal." Draco hadn't brought it up again.

"Here, try this," he said, holding it out.

As if expecting the cloak to come alive and wrap around him, Harry gingerly took it and held it at arm's length for a moment. Once he knew it was safe, he spread it around his shoulders. It only came to his ankles and rode high on his wrists, the collar choked and it fit too tight around the shoulders, but at least it closed entirely in front.

While Potter dressed, Draco quickly threw on his own robe and locked his trunk again before Harry could see his lack of personal possessions inside. He could coax gifts and luxuries out of his parents, but whining never worked on Severus. Until he had his own spending money, he could forget about fancy smudge-proof quills that self-inked, comfortable robes of a more fashionable cut, and some of the more decadent chocolates and candies from Devil's Delights, his favorite shop in Knockturn Alley.

"Are all your rooms like this?" Harry asked. He looked around at the unfinished stone walls, cold brick floor and scattered green torches. Although the beds and furnishings were as fine as any in Gryffindor, the dormitory itself felt isolated and confined.

"Some of the chambers are bigger," Draco answered, "but the girls have most of those. Otherwise, yes. Why? There's nothing wrong with them."

"You're not afraid they'll flood?" Harry asked. "I mean, you are under the lake--"

He didn't know if Potter knew he was referring to the old insult that Slytherin needed to be washed out, but even if he didn't, the familiar saying rankled. "Slytherin flooding," Draco said coldly, "is about as likely as Gryffindor falling off." He rose to his feet and walked out of the room, making sure Harry followed him out before closing the door too loudly.

By the time they came out, they heard the slow shuffle of shell shocked students trudging into his house. The house elves escorted the students, carefully taking their robes as they went into the showers. Spotting his housemates, Harry moved to join them but a hand on his shoulder pulled him short.

"You can see them after they come out," Severus said. "Both of you, come with me."

Head down, expecting a scolding, Draco followed his master. Harry walked beside him, and Draco was a bit surprised that Harry kept his head up, a frown on his face as if he intended to argue. Not that Draco wasn't prepared to defend himself, but he'd found that antagonizing his master was never a good idea.

Inside the common room, Slughorn stood explaining matters to Dumbledore, who idly turned a wrapped candy over in his fingers but did not answer him.

"Ah, there you are," Dumbledore said when he spotted them. "Severus assured me you were fine, boys, but I admit, I'm glad to see for myself."

"I think I'm starting to get used to accidents," Harry said, tugging on his collar to loosen it.

"Calling it an accident may be a bit too hasty," Slughorn said. He glared disapprovingly at Draco and Severus. "There have been no accidents in my class since I took the post, but on Malfoy's first day a dangerous poison explodes in his cauldron--"

"Ours didn't explode," Harry said. "It was whoever was sitting behind us."

Startled by Harry's interruption, Slughorn paused for a moment, obviously considering his next words. "Are you sure?" he asked slowly. "After all, you were exposed to a large quantity of hallucinarium. You really shouldn't trust your memory--"

"I'm sure," Harry said. "It was just bubbling in the cauldron while we talked--"

"'Bubbling'?" Slughorn repeated, eyes wide. "It's not supposed to--well, it could, but only if--no no, it should've been inert, I'm afraid that proves--"

"Proves nothing," Severus said. "You know that hallucinarium has three states, inert, oxygenating and corrosive. Obviously Draco made the second type, which, given your recipe, would have been the best anyone could have hoped to make."

"I stand by that formula," Slughorn said, "and the inert state--"

"Is better created using an alcohol base," Snape interrupted again, his irritation warring with his smug satisfaction. "Did you honestly expect any of them to succeed? You obviously never expected them to create something dangerous or you would've had more of the antidote prepared."

"'More'?" Harry asked. "Wasn't there enough?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Two students had to be apparated to St. Mungo's, which fortunately keeps a steady supply of most antidotes. Unfortunately they don't store Halcyon, hallucinarium's specific antidote, since it's rarely needed, so they'll have to make do with a more generalized therapy."

"How long will that take?" Harry asked.

"Less than a week," Draco reasoned. "I doubt they'll go mad, but still, not the way I'd like to get out of classes."

"We're getting off track here," Slughorn said. "We need to discover whose cauldron exploded and why, and the fact remains that on a dark wizard's first day, we had an explosion."

Though sorely tempted to look around and make sure no one else was in the room, especially after his own hallucinations, Draco steeled himself not to react. But he took a little satisfaction in Harry scanning the room quickly and even in Dumbledore's raising his hand to reassure Snape before his master could wind up.

"This dark wizard," Dumbledore said, "also promised not to hurt anyone, and I believe he has not broken that promise. Hogwarts would be better served by investigating this matter without automatically targeting one student."

Still irate, Severus turned to his apprentice and snapped, "did you follow the recipe exactly?"

Used to his master's temper and sure that it wasn't aimed at him, Draco kept his voice even as he answered. "Of course not. I chopped the stems smaller, pulverized the eyes finer than it called for, and added the quarter reverse turn for every three full."

"And how," Severus continued, "would you alter that recipe if you wanted to make it combustible?"

It suddenly occurred to Draco that his master knew exactly what had happened, but he was taking the moment to rub his apprentice's knowledge in Slughorn's face. He wondered if Snape wasn't a little jealous that Dumbledore had chosen a new potions master rather than asking Snape to shoulder both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and wondered if Snape wasn't a little hypocritical in calling the Malfoys arrogant.

"I would...leave out the quarter turn," he said slowly. "And...I suppose I could add..." He considered. Something that had to react with the existing ingredients and yet could not be immediately noticeable to the students mixing them together. He tried to remember what they had in their inventory and only thought of one solution. "Parts from an animal that hunts ravens. Necromulas, perhaps." By Snape's small smile, he knew he'd guessed correctly.

"Necromulas?" Harry asked. "What are those?"

"Very small spiders," Dumbledore said, "hardly big enough to even see, but in large numbers they form delicate, powerful webs that can run for miles. There are a few in the forbidden forest, but they usually die out in cold weather."

"They chiefly hunt small birds," Severus said, "but ravens would not be out of the question. And considering that dried hellebore matches dead necromulas in color, cross-contamination would hardly be noticed."

"Impossible!" Slughorn said. "I rinsed that hellebore myself, and besides, it didn't come from the forest. There was no chance of cross-contamination."

"Not accidental contamination," Snape said softly. "But you don't lock up your class materials. Anyone could have gone in during the night and tampered with your ingredients."

"You think this was deliberate?" Dumbledore asked.

"Almost certainly," Snape said. "And I doubt that whoever did it would wait around for the explosion."

"But that means someone in the school is an enemy agent," Slughorn said. "A saboteur. How could they get inside, let alone remain undetected?"

"Questions that must be answered," Dumbledore said, "and soon. But we must be sure to apprehend our true enemies, rather than suspect others simply because they are more convenient targets. And we shall have to continue this discussion at another time, as it seems that the students are coming out."

Two Ravenclaw girls appeared, one of them still sniffling as the other gently sat her down on a couch and spread a blanket around her shoulders. Neither of them spoke or even looked at the small group in the corner. Draco suppressed a sigh and thought that Severus did as well. Both of them wanted everyone out of their house, but that wasn't really feasible until they were all properly dressed. Dumbledore called over a house elf to make sure everything was going smoothly and then left, assuring them that he would do his best to discover their saboteur.

"Well then," Slughorn said after the headmaster had left, "I'd best get back to my office and see that nothing else has been tampered with. If you'll excuse me." He made his way out of the common room and back into the hallway, clearly intending to get out of his old house before anyone remembered that he was a Slytherin, too, but before he could get far, Snape followed and stepped in front of him.

"Just a moment," Snape said, blocking his way. "I'd like to have a word about biting off more than even you could chew." As the wall slid closed again, they barely caught Snape's menacing voice just before the pair disappeared. "Slughorn, you know what I was, but you'd better remember what I am and that you'd make a great amount of spare parts--"

Once the common room was quiet again, Draco walked over to the table beside the lake window and sat down, pulling his father's journal and the grimoire towards him. To his surprise, Harry came and stood in front of the window, staring into the glass. Frozen solid at the top, the lake seemed more like a marble tomb as pale silver light rippled through the slow undercurrents beneath the ice.

"Do you ever see the squid?" Harry suddenly asked. "Or the merpeople?"

Draco shrugged. "Sometimes. Not very often."

"Oh." Harry watched a few bubbles rise from the bottom of the glass to the top, disappearing in the faint light. "It's beautiful."

"You should see it when the lake's not frozen," Draco said slowly. "The fish come quite close."

"I imagine the water's green," Harry said. "Must match the decor."

Around them, students trickled into the common room, sitting down amongst each other and looking around curiously. Their murmurs filled the room and Draco lowered his voice.

"You've already seen the bottom of the lake," he said. "I doubt you're interested in small talk. What do you want?"

Glancing at the other students self-consciously, Harry pulled the other chair out and sat down, leaning forward. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "You said that giving that little stir for the ravens was a dark magic thing, right?"

Cautious, Draco nodded once.

"Then why didn't Slughorn say anything about it? He had to have noticed."

"Of course he noticed." Draco sighed and put one elbow on the table, resting his head on his arm. "They know about spirits and souls mixing together, they just like to pretend that they don't. They think it's wrong to admit that something of the animal's left after they kill it, so they leave out quarter stirs and such and botch their work up, and then they say us dark wizards must be doing something different and evil to make our potions come out right all the time."

"But then why not just write the turn into the recipe? They wouldn't have to say why it's there."

"Yes, they would. Someone would notice that you only reverse turn with some ingredients and start asking questions. Your half-blood girlfriend, for instance."

Stiffening, Harry glowered and sat straight. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh?" Draco smirked. "You prefer your redhead boyfriend?"

"He's not my--" Cutting himself off, Harry's jaw clenched and he stood up.

For a moment Draco was afraid he was going to punch him, but then Ron and Hermione came into the common room, both of them dressed in short bath robes, and Harry stomped off to join them on a couch. Ron complained loudly about the Slytherin uniform Harry was wearing and made sure to mention how small it was on him, but Draco steadfastly ignored them.

More and more students trickled in. Bored and preferring not to meet anyone's eyes, he pulled his father's journal from beneath the table and opened it. Written in swirling gold ink, the words For My Grandson Lucius decorated the inside cover. On the front page, the Malfoy crest of a rearing winged serpent, fangs bared, hissed lazily at him. His father's youthful scrawls, quite different from his present-day elegant cursive, began on the second page. From the expensive look of it, the pages probably wrote when spoken to and corrected the spelling automatically. Specially enchanted so that the writing at the beginning compressed to make room towards the end, the entries expanded and became legible as he flipped each page.

December 26, 1964 -- Received this for Christmas. I have no idea what to write in here. Grandfather says all growing children should have a diary. I only like diaries when I'm reading someone else's.

February 20 -- Grandfather says I should try to keep writing in this. I think he just wants to read it.

February 27 -- New tutor. Would get rid of her but don't dare, not after what I did to the last one. Don't expect this one will last very long either.

March 25 -- Didn't have to get rid of the charms tutor, father did it for me. Grandfather and father had a big fight about a whole lot of poisons that turned rotten yesterday and forgot the tutor was still here. Father had to obliviate her and send her off, but I don't see why he had to scold me for it. Grandfather said father's just angry and it wasn't my fault. There's so few of us left that we have to risk hiring outside the community.

April 2 -- Father says no more tutors. I'm far enough along to begin my apprenticeship in earnest. Grandfather will be my master, and he was father's master, too. Quite excited. No more tutors beating grammar and spelling into me.

April 4 -- I hate it! I don't have to watch myself around outsiders now, but grandfather's working me harder than a house elf. My hands hurt from all the plants he has me pulling up and the acids and vapors he makes sting my eyes. I even have to sweep the workshop. I hate it. It's servants work. Malfoys don't sweep. Malfoys don't weed.

April 7 -- Learned a potion made from weeds and sweepings. Grandfather says it gets rid of blisters and whining. Resolved to hide this diary better.

April 11 -- Father received an invitation to the Minister of Magic's banquet. Hope we don't go.

April 14 -- Grandfather spoke to the ravens today. He says he listens whenever a bunch gather in the trees and a whole flock of them was sitting in front of the manor today cawing like crazy, but he wouldn't tell me what they were saying. When do I get to learn that spell?

April 17 -- Found out we have to go to the Minister's banquet after all. Don't know what for. Witches like talking about my mother when they think I can't hear.

April 20 -- Still too sick to leave bed. No one tells me why, they just say go back to sleep.

April 24 -- Can finally move around a little. Grandfather told me someone slipped chylapodaen venom into my glass at the banquet. Whoever did it wanted to see if father would take me to St. Mungo's like a good wizard or run into the forest like a dark one. I don't remember anything except falling and being carried to the coach. Once we were well out of sight, father took us off the road and into the woods to make an antidote. Grandfather said I should write the recipe so I remember it.

Spider's Dying Rescue: Mix one fresh crushed black widow spider, three belladonna berries, and seven drops of blood in a cupful of wine. Stir well. Makes three doses of poison or one antidote to chylapodaen and arachnid venoms.

That's why I'm still sick. Even if it's an antidote, it's still a poison, too.

April 28 -- Still tired all the time so I'm reading in bed. Father said he found out who did it.

May 5 -- Almost back to normal. Grandfather is starting me on antidotes and amulets. Very interesting. I've been studying long into the night, but father gave me a new hand of glory so I won't disturb anyone. It should last awhile. It looks freshly severed.

May 10 --

"Your attention," Snape's voice interrupted his reading and Draco looked up. Standing at the top of the steps so everyone could see him, Severus ignored the house elves moving amongst the students as he spoke. "Now that your clothes are here," the Slytherin head told the students, "you can get changed and go to dinner. And make sure you don't leave anything behind, as I will not be opening the dorm up again."

Somehow the elves knew which robe went to which student, and they handed them out quickly. Eager to get away from Snape, the students threw their house robes over the white bath robes and hurried out. Harry dropped his borrowed Slytherin outfit on a couch and walked out with his friends after making sure his wand was still in his pocket.

A tiny hand tugged at his sleeve and he looked down at the elf at his side. "Master Draco," she said, holding his laundered clothes. "we's cleaned your robe. The picture inside gots all soggy, but we's fixed it right up."

He took the offered robe and the picture he'd torn from the Prophet. He'd forgotten all about it after the accident. His shower had smudged the ink and frame badly but the figures inside were clear, and he stared at his father and mother beside him. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of hallucinarium, but looking at the picture only seemed to make his anxiety worse.

As soon as the common room emptied, Severus removed the charm holding the doors open and watched with some satisfaction as they shut again, sealing Slytherin from outsiders. Finally he could turn his attention to his apprentice and he crossed the room, standing over him in displeasure. Draco shut his father's journal and braced himself for a scolding.

"You missed Charms," Snape said.

"Yes sir," Draco said. "I lost track of time in the library." He nearly added that he'd missed lunch as well but decided that his master probably wouldn't care.

A raised eyebrow. "And what was so interesting that it caught even your attention?"

"The use of hydras in potions." There was no point in adding extra excuses or explanations, so he kept quiet and swallowed once. Snape was an excellent master but his temperament and wit often left Draco's feelings in shambles.

Fortunately, the excuse worked. "For once," Snape said, "you've finally shown a little foresight." He turned and headed for the shelves in the corner, opening one of the cupboards that held Dumbledore's list and the ingredients for the evening's potions. "Get over here. We have several vapors to create before we're done for the day."

Draco gave a silent sigh of relief. No scolding tonight. Perhaps Severus had not heard about the mishap in Hagrid's class or his stop at Pomfrey's office yet. In any case, he was not about to tell him. Setting aside his father's journal, he glanced at the clock on the far wall. Dinner was well underway now and he doubted he'd finish his work in time, but it didn't matter since he didn't feel safe in the great hall. His stomach growled as he read the list and noted the work Severus had assigned to him, and he reluctantly pulled out his ingredients.

By the time they finished, the curfew bell had sounded. Draco put his last batch of wisprian vapors into their phials, pushed them next to the pile of completed work, and then lay his head tiredly in his arms as he watched Severus finish his own vapor. A sour scent of dead vegetation hit him and he winced. Vapors were like potions that turned into potent fumes once they were bottled properly, and their strong smells while brewing always gave him a headache.

"Nearly halfway done," Snape said once he finished, checking over their finished potions and crossing out items on Dumbledore's list. "If we keep up this pace, we should finish well before the week is out."

"Does that mean we get a break or another list?" Draco asked.

"Another list, which will probably be longer when they discover how fast we can work." Severus sighed and rolled the parchment back up. "Go get something to eat, but don't dawdle. We're waking up early tomorrow."

With a nod, Draco pushed himself to his feet and gathered his cloak from the corner, drawing it low as he walked through the dungeons. He doubted that he'd meet anyone in the halls, but concealing his face felt comforting. He wondered what being a Death Eater felt like, casting spells while looking out of a mask without fear of anyone recognizing him. It must be fun, he knew. His parents always looked so exhilarated after roaming around at night, flinging mudbloods through the air and wreaking havoc on the wizarding world.

He frowned. Except for the last time, when the dark mark had suddenly been cast into the air. Everyone had fled, Death Eaters and wizards alike, but his parents had been truly afraid, rushing into their private carriage, flinging off their masks and cloaks as if Voldemort might come through the shadows, as his father pulled back his sleeve to reveal his mark, once faded, coming back to life.

Shaking off the memory, Draco turned the corner down a particular hallway lit only by a single dim torch. A handful of doors lay before him, and he looked over his shoulder to make sure that he really was alone before opening the nearest one. This was one of many Slytherin secrets in the dungeons, but it was his favorite secret and one the entire house guarded jealously. The room was small, hardly more than a closet, with only a ladder carved into the wall. He began climbing and soon put a hand up when he thought he was close to the top, and he brushed the rough wood with his fingers. After fumbling in the dark for a moment, he found the latch on the side and pushed up the trap door, then climbed up into the kitchen.

Few elves worked here at night, instead tending to the cleaning and maintenance, but a handful of them busily put away washed pans and prepared for breakfast in a few hours. The trap door lay in a far corner, well out of their way, but as he stood and brushed off his robes, one of the elves hurried towards him, a covered platter already in her hands.

"Daffy knew Master Draco'd be back tonight," she said, putting the dish down on the table before him. "So's Daffy kept dinner warm."

He sat down on a stool that the elves stood on to reach the hanging copper pots and took off the cover. Roast beef and mashed potatoes lay before him, piping hot rather than just warm, and on the side lay several tarts, one of which he ate first. Not as sweet as his house elf Filly made, but then the Hogwarts elves hadn't cooked specifically for him for his whole life.

As he finished eating and pushed the plate away, intending to take the desserts with him back to Slytherin, the wall a few feet away suddenly swung back, revealing part of a hallway filled with paintings of fruit. Harry stepped inside before looking up and freezing.

"Malfoy?" Standing in threadbare pajamas that had grown too tight over the summer, his hand over his eyes as they adjusted to the light and his hair even messier than usual, Harry looked tired and grumpy that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

"Eating," Draco snapped.

"In the middle of the night?"

"You expect me to sit alone with the rest of the school? And what about you? I don't see a prefect badge. Do your friends know you're out?"

A sore point, Draco decided, as Harry hesitated before answering. He probably had to sneak out just to enjoy a little privacy. No wonder Harry was annoyed to see him here, but he didn't seem willing to give Draco any satisfaction by leaving.

"Not that I have to explain myself to you," Harry said, "but I was hungry." He picked up a tray of desserts that seemed to be left on a nearby counter just for him, but he paused at the open door. There were few places he could eat safely in the castle at night, but going back to Gryffindor meant unwanted company again.

Thinking that Potter was abysmal at hiding his feelings, Draco thought of a dozen insults about his friends that would rile him up, but as he opened his mouth to start, he reconsidered. After all, if the Weasel hadn't been lying and he had to spend part of every day with Potter, he couldn't afford to be too antagonistic. A year of underhanded politics had not only taught him how to wield fear, but it also taught him to handle some problems with an iron fist, other problems with a velvet glove.

"You don't have to leave," Draco said.

"What?" Halfway out, Potter stopped and looked at him sideways.

"You obviously need time away from your friends," Draco said, "and despite popular opinion, I can be..." He fumbled for the right word. Pleasant? Friendly? That didn't seem right. "...courteous."

Harry snorted. "You poisoned these, didn't you? You just want to watch when I keel over."

Despite himself, Draco smiled. "I would never poison desserts. And I would much rather see you alive, at least until you've killed the dark lord."

Harry stood a little longer, but curiosity won out and at last he closed the door again, then grabbed another stool and sat across from. For a few minutes they ate quietly, listening to the last handful of elves in the kitchen bedding down in hidden nooks in the cupboards. Both of them sat awkwardly looking away from each other. Strange circumstances of war and politics had brought the two adversaries if not onto the same side then at least against a common enemy, and neither of them was sure how to deal with the other.

"Why do you call him the dark lord?" Harry suddenly asked. "It doesn't seem like he's the lord of dark wizards, after all."

"He..." Draco looked down at the table as he thought. Damn. Trust Potter to ask the really stupid, hard to answer questions that everyone else took for granted. "It just happened that way."

"What do you mean?"

One look at Harry's face and Draco inwardly cursed again. How to explain an entirely opposite point of view when the other person had no idea that it even existed? "He already calls himself a lord. When he started working against the ministry, the dark community embraced him." He sighed and slouched a little. "We thought he was the one we'd been waiting for, the lord of all dark magic come to save us from the light."

"'Lord of all dark magic'?" Harry repeated, sitting a little straighter. "That sounds like it came out of prophecy."

"Stupid things, prophecies," Draco said, not noticing Harry's look. "You never know what they mean until they happen. No, the dark lord isn't a prophecy, it's a hope that someday a truly powerful wizard will rise, one that we could all rally to, like Mordred reborn. Someone who could unite all the families into one force." He set down a half-finished tart as his appetite left. "And in some kind of sick cosmic joke, the dark lord turns out to be insane."

"Who's Mordred?" Harry asked. "The name sounds familiar."

"Proof that even here you only get an approved version of history." He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward. "And now it's my turn to ask a question. Why do you roam the school at night?" He laughed at Harry's half-hearted denials. "I'm not stupid, Potter, the elves had dessert waiting for you. And though I was half-dead when I arrived here, I remember enough. It's odd for Dumbledore's favorite Gryffindor to walk alone outside in a blizzard."

Falling silent, Harry lowered his head and stared at the table for several seconds. "I can't tell you."

"What, don't want me laughing at you?" Draco asked. He shrugged. "Fine, I promise not to mock whatever it is you're doing."

"It's not that," Harry said slowly. "I won't tell you because I don't trust you."

Draco froze as if slapped. Of course he knew Harry still hated him for the past six years of torment, but damn it, he'd given up his home, his wealth, possibly his friends and family to fight Voldemort. What more did they want, him leaping in front of Harry during a fight to take a killing curse? So what that he'd made Potter's life difficult for years? Potter had done the same to him.

But that was not the real source of his anger and admitting the real reason surprised him a little. For a brief moment, he'd simply forgotten that he was alone in a crowded school when he shouldn't have been anywhere near Hogwarts.

If it had not been for Lucius' insistence that Draco destroy the manor himself, then the youngest Malfoy would never have come to Hogwarts alone. He would be with Pansy now, leading a large group of children across the countryside searching for shelter and safe passage to the school. He might even have found his father and the other Knights of Walpurgis, and taken up the fight under his father's command. Either way, he would have been surrounded by friends and allies.

He raised his head slightly. Friends and allies, but most importantly fellow practitioners of the dark school of Morgan le Fay. Unlike his earlier confrontation against Hagrid, when he'd forced his arrogance and used it as a shield, his pride was now unforced.

"You shouldn't trust me," he said softly. "I'm not on your side." He continued, even though he knew that Harry probably wouldn't understand anything else. That didn't matter. No doubt Potter would ask Granger about it later. "The dark lord's death will change nothing between the followers of Merlin and Morgan. When this battle is over, the war will continue to rage for another thousand years."

No longer hungry, he stood and walked to the wall that Harry had appeared from, pushing it open. He had no intention of revealing the Slytherin entrance to the kitchen.

"Wait," Harry said, half-rising in surprise. "What are you going on about? This started with Voldemort."

"If you believe that," Draco snapped, "maybe you should try reading history instead of sleeping through it." With that, he swept out of the kitchen, but he was not too preoccupied with his anger to take note of exactly which painting held another hidden entrance. As he walked, he slowed down and tugged his cloak closer. With only a few torches lit, the castle became so cold that he could see his breath.

He knew he shouldn't have lost his temper, or as Snape liked to say, let his foolish Malfoy pride get the better of him. Of course Potter wouldn't trust him. He was stupid to think that his family's sudden switch would earn him any respect in Harry's shortsighted green eyes. Lucius served as Voldemort's right hand for years and Draco obeyed his father in nearly everything. But the losses they had suffered in turning, the destruction of his home and any hope of a normal life for years to come, surely that had to count for something? Even Dumbledore trusted him, and for Harry not to believe the old wizard about Draco's sincerity seemed like pure spite.

"Hardly proper behavior from a good little Gryffindor," he muttered to himself. "Stupid sodding scarhead, doesn't even know who Mordred is. Ignorant muggle lover. Bet he never even reads a book except for homework. Probably has to cheat off Granger for everything."

He was still cursing when he reached his common room.

TBC...

Authors Notes:

1. chylapodaen -- from Chilopoda, class of arthropods including centipedes