This part is a little shorter than usual, but we're actually finally getting to the *plot* of the fic. Eheh.
Chapter Seven
Harry could not help but be alarmed that his godfather was playing fetch with some of his friends. He felt that he could forgive Neville and Dean and Seamus, as they didn’t know that Sirius was actually a human. But he was definitely a bit weirded out by Sirius’ involvement in the situation.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what Remus had said about Animagi sometimes permanently being stuck in their animal forms. He knew that they hadn’t meant to worry him, and somehow, that made it worse. If they were specifically trying not to worry him, that nearly always meant it was worth worrying about.
Thus, Harry was not in a particularly good mood that Tuesday afternoon, when Draco remarked in a pointed voice, “Where’s your baby-sitter, Potter?”
Harry slowly looked up from the book he was reading. “Where’s yours?” he asked in a neutral tone.
“I can take care of myself, remember?” Draco sneered.
“Oh, yes,” Harry said absently, turning a page in his book. “There was one servant of Voldemort I met once who was nothing more than a whining baby who wanted someone to look after him. Ugly, balding, crying man. Must’ve gotten you two confused. Sorry about that.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you defeated him single-handedly, too,” Draco snarled. “Must have been very easy. You probably enjoyed it immensely, beating down that old, crying man.”
“Oh, he wasn’t old,” Harry replied. “Please don’t assume you know anything about the situation.”
“Please don’t assume you know anything about me.”
Harry gave him a sharp look. “Is it fun being Voldemort’s slave, Malfoy? You know, I haven’t seen you in short sleeves or with your robe sleeves rolled up all year, even though it’s still warm. Reason for that, maybe? Perhaps we should check.” He stood up and reached for one of Draco’s arms.
Not seeing any way to get around the situation, Draco kicked him in the shins. Harry stumbled backwards with a surprised expression on his face. He sat back down on the bench, then smiled. “No, I didn’t think you’d want to show me the Dark Mark.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Draco snapped. “I’ll thank you to keep your grabby little hands to yourself. You may have something to prove, Potter. But I don’t.”
“No,” Harry said. “You don’t have a thing. Servants of Voldemort don’t have to justify themselves to anybody except him. You know, I saw him cut off Wormtail’s hand? I hope you enjoy being his servant, Malfoy. I hope you do a lot of evil in his name. And I hope I’m there the one time that you mess up or do something wrong and he punishes you for it.”
Draco thought of half a dozen good comebacks before he drew back a fist and punched Harry squarely in the jaw. Harry went right to the ground. Draco took a step back, not pursuing the fight any further. “Don’t presume to know me,” he said coldly.
Harry sat up, rubbing the blood off the corner of his mouth. “You know what I find very interesting, Malfoy?” he asked in a low voice. “The fact that you haven’t once told me that what I’m saying isn’t true.”
“I am not a servant of You-Know-Who.”
“Afraid to say his name?” Harry taunted, getting to his feet. “You should be.”
“Most of us aren’t lucky enough to walk away, Potter,” Draco replied.
Before a fist fight could break out in earnest, Remus walked over, looking slightly disconcerted. “Hope you two aren’t fighting,” he said mildly, looking between the two of them. “Though I’m noting a certain amount of blood on your chin, Harry.”
Harry wiped the blood off and looked angry.
“Better go up to the infirmary,” Remus said. “Have Madame Pomfrey see to that before it starts swelling. Go on.” He gave Harry a gentle push, and though he was still scowling, he walked away. Remus turned to Draco. “You all right?”
Draco’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. He looked at Remus, startled. “What?”
“Are you all right?” Remus repeated.
“Yes,” Draco said, though he was alarmed to find that he had almost said no.
Remus gave him a long, thoughtful look. “All right, then,” he said. “If I might ask exactly why you hit Harry? Since technically you should get into trouble for that.”
“He was being an obnoxious little prig and I’m not sorry,” Draco snarled.
“Oh?” Remus’ tone invited further explanation.
“He told me that he hopes You-Know-Who puts a sudden stop to my life,” Draco said. “Hopefully in my line of duty as a dark servant. So I decked him.”
Remus considered this for a long minute. “Understandable,” he finally said. “Perhaps I’ll have a word with him.”
“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Draco said. He didn’t want other people fighting his battles for him, or sticking their nose into his business.
“No, it’s most likely not,” Remus said. “In any case, I think it’s nearly time for the afternoon classes to begin, so you’d better get going. One word of advice for you, though – I wouldn’t advise hitting Harry if he’s got Padfoot with him.”
Draco nodded, then said, “Thank you,” though he sounded rather grudging. Then he turned and walked away, and Remus simply looked after him thoughtfully.
****
After that encounter, Draco found himself to be very nervous. It wasn’t that Harry was on his bad side -- that was hardly new. But how the devil had Potter found out about the Dark Mark? Was he sure, or had he been guesssing? And more important, would he tell Dumbledore?
Draco didn’t relish the thought of getting tossed out of Hogwarts. He figured, however, that if he was Voldemort’s spy inside Hogwarts, there was no other way he could know what was going on inside the school. That gave him a little leeway. Given that, and what Voldemort’s orders to him had been, there was really only one person he could ask for advice.
He knocked on Snape’s office door and forced himself to not fidget. Snape dislike fidgeting in general. His cold “enter” came from inside the room, and Draco pushed the door open. Around Snape, he didn’t feel the need to act like the arrogant prig he acted like everywhere else.
Snape looked up from behind his desk. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said. He looked slightly surprised, but his tone of voice was even, though not displeased. “What can I do for you?”
Draco’s first thought was to blurt out ‘well, I got this stylish brand from You-Know-Who, and my father often mistakes me for the family’s loyal pet dog.’ After a few seconds thought, he modified this into, “I . . . could use some advice.” He closed the office door behind him.
Snape’s eyebrows went up. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
“Thank you.” Draco sat down and wondered if he should wait for Snape to ask him questions, or just launch into the entire mess.
“What are you having trouble with?” Snape asked, his cold black eyes fixed on Draco with rather discomfiting intensity.
Draco swallowed hard and prayed to whatever deities they were that he wasn’t about to be smote. “You-Know-Who.”
“How so?” Snape asked, his voice still even and calm.
“I met him this summer. And I must admit I’m at a bit of a loss,” Draco said, understating the case remarkably.
“He often has that effect on people,” Snape said gravely.
“Yes. He does leave his mark, doesn’t he,” Draco said, and was quite pleased with himself for using such subtlety.
Snaoe’s eyebrow went up. “Did he mark you?” he asked, apparently seeing no point in wasting time on subtlety.
“Yes. And informed me that I was supposed to spy for him. And while there are quite a few people here that I don’t particularly relish the company of, I’m not looking forward to the possibiltiy of seeing them all die in a bloody spectacle, either.” Draco slumped backwards in his chair.
Snape gave Draco a long, considering look. “So he marked you against your will?” he asked.
“I thought it might been in my best interests to not offer up any resistance,” Draco replied dryly.
“Probably wise,” Snape said, his voice just as dry. “So He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unaware of your . . . reluctance to serve?”
“I sure hope so,” Draco said, in a rare moment of candor. “Because I am, after all, a Malfoy.”
Snape noted the sarcasm dripping from his tone but didn’t mention it. He leaned forward, still giving Draco the same considering, measuring look. “So why are you risking that by telling me this?”
“Because I don’t think I’m risking him finding out from you,” Draco said, meeting Snape’s eyes. “Am I.”
“But why exactly are you telling me?” Snape asked, ignoring the question. “What advice are you looking for?”
Draco sighed. “Do you have any that can keep me from getting killed and the school from being destroyed?”
Snape gave the matter some consideration. “Exactly what are you supposed to be doing for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? What specific orders were you given?”
“My specific instructions were to watch you and Potter,” Draco replied. “And to report anything of interest to my father or the Dark Lord himself.”
“Me in particular?” Snape sighed. He knew that Voldemort was unsure of his loyalty, so he supposed that he should have seen that coming. It still made him nervous. “I think it might be best if we conferred with the Headmaster on this subject.”
Draco nodded once. “And . . . I think Potter knows that I was marked. I don’t know how he could know, but I think he might.”
Snape’s lip curled at the mention of Harry. “What makes you think that?”
“His attempts to taunt me were closer to the mark than usual,” Draco said, rather amused by his play on words. “Also, the smug look on his face.”
“Interesting.” Snape considered for another moment. “Perhaps we should invite him along when we speak to the Headmaster.”
Draco looked vaguely put out at this. “That would mean admitting he was right,” he grumbled.
“True,” Snape said. “But you would get to find out how he knew. If you’re free now, we may as well go see him. We’ll let him decide if he wants Potter involved.”
Draco nodded, and stood up to follow him. He had never been in Dumbledore’s office before, and had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. He was impressed, upon entering, to see that Dumbledore was calmly waiting for them, sitting at his desk with his hands clasped. He wondered, not for the first time, how Dumbledore seemed to know everything that went on in the castle.
Snape nodded briskly at Dumbledore, apparently not surprised at all that he’d known they were coming. “Headmaster.”
Draco glanced around, trying not to goggle. He saw Fawkes sitting calmly on his stand and gave up and goggled.
Dumbledore kindly pretended not to notice. “Severus, Mr. Malfoy, what brings you to my office?”
Snape gave Draco a little nudge. “Malfoy here has been having a little problem I thought we should bring to your attention.” He gave his favorite student an expectant look, clearly wanting Draco to explain.
Draco jumped. He had been hoping very much to never have to repeat any of this again. He considered giving Snape an evil look, but then just launched into the story. He wasn’t about to bother with subtlety; Dumbledore wouldn’t care in any case. “I was marked by You-Know-Who this summer and told to watch Professor Snape and Potter and report back to him if anything interesting should happen. And I think Potter knows he marked me.” He paused nervously, wondering if Dumbledore would realize he had purposefully left out his father’s involvement.
“Very interesting,” Dumbledore said, gesturing for Snape and Draco to be seated. “Am I to presume you don’t approve of Voldemort’s methods?”
“I was rather hoping to avoid the whole thing,” Draco confessed, settling in one of the chairs.
“What made you think that Mr. Potter is aware of this?”
“He and I were . . .” Draco coughed slightly, “having a friendly debate, and he said some things which made me believe he knows more than he’s letting on.”
“I see.” Dumbledore smiled, finding Draco’s editing of the story rather amusing. “Perhaps I’ll ask Mr. Potter to join us.”
Draco waited impatiently -- and, to be honest, a bit uncomfortably -- while Dumbledore sent a message to Harry. He entered a few minutes later, looking apprehensive. “You wanted to see me, Professor Dumble -- ” He broke off when he saw Snape and Draco and sneered discreetly in Draco’s direction. “Professor Dumbledore?”
Draco sneered back, just as discreetly.
“Please have a seat,” Dumbledore said. He realized that they were out of chairs, frowned slightly, and conjured another one. It settled down with a thud, and Harry sat down. “Due to some rather interesting facts Mr. Malfoy has brought to my attention, I was interested to see if you had any insight into Voldemort’s actions over the summer.”
Harry turned pink, beginning to regret taunting Draco quite as much as he had been. “Well . . . I’m still having those dreams,” he said slowly, and gave Draco a sidelong glance. Then he looked back at Dumbledore, plainly wondering why Draco had to be present for the dicussion.
Dumbledore pretended not to notice the look. “Would you care to share any of them?” he asked, plainly meaning whichever one had included Draco and the Dark Mark, but leaving the question open.
“They’re pretty blurry.” Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Just him, Voldemort, talking to people. Usually people I don’t know.”
“You’ve never recognized any of them? Mr. Malfoy here is understandably a bit curious, I’m sure,” Dumbledore said, in his usual tone of gently disarming humor.
Harry sighed. “In one of the dreams, I saw him get the Dark Mark, that’s all. It’s not that big a deal. I mean, he’s a Malfoy. What could we expect?” He gave Malfoy a sidelong glare.
“Listen . . .” Malfoy began angrily, but Dumbledore lifted his hand, effectively cutting him off.
“We should always expect the unexpected,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Malfoy is here of his own free will.”
Draco subsided, trying not to look vindicated.
“Oh.” Harry considered this for a long minute, then looked at Draco. “Is it true, then? What I dreamed?”
Draco lifted his arm and pushed back his sleeve, revealing the mark. “Just because I didn’t fight doesn’t mean that I particularly liked kneeling before him, Potter,” he snarled. “I wanted to live until dinner.”
“Of course you didn’t like kneeling before him,” Harry snapped back. “God forbid you ever admit someone might be better or more powerful than you.”
“You say that like I’m the only one in the room acting like an arrogant prig,” Draco replied, biting off each syllable. “I didn’t ask for this to happen, nor am I particularly enjoying it. You realize it’s you I’m supposed to be watching, right?”
“Oh, no, I had no idea,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Because you’re ever so stealthy and subtle about it, too.”
Draco grit his teeth, trying not to say anything truly horrible in front of Dumbledore. The Headmaster had been sitting patiently during this, hoping that they would come to a truce on their own. Seeing that this wasn’t about to happen in this millennia, he chose to step in. “I think . . . that possibly, the two of you should consider where the other stands, and declare a temporary truce.”
Harry looked at Draco and said bluntly, “Where do you stand?”
“There are definitely some people at this school whose company I could do without,” Draco said, giving Harry a look that made it clear that he was one of them. “However, that doesn’t mean I want to see them ground into a fine red paste.”
Harry gave him a long, considering look, the same kind that Snape had been giving him earlier. He, apparently, came to a different conclusion. “I don’t think that I believe you.”
“He believes me, Potter,” Draco said, gesturing to Dumbledore, “so therefore your opinion doesn’t mean that much to.”
“I can’t imagine my opinion ever mattering to you, Malfoy.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “That truce would be lovely right about now. Especially in my office.”
Harry and Draco both subsided into sullen silence, the former still not believing Draco and the latter grinding his teeth.
Dumbledore turned to Snape. “Could there be other students that were marked this summer, Severus?” he asked. “I’d hate to leave them hanging if they found themselves in a position similar to Mr. Malfoy here.”
“The only other students who currently have Death-Eaters for parents are Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott,” Snape said. He glanced at Malfoy. “I’m assuming that if Crabbe and Goyle had been marked, you would know?”
Draco nodded. “I would and they haven’t.”
“I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary in Nott’s behavior,” Snape said. “But I will keep an eye on him. However, I think it’s safe to assume that Malfoy was the only one. Lucius Malfoy being one of the Dark Lord’s most devoted servants, it stands to reason that his son would have been the one chosen.”
Dumbledore nodded and turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, considering that your dreams seem to have a loud ring of truth and accuracy, perhaps in the future you should attempt to note what happens in more detail.”
Harry fidgeted. “I usually only worry about them if I wake up with my scar hurting,” he admitted. “The rest of the time, I figured they were just . . . dreams.”
“Quite understandable,” Dumbledore said. “It can’t be pleasant to be looking over his shoulder.”
“But I’ll try to remember them,” Harry said, thinking that he would try especially hard if Draco was in them, but not saying so aloud.
“That would be greatly appreciated,” Dumbledore replied.
****
“Very clever of you,” Harry said, as they reached the main hallway, leaving Dumbledore’s office. “Making Dumbledore believe you like that. Well done indeed.”
“Thank you,” Draco said.
“So now I supposed your plan is to tell Voldemort all about what happens here, pass him along all that information,” Harry said. “It’s touching that Dumbledore believes in you. I’ve never seen him be naïve before. I suppose it must be your good looks and charm.”
“Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Draco retorted.
“I’m just supposed to believe that you’re a good guy now?” Harry asked furiously. “After you’ve made my life hell for four years, I’m just supposed to say that you just did it for fun and I should be a good sport about all of it?”
“No,” Draco said. “I don’t like you. I was a complete bastard for four years and I’m going to continue to be a complete bastard, but that doesn’t mean I work for Him.”
“No, Malfoy,” Harry spat out. “A complete bastard does some nasty things, but you’ve gone beyond nasty. You tried to get Buckbeak killed. You tried to get Hagrid fired. You’ve made my entire life misery. I’m sorry if I don’t believe this is all just because your life at home is terrible or whatever excuse you have. You’re evil, Malfoy.”
“No, I’m an asshole,” Draco said. “And I was pretty sure that you and your golden little friends there would save Buckbeak, and if I’d been trying to get Hagrid fired, he would be fired. And if what I’ve done has made you miserable, then your life is pathetic indeed.”
This time it was Harry that hit first, punching Draco right in the nose. It took approximately three seconds for the two of them to be reduced to a ball of whirling fists and kicking feet.
“Immobulus!” a voice cried, and both Harry and Draco found themselves unable to move.
McGonagall hurried over, scowling, and pried the two of them apart. “Up the stairs!” she said firmly, releasing them from the spell and pointing to the stairs they had just come down from Dumbledore’s office. “Now!”
Draco surreptitiously tried to rub the blood off his face. Harry didn’t bother, but had to repair his glasses before he could see well enough to navigate stairs. McGonagall shepherded them back up the staircase. Snape was still sitting across from Dumbledore’s desk.
“They were fighting,” McGonagall said unnecessarily, shoving them both forward.
“Dear me,” Dumbledore said. “I was under the impression that I had requested a truce.”
Harry said nothing, staring sullenly at his feet.
Draco looked like his knuckles were about to crack from how tightly his fists were clenched.
“Might I ask what happened?” Dumbledore asked.
“Nothing,” Harry said through clenched teeth.
“Nothing usually does not bleed profusely from the nose, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, sounding slightly less amused.
“He was questioning my motives,” Draco said.
“With his fist?” McGonagall sounded irritated.
“No, that came afterwards,” Draco replied.
Dumbledore looked slightly pained. “I’m afraid I simply do not wish to deal with this right now. Both of you need a night to consider what you have done, and perhaps consider each other. Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind as to take them to the hospital wing.”
McGonagall nodded. Harry was slightly surprised. It was the first time he had ever seen Dumbledore with nothing to say. That, more than anything, made him feel slightly guilty.
They remained sullenly silent all the way to the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey mended Draco’s broken nose and Harry’s several bruises and scrapes. “Out,” she said firmly, when she was done. “And I don’t want to see either of you two again for at least a week!”
That was fine with Draco. The two of them wordlessly stalked in opposite directions.
****
Chapter Eight
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