A Sunday Evening
Draco wouldn’t lie when he said that he liked Tabitha. He just would never say it.
Never admit you appreciate someone. That was one of the first lessons he was taught. His father had told him that, right after nine-year-old Draco had fangirled over a newspaper article that had mentioned Harry Potter. It hadn’t even been the first incident involving Harry Potter. His father had given up on telling him not to appreciate at all, and Draco thought until this day that his father should not be allowed to talk like that. While he knew that the people his father cared about were down to two or three (himself and Draco’s mother and maybe, just when he felt like it, Draco), Lucius Malfoy let everyone ranked higher than him know what a great person they were and what a perfect job they did. It was pathetic, but that behavior had saved his arse many times, Draco’s included.
Now, that Tabitha Nott was in his life, with all her mysteries and strange muggle clothes, he only saw how much he had longed for a friendly face. Sure, Pansy still was his best friend along with Blaise. But they didn’t… talk, exactly. They snickered and gossiped.
Tabitha listened a lot, to his problems and thoughts. She encouraged him to talk with her, and he did. After spending two hours showing her the house, they had sat down on a bench outside in his mother’s flower garden.
“Have you given yesterday more thought?”
Draco had almost said, yes, the whole night.
Instead, he had just nodded.
“And what do you think?”
Silence.
“You know I won’t let this go, but I don’t want to force you into talking. Just… do it when you’re feeling comfortable.”
That’s just it, I think I will never feel comfortable talking about this.
She had gone home then, smiling at him and waving goodbye.
She had said later, alligator and Draco found it strange and admirable at the same time.
Well, father, suck on that.
Now, on Sunday, Draco helped his mother panning the dinner party. He should have seen this coming, Narcissa always talked huge things small. A get-together, my ass., he thought while looking at the seating arrangements. His mother was bent over a menu, checking again if everything was alright. Knowing her, he assumed she had been planning the dinner with the house elves for weeks now. Then again, the five courses needed to be excellent. After all, the Dark Lord didn’t come often to dinner parties.
A few years later, Draco would joke that it was the food and his mother’s hospitality that convinced the Dark Lord to outstay his welcome at the manor.
Jokes aside, this evening was the beginning of Draco’s real nightmare.
Four hours to go. His mother had sent him up to his room. She had it all under control. Draco only stood in her way. He flicked his wand at the record player. His father would kill him for turning Patti Smith on that loudly. But his father wasn’t here.
He sat down on the floor, then stood up again. He locked the door.
Fuck his father. He had left him; he hadn’t cared to think about his family before taking on the mission. And fuck Harry Potter. The Gryffindor Bastard who had gotten his father into Azkaban. His mother was a wreck because of them both. And Draco- well, Draco didn’t know what exactly he was now. Confused. That. And angry. With his father who didn’t care about his loved ones, who hadn’t even sent a letter, even though his mother had slipped the guards a (not so) small bribe. With Potter who didn’t care either. Why should he care about anyone? He was the Chosen One, the Golden Boy. He had destroyed his family once and for all. And yes, maybe that was mainly the Dark Lord’s fault. But he already knew that the Dark Lord didn’t feel remorse. Or anything, really. And Potter was always so full of feelings. So why didn’t he care? Why didn’t anyone care? His life was falling apart, and nobody seemed to even notice.
Draco felt like crying. Fucking loneliness.
He wouldn’t cry. He went to his record player. Patti Smith on full Volume. That was the soundtrack of this day. He gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t cry. Instead, he laid back his head in his neck, just staying in the middle of his room, listening to the familiar sound of stubbornness.
Three and a half hours to go.
Harry was being ignored by the Dursleys, which was a sign for a good day.
He had showered by now and brushed his teeth surely two or three times since Friday. And he had done the chores Uncle Vernon had given him. Aunt Petunia had ignored him until now. Maybe she had heard of Sirius. Maybe this was her way of showing companionship. Harry wouldn’t know. Vernon had eventually gone over to do the same. And Dudley soon became bored of not getting any response out of him. So now, Harry was left to his own depressing thoughts. Which wasn’t much better than being picked on. At least, the chances of sneaking out just became a lot higher. He would sneak out. That was for sure. He would disobey Dumbledore. Because honestly. No death eater would search for him at the disco, right?
No. Harry was going to go dancing.
And maybe drinking.
Maybe he would even find someone to snog.
The night was full of possibilities.
Three hours to go, and Draco had changed to the newest album of Radiohead.
He was lying on the floor. Still not crying. Good.
Harry got ready for the disco by showering and brushing his teeth and humming When I come around. He put on his black jeans, the ones that Hermione didn’t like (“Did you pay extra for the holes in them?”) and Ron loved (“Of course, Hermione. They were ripped by professionals.”).
And a black t-shirt. A tight black t-shirt.
He looked good, he decided, or at least good enough to get a beer without having to show his ID. Hopefully. His hair was still damp, but Harry had stopped giving a damn about his hair a long time ago.
He waited until the Dursleys were done with dinner and Petunia had done the dishes. He heard the reporter in the news blab on about animal shelters. Dudley complained. Uncle Vernon zapped through the channels. He found some brainless reality show. Dudley laughed manically at some point. Harry didn’t know whether he was angry or sad. Vernon laughed too. Harry decided on both.
One hour to go and Draco now lay on his bed. The magical record player was still on full volume, playing Soul Love. All hail David Bowie.
Maybe he should start a cult. It would be nice having some change in his life. The change being leading a David-Bowie-Cult and not being a follower in the Dark-Side-And-Stuff cult.
He could as well become a Hippie. His father would disown him either way.
The Dursleys went to bed. Finally. Harry didn’t have to wait much longer now.
Half an hour to go and Draco had turned off his record player. He changed into a suit, three pieces, and unlocked the door.
Harry snuck out of Privet Drive successfully. He went down the street, to the tube station. He grinned for the first time in what felt like ages.
The first guests had arrived. Draco felt sick.
Harry was in! The dude at the entrance didn’t even check his ID, and Harry was in!
Dinner was tasteless. Draco was sure, the houselves had worked their asses off, but he couldn’t enjoy any of it. The Dark Lord kept eyeing him.
Harry danced. Everything was blurry.
Draco’s face didn’t fall when the Dark Lord spoke to him. But his body went numb as he told him what to do.
Harry had the time of his life. Maybe he would never leave.
It had happened in the privacy of his father’s office. The portrait of Lucius had looked down on him, not moving one muscle. He just stared Draco down.
The Dark Lord had smiled. Draco was afraid to look him in the eyes. So, he had stared at the bookshelf just behind his eye. One title read Dark Magic At The Workplace, and Draco had focused his gaze on that. The Dark Lord had placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco wasn’t sure if it was to keep him from running away.
“You may tell your mother about this task, but no one else shall ever hear of it.”
He had whispered the words. Then he had calmly removed his hand from Draco’s shoulder.
Draco couldn’t help but shiver as The Dark Lord had stroked his cheek with one finger.
When the meeting was over, Draco went back to the dinner party.
Harry was breathless.
Draco told his mother after all the guests had gone home.
His mother began to cry. Draco didn’t shed a tear.
He would get it together. He would fulfill his task. He would kill Dumbledore.
Draco couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t new, honestly, he couldn’t remember the last night he slept through. Then again, everything else seemed new. The fear he felt wasn’t new per se, but the amount of fear was. It seemed to eat him up alive. It consumed him and made him go crazy.
A murderer.
He wasn’t a murderer.
But he would be.
Killing the headmaster of his school wasn’t an easy task, not only because that man was the most powerful wizard alive, and even The Dark Lord was afraid of him, but also because that man was, well, a living human, and Draco knew he couldn’t, he just couldn’t kill him.
He was afraid for his own life, but he also knew that if Dumbledore died, the school would fall. The war would begin, and it would be his fault.
Fuck.
Harry couldn’t sleep either, but not out of fear.
He was buzzing with energy. The kind, that only occurred after getting no sleep at all for a longer time. He was sleep-deprived and all giggly and he loved it.
He got high on tiredness and Merlin, it was good.
He had made it back into bed without waking the Dursleys and now he was having a staring contest with Hedwig,
He should do this more often.
Going out, not staring his owl down.
At some point, Draco must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he saw was the sun shining in his bedroom.
The horrors of last night hadn’t left him, they clung to his legs, making it hard to move. He felt sick. Maybe, if he threw up, he would get the fear out of his head as well. It was hard to think clearly right now, his mind felt foggy, his stomach twisted, and his feet wouldn’t move.
After a while, he managed to sit up, and then it took him several minutes to get up and go to the bathroom. He showered, although it felt weird to do this in the morning. Again. But he didn’t get to it yesterday, for obvious reasons.
He came downstairs just in time for breakfast. His mother smiled at him with an easiness that made him shiver. What was wrong with her? Nothing was even slightly okay, and Draco wanted to scream his lungs out and ask his mother why she seemed to think that everything was fine, just normal. But he wouldn’t make it awkward. He sat down and smiled back at her.
“Tabitha is coming over today.”
Of course. Of course, she was. He didn’t mind Tabitha. He didn’t mind her coming over after all of this. He actually looked forward to it. What he did mind was his mother who couldn’t deal with him and his problems, so she gave the responsibility to an eighteen-year-old girl.
He nodded.
“When?”
“Noon. I thought you could invite her to lunch in the garden. It’s so nice outside.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’ll better get dressed then.”
He was dressed, but he should change into a more comfortable suit.
Harry woke up with a headache. He’d never been hungover before, so this was new. As was his dreamless sleep. In fact, he hadn’t slept that well in ages. Cool.
Tabitha was 15 minutes early. Her blue hair looked brighter today, maybe she had dyed it again, and she smiled with her whole face.
Her smile died as she saw Draco.
“You look horrible.”
He sighed. He really had tried to wash the tiredness off his face.
“Are you grieving? Oh, Merlin! Who died?”
He didn’t have the strength to even look confused.
“Just come in.”
“Alright…?” She followed him into the house.
“Is it your dad? Is something wrong with him?”
Draco shrugged. He hadn’t checked in with his father for a few weeks now, they didn’t exactly have a warm relationship. Even the letters he received from home for Christmas, or his birthday were written by his mother and signed with a “and father” by Lucius.
“Oh no.”
She looked horrified.
“Is it your mom?”
“What? No. Nobody died.” Except my future maybe.
“Oh.” She frowned. Then her face lit up.
“That’s what I dreamt tonight! I came to your house and for some reason, you had a dog, and he’d died… I totally forgot! You don’t have a dog, right?”
“No.”
Draco hoped he looked as annoyed as he was.
Tabitha didn’t seem to notice it though.
“Good! So, what did you dream tonight?”
“I didn’t sleep.”
Silence. Then, Tabitha nodded.
“This seems like a crisis. Do you want tea? I think I need tea.”
They ended up sitting in Draco’s room (Tabitha on the floor, Draco on his bed), both with a steaming cup of tea in one hand (and Tabitha with a fidget spinner in her other hand).
“Now. Tell me everything.”
“It’s a rather long story.” Draco didn’t really want to talk about it.
“I have time.”
“Yes, mainly because you were too early.”
“Exactly. Now. Tell me everything.”
She looked a bit scary saying that. But Draco always had respect for older people.
He risked a look at her frowning at him.
Maybe he shouldn’t tell her that. Calling older women old was… risky, especially when they dressed like a fourteen-year-old.
“You remember us having a dinner party yesterday?”
She nodded.
“Daphne was invited, I think.”
“Daphne Greengrass? Yes, she was there.”
He remembered her whispering with a short-haired girl. Both were older than him and he didn’t pay too much attention, The Dark Lord rather moved the focus to himself.
“Cool. I hope things are going well with her and Sheyla.”
“Sheyla?”
“Her … roommate. At Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts has dormitories.”
She sighed.
“It’s code for- actually, that’s not important right now.”
He nodded and proceeded to explain.
“The Dark Lord was there. He gave me a task.”
Wow, he didn’t think it would be so easy to tell her.
“What kind of task?”
Yeah, that was the hard part.
“I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“Come on. You teased the story so well; I want to know how it ends. Gimme the spoilers!”
Her laugh died pretty quickly as she looked up at him.
“Draco. You can talk to me. It’s better to tell someone, trust me.”
He nodded.
“I… kind of have to kill Dumbledore.”
Silence.
He didn’t dare to look at her, so he stared at the ceiling, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
“Well, that was not a long story.”
He laughed. It was a short laugh, without any joy.
But at least it was a laugh.