A Return to Mystery
Monday, October 14th, 1996
Headmistress McGonagall called Ron and Ginny to her office the following morning, after the Quartet had sat together in the library lounge and went through the details of Harry’s vision, bit by bit, even as Hermione occasionally made an annoying jab at him for not practicing Occlumency. Everything Harry told them had been included in his letter to Sirius, with the added bonus that he got to talk theories with his friends.
“And you’re certain it was Dumbledore’s wand, Harry?” Hermione had asked, eyes glued to the thin stick of wood Draco was currently rotating between his fingertips, frowning down at.
“Positive.” Harry nodded.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Draco said, looking up at them all. “Haven’t you heard the stories? This wand belonged to Grindelwald, but Dumbledore won it from him in their legendary duel.”
“Well, that’s only legend, just as their legendary duel, is, Draco, no one knows if it actually happened -”
“There were over a dozen witnesses!”
“It’s too many coincidences, ‘Mione,” Ron agreed, turning to his girlfriend and shaking his head hopelessly. “We’ve all seen that wand up close and personal every single day. Sorry, Malfoy, but that’s how obsessed you are with it.” Draco shrugged his shoulders, unable to argue with that. “I trust Harry to know what he saw.”
They’d left that mystery solved, firmly agreed that Gregorovitch, Grindelwald, Dumbledore’s, and now Draco’s wands were one in the same, but that was only the beginning. What were the screams Harry was hearing? Was the Order attacked? Mr. Weasley had said he’d advise the Ministry to take precautions and protect Gregorovitch. Is that why Voldemort had to resort to setting the man’s house aflame with a dragon?
All of this was answered in the morning, soon after McGonagall had swept Ron (and Ginny, seated a couple heads down the table) away from them, looking stoney faced, and the morning’s post arrived.
Hermione picked up the Daily Prophet while Harry frowned when he saw now Hedwig returning with a letter from Sirius, and instantly yelped, dropping it back onto her plate as if it had burned her.
“What is it?” With shaking hands, she reached forward and turned the newspaper around to face the boys, whose eyes widened with each word, getting progressively paler.
YOU-KNOW-WHO’S LATEST KILL: RENOWNED WANDMAKER GREGOROVITCH FOUND DEAD IN BURNT DOWN HOME
Last night, Mykew Gregorovitch, renowned Wandmaker of Germany, was found dead in his home after a team of Aurors and Ministry Officials stationed there to protect him were stunned, skilled, or otherwise imprisoned (assumed) when Lord Voldemort’s forces attacked.
As our readers know, the Wizarding World has been in a slow moving war with Voldemort’s self-proclaimed “Dark Order” since Minister Cornelius Fudge declared war on his forces this last June. Now, it appears the Minister has been making progress in secret, as for whatever reason he found it necessary to protect Gregorovitch from attack. Clearly, this was needed, though the Wizards and Witches guarding weren’t enough.
The casualties are still being counted, but one body was noticeably missing from a report by the Ministry’s Investigations Department. Percival Weasley (20), the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, has not been found in the wreckage of Gregorovitch’s home. While the place has been confirmed by anonymous witnesses to have been attacked by a dragon, the Investigations team already have searched the ashes for Weasley’s remains, and found nothing.
“This has led us to assume the best case scenario is he was taken captive,” One Investigator stated to our reporters. “Though that’s hardly pleasing, obviously.”
It should be noted that Weasley is the fiancee of Wizengamot Member Tess Whitlock (19) (who has declined to comment), and father of their triplet infants, as well as the son of the Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, Arthur Weasley (46).
Harry pushed the newspaper away as he and Draco both leaned back in their seats. With a great sigh, then, Harry laid his head into Draco’s shoulder, and the other boy only stiffened momentarily, otherwise allowing the natural movement as he relaxed, wincing as he imagined Percy, naive, ambitious Percy, softened by his soon-to-be wife and humbled by his newborn babies, being tortured to the bone as Cedric was.
Oh, Cedric. No doubt he’d be reading this and getting too much guilt. He’d gone to school with Percy longer than any of them had, though they all saw him at the Burrow too. Still, he’d just gotten a new home for his new family neighboring the Diggory’s. They must’ve known each other somewhat well.
“Oh, Ron,” Hermione moaned across from them, lowering her face into her hands, and there was nothing to say beyond that, because forgetting these three friends imagining Percy in the same position Cedric had been, and forgetting Cedric’s sure rush of PTSD doing the same, he was Ron and Ginny’s brother. Undoubtedly, this was going to crush them.
“Do you think they’ll be pulled out of school like Hannah Abbott?” Draco asked quietly as the group walked slowly out of the Great Hall, pushing past the groups of laughing kids all oblivious to their troubles. Nobody answered him. Nobody wanted to answer him.
Harry didn’t have class until after lunch so headed for the Common Room while Hermione left for Ancient Runes and Draco left for his own Common Room. Any other day they would be headed down to the Lake, but without Ron…
Ron and Ginny didn’t return for the hours Harry sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in the Common Room, watching as Prongs hopped around the rug, chasing his favorite toy ball. Instead, Harry was left to watch his crup play silently, as his mind wandered to how Tess must feel, or Molly, or Arthur, or Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie. What would they have told the triplets? How old were they? Five months? Harry didn’t understand babies but he knew that was too young to understand where their Daddy was.
He, at the very least, took solace in knowing that they wouldn’t have memories of the fear that came with a missing parent when they were older, as he had no memories from when he was a baby, besides his mother’s screams. That was assuming of course, they ever got their father back.
In Arithmancy, Hermione and Draco gave each other only small smiles and nods, the rest of the class awkward and stilted as they tried their best to get lost in understanding what placing different symbols in different shapes meant. But not even drowning themselves in work could rid their minds of awful thoughts of Percy locked in the Malfoy Manor cellar. They knew the place was abandoned, and yet, with the horrific memories they shared of being trapped down there…
The tense, agonizing silence finally broke when the three walked into the Great Hall and saw Ron and Ginny seated closely pressed together, bent over their food.
They instantly rushed to the table, Harry and Draco sitting across from them with Hermione embracing her boyfriend from his Non-Ginny-Occupied side.
“Hey Hermione…” Ron mumbled into her hair, hugging her back tightly with a deep sigh, and Ginny smiled weakly over at the pair, before doing the same to Harry and Draco. Her eyes were red and irritated, clearly from tears, but she still sat up straight with her chin high, strong and brave as Ginny had always been.
“How are you feeling?” Hermione was the first to ask, pulling away from Ron and looking at him intently. His blue eyes were red and irritated as well.
“How do you think?” He said, huffing a laugh then running a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he settled for resting it against his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Sorry I just… Fuck…”
Hermione watched him sympathetically and began stroking his hair as the boys glanced awkwardly at each other before facing Ginny. “I’ve written to Sirius -” He began but she silently shook her head, standing and walking towards the Ravenclaw table while hugging her arms to her chest. She may look strong, but Harry recognized how on the inside she must feel so broken, and understood that she would only want to lean her head against Luna right now.
Seeing the two couples together… Selfishly, Harry and Draco’s thoughts wandered to each other, but quickly broke apart as both shuffled inches away, understanding this was terrible timing.
“The first Quidditch Match is next month,” Harry pointed out, looking over at Draco, who nodded, vacantly staring forwards at Ron and Hermione. “We better make it one for the ages?”
The blonde looked over, confused, but Harry nodded towards Ron and then Ginny and he understood immediately.
“Oh yeah,” He said, smirking, “We will…”
-*-*-*-
No one went to the Slug Club that night, deciding thoroughly they'd face the wrath of Slughorn later, because shortly after they left his class Hedwig had returned, tapping on a nearby window with her talons, carrying a letter from Sirius with only a few words; “Tonight, Gryffindor Common Room, eleven o'clock.”
Clearly, he'd been hoping the Gryffindors would all be up in their dorms at this time, and he'd been right, as the trio were the only ones left down there at eleven, Harry seeing the last yawning Seventh Year ascending the steps and running for the portrait hole, pushing it open then closing it just a second later as the thudding of steps were heard.
“What in the name -” Harry didn’t bother to listen to the rest of what the Fat Lady had to say, instead slamming the portrait shut and turning to watch as Draco slipped the cloak off of him, passing it off.
“How do you do this constantly? That was terrifying…”
Harry could only smile weakly at him, turning and leading him forward to the fireplace, where Ron and Hermione already sat waiting, Crookshanks curled up on the latters lap, Prongs tugging at a rope toy Ron was tugging back at with him. No sooner had Harry and Draco taken seats beside them, then a familiar, shaggy face appeared in the flames of the fireplace.
“Sirius!” Lunging forwards, all four assembled in front of the fireplace on their knees, and eyed Sirius’s face with desperate hunger - hunger for answers, and nothing else. It was clear, and maybe that was why Sirius immediately sighed deeply whilst he greeted them with a tired, “Hi.”
Silence, the same tense thing that had plagued their entire day now, before Ron, rightfully, got tired of it and demanded, “Can you just give us some answers, Sirius? Haven’t you always tried to stop treating us like children? I’m tired of the world treating us like children - I want ANSWERS!” All three, and Sirius, winced as Ron’s voice got steadily louder, ending in a shout, and he slammed a fist into the table beside him, barely flinching at the pain it surely caused his knuckles. Immediately, Hermione took the hand he’d just punched with, and held it tight, squeezing, before turning back to face Sirius along with all the others.
“I know, you four, I know… But the trouble is… We don’t have answers.” Immediately, all of their hearts dropped, and Ron went pale. “We don’t know why Voldemort took Percy, and we have even less of an idea of where he could have taken him. All I can say is this; the Prophet’s only mentioning missing bodies on the good side. It doesn’t mention the fact that the playing fields are still even - we have a hostage of our own.”
The Quartet leaned forwards, eyes wide with interest, and Sirius couldn’t help the tilt to his lips that crept onto his face. “That’s right, but don’t get too excited. We’ve captured Barty Crouch Jr, but he won’t give us anything. We can only hope Percy’s being as resistant…”
“He has to be,” Ron blurted, voice overflowing with hope and desperation that painfully dragged Harry back to last June, when he’d used the same voice while searching for Sirius. “Perce was always the most stubborn of us; he wouldn’t give anything up.”
“Still, they might not need anything from him. He might be…” Sirius didn’t finish that sentence because over the years he’d seemed to be working really hard on knowing when it was the right time to lay off on jokes or cold truths when it came to three (and now four) children (even if they didn’t want to be called that). “Regardless, Malfoy, we have a problem.”
Draco raised his pale brows high. “‘We?’” He repeated, and Sirius nodded solemnly.
“Barty’s not answering any of our questions, but he is talking. In fact, he keeps asking a question of his own; ‘Where is Draco?’”
All Gryffindors turned to him, but Draco wouldn’t be listening even if they said anything and weren’t just staring. All he could hear was his own heartbeat rapidly pulsing in his ears, and all he could see was that face, grinning crookedly underneath the glow of the Dark Mark. The face of Cedric Diggory, but the voice of a monster.
“I expected better from you, Malfoy. After all that teaching… I thought I really did have a chance at shaping the Malfoy heir into a prime specimen for the new age of Death Eaters.”
“So?” Draco choked out, blinking away the images and glaring at Sirius, watching him in the fire with apprehension. “Why don’t you just kill him?”
Harry and Ron both inhaled through their noses as Hermione snapped, “Draco!” and Sirius chuckled lowly.
“What?” Draco asked, frowning, “He killed Dumbledore, didn’t he? He put Harry and I’s names in the Goblet of Fire, got Viktor killed too. Not to mention what he did to the Longbottom’s. Doesn’t he deserve it? I get it, we’re the good guys, but if they’re so willing to maim and torture and kill -”
“Exactly,” Harry said, surprisingly glaring firmly at his friend, as if twenty four hours ago they hadn’t been kissing. “That’s the difference between us and them. They’re murderers, but we’re -”
“Cowards,” Draoc bit out, then turned to face Sirius and said, “Tell Crouch Draco says he can go fuck himself, and join his daddy in Hell.”
“I’m not doing that, Draco,” Sirius said, frowning back at him with a stony expression. “I get that you’re angry, but Harry’s right. The fact that we feel this hurt, and can control it instead of killing people for vengeance… that’s what makes us different. It makes us human.”
Harry shuffled ever closer to Draco, laying his fingers on top of his, and whispered, “Remember what Riddle did to his dad? Killing Crouch would be no different.”
Draco screwed his mouth up into a scowl and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t ignore the sense in the statement. “Fine, but I should hope you didn’t tell him anything. Makes no sense though. He knows I’m at Hogwarts.”
Sirius frowned deeply. “Exactly. That’s what we can’t work out about all of this. Although, I have a theory…”
All four leaned in closer, interests piquing once more. It was almost alarming how they could spend a weekend swearing off mysteries, then jump straight into them on Monday with the same vigor as before.
“For some odd reason, Voldemort wanted Percy. Tonks and Kinsley were both on the field, and they claim it seemed strategic, the way they separated Percy. We’d been looking to capture a Death Eater too, however, so I’d say the tactics were mutual. Still, they wanted the Weasley, and in fact one of the Auror’s stationed there has been revealed to be a spy - not polyjuice or anything, just a traitor - which must mean they could have attacked at any point, but waited until Fudge stationed Percy there for the weekend. He was off doing something in Muggle London. I dunno, he goes on a lot of those ‘business trips.’ Don’t question it. Anyway, if Voldemort waited for Percy, he clearly thinks he has information that’s valuable, and with Barty asking nothing but where you are, I’m beginning to think the current mission is finding you, and they somehow gathered information that you were staying with the Weasley’s. Inevitable, really. Now they’re trying to find out where you’ll be for the Holidays. Won’t matter though; The Burrow, Grimmauld Place, Bill and Fleur’s house - Shell Cottage, and Percy and Tess’s house - Root Pasture, are all under the Fidelius Charm. I’m sure you recall how that works from the Wormtail debacle, and Malfoy…” He looked over at the boy, eyeing him up and down before continuing. “You’re smart, you probably know. The Secret Keeper would have to willingly divulge the secret. You four are all Secret Keepers, along with the rest of the Order, due to Dumbledore’s death. After the Secret Keeper’s death, anyone who knew of the secret instantly became aware of it.”
“So…” Draco worried his bottom lip, somewhat unconsciously. “Am I safe?”
“For now, yeah,” Sirius said, nodding, “But if for some reason Percy chooses an ultimatum that causes him to reveal the secret -”
“He wouldn’t,” Ron blurted, glaring hard into the flames, “He’s not Wormtail.” The other three agreed, nodding together firmly.
Sirius frowned, however, looking thoughtful as he stared off into the distance, whispering, “Let’s hope not…”
After a long pause, Harry leaned forward, brows creased. “Sirius? I think we have… another problem.”
“What is it?” His eyes focused once more, landing upon Harry, concerned. Harry sucked in a deep breath then let it out slowly, and said, “Voldemort’s after Gellert Grindelwald.”
Sirius’s eyes widened, and had he been there in person, the kids were certain he would have stumbled back a couple paces. “What? Harry, what do you know that we don’t? Arthur said you saw a vision of Voldemort looking for Gregorovitch but -”
“I did, and I didn’t know then, but I know now he was looking for a wand. Dumbledore’s wand, which was also Grindelwald’s, which was also Gregorovitch’s, and now -”
“Mine.” Draco gave Sirius a wobbly smile, while the older man blinked eyes wide as saucers and dropped his jaw in complete and utter bewilderment.
“Dumbledore gave you his wand?” He asked, to which Draco nodded, then he looked over at his Godson and asked, “How do you know it was Gregorovitch’s? We’ve all heard the tales that Dumbledore won his from Grindelwald but -”
“Because I had a vision of Voldemort killing Gregorovitch, and in it Voldemort looked into his mind. His wand was stolen from him by a boy, and I recognized the boy from Rita Skeeter’s book. Rubbish, I know, but it had a picture of Grindelwald when he was a teen in it. It was the same kid, holding the same wand. That wand,” He pointed over at the stick Draco was retrieving from his pocket, and Sirius watched Draco carefully, eyes lingering on the wand, examining its every crevice.
“Can’t be why they’re looking for him, though,” Hermione blurted out, leaning forwards slightly. “Or Voldemort would have known Gregorovitch didn’t have it.”
“Very good, Hermione,” Sirius praised her with a small smile.
“Except, now he does know where to look,” all eyes turned to Harry. He hadn’t told them this part. “When I came out of his mind, I didn’t realize we were still connected. I told Draco he was after Grindelwald and he - He heard it, Sirius. He knows where to look now.” He could feel Hermione’s eyes boring into him. He ignored her.
Immediately, Sirius perked up, eyes alert, like a dog catching a new smell. “How do you know he’s not listening now?”
“Because I can tell. It’s when my scar’s hurting,” instinctively he pushed back his bangs, the jagged jet of lightning carved into his skin shining in the firelight. “It’s not right now.”
The room was silent. Hermione was mad at him for not using Occlumency, Draco was worried Voldemort was going to trace the wand back to him within a week at this rate, and Ron was scared, so scared. Sirius stayed frozen, thinking, before being the first to break the silence.
“We’re going to have to send more of the Order to protect Grindelwald,” at once, all four opened their mouths, but he continued forward. “Before you protest, it’s what has to be done. Even if it ends in another massacre, this is what you do in a war. Trust me, I’ve done this before. I lived one, you four were only born in one.”
Those last words hang in the air, clogging all of their throats with its heartbreaking truth. Harry had no memories of his life with his parents during the war, but he imagined it was bliss under the Fidelius Charm. Hermione had been oblivious, not part of the magical world yet, and Ron had been surrounded by two many brothers to comprehend at such a young age. Meanwhile, Draco didn’t even recognize his father’s face until he was three, always seeing a Death Eater mask when he was home.
“How have those memories been coming along? McGonagall tells me you’ve already made your way halfway through them.” Harry shrugged, not feeling like talking much more tonight, but mumbling an answer anyway.
“We’ve gotten some answers.”
“Think you’ll find a way to beat him?” He was trying to cheer him up and doing a piss poor job at it, but Harry didn’t want to discourage him, so nodded. Sirius smiled, then looked at the four friends as a whole. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing left to say then… Hope your classes are going well and er - bye.” It was awkward, but they all chorused a goodbye to him and waved as his face disappeared from the flames, the first natural departure he’d had, instead of an interruption as was usual.
Immediately, Draco stood, and they all turned to watch him, as he paced back behind the couch, rotating the wand beneath his fingertips. His brows were tense and his expression grim. What was he thinking? Merlin knows.
“Draco -”
“Why would he give me this, Hermione?” They were all taken aback not by his words, but that it was the first time he’d used her first name. “Why would Dumbledore leave behind his wand, something hundreds of witches and wizards would no doubt desire, to me. He hardly ever knew me. And now, he wants me to watch all these memories with Harry. Why? Harry is the Chosen One I’m just -” He choked on his own words, looking at his three Gryffindor friends, and sighing deeply. “Malfoy.”
“Mate, you aren’t just Malfoy. You’re Draco,” Now Ron was saying his name, which surely meant the world was really ending. “You are our friend. For Merlin’s sake Sirius just confirmed you’re part of the Order. He said all Order members know where headquarters is. You know, don’t you?”
“If I’m Order than why do I have this on my arm,” Without any warning he yanked back his sleeve and displayed to them the horrid shape he had to hide from the world at all points in the day. The ugly skull and snake burned into his skin, an inky black that burned whenever Harry said his name. While Harry only saw the boy he’d fallen for against all odds, Ron and Hermione winced. They’d never seen the Mark before, and hadn’t even known it was on Draco’s skin, outside of speculation.
Draco didn’t see Harry’s unflinching care for him; he only saw the disgust in the other two’s eyes, which was why he scoffed and stalked over to the window, leaning against it, gripping the wand tight in a fist and hugging his arm to his chest. Without any hesitation, Harry stood and followed him, leaning against the opposite frame of the window. Ron and Hermione stood and walked forwards, but lingered by the couch, awkwardly, clearly seeing this as a moment.
“Does… Does it hurt?” Draco had never heard Harry’s voice so soft - so vulnerable before, but refused to show surprise to it, only stiffly shrugging his shoulders, but when Harry raised a hand and gently pressed his fingers down on the skin just near the Mark, he saw the way the boy winced, and gave a wince of his own - of sympathy.
“Maybe we could try to -”
“There’s no way,” Draco shook his head, crossing his arms firmly and glaring out at the castle grounds below, thinking of days in the Manor as a little boy. The rare but still present fights his mother would have over the scar on his father’s arm - because that’s all it had been back then. But, then, the summer before Fourth Year, the summer before Draco’s life got turned upside down, his father’s mark had burned again. That’s when they knew, against all odds, he was back. As a foolish fourteen year old, Draco hadn’t understood what that had truly meant back then. “My mom tried to get Dad to remove his. Never could.”
He inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose. “It does hurt. Whenever he calls his followers, or you say his name… It hurts so much, Harry.” His voice was small and soft, as if scared to be mocked, or told to stand straighter - look prouder. Scared his voice was going to appear in his ear. Or his, or his, all the things he’d been told throughout his life, he now was forced to hear replayed to him.
Voldemort, Barty, Dad, Voldemort, Barty, Dad, Voldemort, Barty Da -
“I’m sorry,” Of course he was. Only Harry. Sweet, beautiful Harry, now hugging him tightly and never letting go, unbothered by the Mark, understanding that it hurt Draco more than it could ever hurt him. “I’m sorry for all of it.”
“I know,” He mumbled, eyes welling with tears as Ron and Hermione began to step forward, and joined in the embrace of their tortured Slytherin friend. “I know.”
They all knew too. Knew that the hurt wasn’t just the Mark, but Ron recalled his dad explaining how it felt to be burned off a family tree. Hermione remembered seeing the look in his eyes as he gazed upon his family home right before they apparated away. They all understood how much Draco was going through, and a wand and cupboard of memories to be all he was left with? None of it was fair.
“We won’t let him get to you,” Ron whispered in his ear.
“Not for the wand, not for anything.” Hermione spoke into the opposite ear.
“You’re our friend, Draco,” Harry pulled away, looking him in the eye sternly. “And we all care about you.”
They walked to the portrait hole together, and as Draco draped the cloak over his head, Harry ducked his own under the silvery fabric, head out of sight from his friends who instantly looked away in horror, preferring not to watch the beheaded body of their best friend.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked, surprised, as Harry gave him a mischievous smirk and wink.
“Saying goodbye,” He whispered, lips only centimeters apart, but he closed that distance really quick, leaning forward and kissing him deeply.
And Draco knew that although they hadn’t gotten a chance to discuss all that had happened outside of Hogsmeade before Harry’s vision, Harry was making a declaration here, far more well done than shouting in the icy wind. He loved him, and didn’t mind one bit that that hadn’t been the goal from the start.
Harry popped out from under the cloak and waved goodbye along with Ron and Hermione, and once the portrait swung close once more, Hermione crossed her arms and demanded, “What was that?”
Harry turned, opened his mouth, then smirked, believing it would be funnier to keep them guessing after hiding their relationship for half a school year. “A mystery,” He said, shrugging his shoulders and Hermione scoffed in disbelief as Ron barked a laugh and slapped him on the back, walking with him towards the dorms as Hermione headed for her own.
“So we’re back to mysteries then? Weekend’s over?”
Harry paused at the foot of the stairs, turned back and raised one eyebrow at her, and said, “What the hell have we been doing all day?” before laughing and turning for bed. She couldn’t help but giggle herself as she departed for her own.
-*-*-*-
Tuesday, October 15th
The next morning, Harry and Draco revealed at last what they had seen in their latest Pensieve excursion, and Ron and Hermione were rightfully confused, Hermione going as far as to drop her fork onto her plate.
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“I don’t know what a Horcrux is!” She gasped, gripping her hair in her surprise at such a thing as all three boys tried in vain to shush her. “Don’t you ‘sh’ me! First Harry and Draco beat me in Potions by cheating, then Harry does better than me in Transfiguration, and now I don’t know what a word is.” She looked around at her friends, clearly confused why they weren’t overacting like she was. “How are you all not freaking out about this?”
“Because it’s not that bad, Hermione,” Harry said, “You can just look it up in the Library -”
“You know what?” She stood up from her seat. “I will, right now -”
“Nope, no you won’t,” Instantly Ron grabbed her by the shoulders and gently pushed her back down into her seat. “You’re going to eat,” to emphasize this, he slapped a piece of toast on her plate, and when she opened her mouth to protest pressed a finger to her lips, “And then go to Herbology. Remember class? You’d never forget class.”
“You’re right,” She sighed dramatically and picked up the toast, shoving it into her mouth unbuttered or jellied, and the boys all looked at each other with exasperated faces, all too used to their friend.
“Hey boys,” Ginny suddenly flopped down into a seat beside Harry and, nodding respectfully to Hermione, added, “And girl.” She only gave a very uncharacteristic grunt in response as she downed the toast with a gulp of pumpkin juice. Ginny raised one eyebrow high and leaned closer to Harry, asking, “What’s up with her?”
“Don’t ask,” all three said in unison and Hermione dropped her glass back on the table, sending a heavily forced smile the redheads way. “How was the Slug Club, Ginny?”
Ron grunted at the name as his sister began to talk, “The usual,” her eyes lit up with interest, “But he brought along Gwenog Jones. I got to meet her and -”
“Gwenog Jones?” Ron dropped his fork with a clatter, and Draco couldn’t resist craning his neck in surprise either. “The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?”
Ginny frowned, clearly upset with being interrupted. “That’s what I said, Ronald. Anyway, she was brilliant, and I got to talk to her all about Quidditch. Best part? She completely ignored McLaggen!” Hermione smirked and Ron nodded, grinning from ear to ear at the image.
“That’s Jones for you. Hey, did you get an autograph?”
“That would be rude Ron, don’t you -” Hermione was cut off, however, by Ginny picking up from beside her a Quaffle they hadn’t realized she was carrying, and displaying the cursive signature across it. Hermione rolled her eyes as the two Weasley’s fawned over it as if it was a piece of high-priced art, whilst Harry could only smile and shake his head, Draco trying to hide the way he was craning his neck for a good look while sipping his pumpkin juice.
“Anyway,” Ginny placed the ball back down after a good minute had passed and smirked over at Harry. “Slughorn’s having a Christmas party, and he checked with Snape and the Head of House to make sure it didn’t land on a day you had detention or Quidditch practice.” Immediately, Harry let out a loud groan, while Ron glowered down at his food.
“I bet this is another party just for Slughorn’s favorites, is it?”
“Just the Slug Club -”
Ron scoffed, sneering in a way that would rival Draco’s best work, “‘Slug Club,’ it’s pathetic! Well, I hope you enjoy your party, all of you. Hey Ginny, how about you add McLaggen to your list of boyfriends, then you two can make King and Queen Slug -”
Ginny chucked the Quaffle at him but he caught it instantly with Keeper reflexises, eyes widening briefly at his own skill before chucking it back. “I’m only joking.” He grunted, not looking like he had been joking at all, while Ginny continued to scowl.
“We are allowed to bring guests, and I was going to ask Luna, actually.”
“Not Dean? You know he’s been trying to ask -”
“And I’ve said no several times, Ron! But how many times do I have to tell you I’m not a little girl anymore, and I don’t appreciate you meddling with my love life?” Ginny barked a laugh. “And when are you going to realize I said we can bring guests, which means you can go you big-nosed twat!” With that she tucked her ball under her arm and stomped off over to the Ravenclaw table, leaving Ron stunned, wide eyes blinking, and the rest of the table in an awkward silence.
All only children, they had no clue if that was toxic or normal for siblings, so instead simply picked up their glasses or utensils, and continued to eat.
“Hermione?”
“Hm?”
“Do you - er - wanna -”
“Yes, Ronald,” She smiled over at him kindly, giving him a quick peck on the lips and pat on the cheek as she said, “I’ll go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with you.” He beamed, ears turned bright red.
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco sideyed each other awkwardly, blushed, and ducked their heads back down to their plates.
Due to the Quartet having Herbology together first thing in the morning, they pair wouldn’t get a chance to talk in private until after class ended, when they waved off a confused Ron and Hermione and walked to the beech tree by the Lake, now completely isolated save for some birds and maybe the Giant Squid.
“So…” Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly and Draco scratched at the back of his neck.
“If we go together… people are going to ask questions,” Draco pointed out, not that he needed to, as it was all Harry had thought about throughout Herbology. Fortunately, he’d come to a conclusion.
“Then let them,” he said, stepping forward and taking Draco’s hands in him, rubbing his thumbs over his fingers as he gazed into the gorgeous stormy eyes he adored. “And we’ll tell them the truth. Maybe they’ll talk… But then again, I’ve heard worse.” Draco smirked, leaned forward, and lightly brushed his lips against his cheek. In the distance, they heard the bell ring and he quickly stepped back, detaching himself from Harry and heading up the path back to the castle, knowing his friend (boyfriend?) would follow.
-*-*-*-
All throughout Transfiguration - in which the Quartet had convinced Harry to switch from sucking up with his Transfiguration prowess to Professor Jones to sitting in the back of the class as they usually did so they could whisper in secret - the Quartet begged Draco to try to get the memory from Slughorn during Alchemy, but so far, it hadn’t been going very well.
“You really think I’ll be able to get his deepest darkest secrets in a day?” Draco shook his head as the group left class with the rest of the students, headed for lunch. “No, no, no, no, no, my foolish Gryffindor friends. This sort of thing will require skill, patience, and suave.”
A pause, then Ron asked point blank, “And who’s gonna do all that?” to which the three Gryffindors burst out laughing and their Slytherin friend glared at them.
“Very funny, Weasley…”
Turns out, however, this task would take a lot more patience than he’d been expecting, and a long walk down memory lane in the amount of sucking up Draco found himself doing, of which he grew increasingly more disgusted with.
“I can help you with those cauldrons, Sir!” the Slytherin-suck-up blurted out a week later in Potions, rushing across the room to the Professor as Ron mouthed his words in mocking before Harry elbowed him in the side to get him to stop, the only one to which Draco had confided in how disgusted it all made him feel.
In fact, as the blonde returned to the table, he mockingly mouthed along Slughorn’s own response of, “Always quite an honest chap you are, Mr. Malfoy!” The Gryffindors had to struggle to hold in their laughter at the usual flamboyance of Draco’s acting.
Still, things weren’t entirely laughable, especially when on the days Draco wasn’t cleaning Slughorn’s office or collecting potions ingredients or grading papers, he had to deal with his Captaincy which was… anything but desirable.
His only solace was that once every Saturday the Captains got to collapse beside the beech tree at the Lake and vent out their frustrations, hardly listening to each other, just being able to complain to the water alongside people who wouldn’t get offended.
“Are you sure you can’t ask Cedric for help? I can’t imagine how he did it -” Eurig Cadwaller, the Hufflepuff Captain lamented, having finished his rant about the drama cutting Zacharias Smith from the team had sprouted up among the otherwise usually good natured Hufflepuff’s.
“He never did,” Cho corrected, the new Ravenclaw Captain sitting as far away from Harry as possible, only to avoid making it awkward as much as she could. Otherwise, the two had gotten along quite well as friends, especially now that Harry’s… something was sitting between them.
“I get your troubles, though, Cadwaller,” the Slytherin in question lamented, raking a hand through his hair. “If I have to hop over one more tripping jinx -”
Harry rested a hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying something he’d regret and Draco sighed deeply, biting back a very pre-Goblet of Fire retort.
In general Harry found himself feeling more sorry for the sometimes manic Oliver Wood and panicked Angelina Johnson every day, and greatly enjoyed time he could spend with these other Captains at the Lake, a group of four that didn’t involve Ron and Hermione.
It was at this same Lake that, the week before the first Quidditch game of the season, Draco finally listened to the pleading of his friends and proposed the same question Tom Riddle had to the man as he sat at the river bank, digging up leeches beneath the sand as he cut seaweed.
“Sir?”
“Yes, m’boy?”
“I have a… question. An academic one.” Slughorn looked over his shoulder curiously, and he offered him a charming smile. Nodding, Slughorn straightened and, with a flick of his wand, severed a bunch of seaweed from the sandy floor.
“Ask away, then, my dear boy, go on…” said Slughorn as he waded back through the lake water and Draco sucked in a deep breath, focusing down on the leeches to calm his nerves. If he messed this up…
“Well… as you know… my father was a Death Eater, pretty close to You-Know-Who. He er -” Draco swallowed hard, straightening and looking up at Slughorn, who was watching him and looking slightly concerned. He was doing well, but he had no need for ‘er’s in this pitch. “I’ve heard some pretty strange things get said in that house - my house - and one I couldn’t explain. No textbook mentioned it.”
Slughorn’s fists were tightening. Draco bit his tongue.
“It’s called… A Horcrux.”
A crunch as the seaweed broke under his grip and Draco couldn’t help the split second wince that passed across his face before he centered it once more, watching carefully as Slughorn’s entire body sinked, his cheery eyes hollowing with horror. In a hoarse, brittle voice he asked, “What did you say?”
Draco gulped, standing up slowly. “Look I only meant -”
“Oh I know what you meant,” He had turned his back to his once prized student now, stuffing the seaweed in a basket a bit too harshly to make Draco feel safe, but he stood his ground. He could feel the Mark itching beneath his sleeve. He no doubt had bigger problems.
“Please, sir, I think it could help to fight Vol -”
“Don’t!” Now he spun around, holding up a finger, and must have made the mistake of glancing at Draco and seeing the Death Eater he had taught in his eyes because he quickly turned back around, picking up the jar Draco had been putting the leeches in and stuffing it into the basket. “I know what's happened,” He paled, staring up at the sky as sweat headed at his forehead. “Even in death…”
Quickly shaking his head, he began to walk off.
“Sir? Professor!”
He stopped. “Did he ask you to do this?” He spoke with his back remaining turned, but Draco could still imagine his face of shock and terror from just his words, especially as he removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “He did, didn’t he?”
Draco swallowed, straightening, a Slytherin-pride to say the truth rising up in him, “Dumbledore is only trying to find an end to this war, as am -”
“Dumbledore is doing nothing because he is dead, which is why I thought that when Minerva and Harry came asking for my return they were doing it out of the kindness of their hearts.” He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and turned slightly, eyes flicking to Draco only briefly. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
“I don’t know what you think I saw, but I assure you that memory only goes surface level. I assure you!” He enunciated the last two words so much they made Draco flinch. “I do not know anything, Draco, anything, about Horcruxes.”
He turned around, again starting to stomp away. Gritting his teeth, Draco stepped forward, and started to shout, “Sir, you don’t understand what he’ll -”
“YES I DO! Now, Mr. Malfoy, I would request that you leave an old man alone!” With that, he was gone, and Draco didn’t call after him this time, instead standing alone and defeated by the lake, sighing and reaching down to pick up a smooth rock Ron would be impressed by, and flicking it absentmindedly across the water.