Polyjuice
Chapter 13: Polyjuice
Back in his room, Draco opened his box of Christmas gifts again—examining his new first editions more closely. He flicked through the pages of the first one before setting it down reverently on his nightstand, and picking up the second. To his surprise, when Draco opened the cover a letter fell out. His father’s scrawling penmanship was easily recognizable from the envelope. He quickly opened it, not having expected his father to send him anything for the holiday.
Draco,
Our correspondence has been lagging lately on account of a new line of work. Seeing as he can’t even protect his own daughter from an obviously cursed diary, I had no choice but try to get Arthur Weasley removed from his Ministry position. His entire department is useless anyway—Muggle artifacts—entirely unnecessary. Severus will facilitate another meeting soon, after the holidays.
Sanctimonia Vincet Semper
Lucius A. Malfoy
Folded up in the envelope, was a clipping from The Daily Prophet going into detail with his father’s ‘new line of work’. He really was getting into his new role on the Board of Governors. While Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the misfortune of a Weasley, he also realized this is one of the exact reasons Granger wanted nothing to do with him right now.
He wadded the letter up and threw it in the wastebasket in the corner, the article clipping forgotten on his nightstand.
Rising to his feet, Draco felt anger. For once, it wasn’t directed at a Gryffindor. Heat crept into his cheeks and he felt the frustration settle in his chest. He heaved a breath, trying to calm himself to no avail.
It’s all his fault. Bastard. He made me like this! Raised me as his precious heir and now I can’t even think right—like a proper human. I almost just laughed at someone getting sacked—someone who can barely afford to live and feed their kids. I’ve been mocking them for the last year and a half for being poor. Don’t we donate all that stupid money to poor people? What the bloody hell do we even do that for? “We’re better than them. They need to be put in their place” and “filthy blood traitors”. I’ve heard it all my life. It’s ingrained in every core memory I have. How do I even re-write those…? Can I re-write them…? I guess the real question is do I want to?
Draco found himself punching the wall, only to feel pain shooting through his fist. Brilliant. A broken hand for Christmas. He spent the better part of the next hour in the Hospital Wing while waiting his turn for Madam Pomfrey to mend his cracked knuckles. Vince and Greg, who had been there for stomachaches prior to his arrival, waited patiently with him. He was well aware that they were mostly waiting for the feast to begin, but didn’t mind the company in the slightest. It took his mind off of his father for the time being.
He was quickly dismissed from the Mediwitch’s care with a stern look and promises to not punch any more walls. He joined the two bottomless pits at the Slytherin table. The Great Hall was slowly filling to at least a quarter full compared to what the rest of the term usually was. Blaise and Pansy strolled in, still holding hands. Theo skipped in behind the newly formed couple sticking his tongue out and making comical faces when they weren’t looking at him. Draco chuckled at the dynamic and felt himself finally fully slip into the Christmas spirit.
Every few bites into his roasted turkey and potatoes, he would glance over at her. Half hoping she would be watching him too—also half hoping she was still ignoring him. They never did make eye contact for the entirety of the meal. She didn’t seem to eat much though, which was starting to bother Draco—it meant she was up to something.
As dessert was winding down, he was still watching her as she took a slow bite of her Christmas pudding. He mirrored her movements. He had to give it to the House Elves—it was delicious. As he licked his lips clean, he saw her hunch over the table, whispering fiercely with Potter and Weasley who had also leaned in close. She reached under the table and pulled out two round, plump chocolate cakes and set them on the table in front of her friends.
Instead of eating the tiny cakes, the boys moved them between them gingerly, as if they were bombs about to go off prematurely. Granger was grinning with a wild gleam in her eyes—almost like a young copy of McGonagall, which he supposed was pretty accurate considering her House and skill level.
Granger got up lithely from her seat and left the Hall quietly, checking for watchful eyes nearly everywhere but him. He was thoroughly confused, but waited to see what Potter and Weasley would do. They didn’t touch the cakes again, but instead exchanged worried looks and whispers.
Giving in to his curiosity, Draco quietly left the Slytherin table and followed her path. He had an idea where she would be, call it a hunch. She was in the second floor girls’ lavatory. Of course. He cracked the door just enough to get a peek and see that she was stirring frantically—no, excitedly.
“I can’t believe I actually did it!” He heard her exclaim to herself in disbelief. Although, he wasn’t sure why she would doubt her own skills. Hermione Granger was far more advanced in all of her studies than anyone else in their year. She was usually quite arrogant and swotty, so if this potion had her doubting herself, it must’ve been a difficult one.
The question now is who are you turning into?
“Now the boys just need to dose Crabbe and Goyle and we’ll finally find out if Malfoy really is the Heir of Slytherin…” she trailed off, pausing her movements momentarily and he thought she had finally sensed his presence, but she never turned around. “I know he’s not. But if Harry and Ron insist, then I’ll show them beyond a doubt that he isn’t.”
His chest swelled with tightness for the second time that evening—but this time it was lighter. It felt like a balloon floating higher and higher, just waiting to burst. She knows it’s not me. She’s defending me. Why—oh, who the bloody hell cares—she’s already forgiven me and she doesn’t even know it yet…
He couldn’t enjoy the fleeting feeling, not yet anyway. Potter and Weasley, and potentially Granger, were planning on using the Polyjuice to turn themselves into Vince and Greg—to question him about the Chamber. This is his best chance at giving them the information. Saint Potter would find the Chamber in a heartbeat and dispose of the basilisk with some feat of luck with Dumbledore’s aid, no doubt. Everyone would be safe and sound again, and he could finally go back to focusing on Quidditch and besting Potter at literally anything. He headed down to the dungeons to prepare what he wanted to tell them.
…
Draco gave the Gryffindors about an hour after the rest of the Slytherins started making their way back into the commonroom. That would be plenty of time for them to deal with their targets and find their way in, but when the hour was up and there was still no sign of them, Draco got impatient. He was fully expecting to find them half-dead from a potion-gone-wrong, but only a few steps out of the commonroom and he spotted them at the end of the corridor arguing with one of the older Weasleys—the pompous Prefect one.
“There you are,” he drawled, looking at them.
“Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I’ve been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny.” Draco glanced witheringly at Percy. “And what’re you doing down here, Weasley?” he sneered.
Percy looked outraged. Serves you right, prick. Stupid lion’s a bit far from his den, I think.
“You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!” he said. “I don’t like your attitude!”
Draco sneered and motioned for Potter and the Weasel to follow him. He caught Potter almost saying something apologetic to the older Weasley, but stopped himself just in time. The two of them hurried after Draco, who said as they turned into the next passage, “That Peter Weasley —”
“Percy,” Weasley corrected him automatically. You idiot, you can’t even go five seconds without blowing your cover.
“Whatever,” said Draco, acting like he hadn’t really heard it. “I’ve noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he’s up to. He thinks he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed.”
He gave a short, derisive laugh. Potter and Weasley exchanged excited looks. Draco rolled his eyes, but paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall, deciding to have a little fun.
“What’s the new password again?” he said to whichever one was pretending to be Greg.
“Er —” he said uncomfortably. That one’s definitely Potter.
“Oh, yeah — pureblood!” said Draco, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. The Slytherin marched through it, and the two imposters followed him. I’ll have to have Snape change the password again. The blonde was suddenly struck with inspiration.
“Wait here,” Draco commanded them, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. “I’ll go and get it, my father’s just sent it to me —”
He came back a minute later, holding the newspaper clipping his father had sent him earlier. He thrust it under ‘Vince’s’ nose.
“That’ll give you a laugh,” Draco smirked.
He watched, delighted as Weasley’s eyes widened in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Potter.
It had been clipped out of TheDaily Prophet, and it said:
INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation. “Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,” Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.”
Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she’d set the family ghoul on them.
“Well?” Draco said mocking impatience as Potter handed the clipping back to him. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”
“Ha, ha,” not-Goyle chuckled bleakly.
“Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them,” said Draco scornfully. “You’d never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave.”
Weasley’s — or rather, Vince’s— face was contorted with fury. Now we’re getting somewhere!
“What’s up with you, Crabbe?” snapped Draco, internally waiting for the two imbeciles to break character.
“Stomachache,” he grunted. At least that’s a realistic excuse.
“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,” said Draco, snickering. “You know, I’m surprised The Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet,” he went on thoughtfully. “I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.”
Draco started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: “‘Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?”’
He dropped his hands and looked at the two faux Slytherins, waiting for a reaction, but one didn’t come.
“What’s the matter with you two?”
Far too late, they start to force themselves to laugh, but Draco is more than satisfied with their discomfort; Now I need to warn them. They need to keep Granger safe.
“Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ friend,” said Draco slowly. “He’s another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!”
The Gryffindors waited with bated breath: Draco was seconds away from telling them it was Ginny — but then “I wish I knew who it is,” he said instead. “I could help them.” They’ll never act on any of this if I tell them is Weasley’s sister—the won’t believe it or they’ll try to hide it…but Granger. I can protect her…
Weasley’s jaw dropped so that Vince looked even more clueless than usual. He could see their obvious disappointment at his “confession”. Potter, thinking fast, said, “You must have some idea who’s behind it all...”
“You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?” Draco snapped. “And Father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing — last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time... I hope it’s Granger,” he said with distaste—the words tasted like ash as they stumbled off his tongue.
Weasley was clenching Crabbe’s gigantic fists. Good. Get angry. Protect her you daft imbecile. Potter shot him a warning look and said, “D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?”
“Oh, yeah... whoever it was was expelled,” said Draco. “They’re probably still in Azkaban.”
“Azkaban?” said Potter, puzzled. Moron.
“Azkaban — the wizard prison, Goyle,” said Draco, looking at him in disbelief “Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backward.”
He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, “Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?”
This one is going to be the sweetest part…
Potter tried to force Goyle’s dull face into a look of concern, buthe just looked constipated. It took all of Draco’s willpower to not bust out laughing.
“Yeah...” said Draco, trying to contain his smirk. “Luckily, they didn’t find much. Father’s got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we’ve got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor —”
“Ho!” said Weasley. Hook, line, and sinker.
Draco looked at him. So did Potter, and Weasley blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening — their time was up, Weasley was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Potter, he must be, too.
They both jumped to their feet, and Draco was glad to be rid of the ruse.
“Medicine for my stomach,” Weasley grunted, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed off—hopefully to keep a closer eye on Granger.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Vince or Greg move that fast in my life,” Blaise chuckled from the other end of the commonroom.
“Gryffindors—they’re all terrible actors—wearing their emotions on their sleeves…serves them fucking right drugging people and using Dark potions to accuse me of something!” Draco growled righteously.
Blaise put his hands up in peace and slowly backed out of the commonroom, into their dormitory. Draco tensely sat back down, resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands.
I can’t take any chances. Draco was going to have to find a way to tell Granger about the basilisk, himself. He didn’t get an opportunity to tell them about the giant snake, and he was sure that giving them too much information would be suspicious. She can’t just be wandering the school alone and chance getting petrified, or—NO. Draco shook away any lingering trails of thought about the worst case scenario. He wouldn’t let that happen. I’ll have to talk to Theo and Blaise about going back to monitoring them, at least until term starts again.
…
As it turned out, it was going to be pretty easy to keep watch on Hermione Granger. By breakfast the following morning, it had spread around those left at the school that she was stuck in the infirmary indefinitely. At least I don’t have to track her down.
Draco had to wait hours that evening, until the Wonder Twins left and she started to fall asleep before he chanced sneaking into the Hospital Wing. She was still cross with him, and he couldn’t imagine she’d be happy to see him. She was the only patient present so it was easy enough to find her, but he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.
Her face was covered in black fur and she had pointy cat ears sticking up through her mess of curls. What did she do? I was worried about Potter and Weasley fumbling it up, but not her…oh Granger what did you get yourself into…