Deepest Fears
Dumbledore keeps him in the hospital wing for three whole days before he breaks, apparently social contact really is all that important after his hellish summer. He practically begs to see the headmaster early Thursday morning, and with all the whining he’d been doing, Madam Pomfrey is more than happy to take him there.
The old coot is waiting behind his desk and before Draco can rant and rave at him, a small ball of white tackles him into a chair.
“LuLu!”
“She’s been quite distraught about your disappearance, as have Snape and your friends.”
His kitten purrs up at him, climbing all over as if making sure he was okay, and when she sees the brace he’s been forced to wear to keep damned ointment on, she growls. “It’s okay girl, just a small set back is all.”
“A small set back with rather large consequences that I can only assume you’ve come to share.”
Draco scowls at him, but LuLu is in his lap, and to his delight, Fawkes comes to perch on his shoulder. He greets the animal to avoid Dumbledore’s question, which doesn’t last long.
“Mr. Malfoy. Where did you get that wound?”
“From an ebony knife, headmaster.”
Dumbledore lets out a frustrated sigh, and Draco almost revels in it, until the man opens his mouth again. There's nothing like irritating a teacher, unless that teacher just so happened to be Dumbledore.
“Ebony wounds that don’t heal and Dementors that don’t make you faint? What exactly have you been up to this summer?”
Fuck, he's in for it now.
“Nothing too drastic, father wasn’t happy about losing a valued house elf, and he wanted information that I refused to give him. I’m really surprised he didn’t try more drastic measures.”
“Such as Veritaserum?”
Draco’s blood runs cold. He swallows. “Yes, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist that.”
A shiver runs down his spine at Dumbledore’s smile. He’d managed to piss off the most powerful wizard in the world, great.
“Then perhaps we should begin lessons against it. Would you like to start now? I’ll take some with you.”
No, no he would not thank you very much, but Dumbledore is already reaching into his desk and stepping around to pour the substance into Draco’s tea and then his own cup.
“All for the good of the cause, isn’t it? Won’t you humor me for a bit?”
Damn it. Damn Dumbledore. Damn the whole lot of them. Draco takes a sip, knowing there’s no other way out and he’s losing one of his best protection methods; lying. On the plus side, the two wizards stand on equal footing.
“Good,” Dumbledore smiles. “How has your day been so far?”
Draco raises an eyebrow at the question, but doesn’t feel the need to lie or answer truthfully. He settles for somewhere in the middle, figuring the potion hasn’t taken effect yet.
“It’s been fine, how about yours?”
“Rather long for it to only be ten. What did you name your Kneazle?”
“Parvos Lumen, but I call her LuLu. Do you know the origin?”
Dumbledore smiles, “ Little Light in Latin, I do believe. Quite fitting for a creature such as she. Who got her for you?”
“My mother. It was a late birthday gift. Why did you take Veritaserum too?”
“So that we would be on fair playing grounds, Draco.”
They take another sip of tea and honestly, if it’s going to be this easy, Draco’s quite sure he can do this all day long. Naturally Dumbledore’s follow up question fucks that idea over.
“So your mother got you LuLu, what is the story behind your cut?”
It’s spewing out of his mouth before he can stop it.
“My father did it. Mother got us matching ebony knives, only his is bigger and scarier looking, mine is merely for show. One day during our torture sessions he decided curses weren’t enough so he cut me while I was under the Cruciatus.”
Dumbledore looks horrified, but not as freaked out as Draco feels, “No! Wait! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! You can’t know-“
“Does he have these ‘torture’ sessions often?”
“Every night.” Draco answers automatically. “Before mother came home he would sometimes let it last for days.” He quickly comes back to his senses, “But you’re not supposed to know this! ”
Dumbledore marches on, “And how did you get so familiar with Dementors?”
“Father has them in a room in our house and when he was too busy to hurt me himself he would stick me in there and leave me for hours on end.” Draco shakes his head, glaring at the man in front of him, “Why do you care?!”
Dumbledore shoots hum a sad smile, but answers truthfully. “Because you are as much a son to me as Severus is. I know it can’t be easy and I worry about you. If you had come to me sooner, some of these issues might have been avoided. For one, we’ll need to teach you about protecting yourself against Dementors, and we’ll have to teach you potions to heal dark arts wounds.”
“I have a dark arts wound?”
“The wound on your arm, it’s not healing because of the dark magic I suspect was on the blade. Normal healing potions and spells won’t work on it, you’ll have to keep your cast until we can speak to Severus about this. And yes, I will be speaking to Severus about this. All of this.”
“Why?”
“Because, Draco,” Dumbledore shakes his head, “We both consider you family. You of all people should know how valuable that is. Now, I do believe I’ve crossed a line here, allow me to get you the antidote and you can be on your way to class. If you hurry I believe you can make it to Potions on time.”
He doesn’t speak again until five minutes after the antidote is taken, and even that is just to tell the headmaster that he hopes his day improves. Then he takes LuLu and all but runs out the door, only pausing to put on the easiest façade he can muster, arrogance a little too difficult and feeling too shaken up to go for spiteful, he settles on confidence and strides into the classroom a full ten minutes late.
Pansy almost tackles him. “I have been worried sick !” she whispers, and then, a little louder, “Does it hurt?”
“A bit.” He lies, the bloody thing throbs with every breath he takes, but she doesn’t need to know that. He sends a quick wink to Crabbe and Goyle to let the two of them know he’s okay before settling in the empty seat next to Blaise. For some odd reason, Potter’s group is rather close today, he can feel green eyes on him all over again and starts missing the seclusion of his hospital bed.
“You know,” Blaise says, narrowing his eyes, “I’ve heard Hippogriff wounds are supposed to be jagged, funny that yours is a straight line. It almost looks like a knife wound.”
Draco stiffens, so does Potter, fuck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Settle down.” Snape draws out, and even though he’s terrified of looking into the man’s eyes he does. Nothing is in them, except relief buried so deep Draco almost misses it.
Making a new potion today, Snape also thought having new partners would be hilarious, most likely a punishment for him being gone so long. His partner, by chance he’s sure, is none other than Potter and Weasley. Merlin he’s going to be sick.
“Sir,” he begins rather nicely, fulling intending to weasel his way out of the class entirely, “I’m afraid I can’t cut correctly because of-“
“Weasley cut Draco’s roots for him.”
Oh, on second thought maybe this is a ‘welcome back’ present.
“There’s nothing wrong with your arm” Weasley hisses. Draco’s half tempted to open the bandages and show him, but he’s far too above it. Plus that would worry Pansy and Blaise, who already look like he’s given them grey hair.
“You heard Professor Snape,” he sighs, somehow making it sound like an insult, he really is rather good at this, “Cut my roots.”
Weasley’s three seconds away from exploding, something Draco would love to see, but Potter steps in to save the day as always.
“Ron, you go gather the rest of the ingredients, I’ll deal with Malfoy.”
“Deal with me, Potter? Gonna finish what Buckbeak started?” It’s a weak retort, but he can’t manage anything else.
“Please. We both know that wound didn’t come from Buckbeak,” Potter replies easily, never looking up from cutting annoyingly perfect roots.
“How did you-“
“I didn’t. Your reaction just told me.”
Bloody fuck…. ”Stop toying with me, Potter, you won’t like the result.”
Weasley quickly approaches the table and thankfully ends the conversation. Draco doesn’t say ‘thank you’ when Potter finishes prepping for him, but he does dial back his insults.
And then Weasley strikes. “Your bloody arm isn’t even injured is it? I bet you're just milking it to get Hagrid in trouble.”
He is not. As a matter of fact, he’s been purposefully lying in his letters to his mother, he hadn’t written one to his father since the beginning of last year. Draco glares before he can stop himself. “Have you seen your friend Hagrid lately?”
The two at his table stiffen. Weasley glares. “I swear if you do anything to hurt him-“
“I’m a student, idiot, I wouldn’t be able to hurt him. My father is the one you should be worried about.”
“Is that a threat?” Potter asks.
“Not a threat,” Draco slides his eyes over to the boy next to him, “A warning.”
“So you’re trying to get Hagrid fired then?! What the bloody hell is your problem?!”
Draco narrows his eyes at Weasley, “ I am not doing anything, if anyone gets Hagrid fired it will be himself and this school system! Clearly he had no training in teaching, no one bothered to tell him simple rules like ‘refrain from bringing in creatures that can hurt your students until at least week four’, and he didn’t even bother going over the course material! Once my father hears about this-”
“We all know what your father’s like, prat” Potter sips. He means it in more ways than one and right as Draco’s prepared to show him exactly where he can shove that information, Seamus Finnegan leans over their table.
“Hey Harry!” he grins, Draco swallows down a sudden bout of jealousy he has no idea existed, “Did you hear? Apparently Sirius Black has been spotted!”
Fucking shitbags ….He knew there was something Dumbledore and Snape had been keeping from him. On the plus side, surely he wasn’t close.
“Not too far from here! A muggle saw ‘m so they don’t really know, ya know, just thought he was an ordinary criminal.”
Draco is going to go bald from stress. There’s no other future for him with watching over the idiot who’s smirking at Finnegan’s story. Like he wasn’t the least bit concerned about….Draco sucks in air. Potter doesn’t know.
“Need something else, Malfoy?” Weasley sneers, and when Potter turns that glare back on him Draco finds a rather childish way to get back at him for the remark about his father.
“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handedly, Potter?”
He’s begging for the boy to say no, but Potter is every bit a courageous idiot, replying with a simple, “Yeah, that’s right.”
Merlin couldn’t save him from throttling the moron in his sleep tonight. See if he doesn’t sneak into the Gryffindor dorm rooms tonight and beat Potter with his own pillow. Watch him physically tie the imbecile down and-his mouth is running without his brain again.
“Of course, if it were me, I wouldn’t be acting like a good little boy such as yourself, I’d be out there looking for him. Nothing says revenge like a dead body, Potter.”
Maybe he’ll just smother himself with a pillow. It really would deal with a majority of his problems. His dad couldn’t ‘train’ him if he were dead, he couldn’t provoke Potter if he were dead, he could even stop worrying the people he cared about. Perhaps that’s a topic for another time, one where Weasley didn’t just ask a question he answers without his brain, and only Salazar knew where it had gone.
“You don’t know, do you?”
It comes off rude, but Potter’s eyes widen when he looks into Draco’s face. Surely he can’t see the horror, the sadness, the worry on it. Draco hopes not.
“What are you talking about?”
Draco can’t bring himself to tell the boy. Strange because it would be the perfect teasing material, but there are some lines that should never be crossed, and this was one of them. Instead he focused his attention on Snape completing the lesson and doing something to someone’s toad. From the look on Longbottom’s face, it wasn’t hard to guess what happened.
----------
“Where were you?” Pansy immediately starts the second he sits down for lunch. She blocks his left, Blaise on his right, Crabbe and Goyle in front of him. With nowhere to run, and barely any energy to spare, Draco sighs.
“I had to stay in the hospital wing for a few days, the cut was strangely deep.”
“Hippogriffs don’t make deep cuts, Draco. What really happened?”
He looks between them, Pansy and her big eyed pug-face, giving him the same concerning look his mother had the one time he fell out of a tree. Blaise, worry etched into his brow, looking like he’d aged overnight.
“Later. I promise I’ll tell you later.”
“And when will that be?” Pansy snaps. Draco’s energy seems to return at the remark, filled with anger and annoyance.
“When I decide to!” He glares, grabbing his things and leaving the table.
Draco marches out of the Great Hall and towards his next class, which should be starting in roughly thirty minutes. Pausing outside the door, he turns his head to the window. Despite there being Dementors around every corner, it’s beautiful beyond the walls of the castle. Like a perfect fall day, trees beginning to brown, cool breezes he can feel through the glass, it reminds him of his first broom ride. Quidditch would be starting soon, and if he got to fly in this weather it would make up for the shitty start of the year.
“Draco?”
At his name, he turns away from the sun to see Lupin giving him a sort of odd look, it reminds him far too much of Dumbledore, but warms him a bit anyways.
“Good morning, Professor.”
“Skipping lunch are we? Growing boys need to eat, you know that.”
“I know, sir, the hall was just a bit too crowded for me today.”
Lupin holds open the Defense Against the Dark Arts door, “Well, I’m not much company, but you’re welcome to eat with me. I keep a few bits of fruit in the classroom in case my students get light headed, you’re welcome to it.”
Draco takes one last look outside and smiles, “I think I might take you up on that.”
The two walk in and Draco soon finds himself opposite to a man he doesn’t know, filled with questions, and considering the week he’s had, he asks a few.
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why does Professor Snape seem to hate you so much? Every time we’ve interacted, you’ve been nothing but kind, you seem to always have the betterment of your students in mind, and you’re proficient in your field, forgive me, but I don’t get it.”
Lupin lets out a sigh and Draco briefly wonders how old the man actually is.
“Well, I wasn’t always the nice person you know me to be. Life changes people, Draco, and when I first came to Hogwarts, I’m afraid I was a bit of a bully, my whole group of friends were, and Professor Snape seemed to take the brunt of all our jokes. We did some very mean things to him, things that can’t simply be forgotten, I actually don’t blame him for hating me as much as he does, I think it’s pretty understandable. Between the two of us, there are things I wish I could take back, perhaps if we had been kinder to Snape, something good would have come out of it. You never know what benefits a new friendship can bring.”
Draco nods and although he still has questions, a bigger, much more serious thought looms over him. If he were kinder to Potter, would something good come out of it? If he had accepted the boy’s friendship, what would it be like? To call him Harry, to keep him from making such stupid ideas, to smile and laugh with him? Would it be okay for him to want such a thing?
“Speaking of kindness, Dumbledore has told me he wants you to learn how to fight off Dementors, I was thinking of a ‘special project’ as a cover? Would that work for you?”
“Yes,” Draco vaguely hears the lunch bell ring, “It would be perfect.”
“Great! I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Lupin replies, disappearing into his office. He doesn’t reemerge until the class is all seated and out of some act of good, Blaise doesn’t do anything but stand beside him and squeeze his hand lightly, an apology and an understanding wrapped into one. Even though he doesn’t want to, his eyes follow Potter when he walks in, and he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if they stood together too.
“Good morning class!” Lupin drew them out of their heads, “Leave your bags, you won’t need them where we’re going, just your wands.”
Intrigued, the class does as they are told, following the professor out of the class and down the hallway, Draco watches in amazement with the way Lupin deals with Peeves and smiles to himself. Snape be damned, he liked this teacher. They migrate to a secluded classroom with nothing but a wobbly wardrobe inside, Draco is sure to keep an eye on it. Lupin explains the bogart inside, such nasty creatures, but he hadn’t known they were allergic to laughter of all things, who did they think they were? Snape?
Speaking of Snape, it’s no surprise to find that he’s Longbottom’s worst fear, but the image of the man in god-awful clothing, complete with handbag and an outrageously big hat sends him and the rest of the class to tears. They line up to take turns and one by one he sees the funniest things he never dreamt of, spiders on roller skates, snakes turning into clowns, a banshee turning into a rat, and then it hits him right as Potter steps up for his turn.
What was Potter’s worst fear? The Dark Lord? His friend’s dead? A Dementor? That would be a sight for the class, no matter which one of them came true. And what was Draco’s worst fear? Well that was obvious, but if he stayed at the back of the line long enough, he could avoid it. He's never been more thankful for Lupin when he steps in and saves the class from both Potter’s and his own worst fear.
No one would want to see the Dark Lord, and Draco was sure a few heads would roll if he stepped up and a dead Harry Potter looked back at him.