Chalice of Secrets

The last thing Draco Malfoy thought he would find himself doing two months before his second year at Hogwarts begins is cowering from his father and grappling for his wand. Yes, he had failed in getting Harry Potter to be his friend, yes his father knew all about it, yes it was a mistake not to come up with a better lie. No, he has not learned his lesson. 

“Disgrace!” Lucius snarks, green flying from the tip of his wand. If he were bad at dueling this would be a problem, but given his last name, blocking is in his nature. He tries to direct the curse back, a mistake given how his father reacts to the scorch marks over his head. “How dare you?! I am your father!”

“I’m sorry! I truly did try, father, but Potter and I-”

Lucius grabs him by his throat before he has time to react, hauling him back like something snapped. One look into Draco’s eyes after his head slams into the wall and he comes back. Almost like he too had been thrown into himself, albeit not quite as literally. Eyes wide and horror twisting his features, the man freezes. 

For a moment there is nothing for the two males to do but stare.

And then Lucius wraps his arms around his son to whisper a thousand apologies. “I am sorry, Draco, I don’t know what’s come over me. My mark burns everyday, the Dark Lord will no doubt return soon, and I need you to be on his good side when he does. I will not see my son tortured by even the most powerful of men, you must forgive me for losing myself at the thought.” 

Because he is a good son, one that can’t bear the thought of his father hurting, Draco nods. “Of course, Father. I have failed both you and the Dark Lord. I do not deserve your kindness.”

Lucius shakes his head, “My dear boy, you deserve all the kindness your mother and I have to offer. As for the Dark Lord, I have a new plan to please him. If Potter refuses to become your friend, we shall wipe out his other options and aid his Darkness in his return.”

A sinking feeling overcomes the brief relief that had floated through Draco, if his father was scheming, it meant the headache from first year would pale in comparison. “And how shall we do that?”

When Lucius smiles, Draco has half a mind to brew up pain relief potion the second he leaves the room. Or rather a few vials of it, after listening to his father speak. Hell, he might as well just fill his trunk with the bloody stuff at this point.

He understands that his father is stressed. His Dark Mark has been causing him pain for almost a year now, and each time his temper flares in response to the pain and Draco takes the brunt of it. Lucius always apologies. He always has this look of horror in his eyes, as though he can’t believe what he’s done, yet those hands that once held Draco together only grow harsher. Draco’s learned not to expect better, not with the added stress of his vow to protect Harry Potter and the Ministry deciding to search their home like they’re all horrid criminals. That and his father’s loyalties to the man who hardly deserves a Malfoy’s respect.

Leave it to Lucius to ruin what he thought would be a somewhat peaceful year. Couldn’t he just play Quidditch and mind his business? Keep watch every-so-often? Have nothing to report about his family other than his mother’s extended stay in Paris? This whole ‘situation’ of his is quickly turning into a nightmare. But, given that he himself is a Slytherin, and self-proclaimed most cunning of them all, Draco will simply have to deal with this quickly. 

After all, if Harry Potter isn’t at school this year, that's one less thing for Draco to worry about, especially with Lucius’s new personal vendetta against the boy. Call him sane, but Draco knows better than to let that happen. It’s a marvelous plan, really, get someone to keep Potter away from Hogwarts, and the rest would be easier without him sticking his stupid scar-face where it doesn’t belong. 

As soon as Draco is released from his father’s study he makes his way to his room. It can’t be someone close to Potter, the idiot only has about two friends anyways, and it can’t be Draco because, well, that would just come off as a threat and make sure he did come. Not a Professor, although Snape would no doubt get joy from keeping Potter at bay from what he wants. It has to be someone Potter has never met, someone he can trust. Someone who wouldn’t betray Draco, maybe a wizard bound by an oath, maybe a-

“Master Draco? Your father sent me to check on your wounds, sir. Said you mustn't be pickin’ at them too much, sir.”

Cold grey eyes latch on to cold grey skin. Dobby peers up at him, bandages in tow and a worried pinch badly concealed in his brow. Small, not threatening, skinny and dressed in shame, big eyes that make Draco feel a little guilty when he commands the elf too harshly. The elf that has been with him since birth, the one that never asks questions when he needed something dubious, never sells him out on his pranks.

He has several secrets with Dobby. To the exact story of how, exactly, his father’s favorite green robe turned red to their ritual of wrapping wounds when Lucius gets a bit too rough with one of them. Dobby, his house-elf, is the exact partner he needed for this year’s troubles. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner.

“Dobby. If I ask you to do me a favor, and not tell anyone, one that is very dangerous and could get us both in a lot of trouble, maybe even killed, would you do it?”

The elf blinks up at him like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever been asked.

“Dobby cannot refuse his master’s orders, Master.”

“Even if it requires going against one of your other masters?”

Dobby nods, “Dobby is loyal to Master Draco. Whatever Dobby is asked by master, Dobby will do.”

Draco graces him with a smile, a small crass gesture to his father’s way of politics. Ruling with an iron fist is tacky to say the least. Sliver goes so much better with his aesthetic, besides, Draco’s always seen better results in loyalty if the person isn’t, say, an abusive asshole governed by the mistakes of his past that just so happened to lead him to quite literally selling his soul. Not to be specific, of course. 

Dobby is an excellent subject matter in the case of loyalty. By all measures, he should be bound to Lucius, forced to do his bidding and take to Draco and his mother separately. And yet countless times he has gone against his father’s rules for one, if not both, of them. Something about kindness being better than intolerance is in that, but Draco prefers to chalk it up to simple luck. Pure things like ‘kindness’ and ‘gentleness’ are fantasies Draco hasn’t had since he was ten. He can’t have them now, not with the path he’s signed up for.

“And Dobby,” he finishes, hours later after he’s obtained enough ingredients for a headache potion to last him all year long, all the while filling his little grey minion in with what details he figures won’t hurt, “I don’t care what you have to do, but Harry Potter can not be harmed. He cannot be at school this year, or he will die. Is that understood?”  

Apparently very familiar with the threat of death and the importance of one Scar-Face, Dobby nods. Draco checks around for any signs of life as they vanish out the back door and into the night, walking just to the edge of the wards. They’ll have to step out at the same time in order for Draco to hide the fact that a house-elf has left the manor grounds. A small price to pay for the life of the Chosen Brat. 

“Be careful, I’ll cover for you, but you must be back before sunrise, or Father will notice that someone else prepared his breakfast. While you’re gone, I’ll see if I can come up with something to slip you past the wards so this is all a little easier. Okay?”

“Yes, master.”

Draco nods, taking one nervous look over his shoulder, and then turning back to the elf. “The three most important things about all this are?”

Dobby recites them like they’ve been branded onto his body. “Number one, Harry Potter mustn’t be allowed to return to Hogwarts this year, because there is danger, but Dobby shouldn’t be showing himself to Mister Potter, and should only be discouraging from afar. Number two, nobody is to be knowing what house Dobby belongs to, especially not that Master Draco sent Dobby to Mister Potter. Number three, Dobby is not to be talking about this to anyone other than Master Draco, because it is dangerous.”

Three deep breaths and a ‘good luck’ later, Draco nods to the elf. They each place a foot forward, alarms sound right as Dobby disappears and Draco prays he somehow gets away with all this. 

----------

The best way to get to know your enemy is by studying them, and then form a plan of action. Naturally, Harry Potter turns out to live a rather miserable life that leaves Draco questioning Dumbledore’s sanity more than he usually does. Three muggles live with Potter, and Dobby described the kid’s situation to be 'similar to Dobby's, Master Draco!', which makes Draco steer clear of any mean-spirited plans.

Originally, he planned on nicking the boy’s mail, icing him out slowly over the summer. Granted, Draco did start feeling guilty when thought about his friends not speaking to him for the summer. Unfortunately, simply taking the boy’s mail had not been enough to derail his need to return to Hogwarts, and given that only two weeks are left, it is time for Dobby to interact. 

Draco knows more about Harry Potter than he cares to at the moment, which is his own fault really. Two of his housemates are extremely overweight, all three of them ugly and annoying as all get out. Always on about something trivial, always being rude to Potter, Draco's actually beginning to pity the boy, which is exactly how he knows he had heard enough. 

“Remember, Dobby, he cannot know about who sent you, you must not give him any clues, and he cannot come to school this year.”

Dobby’s ears flop as he nods, and then wiggle while he disappears. 

Draco hangs his head, the light pinch already building up behind his brow, but he can’t worry about that now, not when his father is calling him down to the ground floor for tea with the family portraits. It’s almost like talking to demons, but it’s never enough to crack his perfected smile, and even better façade. He feels almost bad for sending the elf off without checking on him first. That morning, his father had been particularly cruel to anyone within three feet of him, it was unfortunate for both of them that neither had been allowed to leave his side until noon. Dobby was particularly hysterical, and gone off not much better. Which means there is a very big chance that Dobby will slip up, perhaps fail, maybe injure Potter by accident. The thought worries him until the elf’s return.

Then Draco feels a different guilt, one for probably sticking Harry Potter in a very unpleasant spot, one he’s understanding more and more as the days drag on. Constantly reminding himself that he's only doing this to save Harry Potter’s life, he counts down the days until he can start packing for Hogwarts. It's more of a home than the Manor is lately. 

Exactly one week before his departure, his father remembers that there are things he needs before the year begins, which is how Draco finds himself entering some shop that holds all his father’s dirty little wishes. They can't bring anything home, not with the Ministry's inspections, but now that he thinks about it, that's probably the whole reason they're here. Too much darkness in one home or something like that. Narcissa always swears they have to “clean house” before having any Ministry visitors.

“Touch nothing, Draco.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes similar to the artificial eyeball that catches his attention. “I thought you were buying me a present?” 

It had been a lie, they both know it, and yet to question him in public is something he’ll undoubtedly pay for later. 

“I promised to buy you a racing broom.”

This time Draco does roll his eyes. Less at his father, and more because he feels someone hiding and watching. Probably waiting for one of them to slip. For Lucius to snap or for Draco to give up his little act. He huffs, crossing his arms. Whatever asshole is trying to ruin his reputation will have to wait until another day. He has the look of a selfish bastard to uphold, thank you very much. It’s a matter of safety at this point.

Spouting something no doubt unflattering about Potter as he examines a set of skulls, at least two of them fake, how tacky, Draco moves closer to the eyes that are surely watching him. His father replies, not that he notices, staring at items useful for his actual survival instead of focusing on the conversation between his father and the shopkeeper.

Although he does almost let out a snort when his father pretends to give a damn about the Ministry. He idly wonders what the Ministry would do should they discover his father's Dark Collection. The part he hasn’t sold, at least.

Draco nearly chokes imaging Fudge's face.  

It’s that image that leads his smirking face to a peculiar hand resting on a tattered cushion. The Hand of Glory, it would be perfect for his midnight watches, he could use it to sneak around the castle. His plans to get rid of whatever plot his father planned on unlocking need that artifact. It's said to be the end of footfalls, vanquisher of sound, to make the owner completely unnoticeable when they need to be.

“Can I have that?”

“Ah! The Hand of Glory!” Mr.Borgin rushes to explain-like Draco doesn’t already know- but the second the words ‘friend of thieves’ leaves the man’s mouth, he knows he’ll never be allowed to have it. Rising to bait his son is something Lucius would never pass, and his grades are sensitive enough a topic to have Draco red and annoyed.

“It’s not my fault.” he hisses, but he can’t very well tell his father the truth about why his grades had slipped the previous year, so he settles for a quick jab at someone who had been at the top of their class. Stupid Hermione Granger, the one person who can give Draco a run for his money. Forgive him if he's somewhat annoyed that a person who just recently joined the wizarding world knows more about it than himself, drilled from the second he was born. 

He doesn’t listen to his father’s comeback in an effort to reclaim himself, particularly because he heard a noise that shouldn’t be in a shop like this. Something that sounds suspiciously familiar. Making his way around, Draco tries to follow where the sound came from. Whoever is spying on him will regret it. He can't believe he let himself forget about their little show watcher, all for a stupid trinket-

“Come, Draco.”

Oh well, on the plus side he can probably sneak back in later to get what he wanted. 

As punishment for speaking against him in public, Lucius forces him towards the commotion of stupid, mush-for-brains Lockheart. Dazzling smile, charming to anyone who looks at him for too long, and probably the most annoying adult Draco’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. And because having to listen to the man drone on and on about how wonderful he is isn’t enough, Harry bloody Potter walks through the doors.

Draco can practically feel his father’s giddiness, but his own irritation is much more prevalent.

Harry bloody Potter is supposed to be locked in a muggle bedroom, safe and very far away from the Wizarding World, not posing for the bloody Daily Prophet. He’s fuming for more reason than one the entire time Lockheart is speaking and maybe it’s the fact that he feels guilty, or the fact that Potter is not fucking supposed to be here right now, or maybe even the snotty voice grating on his ears. He’s really unsure why he does it, but there he is, sneering and snarling out some remark he can’t take it back.

Which is a problem seeing as he can’t remember what comment he made in the first place but Harry is staring at him, so he carries on like he does know what he’s doing.

“Famous Harry Potter,” he begins, making a conscious effort to keep his eyebrow from twitching. Thanks to the bloody Daily Prophet anyone and everyone who wanted to help with his father’s little scheme would have a clear target now. There’s no telling how much trouble Draco is in. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.” 

He’s so irritated he doesn’t even notice the baby Weasley until she’s glaring right back at him. “-he didn’t want any of that.” 

So that’s why Potter has been so insistent about coming back, bloody git has someone special. Bloody annoying. “Potter you’ve got yourself a girlfriend .” The girl blushes, Potter on the other hand, seems very confused about the whole thing. That makes two of them, but before he can ponder over why it’s relieving that Potter doesn’t have someone special, Granger and Weasley Weasley come running and his headache stabs him. This is not how he expected to end his shopping trip. 

“Oh it’s you.” The redhead states, like anyone else would be stupid enough to bother Potter in public. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

Fear grips him. Did Dobby tell? How does Weasley know? What else has the elf told them? How the fuck is he going to explain this to his father? “Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley” he lets his anger reply for him, “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all of those.”

Red rushes to meet red and for a second Draco actually starts to feel bad. And then Weasley starts towards him and for a moment he actually kinda hopes he’ll leave the place with a black eye, then his father might not  be as ruthless tonight. Of course Harry bloody Potter has to hold him back right as Father Weasley appears. Surely this can’t be good for his migraine. 

“Ron! What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

Draco couldn’t agree more. He almost thanks the man when the four people in front of him step away, but that's before he see Potter’s eyes widen and feels a firm hand digging into his collarbone. 

“Well, well, well,-” oh fuck “-Arthur Weasley?”

Bloody hell, of course his father has to pick the end of an argument to show up from whatever corner he’d slinked off to. With his mood from Draco’s attitude this morning it's only a matter of time before Mr.Weasley- he's pushed aside as the father of the pack throws himself at Lucius. Oh, Draco will pay for that later. At least they're moving away from the children and not towards them….but that's equally as bad because soon they're all but thrown out by Hagrid of all people.

It's only when they arrive back at the Manor that Lucius fully loses his temper. Draco barely has time to shield himself before Lucius turns on him. It only takes a few minutes for anger to give away to horror, for Lucius to stare at Draco’s crumpled form and fall to his knees. Lucius does hug him and promises that he loves his son, that he doesn’t meant to, and that he’s so sorry. Draco doesn’t believe a single word he says, and quickly forgets his father entirely when Dobby pops into his room with a few potions.

“You promised me you wouldn't tell!”

“I did not! Dobby would never betray Master Draco!”

“Then explain to me how Ronald Weasley knows!” Thankfully, he remembered to put silencing spells around his room before shouting. 

 Dobby turns to stare at him in horror before promptly picking up his textbook and ramming it into his head. “Dobby has failed! Dobby has failed Master!”

Bloody hell…

An hour later and Dobby has finally calmed, walking him through every second of his interaction with Potter. He spends hours going over every little detail, making sure there is no evidence to lead back to himself. If his father doesn't kill him once he finds out, Severus most certainly would. Eventually he draws it up to being blamed for everything, which he deserves for being a giant ass to everyone, he supposes. 

“It’s alright, Dobby.” he says for the millionth time, “I’d probably be blamed for Weasley’s red hair if he was angry enough, we just have to cut Potter off at the platform.”

Surely that will work, right?

----------

They manage to cut him off at the last second and for the first time since he started school, Draco’s head feels wonderful. He’s sitting in his cabin, Crabbe and Goyle too stupid to make conversation that makes any form of sense, and Blaise too involved in some book to bother talking. Staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by, it’s calming. Comforting. Something about the green hills and clear sky eases his mind and his anxiety. It’s nice enough for Pansy to look up and smile at him. “Enjoying yourself, Draco?”

She’s one of the few people that manage to make his name sound like it isn't an insult or a praise. Just pure ‘Draco’, no intent behind it. One of the many, many reasons he values her friendship so much.  

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think.”

Pansy nods, “I’d give anything to paint it, shame I left my things inside my trunk.”

“We’ll be at the castle soon.”

The two of them turn back towards the window at the exact time a car flies by. Heads whip back and forth, they blink at each other and then Pansy speaks and suddenly his headache is back full force.

“Was that Harry bloody Potter?”

You have to be joking. Surely not in a flying car. Surely he's more sensible than that. Even so they rush out and press against the nearest window to see a flash of black and orange in the front seat of a fucking flying car.

Because he is stupid and forgot that Harry fucking Potter lacks most, if not all, common sense, he left him with Ron fucking Weasley, the most ignorant and air-headed wizard of their time. 

Taking one last look out the window to make sure he is, in fact, not hallucinating the whole event, Draco turns on his heel and starts for his luggage. He'll need his head-pain relieving potion sooner than he thought.