Chalice of Secrets

“Professor.” 

Despite the annoyance still clouding his every atom, Draco can’t fight the smile at seeing Severus’s face. Equally irritated, equally dead inside, and Draco’s favorite person in the entire school, perhaps even the world. His godfather greets him with an inclined head, an eyebrow raising at being approached before he's had a chance to have dinner. 

“Malfoy. How was your summer?”

Secretly code for: it’s good to see you’re not dead or sorry I couldn’t visit.

“We can speak on that later, I have two very urgent questions for you.”

Snape switches his brow’s height, the right one springing up as the left one burrows down, “Get on with it then.” 

He knows he should probably tell him about Potter first, but the golden trunks being carried past him is a little, if not completely impossible, to ignore. And, if it's possible, more annoying.

“Tell me, Professor,” he lowers his voice, “Tell me that insufferable git isn’t really the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He’s a show pony at best, one of the girls will probably jump him before break. Not to mention that a half-wit has more of a brain than he can hope for.”

There’s amusement playing in Snape’s eyes, the smallest of grins, a mere twitch upwards of his lips that’s basically the same as getting a full smile from the man. His voice shows none of this.

“Why, Draco, you should know better than to speak so rudely of your professors, no matter how much of a thick-headed, witless oaf they may be. Lockheart has been through much, if you read his books you’ll clearly see where a brain cell or two has been knocked out, it would be foolish to assume he has anything left.”

Stifling his laughter behind clearing his throat, Draco prepares to see a face that will have him smirking in class for weeks. “I believe you’re quite right, sir. My second question is more of a personal one, you see, I was hoping you’d tell me how you felt about flying cars?”

It’s priceless, the way everything about Snap freezes and he can almost see the flaring up of nerves right above the other man’s eyeballs. He can pinpoint it by now with how many Potter-head-pains he’s had. Before his beloved godfather can run wild with his question, Draco provides a bit more context just so he can fully share his pain with someone.

“By that of course I mean, Harry Potter and flying cars. I do believe his stunt will be all over muggle news in the morning, do you think they’ll claim it to be a UFO?”

Snape suddenly has murder in his eyes and Draco almost nods in approval before smirking his nastiest smirk.

“He did not fly a car across London.”

“Oh, Professor, he did. ”

Draco holds out a copy of the rolled up newspaper he’d grabbed on the way into the school where, for all of the Wizarding World to see, is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, driving their car right over a muggle home. 

“You know, Draco,” Snape whispers, making sure no one is around before he growls out, “Whatever your father is trying to pull this year might not work because I’ve decided I’m going to kill Potter first.”

And because he too is suffering the same as his elder, Draco merely nods in pity, steering them both to Dumbledore’s office. They take maybe three steps away from the dinning hall where people are beginning their meal right as Nevile Longbottom of all people rushes past them, straight to the mops of red hair.

“Harry and Ron just flew a car into the Whomping Willow!”

They both freeze, taking in a very deep breath. Draco makes an effort to count backwards from ten before he meets a stone cold furious face. 

“Do you think I could give you a hand with killing him? I promise to behave in Potions if you do. Really, Professor, I think it could be a good bonding experience.” 

—————

Snape, unfortunately, does not let him sneak into his office when he chews the two idiots out, nor does he say anything more than ‘yes, he’s safe’ and ‘no, you are not allowed to hex him’ followed by ‘get out of my office Draco, it’s past curfew’.  

The pent up worry doesn’t uncurl from his gut until he sees Harry Potter the next day at breakfast, in the middle of the table with, thankfully, no injuries and a flustered Wealsey beside him. He tries to keep his irritation to a minimum, staring over his morning fruit with a somewhat murderous glare Pansy is surely making a face at. Friendly conversation distracts him from the Daily Prophet’s ‘exclusive’ interview with his lying father, but it’s much harder to ignore the front page where the flying car moves. Merlin, he’s going to kill the idiot behind him. Kill him before Lucius and the Dark Lord and Snape all combined. Once he gets his hands on stupid Potter he’ll-

“ RONALD WEASLEY”

Draco almost drops his paper right into his morning tea, turning much like every other student in the dining hall to openly gawk at Weasley, who, much to his personal amusement, has a howler. Oh his morning just got so much better.

“ -YOU WAIT TIL I GET HOLD OF YOU-”

Much to his disbelief, Draco finds himself almost sympathetic to Molly Weasley, although he would also very much like to see the exact moment Mrs. Weasley ‘got hold’ of her son. Perhaps there’s a spell to transform him into a fly on the wall. He’d stoop to the level if it means getting to see more of Weasley shrinking into his bench.

“ -YOU AND HARRY COULD HAVE BOTH DIED!-”

Finally, someone who had his exact thought. This is almost better than his fantasy of Snape’s lecture.

“ -PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!”

The smile falls away from Draco’s face at the wistful dream. If only it could be so easy to get Potter home. Whatever his father has planned hasn’t started yet, but some nagging feeling tells him it wouldn’t take long. With that thought a sudden funk comes over him. Completely and utterly unfair, something akin to sadness maybe? He can never spend too much time on it before Pansy notices. 

“Come off it, Draco.” She shakes him gently, “It’s time for class.”

“Can’t we just skip? I know you don’t actually like Ancient Ruins, and I can think of many better things to do than pretend to listen in Herbology.” 

Pansy swats him on the arm, “Please, we both know your father will have your head if your grades are as bad as they were last year. At least try to make an effort, I hate to think about what might happen to you otherwise.”

The mere thought of his father is enough to snap his colder features back into place. To his side, he can see Pansy approving nod, but he’s much too busy painting on the look of a proper Malfoy.

“Crabbe. Goyle. Let’s go.”

It hardly takes any time to reach the greenhouses once he drowns out the blithering idiots beside him. It does, however, take an immense amount of effort not to scoff in Lockheart’s face as he flaunts about in front of Scar Face. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry. I understand ”

He would puke if he didn’t find the look of pure frustration on Potter’s face somewhat therapeutic. Granted, the face does come with the price of listening to the golden asshole speak, so it’s as much of a loss as it is a win. Professor Sprout thankfully cuts the Golden Fool off before Draco can reach the hexing point.

As much as seeing Lockheart scurry out of the room made him happy, it doesn’t last long. Not with screaming Mandrakes and Granger being an insufferable know it all. As she speaks Draco wonders how many OWLs she’ll have under her belt before she leaves Hogwarts. The usual limit is 12, the amount he plans on taking if he survives the next few years, but she’ll no doubt find a way to double it. How completely unfair.

Classes passed one after another, and before he could blink twice his father’s owl is before him at lunch, a package attached. The whole thing caused quite the scene, but not as much as Draco’s pure, unfiltered smile at the Nimbus 2001 before him.

My dearest Draco, 

I hope to find you in good health. Your mother has just returned from her summer trip to Paris, and talked me into this. Attached you will find the broom I promised over summer, there is one for every Quidditch member in Slytherin. I assume you realize I approve of your desire to outmatch Potter. It will no doubt provide a wonderful distraction as my plan begins. Soon, Draco, we will have His favor once again.

Write home quickly, your mother misses you

Love always, Father.

Draco pales at first, but quickly begins his bragging, tucking the letter tightly in his pocket and coming up with some excuse he half remembers. He needs to get to Dumbledore and Snape. Now. If his father’s plan is beginning soon they have to be ready. They can’t afford to wait, what if someone were to die? What if Potter-

“-And then, could you sign it?”

The annoying voice of a first-year, no doubt about that, sneaks him back to the present where Scar Face seems trapped, his friends holding back laughter. What a nuisance...then the reality of what’s being said slaps away fear with his most familiar emotion around Potter: breathtaking agitation.

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

It’s like the idiot doesn’t even care that people are out to kill him! Doesn’t he know how dangerous it is for him to be here? Draco went through so much, risked so fucking much just to protect his stupid ass, and he’s giving away fucking signed photos?!

“Line up everyone!” he roars, completely gone to his anger now. He doesn’t even care that a crowd is forming. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

At least Potter has the decency to look ashamed, although the horror of everyone looking at him is much funnier. “No I’m not! Shut up, Malfoy.” 

The way his last name is pronounced, like the worst possible kind of insult is almost enough of a blow to make him snark just one comment and walk away. Of course, it doesn’t play out that way because the stupid first-year glares at him.

“You’re just jealous!”

“Jealous?!” Of the boy who’s ass he constantly had to look after? Of the idiot with a scar he could never hide? He knows he should stop, Snape is going to have a row with him over this later, but he’s started and can’t stop now.

“Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you special!” 

Hurt flashes across Potter’s face and he has to remind himself of why it’s better that way. His mouth is moving towards whatever remark is thrown at him, and he knows he’s throwing it back just as harsh. But Draco keeps his eyes trained on Potter’s face. He doesn’t look arrogant, or even happy. He looks tired. Worn down, like merely existing is too much. Supposedly, abuse will do that to you. Draco wonders if he ever has that look on his face, surely Pansy would’ve told him to hide it. If not, Weasley’s wand pointing at his nose surely is a sign that Draco has complete control over his emotions.  

Oh fuck, Weasley’s pointing his wand right at his nose. This is not going to end well.

“What’s all this? What’s all this?” Lockheart asks, coming up behind them. As if the moment couldn’t get any worse. The blinding spot of gold pulls Harry into him, and Draco would feel bad if he didn’t have to get his note to Snape and then head to his last class. He’s much too busy for this, and why he stoops to this level he’ll never understand, much like he can never figure out why being mean to Potter is so difficult sometimes. 

He slinks away to venture down to Snape’s office, and has to run to make it in time for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He has no time at all to prepare his mind for the foulness of Lockheart parading about and making them take a quiz about his favorite fucking color of all things. Really, where does Dumbledore find his teachers?

Because his day hasn’t been awful enough, Lockheart also decides to release Cornish Pixies, just for the fun of seeing his students terrorized with no way for him to stop it. Draco would make a comment about this, but he’s a little preoccupied with Crabbe and Goyle forcing him out of the room. He can’t wait to fall into bed tonight. 

—————

A hand is at his throat...cold eyes lock onto his.

He can’t breathe, he’s choking, he can see Dobby limp on the floor….the elf is covered in some red shiny substance….

Blood.

Why can’t he catch his breath? What is wrong with-he’s choking. He’s being choked.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck

He meets his father’s eyes “ Disgrace!” 

A wand is at this throat, “ Cur-”

He is woken up by Flint, “Good morning, Draco, care to join the rest of your team on the practice field this morning?”

The world takes a second to gather around him. No light comes in through the dungeon walls, which makes it that much harder to focus. He can breathe this time, an improvement. A majority of his roommates are asleep, curtains drawn with a spell or two to keep them out. His are also shut, but knowing that his apparent captain stands behind them is enough for Draco to sit up and throw them open. 

“Excuse me? " He chokes, "I haven’t even tried out?”

Flint raises his eyebrow, “Not to be frank, but your father’s presents mean a lot to the team, plus we’ve all seen you fly, we know you have the talent. No one else wants to be Seeker, and that’s what we need. Are you in or not? Snape’s already cleared the field to get you some practice time, it would be a shame not to let the others sleep just because you haven’t made up your mind.”

That still doesn’t make everything as clear as he’d like it to be, but if Snape is in on it, surely it can’t be that bad. Everyone deserves something small that made them happy, right? It’s okay if he tales this small bit of happiness, right?

“I’m in, just give me a moment to get dressed.”

The second Flint is gone he all but jumps out of bed. He hasn’t been this excited since his first train ride, last year, before all this mess. He gets to play. He gets something he’s dreamed about since he was a kid, a real life dream come true. And if he isn’t good, he’ll train, every day, for as long as he can, anything to keep the sudden rush of good emotions. He hasn’t felt positive things in so long, just stress and worry and annoyance. 

Here, with his team smirking at him and thanking him for the brooms, he feels welcome. None of them know, or even care, about the Dark Lord. As they walk to the pitch he can feel the troubles melt away, talking about plays, exchanging gloats and other meaningless ticks that only Slytherins would get. It’s somewhat comforting, to be around his people, ones with brains, ones who don’t care about his name because he’s the youngest and most inexperienced of them all. A level of respect is there, sure, but not in the way Crabbe and Goyle mindlessly agree to everything, Flint actually snorts at one of his remarks. Being treated like a human being for once feels amazing, and it ends the second Oliver Wood comes flying towards them.

Of course Harry Potter and his fellow Gryffindors would ruin it all. 

His team crowds around him like they can feel his discomfort, like they're trying to protect him against the disappointment creeping under his skin. 

“You’ve got a new Seeker? Where?”

The Slytherins tense up around him, and he can’t have that. Relations shouldn’t be tense like this, it isn’t good politics. So, Draco takes a deep breath and paints on his best smirk before stepping up next to Flint, who makes sure to stay a protective bit in front of him. 

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

Naturally, the Weasley twins bring up the thing that makes him the most uncomfortable when he's already anxious, but before he can react Flint is sneering.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father.” The rest of the team takes casual steps closer, “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

He clues in with the rest of the team, holding out their broomsticks as Flint continues to take charge, keeping up an air that only Slytherins can produce. Proud, probably obnoxious, definitely pompous, and in every way the perfect deflect from Draco’s nerves, he really owes them later.

Right as he’s beginning to get a hold of himself, Granger and Weasley walk onto the field, and if they’re here that means Draco will be perfectly fine. He can deal with pests like these. 

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley.” Draco answers to whatever crudeness has been said, “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought the team.”

Shock, then pure anger crosses both of their faces, and then Granger points out the obvious, “At least no one had to buy their way onto our team. They have something called talent.”

Draco barely conceals a flinch, luckily his teammates bunch up for him, getting slightly closer which gives him the courage to feel something other than burning shame; anger.

It’s out of his mouth before he can take it back, his father’s favorite insult, it horrifies him the second it leaves his tongue. He feels too much like his father when he says it, so much it actually frightens him, and then Flint is in front of him and someone is firing a spell.

Draco closes his eyes, already planning to undo whatever has been done to his team, and then Flint starts to chuckle.

Somehow, with luck even worse than his own, Ronald Weasley has managed to backfire his own spell, and now kneels on the field spitting up slugs. Draco can’t  hold back his pearls of laughter even if he wanted to. After this, at least he won’t be too upset about the car thing. 

Potter collects his friends as the red and gold retreat. Once they’re gone, Flint turns to grab him by the shoulders.

“Listen, Draco. Don’t let what they said get to you, alright? We all know you’re a good flyer, now we’ve just got to prove you’re more than money too.”

Draco nods. “Thank you, for standing up for me, Crabbe and Goyle usually just stand there.”

The team snorts at that, Adrian Pucey actually ruffles his hair. “Don’t you know that’s all they're good for? Haven’t got half the brain that Filch does, and that’s saying something.”

“Seriously, Draco, the money is one thing, but the face Potter will make when we win the match will be so much better. Let’s get in the sky boys!”

Finding himself smiling, and maybe a little more hopeful for this year, Draco hops onto his broom. If he can’t beat Potter into the ground with his wand in exchange for every heart attack the idiot’s given him, he can at least beat him in Quidditch

—————

The evening finds him in Dumbledore’s office, Snape and the letter in hand, Fawkes peering at him trying to figure out if it's worth moving or not. Draco makes the decision for him, moving closer to pet the creature while the headmaster reads.

“Soon, then? Have we any clue as to what Lucius is up to? What could he want with our students?”

“There’s no way of knowing with the Dark Lord, Headmaster, he could very well possess a student before it’s all said and done.”

Draco shakes his head, “Isn’t that a bit much even for him? I think heavy influence is the most likely, after all he would need a solid form to possess someone, right? I’ve heard it’s almost impossible to refuse him once he’s in front of you.”

”Either way, we need to do something to ensure the students‘ safety.”

Dumbledore mules over this from behind his tiny glasses. The office hasn’t changed much from last year. Still bright and cheery, filled to the brim with odds and bits that delight him to no end. Fawkes perches on his shoulder as he takes in a new ornament or two, waiting for his owner to respond.

“Has Lucius told you anything?”

“He’s told me the usual, hate Potter, please the Dark Lord. We sold something probably dark in Daigon Alley. I think it was some ratty old book, but there was nothing written in it? Although, he did mention the Chamber of Secrets….”

Dumbledore physically pales, something he never thought the man capable of. Snape shakes his head, another very bad sign. “The Chamber? Surely not, I thought that was a myth Albus.”

“The problem with myths, Severus, is that there are often truths in them. And unfortunately for all of us, the Chamber is about as much a myth as the night sky.”

Draco turns on his heel, careful enough not to disrupt Fawkes who squakes anyways. “So it does exist then? What he told me is true, and the last time it was opened-”

“Yes, Draco. The last time it was open, Riddle had done it himself. A muggle was killed then, it almost shut down the school. They were difficult times, and if it is opened again...I fear the worst, for both Mr. Potter and ourselves. Not even I know the beast Salazar Slytherin has bread down there…”

As if feeling the panic growing, Fawkes burrows into his arms. Quiet stretches between them, each lost in a different train of thought. If the chamber is opened...someone will die...and that someone might be Potter, the only chance they have against the Dark Lord.

Even more harrowing is the possibility that Hogwarts will shut down. That means there’s a chance he’ll have to return to the manor, where Dumbledore cannot protect him. Bleaker than this morning, Draco meets the headmaster’s eyes. He’s rewarded with a kind smile and another nuzzle from the Phoenix in his arms.

“Come now, we wouldn’t want to miss dinner. I heard they’re serving lemon pudding tonight.”

“Should we sneak some back for Fawkes, Headmaster?” 

Dumbledore smirks watching his bird side eye him from his new found position on Draco’s left arm.

“We might as well, he should enjoy a treat before his rebirth, don’t you think?”

Snape looks at them both like they’ve gone mad, rolling his eyes and sweeping out of the room. “Honestly, you’d think Severus would enjoy lemons with how much they have in common.”

Draco nods, grinning at the jab, “It was strange to find out how much he likes chocolate.”

“You’re more alike than you know, then.”

“Are you calling me bitter, sir?” A smile lingers behind Dumbledore’s innocent eyes, so Draco pretends offense. “I’ll have you know I love lemons. The tarts here are my favorites.”

“Why Draco, that just means you have good taste.”