Valentines
It’s quiet in the headmaster’s office, despite three people and one Phoenix being there. The paintings say nothing, the sorting hat is out of quick remarks, even the fire has calmed it’s cackling. Their tea is growing cold, but Draco can’t find the will to reach for it. Snape’s cup sits untouched besides his, and after a long moment, Dumbledore takes a deep breath and the quiet is shattered.
“You’re both aware that before Voldemort was as he is now, he was a student. Correct?”
Snape nods, Draco shakes his head ‘no’, “Did he go here?”
“Yes.” Dumbledore smiles. “Yes he did. But at that time he went by a different name; Tom Riddle. The boy had many troubles, but most of all, a deep hatred for others born non of pure blood, don’t give me that look Draco. I understand your disbelief, but I assure you, Voldemort was and remains a half-blood. Nasty story behind that, the boy became so blind with rage and anger….it was sad to watch. Fifty years ago, he was a top student, powerful and talented, and kind. Or so I thought. He was sorted into Slytherin, and somehow found out about his mother…”
“His mother?” Snape asks.
Dumbledore nods, “You see, the boy’s mother…was a descendant of Salazar himself.”
Draco listens with wide eyes, picking up his tea just to have something to do with his hands. A descendant of Slytherin, and murked with the blood of a muggle. No wonder he was so vile, but also powerful…
“I do not know how he found the chamber, or even where it is, but I do know that as soon as it was open the attacks started. They got worse and worse until a young girl was killed. Only then, when he feared punishment and realized how closely eyes began to watch him, did he close it. She was muggle-born, a Ravenclaw, one of the shy ones. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see anything, and everyone knew it. Some people used it to taunt her, she was always one to be bullied, not a single brave bone in her body. I never did get the full story, but one day, she ran into that bathroom crying, and never came out. Riddle got what he wanted in the end. Fear, and his first kill.”
The quiet is back once he finishes, and something begins to make sense to Draco.
“Sir, if Riddle was the last person to open it, would it be right to assume he’s done it again? Or,” he takes a deep breath, knowing exactly how what he says next will sound, “Or someone with a close connection to him?”
Snape snaps his head up at that, “If you’re thinking that Harry Potter has the spine to-”
“He may not have the spine, Severus, but he has the connection.”
Cold rushes through Draco, he’s speaking before he can think, fire rushing through his veins, “Bloody hell has he been in connection with the Dark Lord this entire time? Owling him when he wants to be in tune with whatever scheme his cronies are pulling? By Merlin-”
“Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore’s voice cuts through him like a knife. Which is fair considering he not only cussed in front of a teacher, but also insulted the precious Potter. “You’ll do well to watch your mouth, and I assure you Harry has no idea about his connection to Voldemort. It was completely accidental and I’m not even sure how strong it is. When the curse struck the baby, and the scar was formed, as was the bond. You cannot have one without there other, and I know not to what extent it exists. All we know now is that somehow, someone in the castle is being manipulated by Voldemort himself, and that may or may not be Harry-”
A sudden thought strikes him. During the summer, when his father had boasted about having one of Tom Riddle’s diaries. He hadn’t even known how it was related to the Dark Lord, he thought it was something stolen and later filled with dark magic...he hadn’t known…
“What was that, Draco?”
He looks up to see two pairs of eyes looking at him, and he takes a deep breath. “The diary, sir...this summer my father, I mean, he found this diary and went on about it for weeks. He said it belonged to some Tom Riddle person, but I didn’t know who it was, I thought it was just dark magic and-”
“So it’s a dairy….” Dumbledore muses, and when he doesn’t get angry Draco can finally breathe normally.
“Do you remember what it looks like?” Snape asks, getting a nod in response.
“It’s blank inside, and when you write in it the letters disappear. Someone else answers, father used to talk to it all night long. Outside it just looks like a normal old, used notebook. With black leather binding.”
Snape sighs, “So we’re looking for any old school book but this one just so happens to allow students to communicate with the single most evil wizard to walk the Earth.”
Draco nods once more, getting a chuckle from Dumbledore as Snape rolls his eyes.
“Wonderful.
----------
Attacks ceased for a few days and things started to look up. Blaise and Pansy came to support him at practices, Flint made sure to tell him he was doing better, much better. Crabbe and Goyle managed to pull their grades up with his help, really all was beginning to look like it would be okay.
And then Lockheart came up with an idea for school morale.
“It’ll be fun!” He announced in class one day, smiling from ear to ear, “A Valentine’s treat! From you-” he pointed to Granger, who raises an eyebrow, “to you!” Potter, the other selected merely snorts.
Blaise leans over with a laugh, “Oh darling Draco, I can’t wait to see how many you get. Can you send me one? For, ya know, morale ?”
“Sure, you can have my leftovers, dear.”
The boy feigns hurt, leaving them both in fits of snickers, Crabbe and Goyle just mutter something about not getting it. Understanding reaches them a few days later when they all walk into the Great Hall and are bombarded with flowers of every kind in pink, hearts hanging from the sky, and one imbecile in the middle, smiling like it actually looks good.
“Happy Valentine’s Day! And may I thank the forty-six people so far who have sent me cards!”
Draco rolls his eyes, but Blaise beats him to the punch, “How many have you gotten so far?”
“If you must know, twelve.”
Pansy snickers, “Just wait until you see what we sent you.”
His laughing friends are met with a very loud, very dramatic, groan.
Despite his annoyance at it all, Draco still finds the whole thing flattering. Who is he to deny attention? He’d much rather drown in it, thank you very much. By lunch he’d received somewhere in the forties, including one from Pansy that sung and told him he was her ‘favorite twit with a snarky twist’ and Blaise’s that thankfully didn’t sing, but did remind him that his ‘dirty laundry’ makes the boy’s fragile heart ‘swoon’ when he steps on it in the morning. Contrary to his earlier words, he had sent out a few himself.
One to Pansy to tell her that she was a flower among weeds. One to Blaise, it definitely sang, and may or may not have consisted of Draco calling him every embarrassing nickname he could think of. One to Flint that said ‘thank you for your kindness and patience’ with no signature, he’s not a fool after all. One to both Crabbe and Goyle that thanked them for their friendship. One for Snape and Dumbledore, both thanks for everything they’ve done for him. Simple, polite, and straight to the point with most of them. Good politics is all it is, the more people like you, the more they’re likely to do what you want, or stay loyal when you need them to.
Which left him with the weird feeling while he was writing to his friends and mentors. For some unknown reason, he had started writing one to Harry bloody Potter. He didn’t send it, of course, that would be preposterous. But by Merlin did he write one, a full page going on about how he wished the boy would be safer, that he’s too important to die so young, that people- Draco- needed him to survive. That people were watching over him, caring for him, and wishing every damn day for his safety.
Luckily his brain had stepped up and threw the letter under his pillow before he sent the rest of them off.
He’s replaying that scene in his mind over and over, just to make sure he didn’t send the letter, to make sure his isn’t the one Potter is actively avoiding in the middle of the hallway.
“Let me go!” Potter demands, trying to get free from the goblins that Draco had seen throughout the day. He moved in an odd way and suddenly his bag was ripping, contents spilling all over, including a familiar looking book.
Before anyone could reach to help the boy collect his belongings, the goblin began to sing and it was all Draco could do not to burst into laughter before he got the book. A poem about his eyes, his hair, how brave he was against the Dark Lord, all so fucking funny he almost forgot to be mean. Almost. Because the book was by his feet, and with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him, nothing would stop him from picking it up, except, of course, Potter, still red in the face and huffing.
“Give that back.”
So soft he almost hadn’t heard it, and really, with how nice Potter was being, he would. As soon as he checked to make sure it wasn’t the diary.
“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” Draco says, hoping that something was actually there, preferably notes so he wouldn’t have to invade privacy, or turn him in to Dumbledore.
“Hand it over, Malfoy.”
Bloody Perfect Weasley.
“When I’ve had a look”, Draco replies, keeping the this is more important than you’re bloody fucking ego bit unspoken.
Both Gryffindors were speaking but he was too busy peeking into a blank book when suddenly it flew out of his hand and into Weasley’s.
“Harry!” Perfect Weasley yelled, “ No magic in the hallways! I have to report this you know!”
Dread and anger filled his every atom. Harry Potter had Tom Riddle’s diary. The fucking Boy-Who-Should’ve-Died had the book that started all of this shit. He was three seconds away from grabbing his wand when the Female Weasley ducked her head. Blushing, looking at the book with wide eyes, horrified and embarrassed.
“I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!” he snorts, turning on his heel and leaving Crabbe and Goyle to class. Irritated and somewhat betrayed, he marches straight to Dumbledore’s office to tell him his oh so perfect golden boy had the one thing that would ruin them all. It was just his luck that the old man wasn’t in his office.
He tries again, later that night, when Blaise’s ‘what do you mean you got ninety-seven cards?!’ starts to get annoying.
“Headmaster-” he begins as soon as he steps foot in the office, a mistake really, given that Dumbledore is holding a paper with a grave look that stops him in his tracks.
“Has someone else been attacked?” he asks, forgetting Potter in the wake of such a look.
The headmaster lets out a long sigh, “No. But I’m afraid this is equally disturbing….we are being visited by Cornelius Fudge soon.”
“The minister?! Why?”
“Because he believes Hagrid has opened the chambers...just like last time they are forcing the blame on an innocent soul.”
Draco scoffs, “Hagrid? That giant oaf has some creatures, sure, but he isn’t a murderer! The man can hardly keep himself from crying when pudding spills!” He keeps comments of the man’s intelligence to himself, no need to anger an already sad man.
On the plus side, his little outburst has left the man amused in his grief. “I agree, Hagrid is exceptionally gentle, however your father does not share our views.”
“My father?” What could Lucius Malfoy possibly-“Oh.”
A way to lay blame elsewhere. A way into the school. A way to ensure the Dark Lord’s favor is won.
“He’ll be coming with Fudge, I was eventually going to summon and warn you.”
Lucius Malfoy, here, at the school. There truly was no way for Draco to escape him. Nothing he could do or say, he couldn’t even step one toe out of line. That would be hell.
“Will he be staying long?” Draco asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“I certainly doubt so, more than likely he’ll want to be present for Hagrid’s dismay. Should anything happen, and I am busy with the minister, Severus will act for us both. You will be safe from him in this school.”
Draco didn’t have the heart to tell him about his last school visit with dear old dad. He takes a deep breath, “Speaking of being safe. I’ve found out who has the diary.”
“A perfect time, no less,” Dumbledore’s bitterness almost draws a laugh out of him, “Do tell me who it is.”
“You’re not going to like it, but I’m afraid Harry Potter has it tucked away in his school bag.”
Dumbledore frowns, “Of course he does…”