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kowaiyoukaiTitle: Metanoia - Part 1: Reconciliation, part IV
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kowaiyoukai
Rating: R
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning(s): Slash, het, angst, language, convoluted plot, use of side characters who you may have forgotten, misuse of canon terms and items
Spoilers: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP
Word Count: 63,163 total; 8,196 for this part
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm making no money from this.
Beta Acknowledgment:sizijee looked over a lot of this. Thanks! *gives Itachi*
Summary: Draco needs a safe place to stay. So does Harry.
A/N: Same as before.
Harry was currently reading about how a few of the goblin rebellions that occurred in the late 1600s took place in some of the lesser populated, more remote locations in England. Apparently, this was important information because it was possible that one of the goblins may have stolen and then hidden a priceless possession of Rowena Ravenclaw's. If he could figure out where exactly he might have hidden it, they might be able to find a clue about what had happened to it from there.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. This was becoming much more tedious than he originally thought it would be, which seemed impossible since he originally thought he would fall asleep while poring over all of these old books. They just seemed to go on and on and on about things that he would normally have paid no attention to. It would have been different if he had even the slightest interest in what he was reading about, but as it was he could barely stay awake through one whole chapter. He had no idea how he would be able to finish going through the list Hermione had given him.
Harry sighed again. Hermione looked up at him and then back down to her book. Harry really detested the knowledge that everyone but him was going out and actively fighting against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, while he himself was sitting in a moldy old library reading about goblin rebellions.
There was nothing at all interesting about goblin rebellions, Harry decided. They were all boring and so similar to each other that it made no sense to distinguish them. It would have been easier to say that there had been one goblin rebellion lasting hundreds of years then that there were hundreds of goblin rebellions lasting a few weeks each. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. It would be better to label them by numbers than by dates, he mused. Goblin rebellion one, goblin rebellion two… it would probably be a lot easier to remember that way, too. He sighed and started counting the lines on the ceiling.
He got to forty-three before Hermione cleared her throat. He sat up straight and looked at her. She was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" Harry asked, frowning.
"You've sighed three times in the past four minutes," Hermione commented.
"I have not," Harry said, immediately defensive.
Hermione sighed, then shook her head. "See? Now you've got me doing it."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry," he said since he couldn't think of any other appropriate response.
"Look, Harry, if you don't want to do this, you really don't have to," Hermione said.
Harry groaned. "I need to do something, Hermione! I can't be stuck around here all day with nothing to do anymore!"
She nodded. "Okay, but you don't see Ron in here with me all the time, do you?"
"No," Harry said, smiling. "He's busy slacking off and eating my food."
"Harry, I'm being serious," she said, exhaling loudly.
"So am I," Harry replied, looking at her directly. "I need to do something, and this is the only thing that's available to me, so this is it."
"Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You don't understand."
"What?" Harry asked, slightly annoyed at her tone. "What don't I understand?"
"If you're not really focusing, you could miss something," she said, taking a moment to tie back her hair in a bun. There was a pause in the conversation as she closed her eyes and twirled a brown hair tie around her bushy locks. She opened her eyes and blinked twice before continuing. "None of these books have a section labeled ‘Horcruxes and Where To Find Them.' The only way we'll ever know is if we read between the lines."
"I know," Harry said, tilting his head to the side and briefly closing his eyes.
"No, Harry, you don't," she said. Harry opened his eyes and glared at her. "I'm sorry, but you don't," she repeated in a stronger tone. She reached over and grabbed the book that laid in front of him, bringing it close enough to read the title before replacing it right in front of him. "So you might know the location of a goblin rebellion," she began. "But it might mention something about… oh, I don't know, Ogfuld the Opulent." Harry snickered and Hermione shot him a look. "Stop laughing, this is important. So maybe, four books from now, you read something about Osrin the Opulent. You connect the two names together, realize that both are from the same family, and trace a path between the location that Ogfuld was mentioned at and where Osrin was mentioned at. And lo and behold, somewhere on that line is a location that we might need."
Harry shook his head. "All right, fine, I get it. But you do realize that no one's going to be able to read these books that thoroughly." At Hermione's superior look, Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Hermione. They're boring."
"You might think they're boring," she said, "but I happen to think there's a lot to learn from the past."
Harry stood up and stretched. "Listen, I'm going to take a break."
"Harry…" Hermione shook her head and sighed.
Harry shot her a frustrated look. "You know I'm not the kind of person that can do this for hours and hours on end, Hermione. I'm better at other things. This research stuff is killing me."
"But you'll be back?" she asked as if she was unsure of the answer.
"Yes, I'll be back," he said, reassuring her. "I just need to take a breather."
She nodded. "All right then. I'll be waiting here."
Harry nodded and turned to go. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder.
"Bring me back something to drink. Iced tea, if you have it, please." Hermione's voice was soft but demanding and Harry smiled to himself.
"Sure, Hermione," he said. He opened the elaborately carved door and walked into the hallway, using both hands to grasp the handle and seal the entranceway shut behind him.
Harry walked down the hallway, passing several unused rooms as he went. There was plenty of extra space at Grimmauld Place, almost too much. They had plenty of spare bedrooms as well as bathrooms and extra rooms that they never used. After the huge amount of cleaning they had done before fifth year, Harry was surprised at the amount of dust that had collected, even in the rooms that hadn't been used. He had thought those rooms, at least, would be clean. Not that it mattered, since he wasn't expecting any company, but it would have been nice to walk down a hall and not see dust on the handles of every door that he passed.
There was a lot of extra space in the Black family ancestral home, Harry realized with no small amount of resignation. He was used to the close living quarters of the Gryffindor dorms, where all five boys slept in one room. It had been comfortable there—safe, cozy, and blissful. Harry had never thought that he would willingly leave all of that, but he had. Instead of keeping the closeness that he had grown both accustomed and attached to, he had chosen to live all alone in a veritable King's Cross Station. He should start charging people a sickle for every time they apparated in unannounced. He'd have at least a hundred galleons by the end of the week.
Harry grimaced and shook his head. What was he thinking? Who cared how much space he had in Grimmauld Place? It was his home now, and he would be happy about it. He had left both Hogwarts and the Dursleys, so he really had no choice in the matter.
Harry had wound up in the kitchen, remembering Hermione's request for an iced tea. He picked a glass out of the cupboard and opened the refrigerator. Luckily, there was a half-full pitcher of iced tea just waiting for him on the middle shelf, and Harry snagged it just in case someone apparated behind him and demanded iced tea. He began pouring Hermione's glass and then got a second glass and poured himself a drink as well. He put a few ice cubes in each drink and replaced the pitcher, then walked to the nearest chair and plopped down on it. He placed Hermione's drink within reaching distance, but he kept his own very close to him, idly turning the glass this way and that, watching the light play and reflect off of the surface of the liquid and the cup.
He heard footsteps coming down the hall and wondered whether or not he should go and see who it was. The decision ended up not being his to make, though, when he saw a person's shadow spread across the room from the light in the doorframe.
"Hey, mate," Ron said, and Harry relaxed even before the redhead managed to finish his sentence. "What's up?"
Harry shrugged. "Not much. You?"
Ron walked over and sat down across from Harry, grabbing Hermione's drink in the process. He took a sip and smacked his lips when he finished. "Pretty good," he commented, looking appraisingly at the iced tea. He looked up at Harry and grinned. "I figured I'd drop by and see how you were doing."
"I'm good," Harry replied. "You're drinking Hermione's iced tea, though," he added.
Ron immediately set the glass back down on the table and turned a dull shade of red. "That so? Sorry about that. Didn't realize."
"No problem, finish it," Harry said. "I'll pour another for her when I go back."
"Ah," Ron said, nodding. "You two in the library again?"
"Yeah," Harry answered. He sipped his own drink, enjoying the feel of the liquid running silky smooth down his throat and the trickling sensation of the last bit trailing after the rest. "There's not much else to do, is there?"
"Nope," Ron said, shaking his head.
They sat in silence for a short while, both drinking iced tea and relaxing. Harry slouched in his chair, leaned his head forward, and rested his chin on his chest. He let his eyes fall shut and concentrated on breathing. Each breath seemed to go on forever, the air going into his body, which lifted in response to it, and then the air leaving his body, which fell back down to its starting position.
"Hey, Harry?"
Ron's voice cut through Harry's dreary haze, and he blinked a few times and lifted his head. "Yeah?" he asked, voice slightly croaky.
"What happened between you and Ginny?"
The question snapped Harry completely out of his calm thoughts, and he sat up abruptly. "What do you mean?" he asked, eyeing Ron nervously.
Ron cleared his throat. "Just that… well, Ginny's been kind of upset recently, and I thought it might be because of you." Ron looked at Harry directly, no incrimination or suspicion in his eyes. "It's not because of you, is it?"
Harry sighed. "I don't know, Ron," he said, shrugging. "I guess… yeah. It must be me."
Ron leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Well, what happened?"
Harry looked at Ron cautiously. It was hard to tell with him, but Harry thought his best friend might be okay knowing that Harry and Ginny weren't Meant To Be. Harry hoped it would be okay to tell him, since he was about to one way or the other.
"Ginny and I just didn't work out," Harry said, speaking slowly. He chose his words carefully, trying to think ahead before he spoke. "I don't feel the same way about her as she does about me, and I don't think it's fair to lead her on by dating her."
Ron nodded, grimacing. "Yeah, I figured as much." He was silent for a minute, and Harry chose not to say anything for fear that he would ruin whatever process Ron was going through that was making it easier for him to accept this. "You don't think you could give it another try, though?"
Harry winced at the hopeful note in Ron's voice. "No, Ron," he said. "I really don't think I'll be able to do that."
Ron nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"And anyway," Harry continued, still not entirely convinced that Ron understood what he was saying, "you wouldn't want me to keep on dating her if I didn't really like her, right?"
"Right," Ron agreed. "But… you sure you don't really like her, Harry?"
"I'm sure." Harry's voice was firm. "I don't like her, Ron. Not like she likes me."
Ron shrugged. "I guess it can't be helped, then."
"So," Harry said, searching for a topic change. "What's going on with you and Hermione?"
Ron blinked, clearly surprised at the sudden switch from Harry's love life to his own. "What do you mean?" he asked, completely unprepared for the sudden role reversal.
"Well, you haven't asked her out yet," Harry said, staring at Ron. His best friend was turning a rather amusing shade of red; it was fun to watch.
"No," Ron said, almost stammering. "I haven't."
"When are you going to?" Harry asked, delight etched into his features at the pure discomfort Ron was going through. He loved putting Ron on the spot like this, especially when it involved Hermione.
"When?" Ron squeaked. He cleared his throat and spoke in a much lower tone, "When?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. Are you going to ask her out?"
"Didn't we talk about this before?" Ron asked, looking at Harry suspiciously.
"Yeah, we did," Harry replied. "And you avoided answering me then, too."
"I didn't avoid answering you," Ron replied. "I just was busy with other things."
"Yeah, well, now you're not busy with anything else, so talk to me. When are you going to do it?"
Ron turned even redder and clutched at the table edge for support. "Oh, I don't know, Harry," he said. "Does it even matter? She'll reject me for sure."
"What?" Harry said, making a disbelieving face. "There's no way. Go and talk to her, Ron. That's the only way you'll know for sure."
"What?" Ron blinked, gaping at Harry. "Now?"
"Yes, now," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Here, hold on a minute." He got up and retrieved another glass from the cupboard, pouring iced tea and then a couple of ice cubes into the cup. Harry walked over to Ron and plopped it down in front of him. "Now go into the library and give this to her. Then tell her you want to take her out somewhere or something."
"Harry, I can't do that," Ron said, shaking his head. "She'll flip out. She'll hate me forever. There's no way." Ron sighed and looked down at the tablecloth.
Harry bit his lower lip and waited a moment before speaking. "Look, Ron, you're never going to know unless you try. For all you know, she's been waiting for you to ask her out for years." Ron snorted and Harry glared at him. "No, I mean it. All you have to do is ask her."
"That's not as easy as it sounds," Ron said, swallowing.
"You did it with Lavender," Harry pointed out, compelled to bring up the one instance that he knew Ron had managed to get the girl he had been after.
"It was different with Lavender," Ron said.
"I know," Harry said because he did know. Ron's relationship with Lavender meant nothing to him, while his relationship with Hermione meant everything. Harry assumed that it was easier to ask someone out that you didn't really care about than to go for someone that meant a lot to you. Of course, if it took that much effort and willpower to finally be with the person you really cared about, it was almost as if getting to be with that person was your reward for going through so much strife. If that was the case, Harry knew Ron and Hermione would have a very happy relationship together.
"Harry, you don't know. You've never done it," Ron complained, moaning.
"I have done it. I asked Ginny out, didn't I?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ron glared at him. "Sort of. If by asking out, you mean kissing in front of the entire Common Room. And anyway, that's totally different."
"How is that different?" Harry asked. "If anything, yours will be easier because you won't have a crowd."
"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "You didn't really care about Ginny. You just said so."
Harry was quiet for a moment, contemplating that. "And you really care about Hermione," he finished, looking closely at Ron to see his reaction.
Ron blushed a little more, pushing his face just that much closer to becoming the same shade as his hair. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "I do."
Harry pushed the glass of iced tea closer to Ron. "Then that only makes it more important that you go and talk to her now, before you waste any more time."
Ron hesitated for a moment. He looked up at Harry, who smiled encouragingly, then down at the glass of iced tea. He repeated this process several times, until finally Harry squeezed his shoulder. Ron swallowed and stood up, grabbing Hermione's cup of iced tea along with his own.
"I guess I'll be going then," Ron said, swallowing nervously.
Harry nodded. "Go on. I'll be here when you need me."
Ron nodded back at Harry and turned towards the door. He walked out of the room slowly, almost marching. About nine seconds after he left the room, he stuck his head back around the doorframe. Harry was watching, already prepared for this.
"Thanks, Harry. You're a real mate," Ron said, grinning.
Harry grinned back. "It's what I'm here for. Now go on. Your ice cubes are melting."
Ron's head disappeared around the corner once more. Harry heard his footsteps grow steadily quieter until they were completely silent. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his iced tea, clearing his mind of all worries. They'd be fine. Hermione wasn't stupid, so they would both be fine.
A loud pop sounded in the kitchen, and Harry saw Hestia Jones reaching for the refrigerator. She opened it and took out the empty pitcher of iced tea, pouting slightly.
Harry grinned.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco's eagle owl was perched on the edge of the armchair, looking at him pointedly. He had called for his owl earlier in the day, hoping beyond hope that somehow she would be able to find him. Luckily enough, the Malfoy owls were all specially trained to respond at any time, from anywhere. His father had told him about a spell that they had used, but Draco hadn't paid any attention. All he knew was that when he called his owl, she was supposed to come.
She had flown in about an hour ago, much to Draco's relief. During that hour, he had paced around the living room, mentally composing his owl to McGonagall. It would have to be something so endearing and pathetic that she had no choice but to believe him. It would have to also be true, of course, since Draco knew that if he lied now and she discovered it later, he'd be thrown out without a second thought. No, what he needed now was to tell the truth in a way that made him sound like a victim, like someone that was sitting down, waiting hopefully for something remarkable to happen that would save him from this disaster.
Now, he was staring at a blank piece of parchment, wondering what to write. He glanced out the window absentmindedly. The sun had set, but Draco had no idea what time it was. He imagined he could do a time spell, but he was cautious of doing magic in case he alerted anyone to his presence in the shack. It was better to be on the safe side, especially when there was a chance that the Death Eaters were looking for him.
The blank parchment seemed to call him, begging for attention. Draco looked back at it and picked up the quill that was lying next to it. He had to write something. Anything would be fine, but he had to start off his plea for help somehow.
To Headmistress McGonagall,
Well, it was a start. Draco bit his lower lip and frowned. There had to be something he could say, some type of opening line that wouldn't make him seem like he was trying to trick her.
This is not a trap.
… Okay, so it was kind of a bad opening. Draco shook his head and blew a strand of hair away from his face. It said what he needed it to say, and that was really all that mattered. She would either believe him or not, but with an opening like that she couldn't very well just put it down and walk away. Hopefully it would be compelling enough to continue reading.
He needed to say something else first, before he started going into his circumstances. Something that would allow her to understand that he really was serious, that he really wasn't going to capture her if she agreed to help him.
I hope you'll believe me, or at least that you'll continue reading.
All right, that was pretty good. It seemed sincere, and it told her that he knew she had no reason to trust him. Come to think of it…
I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I'd like you to try.
That might be stretching it a bit. He didn't really want her to trust him; he needed her to trust him. But there was no way he was going to write that down, and anyway he had already stretched out the beginning for long enough. He needed to start telling her what had happened.
Earlier today I was supposed to kill Shacklebolt.
Okay, at least that was clear. He should just write down what had happened in order now, to get it out of the way.
The Dark Lord is holding my parents hostage and threatened to kill them if I didn't do it. However, I still couldn't complete the mission. I believe the Dark Lord doesn't intend to follow through on his threat, but I think that I could be in danger.
Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He counted to twenty slowly and then opened them again. His eyes skimmed over what he had written so far. It seemed a little melodramatic, but then again it was all true, so he supposed it was all right.
Now he needed to figure out what he could say to convince her to help him. He thought for a moment, twirling his quill between his fingers, then placed it on the parchment and began writing again.
I'm hiding out in a location that doesn't meet my needs. There is no food or money here, and I'm afraid
Draco scratched out "afraid" until he was certain no one would be able to see what he had written.
worried that if I leave the Death Eaters will find me and take me to the Dark Lord.
Now it was time for his request. He had to be able to say what was necessary without sounding too demanding or pitiful. It needed to resonate with her innate desire to help people in need. Draco thought for a moment.
I know you have resources, and I'm willing to bet you have somewhere safe to go in case of trouble. I'm in trouble now, and I would be extremely grateful for your help.
There, he had written it. He re-read it and decided it didn't sound too bad. She would still need convincing, though, and he began writing what he hoped would be a persuasive argument in his favor.
I realize that I have no reason to expect you to help me. I also realize that you're very busy with your new position. However, you're the only person I can go to that is able to provide me with what I require. I'm hoping that you will understand this and agree to my request.
Draco thought for a moment and decided that he should probably set up some time to meet, preferably within the next day. He was really getting hungry, after all, and he didn't think he could wait much longer before getting too paranoid and trying to find someplace else to stay. The meeting place should be somewhere populated, so that both sides would be guaranteed some level of safety, but not so populated that a crowd of Death Eaters could sneak up on him. He though of and rejected Diagon Alley, given the recent decaying state of the once-thriving location. He needed somewhere safe and public, and then Hogsmeade came to mind.
If you do decide to help me, I will be waiting on High Street in Hogsmeade, past Dervish & Banges, tomorrow at six p.m.
He had a moment where he considered ending it there, but then he realized that would sound too much like a trap.
This really isn't a trap. I need your help.
Draco looked at the pathetic words and frowned. Was he really that desperate? Yes, the answer flashed in his head almost immediately. Yes, he was.
Please come.
Well, now the desperation had reached the lowest point it possibly could.
Sincerely,
He was. He really was sincere. He hoped she would recognize that and respond accordingly.
Draco Malfoy
Draco sighed and signed his name with a flourish, finally finishing the owl. He rolled it up and tied with a bit of string, then got up and walked over to where his owl was waiting.
"Take this to Headmistress McGonagall," he said, tying the parchment to her leg. She waited until he had finished and then took off, wings flapping powerfully, lifting her up into the air. Draco opened the door for her and she flew swiftly past him, causing his hair to twist and twirl around. He watched her go for a moment and then closed the door, shutting out the world and the dangers it held.
He walked back into the living room and laid down on the couch once more. The only thing left to do was wait.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Reading all day was much more exhausting than he had anticipated, and although he was getting accustomed to it, he still found himself becoming tired faster and faster every day. His stomach grumbled, informing him that it was well past the time he should have eaten. Harry rubbed his eyes and left his books open on the table. He got up, stretching, and yawned.
The seat across from him was empty, reminding him that Hermione had already left. She normally came right after breakfast, stayed the whole day through, and left for dinner with her family. They took a break for lunch or just to relax, but recently she had been leaving earlier than she used to.
It didn't take a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out why. Ron had finally asked her out, she had finally said yes, and now Harry was left alone more than he had been before. Not that he minded, really, because he didn't. He was happy that his friends had gotten together after years of covert glancing and tiptoeing around the subject. But staying in the library longer than even Hermione did was like living in a distorted alternate reality of some kind. It just made no sense to him. He never would have though he'd be researching something for longer than Hermione.
Harry shook his head and left the library. He headed towards the kitchen, intent on making something to eat. On the way there, however, he heard voices coming from the living room. He stopped walking and stood still for a moment, trying to make out what they were saying. When he couldn't, he sidled over to the wall and tried to listen from the doorway.
Harry grit his teeth. He still couldn't make out what was being said. Something was going on. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was something important. So he went upstairs and grabbed a pair of Extendable Ears, hoping that no one had thought to place an Imperturbable Charm on the door.
By the time he got back downstairs, Harry was extremely anxious to listen to what was being said behind the door. He maneuvered the Extendable Ear until it was under the door, then he hurried to the stairs and sat down on the bottom step. He placed the Ear to his own hurriedly, mind whirling with excitement at the thought of finally knowing some of what was going on with the Order.
"—possibly be serious!" Harry winced at the loud voice but immediately recognized it as Tonks. "We have to help him!"
"No." Moody's gruff voice sounded next. "We don't."
"Let's just think about this." Harry was surprised at hearing Headmistress McGonagall's voice. He hadn't expected her to be in there. "It seems to me that he wouldn't have tried to contact me without an excellent reason."
"Oh, he has an excellent reason," a man that Harry couldn't identify said. "He's trying to attack Hogwarts again!"
"Sturgis is right," another man said in a wheezy voice. "We can't assume he's actually changed his ways."
"Why not?" Tonks said loudly. "Why can't we take him at his word?"
"He organized the last attack on Hogwarts," Moody said. "He could do it again if he wanted to."
"We don't know that he wants to," Tonks cried. "He could actually be in a lot of danger."
"Or he could be trying to trick us," Sturgis said. "He's a Malfoy, after all."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. They were talking about Draco Malfoy. They had to be. He was the one who had arranged the last assault on Hogwarts, and they wouldn't even discuss the veracity of Lucius or Narcissa asking for help.
Harry didn't understand. Why did Malfoy need help? What was he doing that warranted such attention from the Order? He leaned forward, holding the Extendable Ear tightly.
"I can't believe this!" Tonks said. "The reason you don't want to help him is because he's a Malfoy?"
"It's a good enough reason," Sturgis continued.
"It is not! That's like saying you wouldn't help my mum because she's a Black," Tonks stated.
"Your mum never attacked Hogwarts," Sturgis replied.
"Either way, it's not right to not even check it out," the wheezy voice interrupted.
"What are you talking about, Elphias?" Sturgis asked.
There was a long pause. "We can't just leave the kid alone, if he really is in danger," Elphias said.
"We don't know he's in danger," Moody said. "It could be a trap."
"Kingsley, what do you think?" Headmistress McGonagall asked. "You were the one he attacked, after all."
Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy had attacked Shacklebolt? When? Why hadn't anyone told him?
"He had me stupefied," Shacklebolt said. "He could have killed me if he wanted to. He didn't. I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Yes," Tonks said. "Exactly. He didn't kill Kingsley, did he?"
"But that owl could be just a ploy, to get us to go there," Sturgis said.
"He didn't know that Minerva would come to us," Elphias said.
"That's preposterous. It's a logical assumption to make," Sturgis replied.
"Even if he thought that, what does it matter?" Tonks asked. "He's hiding out from You-Know-Who. We should help him."
Malfoy was hiding out from Voldemort? Harry's interest had just gone up exponentially. Apparently, a lot more had been going on in his old rival's life than he had known about. Harry had expected Voldemort would try to get Malfoy to do something, since it seemed that Malfoy's parents were being kept captive in order to get Malfoy to act how Voldemort wanted. Harry still remembered the entire conversation he had overheard clearly. He knew Malfoy wasn't as evil as he liked to pretend to be, but he also knew that Voldemort held a lot of power over the blonde's actions.
Harry could understand that something had gone wrong. Malfoy had always screwed things up in Hogwarts; it wasn't surprising that he had messed up Voldemort's orders as well.
"He had the chance to kill me and he didn't," Shacklebolt said, quietly. "I think that we should at least see why."
"Agreed," Headmistress McGonagall said. "We'll have to—"
She was cut off by a loud clunking sound and then the door was flung open. Harry hastily attempted to pull the Extendable Ear back towards himself, but Moody stepped on the end of it.
"Potter," Moody growled. "What are you doing?"
"Erm…," Harry said, stalling. "Sitting?"
Both of Moody's eyes were focused on his face. "Potter, you—"
"Wait a moment." Headmistress McGonagall stepped through the door, turning until she could see Harry. "Mr. Potter, could you come in here for a moment?"
Harry stayed sitting for a second. Then he practically jumped up and followed Headmistress McGonagall into the room. Everyone inside was staring at him as he entered.
Tonks smiled brightly. "Hi, Harry."
Harry nodded at her. "Hey, Tonks."
"Mr. Potter, if you'll take a seat," Headmistress McGonagall said, gesturing towards the empty loveseat. Harry sat down on it and clasped his hands on top of his lap. The rest of the Order members who were there stayed where they were—Elphias was sitting on the couch next to Shacklebolt, Tonks was standing next to the armchair, and Sturgis was leaning against the nearest wall. Moody closed the door and stood next to it, letting his eye swivel about and randomly stop at odd intervals. Headmistress McGonagall had just sat down in the armchair. She cleared her throat and looked around. "As I was saying, we'll have to meet with him to see whether or not this information is accurate."
"Why's he here?" Sturgis asked. Harry glared at him. Sturgis completely ignored him and instead focused on McGonagall. "There's no reason for him to be here. I thought we agreed that—"
Moody snorted and coughed, cutting off Sturgis' comment. "We might have some use for him yet."
Harry resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment. Instead, he waited and sat quietly. It wasn't his strong suit, but the conversation seemed to be going his way so he felt compelled to let it carry on.
"Mr. Potter," Headmistress McGonagall said, and Harry's attention was drawn back to her. "You were the only witness the night that Headmaster Dumbledore was murdered." She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry could only nod. "What you've told us so far has focused primarily on Snape's involvement, but what can you tell us about Mr. Malfoy?"
Harry thought back to that night, easily recalling it. "Well, he was the one who was supposed to kill Headmaster Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it."
Right there, in his head, was the image of Draco Malfoy holding his wand at Headmaster Dumbledore. His hand had been shaky, his eyes had been wide, and he had spoken about things that he would never have wanted Harry to overhear. He had bragged about everything he had done during the year, and even admitted to casting the Unforgivables. Of course, Harry himself had cast the Cruicatus Curse before, so it wouldn't be very fair of him to throw stones.
"Mr. Potter?" Headmistress McGonagall's voice came to him, snapping him from his thoughts.
Harry looked at her and blinked. "Sorry, I was just… thinking."
She nodded and motioned with her hands. "Carry on, then. What was your impression of Mr. Malfoy from that night?"
"Malfoy?" Harry asked, exhaling. "He was… scared. He was really afraid that Voldemort would kill his family."
"You'd think so," Tonks said, quietly. "They're his family."
Harry blinked. He had never really looked at it like that before, but he supposed Tonks was right. Narcissa and Lucius were Draco's mum and da, respectively. It was strange, thinking of them as parents who cared for their son and not as Death Eaters who wanted his corpse as a display piece for their home.
"Yeah," Harry said, slowly. "They are." He paused for a moment, then shook his head and cleared his throat. "Anyway, he wasn't going to kill Dumbledore."
"How can you be sure?" Elphias asked, peering at Harry.
Harry shrugged. "I just know it. He wouldn't have done it."
"This is rubbish," Sturgis said, throwing his hands up in the air. "A complete waste of time."
Harry glared at him. "Actually, Dumbledore thought Malfoy wouldn't kill him, too." The room seemed to grow even quieter, and Harry felt a few extra eyes looking at him. "It's true," he said, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Dumbledore even offered Malfoy and his family protection if he agreed to join our side."
"What?" Moody hissed.
His outburst was followed by an uproar. Everyone was talking at once, in various tones and at varying stages of excitement. Harry tried to make sense of what was going on, to keep track of who was saying what, but it all got mixed up so quickly that he couldn't make any of it out. He leaned back on the loveseat's cushions, bouncing once or twice off of the plushy material.
Eventually, Harry realized that Headmistress McGonagall was trying to call everyone to order. She was completely unable to calm them down, though, and Harry thought about standing up and shouting for quiet.
"Quiet, the lot of you!" Moody's voice was much louder than everyone else's, and Harry's ears rung at the sudden silence that descended over the room.
"But that's just not possible," Elphias said, wheezing through his disbelief. "Dumbledore would never make an offer like that without asking the rest of the Order first."
"He did," Harry said, feeling extremely defensive. "He offered Malfoy a safe place to go, basically. He said that he would protect Malfoy and his parents, if they wanted it."
"No," Sturgis said, shaking his head. "He couldn't have."
"He did," Harry insisted.
"He offered to protect Lucius Malfoy?" Tonks asked, disbelief ringing clear in her tone.
Harry nodded. "Yes." He hesitated. "Of course, I think the offer was more for Malfoy's benefit than his parents."
"Why?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, looking at Harry intently.
"It seemed like—well, to me at least, it seemed like Dumbledore knew that Lucius wasn't going to accept any offer of help. He said that Lucius was probably glad he was stuck in Azkaban, since otherwise Voldemort would be looking for him. But I guess he still thought Lucius wouldn't take his help." Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but I think Dumbledore was more concerned with Malfoy anyway."
"Do you remember what he said?" she asked, still staring closely at him.
"Not exactly, no," Harry replied. "But Dumbledore basically wanted Malfoy to not go back to Voldemort."
"Well, that makes sense," Tonks said, nodding. "Dumbledore didn't want anyone following You-Know-Who."
"The fact that it was one of his students who was in danger probably had something to do with it," Shacklebolt said, speaking softly but clearly.
"It's ridiculous," Sturgis said, frowning. "I can understand wanting to protect his students, but Malfoy had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Surely Dumbledore knew that he wanted to serve You-Know-Who."
"He didn't want to," Harry said. The thought that he had never expected to defend Draco Malfoy in any way crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. This was more important than holding onto an old grudge. "I've told you this already. Malfoy thought Voldemort was going to kill his family. He was being forced into doing what Voldemort wanted."
"Rubbish," Sturgis said, shaking his head. "The Malfoy family has always had one allegiance. I wouldn't expect it to change overnight."
Harry glared at him, fighting to control his temper. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" he asked, forcing the words through his teeth. "Malfoy was lowering his wand. He was about to accept Dumbledore's offer. The only reason he didn't was because the other Death Eaters came before he could."
"You can't know that for certain," Elphias said. "I'm not denying that the Malfoy boy might have accepted Dumbledore's offer. But he never actually said he would, and Dumbledore never informed any Order member about this."
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. He felt extremely agitated, and he leant forward until he was perched on the edge of the loveseat. "You don't know that. You weren't there. You don't get it."
"The only noteworthy thing Malfoy has ever done resulted in Dumbledore's death," Sturgis said. "Even if it was unintentional, he still did it. He's directly responsible for the way things turned out that night."
Harry stood up, fists clenched at his sides. "So what?" he said loudly. "We've all done things we're ashamed of, things we'd rather take back. Maybe Malfoy really regrets letting the Death Eaters in."
"Why do you care, anyway, Harry?" Tonks asked, tilting her head and looking at him quizzically. "You're never cared one or way or the other about him before."
Harry opened his mouth to say something and found he had nothing to say. There was no answer to her question, really. He cared because he had to. He cared because he was Harry Potter, and if he didn't care, who would? Besides, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized that Malfoy hadn't had any other options. Harry might have acted the exact same way if their positions had been switched.
"Listen," Harry said, still standing rigidly. "I know Malfoy's a prat. He's an obnoxious, selfish, whiny brat who I can't even stand to be around. But even so, Voldemort's after him. I really believe that Malfoy wanted to agree to Dumbledore's offer. You guys are the Order of the Phoenix. You're supposed to support Dumbledore's decisions and fight against Voldemort."
"That doesn't mean we have to put ourselves at risk by helping someone we know we can't trust," Sturgis said.
"No," Harry said. "It doesn't. But if you decide not to help Malfoy and he's really in trouble, then where does that leave the Order? Suddenly it's okay to pick who needs help and who can be left alone to make do for themselves? If I could leave, I'd check it out myself. But I can't. So it's up to you all."
Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "All right, Mr. Potter. Thank you for talking with us."
Harry took that as the dismissal it was and walked to the door. He wanted to say something else before he left, but he had no clue what would make things better and what would only make everything worse. So he opened the door, walked into the hallway, and began closing the door behind him.
"I still don't like it," Moody said.
Harry grit his teeth, shut his eyes, and closed the door. The corridor was echoingly quiet, so all that he heard was Moody's statement repeated over and over again in his mind.
The statement repeated during his walk back to the library and while he was trying to read through another boring chapter in another boring book. He had gotten half-way through the chapter before he remembered why he had left the library in the first place, and then he cursed and stood up. He left the library once more, went to the kitchen, and fixed himself something to eat. The entire time Moody's words clamored for attention in his head, but he ignored them.
It didn't matter whether or not Moody "liked it." Somehow, the only thing that mattered was that Malfoy was on the run from the Death Eaters, that he needed help so desperately that he had contacted the Order. And Harry, despite all of his efforts, could not figure out why in the world that was.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It had been a long and stressful night. Draco had waited for a response from McGonagall. And waited. And waited. In fact, he had waited for so long that he had almost fallen asleep standing up twice. He wouldn't be deterred, though. He was going to stand and wait for as long as it took her to reply.
He couldn't even try to get a good night's sleep in his current state, anyway. He was tired, sure, but he was also so hungry he doubted he'd be able to get to sleep at all. The only thing he could do was alternate between pacing back and forth in the small living room and lie on the couch, sulking. He did both, frequently, repeatedly, until finally he saw the silhouette of an owl coming towards the shack through the window.
Draco got up from his current sulking position and walked over to the door. He waited until he was sure his owl would be right outside and opened the door. She glided in, ruffling her feathers at him as she passed. She landed on the armrest of the armchair and hooted, sticking out her leg.
There was a parchment attached, and Draco hurried over to her. He untied the parchment and started to unroll it when she nipped at his fingers. He glared at her, and she opened her beak and stared meaningfully at him. Draco rolled his eyes and got up, heading towards the kitchen. He opened the useless cupboard, took out one of the many cylinders, and walked back into the living room.
"Here," he said, putting the cylinder down in front of her. "Have at it, then."
His owl began to peck ineffectually at the container, attempting to wrap her beak around it and break it open somehow. When that didn't work, she began to claw at it with her talons. The cylinder fell over and rolled off of the armchair and onto the floor from her actions. His owl followed, gliding down to the floor and landing next to the offending object. She swiftly began attacking it again.
Draco watched his owl's antics for a minute. He raised his eyebrow and turned back to the reply owl he had received. He opened it, skimming it and then reading it through once thoroughly.
To Mr. Malfoy,
I have read over your owl. I admit I was surprised when I received it. However, the information you wrote in it appears to be genuine. Therefore, I will be meeting with you at the place and time you specified.
I am willing to ignore past experiences in this instance. If you intend to deceive me, however, you should be aware that I will never offer you my help again.
Sincerely,
Headmistress McGonagall
Draco read it over once more. He had expected it to be longer, but he supposed this would do. She was willing to meet with him, after all, and that was what he had asked for. He was glad for that, at least.
Although the entire owl seemed rather like a warning than the offer of help he had expected. The last part in particular seemed to be just full of dire outcomes for him if he didn't follow through with his story. There was nothing to worry about, of course, since his story was reality. It was the truth, and he knew it was, and McGonagall and her stupid warnings were not going to scare him.
"Ouch," Draco muttered, glaring down towards his shoes. His owl was standing there, glaring balefully back at him. The rabies-infected vermin had bitten his ankle. She opened her beak wide, still glaring at him.
Draco sighed. "I've got nothing to eat, you bloody stupid bird. What makes you think I've got extra food laying around that I'm saving for you?"
His owl shut her beak with a snap and continued to glare at him. Draco moved his feet away from her, accidentally kicking the cylinder in the process. It rolled out in the middle of the floor, silently mocking the both of them.
Draco bit back a sigh. He would not become one of those melancholy people who walked around dressed in black, talking about how horrible their life was, and showing everyone around just how tragic they were by sighing all the time. No, he would make the best of the situation.
So Draco laid down on the couch and proceeded to sulk. The sulking continued unabated for a good fifteen minutes before his owl hooted at him. He rolled his eyes and looked over at her.
"What is it this time?" he asked, sighing. He scowled, remembering he had just said he wouldn't do that anymore.
His owl nudged the cylinder towards him and looked at him hopefully. Draco looked at his owl, then at the cylinder, then at his owl, then back at the cylinder.
"Stupid bloody bird," he said, and he walked over and began inspecting the cylinder once more.
To Metanoia - Part 1: Reconciliation, part V
Feedback is love, people. ^_^*
Author:
kowaiyoukaiRating: R
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning(s): Slash, het, angst, language, convoluted plot, use of side characters who you may have forgotten, misuse of canon terms and items
Spoilers: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP
Word Count: 63,163 total; 8,196 for this part
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm making no money from this.
Beta Acknowledgment:
sizijee looked over a lot of this. Thanks! *gives Itachi*Summary: Draco needs a safe place to stay. So does Harry.
A/N: Same as before.
Harry was currently reading about how a few of the goblin rebellions that occurred in the late 1600s took place in some of the lesser populated, more remote locations in England. Apparently, this was important information because it was possible that one of the goblins may have stolen and then hidden a priceless possession of Rowena Ravenclaw's. If he could figure out where exactly he might have hidden it, they might be able to find a clue about what had happened to it from there.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. This was becoming much more tedious than he originally thought it would be, which seemed impossible since he originally thought he would fall asleep while poring over all of these old books. They just seemed to go on and on and on about things that he would normally have paid no attention to. It would have been different if he had even the slightest interest in what he was reading about, but as it was he could barely stay awake through one whole chapter. He had no idea how he would be able to finish going through the list Hermione had given him.
Harry sighed again. Hermione looked up at him and then back down to her book. Harry really detested the knowledge that everyone but him was going out and actively fighting against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, while he himself was sitting in a moldy old library reading about goblin rebellions.
There was nothing at all interesting about goblin rebellions, Harry decided. They were all boring and so similar to each other that it made no sense to distinguish them. It would have been easier to say that there had been one goblin rebellion lasting hundreds of years then that there were hundreds of goblin rebellions lasting a few weeks each. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. It would be better to label them by numbers than by dates, he mused. Goblin rebellion one, goblin rebellion two… it would probably be a lot easier to remember that way, too. He sighed and started counting the lines on the ceiling.
He got to forty-three before Hermione cleared her throat. He sat up straight and looked at her. She was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" Harry asked, frowning.
"You've sighed three times in the past four minutes," Hermione commented.
"I have not," Harry said, immediately defensive.
Hermione sighed, then shook her head. "See? Now you've got me doing it."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry," he said since he couldn't think of any other appropriate response.
"Look, Harry, if you don't want to do this, you really don't have to," Hermione said.
Harry groaned. "I need to do something, Hermione! I can't be stuck around here all day with nothing to do anymore!"
She nodded. "Okay, but you don't see Ron in here with me all the time, do you?"
"No," Harry said, smiling. "He's busy slacking off and eating my food."
"Harry, I'm being serious," she said, exhaling loudly.
"So am I," Harry replied, looking at her directly. "I need to do something, and this is the only thing that's available to me, so this is it."
"Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You don't understand."
"What?" Harry asked, slightly annoyed at her tone. "What don't I understand?"
"If you're not really focusing, you could miss something," she said, taking a moment to tie back her hair in a bun. There was a pause in the conversation as she closed her eyes and twirled a brown hair tie around her bushy locks. She opened her eyes and blinked twice before continuing. "None of these books have a section labeled ‘Horcruxes and Where To Find Them.' The only way we'll ever know is if we read between the lines."
"I know," Harry said, tilting his head to the side and briefly closing his eyes.
"No, Harry, you don't," she said. Harry opened his eyes and glared at her. "I'm sorry, but you don't," she repeated in a stronger tone. She reached over and grabbed the book that laid in front of him, bringing it close enough to read the title before replacing it right in front of him. "So you might know the location of a goblin rebellion," she began. "But it might mention something about… oh, I don't know, Ogfuld the Opulent." Harry snickered and Hermione shot him a look. "Stop laughing, this is important. So maybe, four books from now, you read something about Osrin the Opulent. You connect the two names together, realize that both are from the same family, and trace a path between the location that Ogfuld was mentioned at and where Osrin was mentioned at. And lo and behold, somewhere on that line is a location that we might need."
Harry shook his head. "All right, fine, I get it. But you do realize that no one's going to be able to read these books that thoroughly." At Hermione's superior look, Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Hermione. They're boring."
"You might think they're boring," she said, "but I happen to think there's a lot to learn from the past."
Harry stood up and stretched. "Listen, I'm going to take a break."
"Harry…" Hermione shook her head and sighed.
Harry shot her a frustrated look. "You know I'm not the kind of person that can do this for hours and hours on end, Hermione. I'm better at other things. This research stuff is killing me."
"But you'll be back?" she asked as if she was unsure of the answer.
"Yes, I'll be back," he said, reassuring her. "I just need to take a breather."
She nodded. "All right then. I'll be waiting here."
Harry nodded and turned to go. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder.
"Bring me back something to drink. Iced tea, if you have it, please." Hermione's voice was soft but demanding and Harry smiled to himself.
"Sure, Hermione," he said. He opened the elaborately carved door and walked into the hallway, using both hands to grasp the handle and seal the entranceway shut behind him.
Harry walked down the hallway, passing several unused rooms as he went. There was plenty of extra space at Grimmauld Place, almost too much. They had plenty of spare bedrooms as well as bathrooms and extra rooms that they never used. After the huge amount of cleaning they had done before fifth year, Harry was surprised at the amount of dust that had collected, even in the rooms that hadn't been used. He had thought those rooms, at least, would be clean. Not that it mattered, since he wasn't expecting any company, but it would have been nice to walk down a hall and not see dust on the handles of every door that he passed.
There was a lot of extra space in the Black family ancestral home, Harry realized with no small amount of resignation. He was used to the close living quarters of the Gryffindor dorms, where all five boys slept in one room. It had been comfortable there—safe, cozy, and blissful. Harry had never thought that he would willingly leave all of that, but he had. Instead of keeping the closeness that he had grown both accustomed and attached to, he had chosen to live all alone in a veritable King's Cross Station. He should start charging people a sickle for every time they apparated in unannounced. He'd have at least a hundred galleons by the end of the week.
Harry grimaced and shook his head. What was he thinking? Who cared how much space he had in Grimmauld Place? It was his home now, and he would be happy about it. He had left both Hogwarts and the Dursleys, so he really had no choice in the matter.
Harry had wound up in the kitchen, remembering Hermione's request for an iced tea. He picked a glass out of the cupboard and opened the refrigerator. Luckily, there was a half-full pitcher of iced tea just waiting for him on the middle shelf, and Harry snagged it just in case someone apparated behind him and demanded iced tea. He began pouring Hermione's glass and then got a second glass and poured himself a drink as well. He put a few ice cubes in each drink and replaced the pitcher, then walked to the nearest chair and plopped down on it. He placed Hermione's drink within reaching distance, but he kept his own very close to him, idly turning the glass this way and that, watching the light play and reflect off of the surface of the liquid and the cup.
He heard footsteps coming down the hall and wondered whether or not he should go and see who it was. The decision ended up not being his to make, though, when he saw a person's shadow spread across the room from the light in the doorframe.
"Hey, mate," Ron said, and Harry relaxed even before the redhead managed to finish his sentence. "What's up?"
Harry shrugged. "Not much. You?"
Ron walked over and sat down across from Harry, grabbing Hermione's drink in the process. He took a sip and smacked his lips when he finished. "Pretty good," he commented, looking appraisingly at the iced tea. He looked up at Harry and grinned. "I figured I'd drop by and see how you were doing."
"I'm good," Harry replied. "You're drinking Hermione's iced tea, though," he added.
Ron immediately set the glass back down on the table and turned a dull shade of red. "That so? Sorry about that. Didn't realize."
"No problem, finish it," Harry said. "I'll pour another for her when I go back."
"Ah," Ron said, nodding. "You two in the library again?"
"Yeah," Harry answered. He sipped his own drink, enjoying the feel of the liquid running silky smooth down his throat and the trickling sensation of the last bit trailing after the rest. "There's not much else to do, is there?"
"Nope," Ron said, shaking his head.
They sat in silence for a short while, both drinking iced tea and relaxing. Harry slouched in his chair, leaned his head forward, and rested his chin on his chest. He let his eyes fall shut and concentrated on breathing. Each breath seemed to go on forever, the air going into his body, which lifted in response to it, and then the air leaving his body, which fell back down to its starting position.
"Hey, Harry?"
Ron's voice cut through Harry's dreary haze, and he blinked a few times and lifted his head. "Yeah?" he asked, voice slightly croaky.
"What happened between you and Ginny?"
The question snapped Harry completely out of his calm thoughts, and he sat up abruptly. "What do you mean?" he asked, eyeing Ron nervously.
Ron cleared his throat. "Just that… well, Ginny's been kind of upset recently, and I thought it might be because of you." Ron looked at Harry directly, no incrimination or suspicion in his eyes. "It's not because of you, is it?"
Harry sighed. "I don't know, Ron," he said, shrugging. "I guess… yeah. It must be me."
Ron leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Well, what happened?"
Harry looked at Ron cautiously. It was hard to tell with him, but Harry thought his best friend might be okay knowing that Harry and Ginny weren't Meant To Be. Harry hoped it would be okay to tell him, since he was about to one way or the other.
"Ginny and I just didn't work out," Harry said, speaking slowly. He chose his words carefully, trying to think ahead before he spoke. "I don't feel the same way about her as she does about me, and I don't think it's fair to lead her on by dating her."
Ron nodded, grimacing. "Yeah, I figured as much." He was silent for a minute, and Harry chose not to say anything for fear that he would ruin whatever process Ron was going through that was making it easier for him to accept this. "You don't think you could give it another try, though?"
Harry winced at the hopeful note in Ron's voice. "No, Ron," he said. "I really don't think I'll be able to do that."
Ron nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"And anyway," Harry continued, still not entirely convinced that Ron understood what he was saying, "you wouldn't want me to keep on dating her if I didn't really like her, right?"
"Right," Ron agreed. "But… you sure you don't really like her, Harry?"
"I'm sure." Harry's voice was firm. "I don't like her, Ron. Not like she likes me."
Ron shrugged. "I guess it can't be helped, then."
"So," Harry said, searching for a topic change. "What's going on with you and Hermione?"
Ron blinked, clearly surprised at the sudden switch from Harry's love life to his own. "What do you mean?" he asked, completely unprepared for the sudden role reversal.
"Well, you haven't asked her out yet," Harry said, staring at Ron. His best friend was turning a rather amusing shade of red; it was fun to watch.
"No," Ron said, almost stammering. "I haven't."
"When are you going to?" Harry asked, delight etched into his features at the pure discomfort Ron was going through. He loved putting Ron on the spot like this, especially when it involved Hermione.
"When?" Ron squeaked. He cleared his throat and spoke in a much lower tone, "When?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. Are you going to ask her out?"
"Didn't we talk about this before?" Ron asked, looking at Harry suspiciously.
"Yeah, we did," Harry replied. "And you avoided answering me then, too."
"I didn't avoid answering you," Ron replied. "I just was busy with other things."
"Yeah, well, now you're not busy with anything else, so talk to me. When are you going to do it?"
Ron turned even redder and clutched at the table edge for support. "Oh, I don't know, Harry," he said. "Does it even matter? She'll reject me for sure."
"What?" Harry said, making a disbelieving face. "There's no way. Go and talk to her, Ron. That's the only way you'll know for sure."
"What?" Ron blinked, gaping at Harry. "Now?"
"Yes, now," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Here, hold on a minute." He got up and retrieved another glass from the cupboard, pouring iced tea and then a couple of ice cubes into the cup. Harry walked over to Ron and plopped it down in front of him. "Now go into the library and give this to her. Then tell her you want to take her out somewhere or something."
"Harry, I can't do that," Ron said, shaking his head. "She'll flip out. She'll hate me forever. There's no way." Ron sighed and looked down at the tablecloth.
Harry bit his lower lip and waited a moment before speaking. "Look, Ron, you're never going to know unless you try. For all you know, she's been waiting for you to ask her out for years." Ron snorted and Harry glared at him. "No, I mean it. All you have to do is ask her."
"That's not as easy as it sounds," Ron said, swallowing.
"You did it with Lavender," Harry pointed out, compelled to bring up the one instance that he knew Ron had managed to get the girl he had been after.
"It was different with Lavender," Ron said.
"I know," Harry said because he did know. Ron's relationship with Lavender meant nothing to him, while his relationship with Hermione meant everything. Harry assumed that it was easier to ask someone out that you didn't really care about than to go for someone that meant a lot to you. Of course, if it took that much effort and willpower to finally be with the person you really cared about, it was almost as if getting to be with that person was your reward for going through so much strife. If that was the case, Harry knew Ron and Hermione would have a very happy relationship together.
"Harry, you don't know. You've never done it," Ron complained, moaning.
"I have done it. I asked Ginny out, didn't I?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ron glared at him. "Sort of. If by asking out, you mean kissing in front of the entire Common Room. And anyway, that's totally different."
"How is that different?" Harry asked. "If anything, yours will be easier because you won't have a crowd."
"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "You didn't really care about Ginny. You just said so."
Harry was quiet for a moment, contemplating that. "And you really care about Hermione," he finished, looking closely at Ron to see his reaction.
Ron blushed a little more, pushing his face just that much closer to becoming the same shade as his hair. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "I do."
Harry pushed the glass of iced tea closer to Ron. "Then that only makes it more important that you go and talk to her now, before you waste any more time."
Ron hesitated for a moment. He looked up at Harry, who smiled encouragingly, then down at the glass of iced tea. He repeated this process several times, until finally Harry squeezed his shoulder. Ron swallowed and stood up, grabbing Hermione's cup of iced tea along with his own.
"I guess I'll be going then," Ron said, swallowing nervously.
Harry nodded. "Go on. I'll be here when you need me."
Ron nodded back at Harry and turned towards the door. He walked out of the room slowly, almost marching. About nine seconds after he left the room, he stuck his head back around the doorframe. Harry was watching, already prepared for this.
"Thanks, Harry. You're a real mate," Ron said, grinning.
Harry grinned back. "It's what I'm here for. Now go on. Your ice cubes are melting."
Ron's head disappeared around the corner once more. Harry heard his footsteps grow steadily quieter until they were completely silent. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his iced tea, clearing his mind of all worries. They'd be fine. Hermione wasn't stupid, so they would both be fine.
A loud pop sounded in the kitchen, and Harry saw Hestia Jones reaching for the refrigerator. She opened it and took out the empty pitcher of iced tea, pouting slightly.
Harry grinned.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco's eagle owl was perched on the edge of the armchair, looking at him pointedly. He had called for his owl earlier in the day, hoping beyond hope that somehow she would be able to find him. Luckily enough, the Malfoy owls were all specially trained to respond at any time, from anywhere. His father had told him about a spell that they had used, but Draco hadn't paid any attention. All he knew was that when he called his owl, she was supposed to come.
She had flown in about an hour ago, much to Draco's relief. During that hour, he had paced around the living room, mentally composing his owl to McGonagall. It would have to be something so endearing and pathetic that she had no choice but to believe him. It would have to also be true, of course, since Draco knew that if he lied now and she discovered it later, he'd be thrown out without a second thought. No, what he needed now was to tell the truth in a way that made him sound like a victim, like someone that was sitting down, waiting hopefully for something remarkable to happen that would save him from this disaster.
Now, he was staring at a blank piece of parchment, wondering what to write. He glanced out the window absentmindedly. The sun had set, but Draco had no idea what time it was. He imagined he could do a time spell, but he was cautious of doing magic in case he alerted anyone to his presence in the shack. It was better to be on the safe side, especially when there was a chance that the Death Eaters were looking for him.
The blank parchment seemed to call him, begging for attention. Draco looked back at it and picked up the quill that was lying next to it. He had to write something. Anything would be fine, but he had to start off his plea for help somehow.
To Headmistress McGonagall,
Well, it was a start. Draco bit his lower lip and frowned. There had to be something he could say, some type of opening line that wouldn't make him seem like he was trying to trick her.
This is not a trap.
… Okay, so it was kind of a bad opening. Draco shook his head and blew a strand of hair away from his face. It said what he needed it to say, and that was really all that mattered. She would either believe him or not, but with an opening like that she couldn't very well just put it down and walk away. Hopefully it would be compelling enough to continue reading.
He needed to say something else first, before he started going into his circumstances. Something that would allow her to understand that he really was serious, that he really wasn't going to capture her if she agreed to help him.
I hope you'll believe me, or at least that you'll continue reading.
All right, that was pretty good. It seemed sincere, and it told her that he knew she had no reason to trust him. Come to think of it…
I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I'd like you to try.
That might be stretching it a bit. He didn't really want her to trust him; he needed her to trust him. But there was no way he was going to write that down, and anyway he had already stretched out the beginning for long enough. He needed to start telling her what had happened.
Earlier today I was supposed to kill Shacklebolt.
Okay, at least that was clear. He should just write down what had happened in order now, to get it out of the way.
The Dark Lord is holding my parents hostage and threatened to kill them if I didn't do it. However, I still couldn't complete the mission. I believe the Dark Lord doesn't intend to follow through on his threat, but I think that I could be in danger.
Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He counted to twenty slowly and then opened them again. His eyes skimmed over what he had written so far. It seemed a little melodramatic, but then again it was all true, so he supposed it was all right.
Now he needed to figure out what he could say to convince her to help him. He thought for a moment, twirling his quill between his fingers, then placed it on the parchment and began writing again.
I'm hiding out in a location that doesn't meet my needs. There is no food or money here, and I'm afraid
Draco scratched out "afraid" until he was certain no one would be able to see what he had written.
worried that if I leave the Death Eaters will find me and take me to the Dark Lord.
Now it was time for his request. He had to be able to say what was necessary without sounding too demanding or pitiful. It needed to resonate with her innate desire to help people in need. Draco thought for a moment.
I know you have resources, and I'm willing to bet you have somewhere safe to go in case of trouble. I'm in trouble now, and I would be extremely grateful for your help.
There, he had written it. He re-read it and decided it didn't sound too bad. She would still need convincing, though, and he began writing what he hoped would be a persuasive argument in his favor.
I realize that I have no reason to expect you to help me. I also realize that you're very busy with your new position. However, you're the only person I can go to that is able to provide me with what I require. I'm hoping that you will understand this and agree to my request.
Draco thought for a moment and decided that he should probably set up some time to meet, preferably within the next day. He was really getting hungry, after all, and he didn't think he could wait much longer before getting too paranoid and trying to find someplace else to stay. The meeting place should be somewhere populated, so that both sides would be guaranteed some level of safety, but not so populated that a crowd of Death Eaters could sneak up on him. He though of and rejected Diagon Alley, given the recent decaying state of the once-thriving location. He needed somewhere safe and public, and then Hogsmeade came to mind.
If you do decide to help me, I will be waiting on High Street in Hogsmeade, past Dervish & Banges, tomorrow at six p.m.
He had a moment where he considered ending it there, but then he realized that would sound too much like a trap.
This really isn't a trap. I need your help.
Draco looked at the pathetic words and frowned. Was he really that desperate? Yes, the answer flashed in his head almost immediately. Yes, he was.
Please come.
Well, now the desperation had reached the lowest point it possibly could.
Sincerely,
He was. He really was sincere. He hoped she would recognize that and respond accordingly.
Draco Malfoy
Draco sighed and signed his name with a flourish, finally finishing the owl. He rolled it up and tied with a bit of string, then got up and walked over to where his owl was waiting.
"Take this to Headmistress McGonagall," he said, tying the parchment to her leg. She waited until he had finished and then took off, wings flapping powerfully, lifting her up into the air. Draco opened the door for her and she flew swiftly past him, causing his hair to twist and twirl around. He watched her go for a moment and then closed the door, shutting out the world and the dangers it held.
He walked back into the living room and laid down on the couch once more. The only thing left to do was wait.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Reading all day was much more exhausting than he had anticipated, and although he was getting accustomed to it, he still found himself becoming tired faster and faster every day. His stomach grumbled, informing him that it was well past the time he should have eaten. Harry rubbed his eyes and left his books open on the table. He got up, stretching, and yawned.
The seat across from him was empty, reminding him that Hermione had already left. She normally came right after breakfast, stayed the whole day through, and left for dinner with her family. They took a break for lunch or just to relax, but recently she had been leaving earlier than she used to.
It didn't take a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out why. Ron had finally asked her out, she had finally said yes, and now Harry was left alone more than he had been before. Not that he minded, really, because he didn't. He was happy that his friends had gotten together after years of covert glancing and tiptoeing around the subject. But staying in the library longer than even Hermione did was like living in a distorted alternate reality of some kind. It just made no sense to him. He never would have though he'd be researching something for longer than Hermione.
Harry shook his head and left the library. He headed towards the kitchen, intent on making something to eat. On the way there, however, he heard voices coming from the living room. He stopped walking and stood still for a moment, trying to make out what they were saying. When he couldn't, he sidled over to the wall and tried to listen from the doorway.
Harry grit his teeth. He still couldn't make out what was being said. Something was going on. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was something important. So he went upstairs and grabbed a pair of Extendable Ears, hoping that no one had thought to place an Imperturbable Charm on the door.
By the time he got back downstairs, Harry was extremely anxious to listen to what was being said behind the door. He maneuvered the Extendable Ear until it was under the door, then he hurried to the stairs and sat down on the bottom step. He placed the Ear to his own hurriedly, mind whirling with excitement at the thought of finally knowing some of what was going on with the Order.
"—possibly be serious!" Harry winced at the loud voice but immediately recognized it as Tonks. "We have to help him!"
"No." Moody's gruff voice sounded next. "We don't."
"Let's just think about this." Harry was surprised at hearing Headmistress McGonagall's voice. He hadn't expected her to be in there. "It seems to me that he wouldn't have tried to contact me without an excellent reason."
"Oh, he has an excellent reason," a man that Harry couldn't identify said. "He's trying to attack Hogwarts again!"
"Sturgis is right," another man said in a wheezy voice. "We can't assume he's actually changed his ways."
"Why not?" Tonks said loudly. "Why can't we take him at his word?"
"He organized the last attack on Hogwarts," Moody said. "He could do it again if he wanted to."
"We don't know that he wants to," Tonks cried. "He could actually be in a lot of danger."
"Or he could be trying to trick us," Sturgis said. "He's a Malfoy, after all."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. They were talking about Draco Malfoy. They had to be. He was the one who had arranged the last assault on Hogwarts, and they wouldn't even discuss the veracity of Lucius or Narcissa asking for help.
Harry didn't understand. Why did Malfoy need help? What was he doing that warranted such attention from the Order? He leaned forward, holding the Extendable Ear tightly.
"I can't believe this!" Tonks said. "The reason you don't want to help him is because he's a Malfoy?"
"It's a good enough reason," Sturgis continued.
"It is not! That's like saying you wouldn't help my mum because she's a Black," Tonks stated.
"Your mum never attacked Hogwarts," Sturgis replied.
"Either way, it's not right to not even check it out," the wheezy voice interrupted.
"What are you talking about, Elphias?" Sturgis asked.
There was a long pause. "We can't just leave the kid alone, if he really is in danger," Elphias said.
"We don't know he's in danger," Moody said. "It could be a trap."
"Kingsley, what do you think?" Headmistress McGonagall asked. "You were the one he attacked, after all."
Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy had attacked Shacklebolt? When? Why hadn't anyone told him?
"He had me stupefied," Shacklebolt said. "He could have killed me if he wanted to. He didn't. I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Yes," Tonks said. "Exactly. He didn't kill Kingsley, did he?"
"But that owl could be just a ploy, to get us to go there," Sturgis said.
"He didn't know that Minerva would come to us," Elphias said.
"That's preposterous. It's a logical assumption to make," Sturgis replied.
"Even if he thought that, what does it matter?" Tonks asked. "He's hiding out from You-Know-Who. We should help him."
Malfoy was hiding out from Voldemort? Harry's interest had just gone up exponentially. Apparently, a lot more had been going on in his old rival's life than he had known about. Harry had expected Voldemort would try to get Malfoy to do something, since it seemed that Malfoy's parents were being kept captive in order to get Malfoy to act how Voldemort wanted. Harry still remembered the entire conversation he had overheard clearly. He knew Malfoy wasn't as evil as he liked to pretend to be, but he also knew that Voldemort held a lot of power over the blonde's actions.
Harry could understand that something had gone wrong. Malfoy had always screwed things up in Hogwarts; it wasn't surprising that he had messed up Voldemort's orders as well.
"He had the chance to kill me and he didn't," Shacklebolt said, quietly. "I think that we should at least see why."
"Agreed," Headmistress McGonagall said. "We'll have to—"
She was cut off by a loud clunking sound and then the door was flung open. Harry hastily attempted to pull the Extendable Ear back towards himself, but Moody stepped on the end of it.
"Potter," Moody growled. "What are you doing?"
"Erm…," Harry said, stalling. "Sitting?"
Both of Moody's eyes were focused on his face. "Potter, you—"
"Wait a moment." Headmistress McGonagall stepped through the door, turning until she could see Harry. "Mr. Potter, could you come in here for a moment?"
Harry stayed sitting for a second. Then he practically jumped up and followed Headmistress McGonagall into the room. Everyone inside was staring at him as he entered.
Tonks smiled brightly. "Hi, Harry."
Harry nodded at her. "Hey, Tonks."
"Mr. Potter, if you'll take a seat," Headmistress McGonagall said, gesturing towards the empty loveseat. Harry sat down on it and clasped his hands on top of his lap. The rest of the Order members who were there stayed where they were—Elphias was sitting on the couch next to Shacklebolt, Tonks was standing next to the armchair, and Sturgis was leaning against the nearest wall. Moody closed the door and stood next to it, letting his eye swivel about and randomly stop at odd intervals. Headmistress McGonagall had just sat down in the armchair. She cleared her throat and looked around. "As I was saying, we'll have to meet with him to see whether or not this information is accurate."
"Why's he here?" Sturgis asked. Harry glared at him. Sturgis completely ignored him and instead focused on McGonagall. "There's no reason for him to be here. I thought we agreed that—"
Moody snorted and coughed, cutting off Sturgis' comment. "We might have some use for him yet."
Harry resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment. Instead, he waited and sat quietly. It wasn't his strong suit, but the conversation seemed to be going his way so he felt compelled to let it carry on.
"Mr. Potter," Headmistress McGonagall said, and Harry's attention was drawn back to her. "You were the only witness the night that Headmaster Dumbledore was murdered." She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry could only nod. "What you've told us so far has focused primarily on Snape's involvement, but what can you tell us about Mr. Malfoy?"
Harry thought back to that night, easily recalling it. "Well, he was the one who was supposed to kill Headmaster Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it."
Right there, in his head, was the image of Draco Malfoy holding his wand at Headmaster Dumbledore. His hand had been shaky, his eyes had been wide, and he had spoken about things that he would never have wanted Harry to overhear. He had bragged about everything he had done during the year, and even admitted to casting the Unforgivables. Of course, Harry himself had cast the Cruicatus Curse before, so it wouldn't be very fair of him to throw stones.
"Mr. Potter?" Headmistress McGonagall's voice came to him, snapping him from his thoughts.
Harry looked at her and blinked. "Sorry, I was just… thinking."
She nodded and motioned with her hands. "Carry on, then. What was your impression of Mr. Malfoy from that night?"
"Malfoy?" Harry asked, exhaling. "He was… scared. He was really afraid that Voldemort would kill his family."
"You'd think so," Tonks said, quietly. "They're his family."
Harry blinked. He had never really looked at it like that before, but he supposed Tonks was right. Narcissa and Lucius were Draco's mum and da, respectively. It was strange, thinking of them as parents who cared for their son and not as Death Eaters who wanted his corpse as a display piece for their home.
"Yeah," Harry said, slowly. "They are." He paused for a moment, then shook his head and cleared his throat. "Anyway, he wasn't going to kill Dumbledore."
"How can you be sure?" Elphias asked, peering at Harry.
Harry shrugged. "I just know it. He wouldn't have done it."
"This is rubbish," Sturgis said, throwing his hands up in the air. "A complete waste of time."
Harry glared at him. "Actually, Dumbledore thought Malfoy wouldn't kill him, too." The room seemed to grow even quieter, and Harry felt a few extra eyes looking at him. "It's true," he said, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Dumbledore even offered Malfoy and his family protection if he agreed to join our side."
"What?" Moody hissed.
His outburst was followed by an uproar. Everyone was talking at once, in various tones and at varying stages of excitement. Harry tried to make sense of what was going on, to keep track of who was saying what, but it all got mixed up so quickly that he couldn't make any of it out. He leaned back on the loveseat's cushions, bouncing once or twice off of the plushy material.
Eventually, Harry realized that Headmistress McGonagall was trying to call everyone to order. She was completely unable to calm them down, though, and Harry thought about standing up and shouting for quiet.
"Quiet, the lot of you!" Moody's voice was much louder than everyone else's, and Harry's ears rung at the sudden silence that descended over the room.
"But that's just not possible," Elphias said, wheezing through his disbelief. "Dumbledore would never make an offer like that without asking the rest of the Order first."
"He did," Harry said, feeling extremely defensive. "He offered Malfoy a safe place to go, basically. He said that he would protect Malfoy and his parents, if they wanted it."
"No," Sturgis said, shaking his head. "He couldn't have."
"He did," Harry insisted.
"He offered to protect Lucius Malfoy?" Tonks asked, disbelief ringing clear in her tone.
Harry nodded. "Yes." He hesitated. "Of course, I think the offer was more for Malfoy's benefit than his parents."
"Why?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, looking at Harry intently.
"It seemed like—well, to me at least, it seemed like Dumbledore knew that Lucius wasn't going to accept any offer of help. He said that Lucius was probably glad he was stuck in Azkaban, since otherwise Voldemort would be looking for him. But I guess he still thought Lucius wouldn't take his help." Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but I think Dumbledore was more concerned with Malfoy anyway."
"Do you remember what he said?" she asked, still staring closely at him.
"Not exactly, no," Harry replied. "But Dumbledore basically wanted Malfoy to not go back to Voldemort."
"Well, that makes sense," Tonks said, nodding. "Dumbledore didn't want anyone following You-Know-Who."
"The fact that it was one of his students who was in danger probably had something to do with it," Shacklebolt said, speaking softly but clearly.
"It's ridiculous," Sturgis said, frowning. "I can understand wanting to protect his students, but Malfoy had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Surely Dumbledore knew that he wanted to serve You-Know-Who."
"He didn't want to," Harry said. The thought that he had never expected to defend Draco Malfoy in any way crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. This was more important than holding onto an old grudge. "I've told you this already. Malfoy thought Voldemort was going to kill his family. He was being forced into doing what Voldemort wanted."
"Rubbish," Sturgis said, shaking his head. "The Malfoy family has always had one allegiance. I wouldn't expect it to change overnight."
Harry glared at him, fighting to control his temper. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" he asked, forcing the words through his teeth. "Malfoy was lowering his wand. He was about to accept Dumbledore's offer. The only reason he didn't was because the other Death Eaters came before he could."
"You can't know that for certain," Elphias said. "I'm not denying that the Malfoy boy might have accepted Dumbledore's offer. But he never actually said he would, and Dumbledore never informed any Order member about this."
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. He felt extremely agitated, and he leant forward until he was perched on the edge of the loveseat. "You don't know that. You weren't there. You don't get it."
"The only noteworthy thing Malfoy has ever done resulted in Dumbledore's death," Sturgis said. "Even if it was unintentional, he still did it. He's directly responsible for the way things turned out that night."
Harry stood up, fists clenched at his sides. "So what?" he said loudly. "We've all done things we're ashamed of, things we'd rather take back. Maybe Malfoy really regrets letting the Death Eaters in."
"Why do you care, anyway, Harry?" Tonks asked, tilting her head and looking at him quizzically. "You're never cared one or way or the other about him before."
Harry opened his mouth to say something and found he had nothing to say. There was no answer to her question, really. He cared because he had to. He cared because he was Harry Potter, and if he didn't care, who would? Besides, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized that Malfoy hadn't had any other options. Harry might have acted the exact same way if their positions had been switched.
"Listen," Harry said, still standing rigidly. "I know Malfoy's a prat. He's an obnoxious, selfish, whiny brat who I can't even stand to be around. But even so, Voldemort's after him. I really believe that Malfoy wanted to agree to Dumbledore's offer. You guys are the Order of the Phoenix. You're supposed to support Dumbledore's decisions and fight against Voldemort."
"That doesn't mean we have to put ourselves at risk by helping someone we know we can't trust," Sturgis said.
"No," Harry said. "It doesn't. But if you decide not to help Malfoy and he's really in trouble, then where does that leave the Order? Suddenly it's okay to pick who needs help and who can be left alone to make do for themselves? If I could leave, I'd check it out myself. But I can't. So it's up to you all."
Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "All right, Mr. Potter. Thank you for talking with us."
Harry took that as the dismissal it was and walked to the door. He wanted to say something else before he left, but he had no clue what would make things better and what would only make everything worse. So he opened the door, walked into the hallway, and began closing the door behind him.
"I still don't like it," Moody said.
Harry grit his teeth, shut his eyes, and closed the door. The corridor was echoingly quiet, so all that he heard was Moody's statement repeated over and over again in his mind.
The statement repeated during his walk back to the library and while he was trying to read through another boring chapter in another boring book. He had gotten half-way through the chapter before he remembered why he had left the library in the first place, and then he cursed and stood up. He left the library once more, went to the kitchen, and fixed himself something to eat. The entire time Moody's words clamored for attention in his head, but he ignored them.
It didn't matter whether or not Moody "liked it." Somehow, the only thing that mattered was that Malfoy was on the run from the Death Eaters, that he needed help so desperately that he had contacted the Order. And Harry, despite all of his efforts, could not figure out why in the world that was.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It had been a long and stressful night. Draco had waited for a response from McGonagall. And waited. And waited. In fact, he had waited for so long that he had almost fallen asleep standing up twice. He wouldn't be deterred, though. He was going to stand and wait for as long as it took her to reply.
He couldn't even try to get a good night's sleep in his current state, anyway. He was tired, sure, but he was also so hungry he doubted he'd be able to get to sleep at all. The only thing he could do was alternate between pacing back and forth in the small living room and lie on the couch, sulking. He did both, frequently, repeatedly, until finally he saw the silhouette of an owl coming towards the shack through the window.
Draco got up from his current sulking position and walked over to the door. He waited until he was sure his owl would be right outside and opened the door. She glided in, ruffling her feathers at him as she passed. She landed on the armrest of the armchair and hooted, sticking out her leg.
There was a parchment attached, and Draco hurried over to her. He untied the parchment and started to unroll it when she nipped at his fingers. He glared at her, and she opened her beak and stared meaningfully at him. Draco rolled his eyes and got up, heading towards the kitchen. He opened the useless cupboard, took out one of the many cylinders, and walked back into the living room.
"Here," he said, putting the cylinder down in front of her. "Have at it, then."
His owl began to peck ineffectually at the container, attempting to wrap her beak around it and break it open somehow. When that didn't work, she began to claw at it with her talons. The cylinder fell over and rolled off of the armchair and onto the floor from her actions. His owl followed, gliding down to the floor and landing next to the offending object. She swiftly began attacking it again.
Draco watched his owl's antics for a minute. He raised his eyebrow and turned back to the reply owl he had received. He opened it, skimming it and then reading it through once thoroughly.
To Mr. Malfoy,
I have read over your owl. I admit I was surprised when I received it. However, the information you wrote in it appears to be genuine. Therefore, I will be meeting with you at the place and time you specified.
I am willing to ignore past experiences in this instance. If you intend to deceive me, however, you should be aware that I will never offer you my help again.
Sincerely,
Headmistress McGonagall
Draco read it over once more. He had expected it to be longer, but he supposed this would do. She was willing to meet with him, after all, and that was what he had asked for. He was glad for that, at least.
Although the entire owl seemed rather like a warning than the offer of help he had expected. The last part in particular seemed to be just full of dire outcomes for him if he didn't follow through with his story. There was nothing to worry about, of course, since his story was reality. It was the truth, and he knew it was, and McGonagall and her stupid warnings were not going to scare him.
"Ouch," Draco muttered, glaring down towards his shoes. His owl was standing there, glaring balefully back at him. The rabies-infected vermin had bitten his ankle. She opened her beak wide, still glaring at him.
Draco sighed. "I've got nothing to eat, you bloody stupid bird. What makes you think I've got extra food laying around that I'm saving for you?"
His owl shut her beak with a snap and continued to glare at him. Draco moved his feet away from her, accidentally kicking the cylinder in the process. It rolled out in the middle of the floor, silently mocking the both of them.
Draco bit back a sigh. He would not become one of those melancholy people who walked around dressed in black, talking about how horrible their life was, and showing everyone around just how tragic they were by sighing all the time. No, he would make the best of the situation.
So Draco laid down on the couch and proceeded to sulk. The sulking continued unabated for a good fifteen minutes before his owl hooted at him. He rolled his eyes and looked over at her.
"What is it this time?" he asked, sighing. He scowled, remembering he had just said he wouldn't do that anymore.
His owl nudged the cylinder towards him and looked at him hopefully. Draco looked at his owl, then at the cylinder, then at his owl, then back at the cylinder.
"Stupid bloody bird," he said, and he walked over and began inspecting the cylinder once more.
To Metanoia - Part 1: Reconciliation, part V
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