Spoilers: Everything, including OoP. Ass covering clause: Harry Potter, the
HP universe, and all characters associated with said universe belong to J.
K. Rowling. Repeat, they do not belong to me.
Summary: Harry discovers something unexpected. Eventual slash. Hopefully, a new twist on the same old premise. HP/DM
Please, please, please review. Constructive criticism appreciated.
Chapter 1: Revelations and Confessions
"Said, I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war."
- Coldplay, Rush of Blood to the Head
The whole thing began with Dean's outrageous claims with regards to Lavender Brown. Behind the secrecy of their dormitory doors, he had described unspeakable acts that riveted, scandalized, and thrilled his hormone riddled roommates. Longbottom had stuffed his head underneath his pillow and pretended not to listen, while Ron and Seamus had insisted on every sordid (and, in all likelihood, not entirely factual) detail of Dean and Padma's most recent encounter. School had only been in session for three weeks, and Padma and Dean had only been an item for thirteen days, and already the tales had progressed to proportions that only ever materialized in the 'Best of PlayWizard' anthologies.
Harry hadn't really listened to Dean with the vigor of Ron and Seamus, usually only keeping half an ear open while focusing on whatever homework had an early deadline the next day. Still, he couldn't help but be curious, skeptical, and a little jealous. Whatever there had been between him and Cho was dead and over; and a summer of solitude and neglect, following the loneliness of his fifth year, had delivered him to what was looking to be a continuation of the last year's isolation. Ron and Hermione were migrating closer together, and there was even a poll on how long it would take for them to get together - though, being well acquainted with the stubbornness of both, Harry suspected both would hold out longer than any bet placed. And yet, it was a migration that left Harry feeling even more distance between himself and others, although it was a distance for which he was increasingly grateful, as differences between himself and others and between his own fate and that of others were making proximity difficult. He was no longer one of 'them', whoever 'they' were. 'They' simply couldn't understand. Hermione had said, somewhat sadly, that his feelings were perfectly normal, and came from having power and from being exceptional.
And so it came to be that Harry lay in bed, sleepless and troubled, debating the validity of Dean's claims and considering his noticeably empty bed. Lavender didn't quite seem the type to be engaging in precocious sexual activities at ten past two on a Wednesday morning. Hermione had insisted that Dean was full of shit, but Ron and Seamus seemed more than willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Harry didn't want to burst Dean's bubble, but his curiosity prodded him and his general mental health wanted confirmation that his envy was or was not unfounded. And so he crawled out of bed and quietly rummaged through this trunk until his hand felt the material of the Marauder's Map. He tiptoed out of the room and, in the dark of the hallway, whispered, "Lumos."
Instantly, a weak light radiated from his wand, just enough to see by. Still whispering, he solemnly swore to be up to no good, then eagerly inspected the map. He found himself both amused and disappointed to locate the D. Thomas label in the Astronomy tower, very much overlapping the label L. Brown. A wry smile graced his lips before his attention was caught by a stationary label located on what Harry considered HIS secret passage to Hogsmeade: D. Malfoy.
A hiss escaped his lips and he felt a swell of rage. He REALLY hated that bastard, and to see him capitalizing upon and therefore desecrating HIS passage infuriated him. He didn't even need to think about it: he quickly and stealthily returned to his room and retrieved his invisibility cloak. He wrapped it around his body and ran out of the Gryffindor dorms to the passage entrance as quickly as possible (within the limits of effective concealment).
He was only a few meters into the passage when a dark, shadowy figure came into view, carrying a dim tipped wand and limping towards him clothed in what looked very much like a rumbled death eater hood and robe. Harry pressed up against the rough wall as the figure shuffled past him, blood running cold as the pale face sent a suspiciously long glance in his direction. Right outside the threshold between the hidden passage and Hogwarts proper, the figure bunched up his robes and lifted them over his head, revealing the thin, pale face of Draco Malfoy and a gaunt, pajama clad body.
Harry bared his teeth, hatred pulsing through his body, a reaction unseen by the Malfoy heir. Draco shakily pointed his wand at the junction of the wall and ground, and mumbled something Harry couldn't make out. Then he bent down and picked up a balled up a package of cloth from what was revealed to be a small, deep indentation at the junction, replacing it with his folded death eater robes. Once he unraveled his new material and placed upon his thin, shivering frame, it was revealed to be his school robes. Again he pointed his wand at the junction, this time muttering what sounded like two separate spells (given the pause and the two flicks of the wand) - the first mumble actually sounded remarkably similar to a cleaning spell, while the second, though too quiet to be heard, resulted in what Harry assumed was a camouflage charm. Had Harry been less biased, he would have also noticed the abnormally open, distinctly pained, and rather vulnerable expression on his face. Years of suffering had left Draco with an aged, fatigued face that required a certain degree of effort to disguise.
Draco disappeared through the entrance, leaving a fuming Potter in his wake. Harry was too enraged to even follow, knowing that if he did follow the young death eater, he would have been unable to restrain himself from beating the other boy into a bruised, bleeding pulp. He absolutely abhorred the idea of having to confront one of his own classmates in a state of war, and his anger towards Malfoy, long fuelled by years of antagonism, was peaked by the fact that the bastard had forced him into exactly that situation; for as much as he hated Malfoy, he had never wanted to have to kill him. He had always suspected Malfoy to be a death eater or somehow affiliated with the Dark Arts, but it was something else entirely to have his suspicions confirmed.
It took several minutes for the livid boy to compose himself to the point of functionality. When he finally emerged from the secret passage, Malfoy had disappeared beyond his sight, and he was somehow relieved that a confrontation did not have to take place tonight. He was too enraged for any altercation to end 'successfully', whatever that meant in such a situation. Still, he knew that a confrontation would have to take place eventually. . . in the near future.
*
Harry began scheming almost immediately and by the time he fell asleep that very night, he already had a plan, which he proceeded to execute over the following week. That weekend - the first Hogsmeade weekend - he slipped from Ron and Hermione (who were, as ever, arguing about the finer points of something stupid) to make his way to one of the sleazy, unsavory shops on the same street as the Hog's Head. Most of the merchandise was protected by a magical wall located behind a dodgy looking vendor with squinty eyes and a week's worth of facial hair.
"Veritaserum," Harry demanded coldly.
The vendor's eyes flickered to the scar on Harry's brow, before answering smugly, "That's a controlled substance sonny. Ah'm sorry, but Ah have nothing for yuh."
Anger reared up in Harry, who had well learned a valuable lesson in self reliance after what he considered Dumbledore's betrayal during his fifth year. "You lie," he growled, whipping out his wand and a steely expression hardening his features. The Weasley twins had bought all manner of controlled substance from this vendor, including Veritaserum, and Harry fully intended to enjoy the same benefits. He had long passed the point at which he was willing to put up with shit from the likes of such dubious, second rate characters.
"I suggest you reconsider your position or you WILL come out the worse for it. I have no interest in exposing you to authorities, but I WILL get what I want. I am convinced of the rightness of my actions and so have to qualms about hexing you into oblivion. Now, I think you know who I am, so now ask yourself if you really want to take me on." Harry flashed a malicious smirk of which even a Malfoy would be proud.
The meaty vendor eyed him appraisingly, with the expression of one who had long ago learned to take threats in stride, despite the fact that the hard life Harry had been forced to live had taught him the ability to vocalize threats quite effectively. Finally, a small, knowing smile made its way to the vendor's lips.
"Very well," the man pronounced. He promptly made his way down one of several aisles behind him. Harry watched him select a vial from one of the shelves, before returning to the counter. Holding the bottled product just out of reach, he demanded with his own smirk, "Ten galleons."
Knowing he was being ripped off, but relieved to be successfully executing his plans, Harry nodded and retrieved ten galleons from his pocket, roughly pushing it towards the vendor. "Here," he said gruffly, a scowl decorating his brow.
The vendor took the money and had the gall to place the vial in a paper bag and to produce a receipt before handing the potion to Harry. "Thank you for your patronage," the seedy man said cheekily; but Harry ignored him and marched out of the shop.
*
An innocent lie allowed him to rejoin Hermione and Ron shortly later with a minimum of inquisition. There was a certain amount of guilt about not including them in his undertaking, but he honestly felt it was something better done alone. Aside from the illegal nature of his plan, he knew that Hermione and Ron would only make what he had to do more difficult, though for contrary reasons. Harry was pretty certain that Hermione would have strong moral objections, to the point that she might threaten to go to Dumbledore to stop him. Ron, on the other hand, hated Malfoy with a zeal that would surely allow him to grossly abuse the power that Veritaserum would bestow on him, to the point that Hermione's objections would be perfectly justified. But Harry was convinced of the perfection of his plan, provided it was not compromised by the extremist positions of his two best friends. Morality be damned. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
And so it came to pass that during lunch the following Friday, Harry used one of the school owls to send a forged note to Malfoy, supposedly from Professor McGonagall, 'requesting' that he come to her office after his last class, which was, incidentally, Potions.
Potions found an edgy Harry Potter seated next to a certain calm and collected Draco Malfoy. For a fleeting moment, the other boy had looked positively shocked when Harry had sat himself down at the neighboring desk, though this shock was quickly replaced with a disgusted expression and a derogatory comment about free riding. For once, Harry did not respond, preferring to focus on the task at hand.
The previous week Professor Snape had warned the class about this day's assignment - some asinine potion (designed to test brewing ability rather than being practically useful), a warning for which was deemed necessary by the fact that it would have to be imbibed at the end of class. Malfoy proceeded to execute the assignment perfectly, ignoring Harry in turn and doing almost all of the work. He had no idea why Potter would actually choose to sit next him, but he felt secure in his ability to cope with whatever nefarious plans the other boy was most likely trying to pursue. Busy with his own schemes, he was more than willing to ignore Scarhead and complete the potion himself (something he was used to after years of having incompetent potions partners such as Crabbe and Goyle). Besides, whatever Potter didn't touch, Potter couldn't screw up; and, in instances such as this, where he would have to be imbibing his own potion, a screw up could have quite unpleasant consequences. The potions that they tested on themselves could never actually harm them, even if misbrewed, but that didn't mean that one couldn't end up with an unintended (if temporary), say, set of donkey ears. Harry had been waiting for an entire week for this opportunity, and was thrilled that it came so conveniently located at the end of the day. Fate must really be on his side.
Harry waited until Malfoy had finished the potion and was returning the leftover ingredients to the storage closet. Harry used the opportunity to fill his vial with potion, then, with unusual subtlety, emptied the bottle of Veritaserum into the cauldron. When Malfoy returned to his desk, he filled his own vial, then sat to wait for Snape's instructions to imbibe the oily, dark orange substance.
"So Malfoy, this gonna poison me?," Harry said nastily, the knowledge that he would momentarily have the upper hand allowing him to release the iron grip of restraint that he had placed on his anger.
"Not unless you fucked with it in my absence," Malfoy retorted coolly, without even batting an eyelid, or even turning to face his partner. His words made Harry want to hex himself for having such a big mouth, but he didn't let his sudden discomfort show on his face, though had Malfoy been paying more attention, he would have noticed the sudden tension in Harry's body.
"Don't you even try to blame this potion on me. It's all your work."
"I know. That's why it's perfect," Malfoy drawled, finally turning towards Harry to smirk at him. Harry glared back, but was saved from having to come up with a retort by Professor Snape.
"Attention!" Then, with a twisted sneer, followed by a pointed look at Neville, "Time to find out who knows how to follow instructions and whose incompetence deserves punishment. Bottoms up, class!"
Shooting Malfoy what he assumed was a credible look of suspicion, Harry brought his vial to his lips and quickly emptied it. He blinked, held his arm out, and watched the skin turn a rather healthy color purple. A quick glance around the room revealed a number of other students of various shades of purple, and Professor Snape was already striding towards Longbottom and Lavender (Neville's distinctly displeased lab partner), both of which were sporting pigmentation of a surprisingly ugly shade of light blue. He turned towards Malfoy. "Well? Too prissy to be seen in purple?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow on his impassive face. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach, warning him about something, but he didn't know what and it wasn't enough to dissuade him from 'normal' behavior. Something had been not quite right on this day, his mind flitting to the unexpected and slightly suspicious letter he had received at the end of lunch period. He forced himself back to the here and now. His eyes never left Potters', as he brought his own vial to his lips, then downed its contents. He closed his eyes for a moment as a foreign, almost liberating feeling washed through him, then opened them again to witness his pale skin to a rich violet hue, so dark he almost looked black. The color was fantastic, providing a sharp contrast to his platinum hair, and creating at least one striking figure amongst the sea of ridiculous looking students. Harry scowled at him, annoyed by the arrogant git's ability to look good even when purple and by the fact that someone so undeserving should be blessed with such beauty. If only he could look so good. . .
Malfoy smirked at him, as though knowing exactly what was going through the messy haired boy's mind, which he did. It was, after all, what everyone always thought. Casually, arrogantly, he purred, "So, Potter, which is it? Do you want to be me or do you want to fuck me?"
Harry felt himself flush, though it was an effect that remained hidden under his new, colorful tan. His embarrassment, however, was quickly replaced with rage. "You're a revolting piece of shit Malfoy. I would rather die than be you and I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole," he hissed viciously, pouring his supreme disgust into every word.
Draco forced himself not to react to the vehemence and conviction in Potter's words, something that was (and had almost always been) a second nature to the Slytherin. He was a little surprised, as he always was when confronted by the extremely rare proof that words held any power over him, but he was not surprised that such proof would be proffered by Potter - the other boy seemed to specialize in exposing his weaknesses. But Potter would get no satisfaction from this victory. His eyes flicked to Snape, who had just dismissed the class with a reminder of the homework assigned earlier in the period.
"Well, Potter," Malfoy snapped irritably. "It's been a total horror, as always. Now, if you'll excuse me, or even if you don't, I have about a million better places to be." He swiftly scooped up his bookbag and quickly strode from the classroom. Harry took the time to make his excuses to Ron and Hermione, then hastily followed Malfoy's retreating form in the direction of the Slytherin dorms. He didn't appear to be interacting with his housemates, preferring to listen disinterestedly. Goyle prodded him once or twice to receive confirmation of some stupidity that had left his mouth - though, in truth, neither Goyle nor Crabbe was a stupid as they generally came across as. It was more that they lacked the social graces generally associated with Slytherin.
A nefarious smile flitted across Harry's face as he saw Malfoy break away from the rest of the purple Slytherin group and turn down a passage capable of taking him to Professor McGonagall's office. He followed the blond boy, as inconspicuously as possible, but it mattered not. Malfoy possessed an excellent instinct, if not the confidence to capitalize on it. He spun around, wand brandished, with an absolutely frightening look displayed on his features. "If I were you, I would seriously consider explaining yourself."
Harry blinked at him, thrown off by the suddenness of his enemy's reflexes, but he managed to retain his cool. Calmly, and expressionlessly, he said, "I'm the one who sent that owl. I wanted to speak to you alone."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed with hostility and suspicion. "About a what?," he growled.
"Could we?," Harry asked, gesturing to indicate the door of one of the many unused rooms in Hogwarts. Malfoy's instincts screamed at him to hex Harry to oblivion, to run like the wind, to. . . he forced himself from that train of thought. Despite their animosity, Malfoy trusted Harry, in the sense that he trusted the Potter to be predictable, made so by the fact that people who acted according to certain codes of conduct were always made so. And Draco honestly believed, if somewhat foolishly, that Harry could be relied upon to behave honorably. So he squashed his instincts, nodded to his companion, returned his wand to the folds of his robe, and stepped through the nearby doorway. He took a quick, suspicious glance around before turning towards Harry in time to catch him muttering a locking spell on the door. An extreme feeling of alarm suddenly screamed through him, and his hand instantly grabbed for his wand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm such a fool. But before he could bring his wand up to point it towards the threat, Harry hit him with a powerful uppercut and he stumbled backwards. He tried to hex his attacker, but his wand was seized from his grasp and he was violently shoved against the wall, his skull rebounding with a sickening crack.
Malfoy crumbled to the ground, his head spinning, and despondency overcoming him. His skill lay with his wand and his wits, not with his physical prowess. He knew some defensive moves, but his frail body was no match for Harry's years of yard work and natural fortitude. He stood no chance in such a confrontation as this. Dizzy and disarmed, he glared up at Potter, despite the pang of fear brought on less from being in such a powerless situation than from Potter's unpredictable behavior. There was a pause in which they glared hatefully at each other, Harry's wand unwaveringly angled down at his chest. "Potter," Malfoy hissed dangerously. "Your move, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I noticed," he responded scathingly, his absolute loathing towards the other boy making his uncharacteristic behavior easier than he might have usually expected. "I was just savoring the moment before I squash you like a bug."
Malfoy kept tight reign on his unease. "What are you going to do Potter? Torture me?" A smirk that he didn't feel flashed across his face.
"Actually, I just have a few questions." The expression on Harry's usually expressive face was both strange and disturbing, but again, Malfoy didn't let on.
"Shoot," Malfoy mocked, repositioning himself on the floor in such a way that he exuded relaxation and confidence.
Harry's disturbing expression became more so as it was joined by an unfriendly smile. "Are you a death eater?," he demanded with false sweetness.
"Yes." Harry was treated to an expression of absolute horror as realization hit Draco, the full implications of which were enough to make his blood run cold. Even a credible death threat could not have struck such fear into his heart, creating an eerily attractive paling effect on his violet skin. Even Harry was surprised by the depth of emotion on his enemy's perpetually composed face, for he could not have understood the extent to which Draco's entire existence was one of deception. More than the fact that he deceived all those around him, and that his life depended on such deceptions, his very comprehension of self was a charade.
Draco desperately scrambled to his feet, not caring if there was a wand aimed at his chest. He tried to launch himself at Harry, but Harry quickly cast a body binding spell and Draco collapsed onto the floor again. Harry bent down and shoved him against the wall, then punched him in the mouth. Inches from the violet face, he hissed. "You fucking bastard."
He backed off and stood up, still glaring at the other boy. The familiar pain had, however, jolted Draco back from his fear induced desperation, and his features had once again calmed. The precariousness of his situation was obvious to him, and only an incredible skilled and lucky manipulation of the conversation would save him from having to answer the wrong questions. He tongued the blood running from his busted lip and forced himself to sneer. "Well, I guess you've found me out. What are you going to do about it, oh Great and All knowing Potter?"
Harry blinked at the sudden about face, then he sneered back. "What do you think you deserve?"
"Death." Okay; well, wouldn't have been my first choice of responses, but could've been worse. Harry face, unused to having to hide its feelings, revealed surprise at his response. But it was quickly replaced with its former hostility. "Finally, something we agree on."
"Kill me then, Potter." Stall, stall, stall. Merlin, please don't ask any more questions. Actually, Harry looked like he really did want to kill him. "Come on then. I fucking dare you, you parentless Mudblood loving piece of shit." Death would be preferable to revealing certain secrets, better than what Voldemort would do to him.
Harry knew he wouldn't kill Malfoy. But he was suddenly confronted with what he should do; he'd gotten the confession he wanted, but he didn't feel quite ready to march Malfoy to Dumbledore's office. Something was nagging at him, his instincts telling him that something wasn't right. Would Malfoy know something that Snape (and, therefore, the Order) didn't? His eyes narrowed. Despite his only mediocre grades, Harry did possess a certain practical astuteness.
"You're hiding something, I can tell. What is it you don't want me to know?"
Malfoy's eyes widened in horror and he gagged in his effort to keep the words in. But the spell forced him to choke out, "I'm. . . ungh. . . spying on. . gugh. . . Volde. . . mort."
Deathly silence. Harry was so shocked that his expression went blank and Draco hung his head the best he could with a spell bound body. The effects of Snape's purpling potion were beginning to fade, but this was little cause for relief. Draco's face was one of a man condemned to death. Or perhaps one of a man already dead - provided the man had died most unhappily. Misery was etched over his every feature, though it did not look so foreign there as one might have suspected.
Harry was too shocked to speak, and Draco too wretched; and so the silence stretched. Finally, it was broken by a strained, defeated voice. "Please. . . You've got what you want from me."
A small part of his mind was further amazed to hear Malfoy say the word please, and it took him a moment to register the unspoken request. Then it took him another moment to react, though he was having a distinctly difficult time wrapping his mind around what Malfoy had told him. Hesitantly, numbly, unthinkingly, he raised his wand and pointed it at the pitiful wreck that had once been the arrogant Draco Malfoy. He muttered the words necessary to end the spell, and Malfoy slumped forwards before scrambling shakily to his feet.
He avoided Harry's watchful eyes, wiping the blood from his lip, straightening his clothes, and flattening back his hair. Finally he looked expressionlessly at Harry, his hand outstretched, though still trembling subtly. Hoarsely, "My wand."
With some hesitation, Harry reached into his robes and retrieved Malfoy's wand. Malfoy took it, then used it to unlock the door. Without a look back, he strode through the door. Finally moved from his shell shocked state, Harry followed him out, then called, "Wait!"
Malfoy whipped around, fury etched on his face. The violet was almost gone. "Fuck you Potter," he growled. "You're no better than Voldemort. No better than my. . . my father. You. . . you violated me." He looked for a moment as if he might either cry or be sick, but his voice remained dangerous. "How can you even think I'd have anything to say to you now?" He turned away and quickly walked down the corridor, throwing back a last, falsely indifferent line to the reeling Harry. "Stay away from me, Potter."
Summary: Harry discovers something unexpected. Eventual slash. Hopefully, a new twist on the same old premise. HP/DM
Please, please, please review. Constructive criticism appreciated.
Chapter 1: Revelations and Confessions
"Said, I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war."
- Coldplay, Rush of Blood to the Head
The whole thing began with Dean's outrageous claims with regards to Lavender Brown. Behind the secrecy of their dormitory doors, he had described unspeakable acts that riveted, scandalized, and thrilled his hormone riddled roommates. Longbottom had stuffed his head underneath his pillow and pretended not to listen, while Ron and Seamus had insisted on every sordid (and, in all likelihood, not entirely factual) detail of Dean and Padma's most recent encounter. School had only been in session for three weeks, and Padma and Dean had only been an item for thirteen days, and already the tales had progressed to proportions that only ever materialized in the 'Best of PlayWizard' anthologies.
Harry hadn't really listened to Dean with the vigor of Ron and Seamus, usually only keeping half an ear open while focusing on whatever homework had an early deadline the next day. Still, he couldn't help but be curious, skeptical, and a little jealous. Whatever there had been between him and Cho was dead and over; and a summer of solitude and neglect, following the loneliness of his fifth year, had delivered him to what was looking to be a continuation of the last year's isolation. Ron and Hermione were migrating closer together, and there was even a poll on how long it would take for them to get together - though, being well acquainted with the stubbornness of both, Harry suspected both would hold out longer than any bet placed. And yet, it was a migration that left Harry feeling even more distance between himself and others, although it was a distance for which he was increasingly grateful, as differences between himself and others and between his own fate and that of others were making proximity difficult. He was no longer one of 'them', whoever 'they' were. 'They' simply couldn't understand. Hermione had said, somewhat sadly, that his feelings were perfectly normal, and came from having power and from being exceptional.
And so it came to be that Harry lay in bed, sleepless and troubled, debating the validity of Dean's claims and considering his noticeably empty bed. Lavender didn't quite seem the type to be engaging in precocious sexual activities at ten past two on a Wednesday morning. Hermione had insisted that Dean was full of shit, but Ron and Seamus seemed more than willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Harry didn't want to burst Dean's bubble, but his curiosity prodded him and his general mental health wanted confirmation that his envy was or was not unfounded. And so he crawled out of bed and quietly rummaged through this trunk until his hand felt the material of the Marauder's Map. He tiptoed out of the room and, in the dark of the hallway, whispered, "Lumos."
Instantly, a weak light radiated from his wand, just enough to see by. Still whispering, he solemnly swore to be up to no good, then eagerly inspected the map. He found himself both amused and disappointed to locate the D. Thomas label in the Astronomy tower, very much overlapping the label L. Brown. A wry smile graced his lips before his attention was caught by a stationary label located on what Harry considered HIS secret passage to Hogsmeade: D. Malfoy.
A hiss escaped his lips and he felt a swell of rage. He REALLY hated that bastard, and to see him capitalizing upon and therefore desecrating HIS passage infuriated him. He didn't even need to think about it: he quickly and stealthily returned to his room and retrieved his invisibility cloak. He wrapped it around his body and ran out of the Gryffindor dorms to the passage entrance as quickly as possible (within the limits of effective concealment).
He was only a few meters into the passage when a dark, shadowy figure came into view, carrying a dim tipped wand and limping towards him clothed in what looked very much like a rumbled death eater hood and robe. Harry pressed up against the rough wall as the figure shuffled past him, blood running cold as the pale face sent a suspiciously long glance in his direction. Right outside the threshold between the hidden passage and Hogwarts proper, the figure bunched up his robes and lifted them over his head, revealing the thin, pale face of Draco Malfoy and a gaunt, pajama clad body.
Harry bared his teeth, hatred pulsing through his body, a reaction unseen by the Malfoy heir. Draco shakily pointed his wand at the junction of the wall and ground, and mumbled something Harry couldn't make out. Then he bent down and picked up a balled up a package of cloth from what was revealed to be a small, deep indentation at the junction, replacing it with his folded death eater robes. Once he unraveled his new material and placed upon his thin, shivering frame, it was revealed to be his school robes. Again he pointed his wand at the junction, this time muttering what sounded like two separate spells (given the pause and the two flicks of the wand) - the first mumble actually sounded remarkably similar to a cleaning spell, while the second, though too quiet to be heard, resulted in what Harry assumed was a camouflage charm. Had Harry been less biased, he would have also noticed the abnormally open, distinctly pained, and rather vulnerable expression on his face. Years of suffering had left Draco with an aged, fatigued face that required a certain degree of effort to disguise.
Draco disappeared through the entrance, leaving a fuming Potter in his wake. Harry was too enraged to even follow, knowing that if he did follow the young death eater, he would have been unable to restrain himself from beating the other boy into a bruised, bleeding pulp. He absolutely abhorred the idea of having to confront one of his own classmates in a state of war, and his anger towards Malfoy, long fuelled by years of antagonism, was peaked by the fact that the bastard had forced him into exactly that situation; for as much as he hated Malfoy, he had never wanted to have to kill him. He had always suspected Malfoy to be a death eater or somehow affiliated with the Dark Arts, but it was something else entirely to have his suspicions confirmed.
It took several minutes for the livid boy to compose himself to the point of functionality. When he finally emerged from the secret passage, Malfoy had disappeared beyond his sight, and he was somehow relieved that a confrontation did not have to take place tonight. He was too enraged for any altercation to end 'successfully', whatever that meant in such a situation. Still, he knew that a confrontation would have to take place eventually. . . in the near future.
*
Harry began scheming almost immediately and by the time he fell asleep that very night, he already had a plan, which he proceeded to execute over the following week. That weekend - the first Hogsmeade weekend - he slipped from Ron and Hermione (who were, as ever, arguing about the finer points of something stupid) to make his way to one of the sleazy, unsavory shops on the same street as the Hog's Head. Most of the merchandise was protected by a magical wall located behind a dodgy looking vendor with squinty eyes and a week's worth of facial hair.
"Veritaserum," Harry demanded coldly.
The vendor's eyes flickered to the scar on Harry's brow, before answering smugly, "That's a controlled substance sonny. Ah'm sorry, but Ah have nothing for yuh."
Anger reared up in Harry, who had well learned a valuable lesson in self reliance after what he considered Dumbledore's betrayal during his fifth year. "You lie," he growled, whipping out his wand and a steely expression hardening his features. The Weasley twins had bought all manner of controlled substance from this vendor, including Veritaserum, and Harry fully intended to enjoy the same benefits. He had long passed the point at which he was willing to put up with shit from the likes of such dubious, second rate characters.
"I suggest you reconsider your position or you WILL come out the worse for it. I have no interest in exposing you to authorities, but I WILL get what I want. I am convinced of the rightness of my actions and so have to qualms about hexing you into oblivion. Now, I think you know who I am, so now ask yourself if you really want to take me on." Harry flashed a malicious smirk of which even a Malfoy would be proud.
The meaty vendor eyed him appraisingly, with the expression of one who had long ago learned to take threats in stride, despite the fact that the hard life Harry had been forced to live had taught him the ability to vocalize threats quite effectively. Finally, a small, knowing smile made its way to the vendor's lips.
"Very well," the man pronounced. He promptly made his way down one of several aisles behind him. Harry watched him select a vial from one of the shelves, before returning to the counter. Holding the bottled product just out of reach, he demanded with his own smirk, "Ten galleons."
Knowing he was being ripped off, but relieved to be successfully executing his plans, Harry nodded and retrieved ten galleons from his pocket, roughly pushing it towards the vendor. "Here," he said gruffly, a scowl decorating his brow.
The vendor took the money and had the gall to place the vial in a paper bag and to produce a receipt before handing the potion to Harry. "Thank you for your patronage," the seedy man said cheekily; but Harry ignored him and marched out of the shop.
*
An innocent lie allowed him to rejoin Hermione and Ron shortly later with a minimum of inquisition. There was a certain amount of guilt about not including them in his undertaking, but he honestly felt it was something better done alone. Aside from the illegal nature of his plan, he knew that Hermione and Ron would only make what he had to do more difficult, though for contrary reasons. Harry was pretty certain that Hermione would have strong moral objections, to the point that she might threaten to go to Dumbledore to stop him. Ron, on the other hand, hated Malfoy with a zeal that would surely allow him to grossly abuse the power that Veritaserum would bestow on him, to the point that Hermione's objections would be perfectly justified. But Harry was convinced of the perfection of his plan, provided it was not compromised by the extremist positions of his two best friends. Morality be damned. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
And so it came to pass that during lunch the following Friday, Harry used one of the school owls to send a forged note to Malfoy, supposedly from Professor McGonagall, 'requesting' that he come to her office after his last class, which was, incidentally, Potions.
Potions found an edgy Harry Potter seated next to a certain calm and collected Draco Malfoy. For a fleeting moment, the other boy had looked positively shocked when Harry had sat himself down at the neighboring desk, though this shock was quickly replaced with a disgusted expression and a derogatory comment about free riding. For once, Harry did not respond, preferring to focus on the task at hand.
The previous week Professor Snape had warned the class about this day's assignment - some asinine potion (designed to test brewing ability rather than being practically useful), a warning for which was deemed necessary by the fact that it would have to be imbibed at the end of class. Malfoy proceeded to execute the assignment perfectly, ignoring Harry in turn and doing almost all of the work. He had no idea why Potter would actually choose to sit next him, but he felt secure in his ability to cope with whatever nefarious plans the other boy was most likely trying to pursue. Busy with his own schemes, he was more than willing to ignore Scarhead and complete the potion himself (something he was used to after years of having incompetent potions partners such as Crabbe and Goyle). Besides, whatever Potter didn't touch, Potter couldn't screw up; and, in instances such as this, where he would have to be imbibing his own potion, a screw up could have quite unpleasant consequences. The potions that they tested on themselves could never actually harm them, even if misbrewed, but that didn't mean that one couldn't end up with an unintended (if temporary), say, set of donkey ears. Harry had been waiting for an entire week for this opportunity, and was thrilled that it came so conveniently located at the end of the day. Fate must really be on his side.
Harry waited until Malfoy had finished the potion and was returning the leftover ingredients to the storage closet. Harry used the opportunity to fill his vial with potion, then, with unusual subtlety, emptied the bottle of Veritaserum into the cauldron. When Malfoy returned to his desk, he filled his own vial, then sat to wait for Snape's instructions to imbibe the oily, dark orange substance.
"So Malfoy, this gonna poison me?," Harry said nastily, the knowledge that he would momentarily have the upper hand allowing him to release the iron grip of restraint that he had placed on his anger.
"Not unless you fucked with it in my absence," Malfoy retorted coolly, without even batting an eyelid, or even turning to face his partner. His words made Harry want to hex himself for having such a big mouth, but he didn't let his sudden discomfort show on his face, though had Malfoy been paying more attention, he would have noticed the sudden tension in Harry's body.
"Don't you even try to blame this potion on me. It's all your work."
"I know. That's why it's perfect," Malfoy drawled, finally turning towards Harry to smirk at him. Harry glared back, but was saved from having to come up with a retort by Professor Snape.
"Attention!" Then, with a twisted sneer, followed by a pointed look at Neville, "Time to find out who knows how to follow instructions and whose incompetence deserves punishment. Bottoms up, class!"
Shooting Malfoy what he assumed was a credible look of suspicion, Harry brought his vial to his lips and quickly emptied it. He blinked, held his arm out, and watched the skin turn a rather healthy color purple. A quick glance around the room revealed a number of other students of various shades of purple, and Professor Snape was already striding towards Longbottom and Lavender (Neville's distinctly displeased lab partner), both of which were sporting pigmentation of a surprisingly ugly shade of light blue. He turned towards Malfoy. "Well? Too prissy to be seen in purple?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow on his impassive face. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach, warning him about something, but he didn't know what and it wasn't enough to dissuade him from 'normal' behavior. Something had been not quite right on this day, his mind flitting to the unexpected and slightly suspicious letter he had received at the end of lunch period. He forced himself back to the here and now. His eyes never left Potters', as he brought his own vial to his lips, then downed its contents. He closed his eyes for a moment as a foreign, almost liberating feeling washed through him, then opened them again to witness his pale skin to a rich violet hue, so dark he almost looked black. The color was fantastic, providing a sharp contrast to his platinum hair, and creating at least one striking figure amongst the sea of ridiculous looking students. Harry scowled at him, annoyed by the arrogant git's ability to look good even when purple and by the fact that someone so undeserving should be blessed with such beauty. If only he could look so good. . .
Malfoy smirked at him, as though knowing exactly what was going through the messy haired boy's mind, which he did. It was, after all, what everyone always thought. Casually, arrogantly, he purred, "So, Potter, which is it? Do you want to be me or do you want to fuck me?"
Harry felt himself flush, though it was an effect that remained hidden under his new, colorful tan. His embarrassment, however, was quickly replaced with rage. "You're a revolting piece of shit Malfoy. I would rather die than be you and I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole," he hissed viciously, pouring his supreme disgust into every word.
Draco forced himself not to react to the vehemence and conviction in Potter's words, something that was (and had almost always been) a second nature to the Slytherin. He was a little surprised, as he always was when confronted by the extremely rare proof that words held any power over him, but he was not surprised that such proof would be proffered by Potter - the other boy seemed to specialize in exposing his weaknesses. But Potter would get no satisfaction from this victory. His eyes flicked to Snape, who had just dismissed the class with a reminder of the homework assigned earlier in the period.
"Well, Potter," Malfoy snapped irritably. "It's been a total horror, as always. Now, if you'll excuse me, or even if you don't, I have about a million better places to be." He swiftly scooped up his bookbag and quickly strode from the classroom. Harry took the time to make his excuses to Ron and Hermione, then hastily followed Malfoy's retreating form in the direction of the Slytherin dorms. He didn't appear to be interacting with his housemates, preferring to listen disinterestedly. Goyle prodded him once or twice to receive confirmation of some stupidity that had left his mouth - though, in truth, neither Goyle nor Crabbe was a stupid as they generally came across as. It was more that they lacked the social graces generally associated with Slytherin.
A nefarious smile flitted across Harry's face as he saw Malfoy break away from the rest of the purple Slytherin group and turn down a passage capable of taking him to Professor McGonagall's office. He followed the blond boy, as inconspicuously as possible, but it mattered not. Malfoy possessed an excellent instinct, if not the confidence to capitalize on it. He spun around, wand brandished, with an absolutely frightening look displayed on his features. "If I were you, I would seriously consider explaining yourself."
Harry blinked at him, thrown off by the suddenness of his enemy's reflexes, but he managed to retain his cool. Calmly, and expressionlessly, he said, "I'm the one who sent that owl. I wanted to speak to you alone."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed with hostility and suspicion. "About a what?," he growled.
"Could we?," Harry asked, gesturing to indicate the door of one of the many unused rooms in Hogwarts. Malfoy's instincts screamed at him to hex Harry to oblivion, to run like the wind, to. . . he forced himself from that train of thought. Despite their animosity, Malfoy trusted Harry, in the sense that he trusted the Potter to be predictable, made so by the fact that people who acted according to certain codes of conduct were always made so. And Draco honestly believed, if somewhat foolishly, that Harry could be relied upon to behave honorably. So he squashed his instincts, nodded to his companion, returned his wand to the folds of his robe, and stepped through the nearby doorway. He took a quick, suspicious glance around before turning towards Harry in time to catch him muttering a locking spell on the door. An extreme feeling of alarm suddenly screamed through him, and his hand instantly grabbed for his wand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm such a fool. But before he could bring his wand up to point it towards the threat, Harry hit him with a powerful uppercut and he stumbled backwards. He tried to hex his attacker, but his wand was seized from his grasp and he was violently shoved against the wall, his skull rebounding with a sickening crack.
Malfoy crumbled to the ground, his head spinning, and despondency overcoming him. His skill lay with his wand and his wits, not with his physical prowess. He knew some defensive moves, but his frail body was no match for Harry's years of yard work and natural fortitude. He stood no chance in such a confrontation as this. Dizzy and disarmed, he glared up at Potter, despite the pang of fear brought on less from being in such a powerless situation than from Potter's unpredictable behavior. There was a pause in which they glared hatefully at each other, Harry's wand unwaveringly angled down at his chest. "Potter," Malfoy hissed dangerously. "Your move, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I noticed," he responded scathingly, his absolute loathing towards the other boy making his uncharacteristic behavior easier than he might have usually expected. "I was just savoring the moment before I squash you like a bug."
Malfoy kept tight reign on his unease. "What are you going to do Potter? Torture me?" A smirk that he didn't feel flashed across his face.
"Actually, I just have a few questions." The expression on Harry's usually expressive face was both strange and disturbing, but again, Malfoy didn't let on.
"Shoot," Malfoy mocked, repositioning himself on the floor in such a way that he exuded relaxation and confidence.
Harry's disturbing expression became more so as it was joined by an unfriendly smile. "Are you a death eater?," he demanded with false sweetness.
"Yes." Harry was treated to an expression of absolute horror as realization hit Draco, the full implications of which were enough to make his blood run cold. Even a credible death threat could not have struck such fear into his heart, creating an eerily attractive paling effect on his violet skin. Even Harry was surprised by the depth of emotion on his enemy's perpetually composed face, for he could not have understood the extent to which Draco's entire existence was one of deception. More than the fact that he deceived all those around him, and that his life depended on such deceptions, his very comprehension of self was a charade.
Draco desperately scrambled to his feet, not caring if there was a wand aimed at his chest. He tried to launch himself at Harry, but Harry quickly cast a body binding spell and Draco collapsed onto the floor again. Harry bent down and shoved him against the wall, then punched him in the mouth. Inches from the violet face, he hissed. "You fucking bastard."
He backed off and stood up, still glaring at the other boy. The familiar pain had, however, jolted Draco back from his fear induced desperation, and his features had once again calmed. The precariousness of his situation was obvious to him, and only an incredible skilled and lucky manipulation of the conversation would save him from having to answer the wrong questions. He tongued the blood running from his busted lip and forced himself to sneer. "Well, I guess you've found me out. What are you going to do about it, oh Great and All knowing Potter?"
Harry blinked at the sudden about face, then he sneered back. "What do you think you deserve?"
"Death." Okay; well, wouldn't have been my first choice of responses, but could've been worse. Harry face, unused to having to hide its feelings, revealed surprise at his response. But it was quickly replaced with its former hostility. "Finally, something we agree on."
"Kill me then, Potter." Stall, stall, stall. Merlin, please don't ask any more questions. Actually, Harry looked like he really did want to kill him. "Come on then. I fucking dare you, you parentless Mudblood loving piece of shit." Death would be preferable to revealing certain secrets, better than what Voldemort would do to him.
Harry knew he wouldn't kill Malfoy. But he was suddenly confronted with what he should do; he'd gotten the confession he wanted, but he didn't feel quite ready to march Malfoy to Dumbledore's office. Something was nagging at him, his instincts telling him that something wasn't right. Would Malfoy know something that Snape (and, therefore, the Order) didn't? His eyes narrowed. Despite his only mediocre grades, Harry did possess a certain practical astuteness.
"You're hiding something, I can tell. What is it you don't want me to know?"
Malfoy's eyes widened in horror and he gagged in his effort to keep the words in. But the spell forced him to choke out, "I'm. . . ungh. . . spying on. . gugh. . . Volde. . . mort."
Deathly silence. Harry was so shocked that his expression went blank and Draco hung his head the best he could with a spell bound body. The effects of Snape's purpling potion were beginning to fade, but this was little cause for relief. Draco's face was one of a man condemned to death. Or perhaps one of a man already dead - provided the man had died most unhappily. Misery was etched over his every feature, though it did not look so foreign there as one might have suspected.
Harry was too shocked to speak, and Draco too wretched; and so the silence stretched. Finally, it was broken by a strained, defeated voice. "Please. . . You've got what you want from me."
A small part of his mind was further amazed to hear Malfoy say the word please, and it took him a moment to register the unspoken request. Then it took him another moment to react, though he was having a distinctly difficult time wrapping his mind around what Malfoy had told him. Hesitantly, numbly, unthinkingly, he raised his wand and pointed it at the pitiful wreck that had once been the arrogant Draco Malfoy. He muttered the words necessary to end the spell, and Malfoy slumped forwards before scrambling shakily to his feet.
He avoided Harry's watchful eyes, wiping the blood from his lip, straightening his clothes, and flattening back his hair. Finally he looked expressionlessly at Harry, his hand outstretched, though still trembling subtly. Hoarsely, "My wand."
With some hesitation, Harry reached into his robes and retrieved Malfoy's wand. Malfoy took it, then used it to unlock the door. Without a look back, he strode through the door. Finally moved from his shell shocked state, Harry followed him out, then called, "Wait!"
Malfoy whipped around, fury etched on his face. The violet was almost gone. "Fuck you Potter," he growled. "You're no better than Voldemort. No better than my. . . my father. You. . . you violated me." He looked for a moment as if he might either cry or be sick, but his voice remained dangerous. "How can you even think I'd have anything to say to you now?" He turned away and quickly walked down the corridor, throwing back a last, falsely indifferent line to the reeling Harry. "Stay away from me, Potter."