Reaching Maturity Chapter 1: A Meeting in The Leaky Cauldron, a harry potter fanfic

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: Not mine, much as I wish they were.

A/N: This is a loooooong fic, and it'll probably have about 30 chapters by the time I've finished typing it up. I will use all your flames to heat my room, as I am a poor student.

A/N 2: I am IGNORING some events from OotP – though there may be one or two things in Reaching Maturity that are true to it. I'm doing my best to adapt this fic as best I can to events in OotP, although certain things are different.

A/N 3: for all my loyal readers, HUUUUUGE apologies for not posting this sooner, but there are good reasons. I'm not living on campus this year and I don't have Internet access in the house I'm living in, and to get to the IT room I have to walk up a really steep hill, so I'm not on the Net as much as I was.

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: A Meeting in The Leaky Cauldron

"It is not time yet. The boy is still at school. We must wait until summer, when he leaves. We simply cannot afford to have that old fool of a headmaster getting suspicious."

"It is difficult to hold on so long, Lucius." The voice was quiet, angry, urgent.

"Not yet. Dumbledore is far too suspicious already. And I have been too busy to speak to my son, what with our … overseas missions."

"You have brought him up well, Lucius. He understands the importance of blood."

----------------------------------------------------

Draco Malfoy, seventeen and three weeks away from starting his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lay unmoving in his bed as he listened to the two men conversing outside his bedroom. As he heard their footsteps move away from his door and grow fainter, he let out the breath that he had not realised he had been holding. For years, this was what he had dreamed about, joining his father as a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

But something was wrong. There was something in the back of his mind, a niggling doubt that he had come to recognise recently as his conscience, which prevented him from being completely sure about what he wanted. Father would just love this, he thought cynically. Just because I'm not as smart as he was at academic stuff, just because I don't have any interest in Pansy Parkinson even though both our sets of parents and Pansy are convinced that we're going to get married. I'd rather marry one of Hagrid's blasted Skrewts. He winced at the unintended pun. Just because I'm not good enough for him. Just because I'm not good enough for my own father.

And the visitor. Draco had his suspicions as to who he was, but he did not have anything concrete, as the visitor rarely left the guest quarters in which he was staying, until Draco was safely out of the way, in bed, when the two could not meet.

It took him a long time to get to sleep that night.

----------------------------------------------------

He had no choice. He had to see him immediately, much as he disliked the idea.

"Father?"

"What is it?" asked Lucius Malfoy irritably at breakfast the next morning, not looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet.

"I need to get my school supplies from Diagon Alley, and I'd rather go early," said Draco, masking the nervousness in voice. He was good at hiding his true feelings from his father ("Malfoys do not show emotion; it is a weakness") and he had learned Occlumency from his head of house, Professor Snape, during his sixth year. Just in case; being prepared never hurt anyone. "I want to avoid the crowds that you always get in the week before term starts – and the Mudbloods. You know how it is, Father."

"You know I can't this week!" snapped Lucius. "We have a guest, in case you had forgotten?"

Draco had been prepared for this. "I can go on my own. It isn't a problem; I've got my book list and so on. Anyway, you're always saying that I need to be more of an adult and take more control over my life. I can prove it, if you let me go on my own."

"Hmmm." Lucius studied his newspaper for a long moment. He relished watching his son squirm like this. Finally he put his paper down. "I shall give you the necessary money. You must return by tomorrow evening at the absolute latest. No misbehaving, and see you spend the money on school items only. Understand?"

"Yes, Father." Draco hurriedly finished his breakfast and went back to his bedroom. The letter was there on his desk, ready to be sent. He whistled softly and his eagle owl, Hecate, appeared at his window a moment later. He tied the letter to her leg and told her whom to find. Hecate gave him a strange look before silently spreading her wings and flying off. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Now he could go to Diagon Alley, via Floo.

----------------------------------------------------

Diagon Alley was quiet, for once. People talked in small groups, fearful of being overheard – Voldemort had spies everywhere and you couldn't be too careful. You could never tell who was a spy.

Amongst the people in the street, Draco recognised Madam Hooch from the school, just going into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a couple of students from other houses.

He spent most of the day buying his school supplies and some new robes, as one set had somehow got ripped at the end of the previous term. There weren't many books he needed – just The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven, The Final Goblin Battles (1878-1920) and a new Dictionary of Arithmancy as his old one was falling apart from overuse. Those obtained, he bedded down for the night in The Leaky Cauldron – even if it wasn't his father's first choice of accommodation.

"Stuff him!" he declared as he got into the bed.

"Of course, dear," replied his mirror sleepily.

----------------------------------------------------

Ron Weasley looked up in surprise as a large eagle owl landed imperiously on the desk in his bedroom. "Who are you?" he demanded. The owl merely held out her leg, a letter tied to it, addressed to Harry Potter. Ron removed it and the owl flew off. Ron hurried downstairs to the kitchen of his home, The Burrow, where his best friend Harry Potter was still eating his lunch. "Letter for you," Ron announced, holding it out to him. "Some owl brought it. I didn't recognise it, and I also don't recognise the handwriting."

Harry barely paid any attention to these last comments as he unrolled the parchment.

Potter –
Meet me tomorrow (Thursday) at noon in The Leaky Cauldron. This is urgent and YOU MUST COME BY YOURSELF.
DM

Harry frowned. He only knew one person who had those initials, and also who would refer to him as 'Potter' – Draco Malfoy. What could he possibly want?

"Anything wrong, Harry?" inquired Mrs. Weasley, seeing the black-haired boy's confused expression.

Hastily Harry shook his head. "No. I just have to meet … someone … in Diagon Alley tomorrow. On my own." He stood up. "Want a game of chess, Ron?"

Ron looked somewhat surprised, and Harry couldn't really blame him – he always beat Harry, so why was Harry the one to suggest it? He dismissed the thought, deciding that Harry would tell him in his own time. "Why not?"

They left the kitchen and went up to Ron's room. Ron got out the chess set and looked expectantly at Harry. "You wanted to get out of there quickly," he commented lightly. "Do you really have to meet someone?"

"Yes, Ron, I do. And don't question me about it, please," said Harry shortly. He ordered a pawn to move.

"Why not?" persisted Ron.

"Because."

Ron snorted. "That's not a reason."

Harry shrugged. "It's going to have to do, whether you like it or not." He didn't want to say too much, knowing that Ron would go ballistic if he even suspected that Harry was going to see their sworn enemy of six years. No, it was best left alone.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry arrived in Diagon Alley courtesy of some of the Weasleys' Floo powder, ensuring that he shouted out the words clearly – he wasn't about to end up in Knockturn Alley again!

He took in the quieter-than-normal atmosphere, noticing, as Draco had done, the small groups talking quietly amongst themselves, reminding himself that soon it would be a lot more hectic, filled with students getting books, robes, Quidditch supplies, potion ingredients and more.

The Leaky Cauldron, in contrast to the alley, was as busy as ever, and it took Harry several minutes to find Malfoy, who was hidden in a dark corner, wearing dark clothes and a hooded cloak, the latter of which obscured his face almost entirely. All he needs is a pipe, and I'd be looking at Strider the Ranger in 'The Prancing Pony', Harry thought wryly. His other best friend, bookworm Hermione Granger, had ordered him to read Tolkien's books in the summer between his fifth and sixth years ("You don't have any homework, so at least read something to make sure you don't get out of the habit!" she'd written in the copy of The Hobbit that she'd sent him for his sixteenth birthday, along with a copy of The Lord of the Rings). She's also ordered Ron to read the books, but Harry knew for a fact that he hadn't done – they were on the top of his wardrobe in his bedroom, collecting dust. Harry hoped for Ron's sake that she wouldn't find them.

Harry stood by the table. "Malfoy," he greeted, his tone low and neutral.

Draco looked up. "Potter." He nodded at the high-backed bench opposite him. "You'd better take a seat."

Harry obligingly sat. "What the hell's going on, Malfoy?" he hissed, leaning across the table so his face was close to Draco's.

"It's to do with everyone's favourite Dark Lord."

Harry remained impassive.

Draco took a deep breath. "This summer, we've had a mysterious guest staying with us. Apparently he's a 'friend' of my father's. I've never seen him; he only emerges when I'm safely out of the way. I'm pretty certain it's You-Know-Who."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And you're telling me this – why?"

"I can hardly go telling Crabbe and Goyle! They'd blurt it out everywhere!" retorted Draco. After a moment's pause, he lowered his voice again. "I'm sure you've suspected for a long time, but Father wants me to join him as a Death Eater."

"I thought that was what you wanted?"

Draco shrugged wearily. "I don't know any more. I'm not sure I do."

Harry eyes him suspiciously. "How do I know you're telling the truth, Malfoy? You're not exactly famous for it."

"So try me with Veritaserum, Harry," replied Draco calmly. "Any truth potion. You can get them here in Diagon Alley. Go ahead; I don't mind."

That did it for Harry. Malfoy would never take a truth potion voluntarily, unless he was genuinely telling the truth. And he wouldn't call him Harry, either. "So what do you want from me, Malfoy?" he asked finally.

"A truce. I'm not going over to the Dark Side. I'm not!" said Draco fiercely. "My father wants me to be just like him, but it's taken me seventeen and a half years to realise that that's exactly how I don't want to be!" The numerous bruises on his body, hidden from view, and his sore wrist, were testament to that – specifically, a 'fall' down the stairs, which Draco did not want to disclose to Harry. "I hate the man!"

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" asked Harry helplessly.

"Agree to a truce. Please, Harry." Draco held out a hand and Harry reluctantly shook it, a wry grin on his face. "Ron and Hermione will go mental," he remarked.

Draco nodded sadly. "I expect they will. And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"It's Joseph Flint that we have to watch. Closely. I've heard various rumours about him in Slytherin."

"Marcus Flint's brother? Fifth-year Slytherin?"

"The one and only. But he mustn't know anyone's onto him," added Draco hastily. "If he knows, he won't hesitate in using Avada Kedavra on either of us."

Harry shuddered. He wondered that if, such a situation were to arise, whether he'd be able to deflect it – after all, it wouldn't be Voldemort performing the Unforgivable.

"Harry, don't tell Weasley or Granger or anyone about Flint or the truce!" Draco pleaded desperately. "Not yet."

"I still don't know if I can trust you myself yet!" retorted Harry.

"Fair point," conceded Draco. "Anyway, like I said, try me with any truth potion you like."

Harry nodded slowly. "I s'pose I'd better trust you, then. We have to be united in these dark times, to quote McGonagall last year."

Draco stood. "I have to get back. I expect I'll see you on the train."

"Don't you always?" retorted Harry, though not unpleasantly like he would have done in the past. He watched Draco walk away, sitting and thinking. Wasn't this all a little too easy? Now that he had gone, Malfoy didn't seem as genuine as he had done. What had made him say this? He'd always talked about joining Voldemort (though, being Draco Malfoy, he never said so in as many words). He'd always appeared to relish it.

So why the sudden change of heart? Was Malfoy trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Was it a trap, arranged by Voldemort, in the hope of ensnaring Harry? And if so, why was Malfoy being so open about Voldemort staying in his home?

With these troubled thoughts, Harry returned to The Burrow, the uneasy truce weighing heavily on his mind.

----------------------------------------------------

"Have you obtained all that you need?" demanded Lucius, a few hours after Draco returned home. The seventeen-year-old nodded dutifully and handed the remaining money over to his father, who snatched it out of his hand. "None of those disgusting Mudbloods about, I hope?" There was a distinct sneer in Lucius's quiet, cold voice.

Draco shook his head. "Give it a week or two or so, and then Diagon Alley will be swarming with them."

Narcissa, Draco's mother, appeared in the doorway of Draco's bedroom. "The Crabbes and the Goyles will be here at six, for dinner. However, Vincent and Gregory are unable to attend. I understand there was an accident with the chess set." She sniffed disdainfully.

Draco snorted with laughter. He was amazed that either of them had any idea how to play. He'd given up all attempts to teach them back in their third year.

"Draco, I am still expecting you to attend," said Narcissa sharply. She turned to Lucius and lowered her voice. "You were going to speak to him about…?"

"Not yet." Lucius's tone was short, curt. "Leave him be for the moment." He closed Draco's bedroom door behind him as they left their son to his own devices. Alone now, Draco sat down heavily on his four-poster bed. Why was he so uncertain about this all of a sudden? He'd always been taught that Muggle-born and half-Muggle 'Mudblood' children were inferior and should be treated so; that certain wizarding families, such as his own, were better than others such as the Weasleys, because they had far more money and believed in purity of blood; and that Voldemort was their best – and only – hope. He'd always believed it before now.

Until now. He didn't understand the sudden change in his mind and heart. If only Father could hear me now! Draco laughed bitterly to himself. He knew what his father would do – make sure he could never have such thoughts again.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry was staring moodily out of the kitchen window at The Burrow, attempting to sort out the mass of confused thoughts whirling around his skull, but the more he tried, the more bewildered he became. There was definitely something different about Malfoy – and it wasn't just the bruise near the pureblooded boy's left eye.

"Well?" demanded Ron, abruptly snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

"Well, what?" shot back Harry tetchily.

"Well, how did this mystery meeting go?" Ron was jiggling from foot to foot impatiently.

"Oh, that. It was fine," said Harry vaguely, returning his gaze to the wild garden, watching the gnomes pottering about.

"So aren't you going to elaborate?" persisted Ron.

"No. So just drop it. End of conversation."

----------------------------------------------------

TBC