Draco was no longer on the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Draco had always been on the Slytherin team, ever since their second year. It felt like another major change in their usual relationship, and he felt uncertain if he liked this one as much as the others.
Because it was obvious that Draco was doing something.
The bags under his eyes were becoming more prominent. His hair was getting messier. His eyes, once sharp and cool, almost seemed fevered and manic.
Even Snape had noticed. He practically coddled Malfoy, shooting the boy undecipherable glances as he did his best not to draw attention to his ill-looking student.
Hermione thought the stress of the summer was weighing on him.
Ron that someone had cursed him, and had chuckled at the thought.
And Harry…well, he wasn't sure what to think. But he knew this much; if Malfoy had been treated half as nastily as Voldemort had treated him in the graveyard, at his rebirth…then Draco Malfoy would find no reprieve from his nightmares anytime soon.
But the thing was, even if he wanted to help Malfoy(and he wasn't quite sure how to even approach such a thing.), there just wasn't time to do so. Too many things were happening way too fast.
Umbridge had become the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, which basically meant she was second only to Dumbledore and maybe McGonagall. This was O.W.L's year, so there was tons more homework given to them at the end of every class than ever before. He had another week of detention with the damn toad, which meant another week of cutting open his own hand. So much shit was happening all at once, and he could barely handle it.
All he could do was keep an eye on Malfoy. And he could certainly see signs that the boy was trying to be better. He was fairer, punishing even members of his own house when they acted out in his duties as a Prefect. He was kinder, more polite to people from other houses, never acting like he was above them. And when Umbridge had come around asking for dirt on Hagrid during their next Care of Magical Creatures class, Malfoy did the unthinkable;
He took responsibility for his past actions.
"Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?"
Goyle gave a stupid grin and looked at Malfoy, poking him roughly in the arm.
"That was me," Malfoy softly said. "I was slashed by a hippogriff."
"A hippogriff?" said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.
Harry opened his mouth to defend his Hagrid, but Malfoy beat him to the punch.
"Yes, but it was my fault."
He, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other, stunned.
"Did he just-?" Ron started.
"Admit to him messing up?" Hermione finished. "Yes, I think so."
When they turned back to Malfoy, he and Umbrige were in a very quiet and polite argument.
"Yes, but if Professor Hagrid had introduced a less dangerous beast, then you would not have been injured!" Umbridge hissed
"Regardless, he gave very clear instructions, instructions that I disobeyed," Malfoy said, a tired look in his eyes, feeding his bowtruckle woodlice by hand. "I did not really think that hippogriffs could understand English besides instructions from Hagrid. Rather daft, now that I think on it; they wouldn't be magical creatures if there wasn't something special about them. In the end, Madame Pomfrey fixed me that same afternoon, and I didn't even have a scar afterward."
Harry gave Hermione a harsh, but playful poke in the ribs.
"I told you the git was faking!" he whispered with glee.
Hermione poked him back even harder.
"I never said I didn't believe you, you prat!"
In the end, Umbridge left with a sniff, and Harry gave Malfoy a nod of thankfulness. The blond boy gave a faint smile in his direction but turned his attention back to the bowtruckle in his arms.
And yet, those acts of kindness were being punished.
Draco was being isolated by Slytherin house. When he sat to eat in the Great Hall, he sat at the end of the table, by himself, whilst members of his house gave him confused and disgusted looks. In Potions Class, he was more likely than not to be paired with someone from another house, as the Slytherin students refused to work with him. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have abandoned their longtime friend.
Harry felt for Draco: the boy was trying to do the right thing, going against everything he had ever been told, and he was being shunned by the people he'd grown up with since he was eleven.
And the worst part was, he could imagine it; First Year, when Gryffindor House had turned on him after he lost those points because of Norbert. Second Year, when damn near every house, even a few of his own dormmates had thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Fourth Year, when Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin had constantly been on his arse, and Ron had betrayed him. And even now, he could tell that people in the school were divided, some of them thinking Voldemort was back, whilst others thought that he had murdered Cedric to get a fucking trophy.
So yeah, he understood that isolation, that loneliness. At least, during all these events, he'd had Ron and Hermione. And even when Ron had turned his back on him last year, Hermione had stuck by him.
Draco didn't have that. Crabbe and Goyle had abandoned him. He was completely and utterly alone.
So, when Ron and Hermione brought up the ridiculous idea of him teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts(as if he was some kind of fucking expert), even when he initially rejected the idea, in his mind, he wondered.
If he lent out a hand to Draco…if he offered him a lifeline…
Would he take it?
And could he be trusted with it?
**********************************************************
The Hog's Head bar was a small, dimly lit establishment, tucked away in a grimy corner of Hogsmeade. The air inside was thick and musty, carrying an unsettling, pungent odor that resembled a mixture of damp straw, wet animal fur, and something vaguely reminiscent of goats. The room itself was cramped and claustrophobic, with low ceilings that seemed to press down on anyone who entered, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
The bay windows, barely distinguishable from the surrounding walls, were caked with layers of grime so thick that it was hard to tell if daylight ever touched the inside of the bar. What little light did manage to seep through was filtered into a sickly, muted glow, lending the space an eerie, perpetual twilight. Instead of natural light, the bar was illuminated by the flickering stubs of half-melted candles, which sat haphazardly on the rough, uneven wooden tables. The candles sputtered and smoked, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to twist and slither across the walls, making the room feel even more alive with hidden figures and unsettling presences.
The floor, at first glance, appeared to be made of packed earth, uneven and almost muddy in places. But as Harry stepped onto it, his feet crunched on something solid beneath the muck. Beneath the thick layers of grime and refuse that had accumulated over what must have been centuries, there were stones—large, jagged, and uneven. They jutted up in odd angles, worn smooth in some places from years of traffic but still covered in the filth that had never been properly cleaned.
The bar itself was an ancient, heavy slab of wood, worn down by years of neglect and darkened by age and use. Its surface was stained with spilled drinks, scorch marks, and what looked like claw scratches. Behind the bar, grimy shelves were lined with bottles of strange, murky liquids, their labels faded and peeling, some with odd, unidentifiable objects floating inside.
At the bar, hunched over a stool, sat a man whose entire head was wrapped in dirty, fraying gray bandages. His face was completely concealed, save for a narrow slit near where his mouth should be. Through this small gap, he was managing to gulp down glass after glass of a smoking, fiery substance that seemed to burn and hiss as it went down his throat. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though each sip was a careful act of survival, yet there was an unsettling air about him that suggested he was used to this grim routine.
In the far corner, two figures sat at a table near one of the filthy windows, their faces shrouded beneath deep hoods. From a distance, they might have been mistaken for dementors, the way their cloaks hung heavily over their forms, pooling in the shadows around them. However, as Harry drew closer, he heard them speaking in loud, rough Yorkshire accents, their voices gruff and coarse, entirely too human to be the dark creatures they resembled at first glance. Their conversation, though muffled, was laced with laughter, rough like the scraping of rocks, as they discussed something in low, conspiratorial tones.
Near the fireplace, which emitted only the faintest of warmth, sat a witch cloaked in deep shadows. Her thick black veil cascaded from the top of her head down to her toes, obscuring her entire figure in an impenetrable curtain of dark fabric. Only the faint outline of her nose could be seen, as it pressed against the veil slightly, making a small protrusion in the fabric. She sat perfectly still, her presence ghostly, as though she were a mere specter haunting the dark corner. The crackling of the weak fire nearby barely touched her form, casting only the faintest of glows on the hem of her long, black robe. For a very brief moment, Harry thought it might have been Umbridge, but honestly, the woman was too tall. Not to mention, subterfuge didn't seem to be something her repertoire.
The patrons of the Hog's Head spoke in hushed whispers, their voices barely rising above the sound of the fire's crackling and the occasional clink of glasses. Dust hung in the air like a veil, stirred only when someone shifted or moved, and there was a sense that time itself had grown stagnant within these walls, trapped in a perpetual state of decay. The Hog's Head was not a place of comfort—it was a den for secrets, where the weight of history, and of dark dealings, pressed in on all sides.
In other words, this place was fucking disgusting, and Aunt Petunia would collapse if she ever stepped foot in there.
That made the corner of his lips twitch upward into a smile.
"I bet we could order anything in here," Ron said, sipping his dusty butterbeer bottle. "Hey Harry, wanna try firewhisky? Dad let me have a sip when I was twelve; felt like my head was about to pop."
"Ron. You. Are. A. Prefect!" Hermione hissed, his eyes becoming colder with each word.
"I was just joking!" his friend said, holding his hands up in surrender. However, when Hermione turned as the door opened to see who it was, Ron leaned in and whispered in Harry's ear.
"If I can sneak a few shots, you wanna try?"
Harry rolled his eyes and let out a huff of amusement as he watched the veritable crowd of kids walk through the door of the Hog's Head.
Neville, Dean, Lavender, Padma and Parvati Patil, Cho, some girl he didn't recognize, Luna Lovegood, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, the Creevy Brothers-
"Oi, mate, correct me if I'm wrong," Ron said in a stage whisper, one eyebrow raised. "But has the definition of the word 'couple' changed recently? Could've sworn it still meant two."
Hermione deliberately avoided his gaze.
Harry said nothing, his fist clenching as he did his best to keep his anger under control.
This was…fine. Expected, actually. Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire in Hogwarts; hearing that the controversial figure that was Harry Potter was holding some kind of meeting in the Hog's Head of all places, well, he could see why there were more than the couple that was promised.
Still, that didn't mean he liked the whispers and stares as everyone grabbed seats near them.
In any case, there was only one person that he was expecting to see here today.
"I think that's everyone," Hermione said, still avoiding Harry's gaze. "We should get this started-"
"Not quite yet," Harry interrupted. "We're waiting on one more."
Hermione's brow scrunched up in confusion. "You invited someone?"
"Not quite. I told them we'd be meeting in Hogsmeade today, but you were the only one who actually knew where we were meeting. But, if he's half as smart as he's pretended to be all these years, it won't take him too long to figure it out."
A look of suspicion entered the bushy-haired bibliophile's eyes. "He?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but right then, the door to the Hogs Head creaked open, and in walked Draco Malfoy, looking very out of place.
Ron got up instantly.
"What the bloody hell-!"
"Draco," Harry said loudly, "Good to see you found your way here."
Cautiously, Draco gave him a nod. "Potter. Some directions would have been nice."
Harry shrugged. 'Yeah, I'm quite sure they would have."
A ghost of a smile appeared on the blond's face, and Harry found a small one appearing on his as well.
How messed up was it that the only way that the two of them could connect was to act like they were still enemies? Had the House rivalries just screwed with their brains that badly, that the only way he and Draco could speak to each other was through taunts?
"Harry," Hermione started.
"See Hermione? Notice that when I said one person, one person came. Not a Quidditch League," He said quickly. Then he turned to Ron. "And not a word out of you."
He was deflecting, and the three of them knew it.
Draco took a seat, but one that separated him from the rest of the crowd, which had switched from whispering about Harry to now glaring daggers at Draco.
Huh. Now that he thought about it, probably ninety percent of the people here had been bullied by the boy in question.
Well, sucks to be him.
He could feel bad for Draco, considering he was trying to turn over a new leaf, but that didn't erase the sins of his past. If he wanted to be accepted, then he'd have to earn it.
"Er," said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. "Well — er — hello, everyone. Nice to meet you all here, today."
The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry and Draco, alternating glares and stares.
"Well ... erm ... well, you know why you're here. Erm ... well, Harry here had the idea-"
Harry threw her such a sharp look that she backpedaled immediately.
" I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us" — (Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) — "because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts"
"Hear, hear! " said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened.
"Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands." She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —"
"You lot want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.
"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because...because ..."
She took a deep breath, bracing herself.
"Because Lord Voldemort's back."
The reaction was as predictable as it was hilarious. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough.
Draco just raised an eyebrow, sharing an indecipherable look with Harry.
"Well . . . that's the plan anyway," said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to —"
"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.
"Well, Dumbledore believes it —" Hermione began.
"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry with a sneer.
"Who are you?" said Ron rather rudely.
"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."
"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —"
"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry. After all, he had expected this.
"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" he asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."
"Easy to say that when Cedric Diggory's in a hole, while you're out here walking as if nothing's wrong," Zacharias spat. "Seems so convenient, doesn't it? Every year, you get into something shady, but we just hear that it was the Dark Lord, over and over, despite the fact that you're the only one who's ever seen him in the past fifteen years. Mighty lucky for you, isn't it? No witnesses, no one to contradict you. Just the word of the Boy-Who-Lived."
For a solid minute, there was a ringing in Harry's ears as he just stared at Smith. Did this guy…did this cunt, really just insinuate that he killed Cedric? For a fucking trophy? And that every time Harry had risked his life for his friends or the damned school, that he was just-what? Fucking around? Messing with Dark Magic?
Hurting people?
That anger that had been building since he'd seen Cedric fall down, his eyes empty, till now was dangerously close to erupting. He wasn't sure what he was about to do, but he was very sure that he was going to prove Umbridge right in less than a second-
Draco laughed.
It was a soft, dark little thing that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand up, and more importantly, it gained the attention of everyone who had been ready for him to blow up.
"I'm sorry, but you believe that Saint Gryffindor, Patron of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors alike-what? Killed Cedric Diggory? And brought his corpse back to school? In front of damn near a million witnesses? Well, my mother always said Hufflepuff's were duffers, but you take the cake."
Smith stood up, his face red and angry. "You don't get to-!"
"Oh?"
Draco was on his feet instantly, and unlike Smith, he moved forward.
"Perhaps it's too hard for the little badger to understand," Draco said in a silky voice. "But we are at a precipice right now. The worst Dark Wizard in the last one hundred years of Britain's history is alive…but he is not well. Whatever he did to come back to life, has messed him up mentally and physically. Don't get me wrong, he'll still wipe the floor with ninety percent of the population, but back in his heyday, it used to be ninety-eight. If you're just here to make baseless accusations, you can rightly fuck off and let the people who are ready to fight to get down to business."
"Why should we trust him?" Zacharias demanded. "If he's buddy-buddy with you, then that tells me the type of person he is already."
"We're not friends, you daft twit," Draco snapped. "I know to feeble minds, the thought of being cunning might as well be a foreign concept, but if you can think for just five seconds, you'll know why I'm here."
Smith looked like he was ready to blow his top, but Draco continued, circling the Hufflepuff like a shark.
"For some undecipherable reason, the Dark Lord is unable to kill him," the Slytherin said, pointing to Harry. "He tried first when he was one. Managed to kill a fully grown witch and wizard, but when it came to Scarhead over there, he got so utterly destroyed that there wasn't even a body left to scrounge up. Fast forward eleven years, rumors say that Professor Quirrel was in league with the Dark Lord, or, strangely enough, playing host to him. We don't know what happened, but in the end, we knew Quirrel was dead, Potter was in the hospital wing, the goddamn Sorcerer's Stone was destroyed and no one ever spoke about it again. Suspicious, yes, but I have a feeling that if Dumbledore thought Potter killed a teacher out of spite, he wouldn't be here today.
"Second year, the Heir of Slytherin business. I was oh-so-pleased that people thought my lineage went far back enough to be part of Salazar's line, but the truth is we're French in origin; by other Noble and Ancient Family standards, we've only just graduated from tourists to neighbors. Potter was caught speaking Parseltongue, which was weird, but apparently, everyone forgot that Parseltongue didn't even originate from Britain, it comes from Greece, which I figured you knew, Granger," Draco said, suddenly pointing to Hermione
Hermione jumped, a bit shocked, but she answered regardless. "Well, yes. It's not common in Greece, but it is revered there rather than shamed. Many rich and powerful wizards throughout Grecian history have been notable Parseltongues. It's far more likely that Harry just has a Grecian ancestor, rather than being a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself."
Huh. Grecian ancestry. He had never even thought that his gift of Parseltongue could have come from anyone but Voldemort. True, it was because Dumbledore had told him that he thought it was because of the man, but in truth, Dumbledore wasn't infallible. The man could have made a mistake, looking for an extraordinary reason, rather than a simple one.
"Thank you, Granger. Now, the whole petrifying people thing was undoubtedly very scary for delicate badgers such as yourself," Draco taunted. "But nobody died. Even the ominous writing on the wall, about the littlest Weasley being dragged down to be killed there turned out to be wrong. Again, we don't know what happened, but Potter came back with her, a mind fucked Lockhart, and presumably, the sword of Gryffindor. The attacks stopped after that, and it was never spoken of again. Weird, isn't it, though, the attacks happened after Potter presumably dealt with it.
"Third year, and that whole business with Sirius Black. Again, we do not know what happened, but at some point, Potter was in the hospital wing, and Sirius Black was in custody, and the two events seemed to be interconnected. I might not be an Auror, but I'm sure even you are starting to pick up some sort of clues. Of course, Black escaped, but he was regarded as one of the Dark Lord's greatest students, so no surprise there, really."
Harry nearly opened his mouth to defend his godfather, but a swift pinch from Hermione and an elbow to the ribs from Ron had him shutting up and watching the show.
"And finally, we come to fourth year. Now, let's not even pretend for a second that Potter was even a willing participant. He looked like he shat himself the moment his name came out the Goblet."
"He still played!" Smith said. "If he didn't want to be in it so bad, then why didn't he just get out of it, let Cedric have his turn in the spotlight."
"Because, you daft child, the Goblet of Fire makes a binding magical contract with the Champions selected. He had no choice but to play. It was either that or figuring out what the punishment was for breaking a centuries-old enchantment created by some of the most talented wizards and witches that Europe had seen since the Founders," Draco replied in a bored tone. "Really, Badger Boy, you're making this much too easy for me. Now, fast forward to the final task. Here's what we know; there was a Portkey on the Cup. Potter and Diggory disappeared for the better part of an hour. Dumbledore said that they were no longer on Hogwarts ground, and the teachers said that they weren't in Hogsmead either. Potter came back, bloody and beaten, carrying Diggory's lifeless body.
"Now, you may say that this is, of course, because Diggory died at Potters' hands and fought him to the death, but I, unlike a majority of everyone in this room, am rich and connected, and I know what the Aururs wrote about their investigation before Fudge shut it down."
Harry froze. There had been an investigation?
And Fudge had stopped it?
"Number one. The Portkey charm on the Cup wasn't created by Diggory or Potter. The magic traces led back to our DADA teacher, Barty Crouch Junior, one of the Dark Lord's more well-known servants, who had stuffed Mad Eye Moody into a magical trunk for most of the year."
Draco let out a chuckle.
"You have to admit though, that is kind of funny. Big, bad Mad-Eye, the famous Dark Wizard catcher, was caught with his pants down. Ironic, considering that was how he conducted most of his raids."
Hermione cleared her throat loudly, and Draco got back on track.
"Right. Anyway, Number two; The Portkeys' coordinates led to a graveyard, where one grave had been defiled, its bones removed and turned into residue for a potion. Number three; A cauldron that practically reeked of death magic, was right there, smack dab in the middle of the graveyard. Not sure what Potter would have done with that, but obviously you have some idea, don't you Smith?"
The boy said nothing, though his face was red and his fists were shaking.
"Number four; the amount of spell residue in the graveyard showed that a battle of some kind had taken place, with multiple combatants casting spells. Way more than just two, and the power of the spells suggested the spellcasters were fully grown wizards. Number five; Potter's wand and Diggory's wand were both examined by Aurors, and neither cast an Unforgivable. So unless Potter had a second wand stuffed up his arse, he couldn't have been the one to kill Diggory."
"When did this investigation even happen?" Harry whispered furiously to Ron and Hermione. "No one ever told me any of this!"
"Well, they probably didn't mention it because it was shut down," Ron said in a low voice. There was a faint frown on his face as he spoke. "Amelia Bones…Dad calls her a firecracker. She probably launched the investigation the minute you came back with Cedric. It wouldn't have taken that long to gather that evidence, not if they worked fast. If the Death Eaters didn't have time to clean up, then the DMLE must have arrived there the same night. You said that the graveyard was near a muggle village, right?"
"As far as I could tell."
"With no registered magicals in the area, it would have set off whatever the Ministry uses to observe wizards and witches. They always know when we use spells near Muggles, and an Obliviation team is usually sent out minutes afterward. Bones would have jumped on it immediately. Fudge would have shut it down as soon as he heard of it. With how hard he rejected the idea of Voldemort coming back, it doesn't surprise me that he stopped it and sealed the records."
So.
Fudge knew. There was proof that he hadn't killed Cedric. That he had been attacked. That Dark Magic had been used in the graveyard.
And that he was innocent. And that burned. If Harry thought he had been pissed at Fudge before, that was nothing compared to the fire that churning in his belly now. After all that bullshit that Fudge had been putting in the Daily Prophet, insinuating that Harry was mad, knowing damn well that Harry had been attacked.
It took a considerable amount of restraint to just continue sitting there and listening to Draco, rather than cursing something.
"And finally, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape noted in a report that Potter appeared to have been cut with a sacrificial dagger, and his blood had been forcibly taken, presumably as a proponent to a potion or ritual that required the blood of a virgin, the blood of a foe or the blood of an innocent. Not a lot of good rituals or potions that require any of those three." finished Draco. "So, I can't tell you that the Dark Lord has returned, because my word is probably worth less than mud to everyone here. But I do hope that everyone here has the brains to put the puzzle pieces together."
"And how do we know you're not lying about that report?" Fred asked, crossing his arms. "You're a Slytherin; it's what you lot do. And, better yet, why are you defending Harry? Shouldn't you be happy that your dad's boss is back? Pureblood liberation, and all the crap you've been spouting throughout the years?"
Draco muttered something that Harry thought was very rude under his breath as he rubbed his forehead in frustration before he spoke again.
"If you think I am lying about the Auror's report, you're welcome to ask Bones," the blonde said.
Susan Bones jumped in her seat as she recognized her name.
"M-me?"
"Yes, little badgerette. Your Aunt may not be able to tell you what the investigation was about, but as far as I can tell, nothing stops her from telling you that there was an investigation in the first place and that none of the evidence pointed to Potter being a murderer."
Then Malfoy turned to Fred.
"And as for why I'm on Potter's side, I just told you: The Dark Lord and his servants have routinely lost to a child, on multiple occasions. His greatest enemy is an old man who's half-senile and spends most of his days sucking on Muggle confectionary. At the ripe old age of one, Harry Potter crippled the Dark Lord so thoroughly that it took him eleven years before he was seen again, and by all accounts, he was half dead. I'm Slytherin, so I'm cunning; following a man who has zero wins against a baby and a senior citizen is quite possibly the daftest thing that I have ever heard of. If I'm going to kneel at someone's feet, then that person should be acknowledged as the strongest there is, not a man who's tied with an underage wizard and a fossil two steps away from shuffling off this mortal coil."
As offended as Harry was…he had to admit Draco had a point. Harry had technically never lost to Voldemort. Sure, the man had outclassed him in magic at every term, but on each engagement, Harry had escaped or achieved his objective. The Stone had been destroyed. Ginny had been saved and the Basilisk had been skilled. Yeah, Wormtail had gone free, but Sirius had escaped with Buckbeak. And even with Cedric's death…that was still a win. He was alive. People knew that Voldemort was alive, and that ones that were ready for him were prepping right now.
It was sobering, to realize that he had done more against Voldemort than most adult wizards.
Saddening, too.
Hermione stood up, once again gaining everyone's attention. In fact, Harry noticed that even the other residents of the bar were now watching them from the corner of their eyes, all previous conversations halted as they eavesdropped.
"We're getting off track," the bushy-haired girl said gently. "The main reason we're here isn't to debate whether or not V-Voldemort is back. We're here to learn defense because whether or not it's true, we still need to learn how to protect ourselves and our families. The Dark Arts have never stopped growing; Dementors have grown in numbers and strength. More and more wild magical creatures are appearing. And Dark Wizards and Witches have always been there, and will always be there. Just because they don't have a Lord in front of their name doesn't mean they're any less dangerous.
"Umbridge tells us that we should call the Ministry and its Aurors for help. But I can tell you this; sometimes, you don't have a choice. When evil is standing right in front of you, ready to cut you down, the only thing capable of stopping it is you. Not an Auror, not a Hitwizard; you. Wouldn't you at least like to know how to cast a Shield Charm? Or a Patronus? Or even a simple Stunner. Those are the kinds of things we'll be going over. Nothing crazy, nothing outside of what we're already learning. We'll just be going over them with a finer brush, getting everything we can out of those spells. That's what this group is for. That's what we're all here for."
"And what if we don't want to be in a group that has Draco Malfoy as a member?"
It took Harry a moment to remember the name of the girl who had spoken up and was currently glaring daggers at Draco.
Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl.
It did not take him as long to remember that Hannah Abbot had believed that he was the heir of Slytherin, and had been one of the people to wear those ' Potter Stinks ' badges, so he didn't really like her in the first place.
Hermione hesitated. "...Draco…has recently had a change of heart. I understand that you might have your grievances against him, but right now, we're giving him the same courtesy that we're giving everyone else here-"
"He cursed me."
The silence was deafening.
"I don't even remember what curse it was, I just remember it felt like my eyes were boiling out of my skull. I couldn't see for an hour. I nearly fell off the Grand Staircase three times as I tried to get to Madame Pomfrey, and she had to keep me overnight for observation. She told me if I had come to her a few hours later, the damage could have been permanent. Do you even remember why you did it?"
Draco's face was like a stone as he answered.
"No."
"I bumped into you on the Staircase. That was it. I didn't even get the chance to apologize; you just whipped out your wand and cursed me. Do you remember what you said to me? I do, even though it's been two years since then;
" Half-breeds should know their place. That's what you told me. That was my great and terrible crime against you; being me. I was in third year; I was a kid. And you used a curse that could have ruined my eyes permanently, for the sin of not being pure enough," Hannah hissed. "I don't care if you've changed your spots or turned over a new leaf. It'll be a cold day in hell before I join any group you're in."
The tension in the room was so thick, you could have cut it with a knife. Harry could see that Hermione was struggling to find something to say, but she was reaching a blank, and honestly, so was he.
How do you even respond to something like that? Harry had always known that Malfoy was no good, but hearing this…it made him almost want to reconsider listening to the boy.
And of course, that was when another spoke.
"He broke my camera."
Collin Creevey.
"Not as bad as getting hexed and being left on the Grand Staircase, mind you. But my parents bought that for me. It was expensive. It was the camera that I learned to make magic photos with. And he broke it. For fun."
"He had his goons, the big ones, punch me in the stomach back in first year after he cast the Body Bind Curse on me," added Dean Thomas. There was a cold look in his eye as he regarded Malfoy. "Said he wanted to see if the spell turned me into a statue-like being, or if my muscles were just frozen. He wanted to see if I could feel pain."
More and more people spoke up; not all of them, but a lot. Not all of them were physical abuse. A lot of it was just verbal. Slurs and the like. The usual name-calling. Insults about friends and family, and swift punishment if they dared to say something back. Draco was talented with a wand, perhaps even more so than Harry, but he used those talents for his own enjoyment.
And Draco could be very cruel when he was having fun.
In the end, there was consensus.
Nobody really wanted Draco Malfoy in the group.
Hermione tried, of course.
"Everyone, I do understand your grievances with Draco, and I empathize with them greatly. Trust me, I've been on the other end of Draco's wand and his big mouth more times than I can count over the years. But we should try and give everyone a second chance-"
"No."
Draco looked very tired, with a strange mix of emotions on his face that Harry couldn't decipher. Was that anger? Frustration?
Guilt?
"It's quite obvious that me being here is a major sign of contention. If I joined the group regardless of what the others said, it would brew resentment and anger. Righteous anger, at that. No point in alienating the few allies you have left just so I can join your little club."
Draco suddenly cracked a small, bitter smile.
"After all, it's not as if I need protection from the Dark Arts."
Draco walked towards the entrance.
Throughout all of this, Harry hadn't spoken. Mostly because he didn't know what to say. He knew that Draco was trying to be better; he had seen it. But that didn't change his history. Malfoy had spent four years talking about how Mudbloods would get their own, cursing people left and right, gleefully extolling the privileges he abused as a pureblood, cementing himself in everyone's minds as 'Dark.' No one knew about the summer spent with Voldemort. None of them knew that he had been scarred trying to help his mother.
Aside from Harry and the others who had been in the train compartment that day, no one knew that Draco Malfoy had a very good reason for wanting Voldemort dead and gone.
As far as they could tell, Draco Malfoy hadn't stopped being evil. He had just been a little quieter this year, a little easier to ignore. So unless Draco did something crazy, like denouncing Voldemort in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast, well…they really couldn't force anyone to accept him.
So all Harry could do was watch Draco walk out that door, a look of such palpable loneliness on his face that you would think he was the last man on Earth.
And maybe, from his perspective, he was.
****************************************************************
The rest of the meeting had gone well. Hermione had made everyone sign their name on a piece of parchment, and they had agreed to meet once a week, making sure that the meeting did not coincide with Quidditch Practices. All they needed to do now was find a place to practice in. It should have been Harry's first priority.
But he couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy.
And he could tell by the conflicted looks on their faces, that Ron and Hermione did too.
It was after midnight when the rest of the House had gone to bed, and it was left with just the three of them in the Common Room, that they addressed it.
"So…the meeting could have gone better," Hermione said suddenly, putting down her knitting needles. She had recently started making hats and scarves for the House-elves, planning to hide them underneath trash so that they could pick them up and be 'set free.'
Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that House elves were perfectly capable of cleaning the entire tower just by snapping their fingers and that since they weren't the Elves' masters, the clothes thing really meant nothing.
"I wished you had run that by me before you invited him, Harry. I could have planned something if I'd known he would have been there."
"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. We were in Care of Magical Creatures again, he and I were chatting a bit, I suddenly brought it up, and he said he'd be there," Harry said. "I didn't know that many people hated him. Or that they had such good reasons to hate him."
"It's not like it's a surprise, though," Ron said. "We always knew he liked to spew filth, and that he wasn't one to shy away from cursing someone in the back. Mind you, I didn't really think there'd be other people besides us, but apparently, that was thinking too highly of him."
"...do you guys think this is a good idea?" Harry said quietly. "Helping Malfoy? After all he's done?"
"...Harry, I know that that I said that I wanted Malfoy on our side because I want an in with the Death Eaters plans," Hermione said slowly. "But that isn't the only reason."
"What's the other?"
"Harry, tell me this honestly. If you were on a battlefield, where you had to kill someone, and you saw Draco Malfoy on the other side, knowing that he had asked for your help, wanting to change…could you strike him down? Could either of you?"
Harry wanted to say yes, yes he would strike down Malfoy if he actually joined the Death Eaters-
But the words wouldn't leave his mouth.
Draco had been a part of his life since he was eleven. He had grown up with him. They had gone to the same classes, played Quidditch against each other, and ate the same meals together every night.
Those kinds of things form a bond, whether you like it or not.
As much as Harry disliked Malfoy…he did not want him dead.
And Ron hadn't answered either.
"I do not like Malfoy at all," Hermione continued. "He was the representation of everything wrong in this wonderful world of magic. He made fun of my teeth and my hair, my enthusiasm for learning and magic, my blood, and my heritage. He used his wand on me. He's talked about me dying a lot more than I would like. He's insulted Ron's family. He's made fun of the sacrifices your parents made to protect you.
"But he's a kid. He's fifteen. He grew up thinking that people like me were dirt, and it only took him one summer to realize that everything he knew was a lie. And he didn't try and pretend everything was just fine and peachy. He didn't continue to act like the arse he was for four years straight. As soon as we got on the train, he came to us and told us why he was changing sides. He even apologized. Can you really compare the Malfoy of today to the Malfoy of six months ago?"
"It was a shitty apology," Ron muttered. "And I didn't see him apologizing to those blokes today."
"Would it have mattered to them?" Hermione countered. "Or would it have sounded hollow and meaningless everything that they said?"
"Why do you want Malfoy to have changed so bad?" Ron demanded, a bit of heat entering his voice now. "For all we know, he's the same prick he's always been. Why are you so determined to make a pass for him? You fancy him now or something?"
A dark look passed over Hermione's face.
"Ron," she said, her tone icy. "We've been friends since first year, yes?"
Ron seemed to shrink in the face of her anger, realizing that maybe he had gone too far.
"Er, yes?"
"What's science?"
Ron blinked in confusion. "What?"
"What. Is. Science?"
"Er, I don't know."
"What's technology?"
"That's not a real word."
It sometimes amazed Harry that Ron didn't know certain things, and he had to remind himself that his friend had grown up in a very different environment than he did. Still, he could have made more of an effort…
"What's electricity?"
"Oh, I know that one!" Ron said excitedly. "It's what Muggles use!"
"For what?"
Ron froze at that. "Er…well…it's for…you know…Muggle things."
Hermione looked at him, unimpressed. "Muggle things?"
"Yeah, Muggle things, like…fellytones and cars and…things."
Hermione turned to Harry. "Four years of friendship, and he's barely taken the time to learn a thing about the world we were born in. His dad is the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and his two best friends are Muggle-born. And yet, this is all he knows about the world we came from."
Harry was slowly beginning to understand the point Hermione was making.
"Hey, me not knowing stuff doesn't mean I'm not your friend!" Ron protested. "Don't be like that Hermione!"
"That's not what I'm-"
Hermione took a deep breath as she calmed herself.
"Ron, your family is Light Side, yes? You all believe that Muggles are your equals, that we don't need to be subjugated, and that we deserve to be treated fairly, right? You're above all that Pureblood crap, right?"
"Yeah, of course!"
"Then why does Draco Malfoy, the boy you claim wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire, knows more about my world than my friend of four years?"
Ron looked stunned. "What?"
"That's what he said before he left our compartment on the first day back. That he had gone to my world. That he had found it beautiful. My history, my science, my technology. He knew what those words meant Ron. He didn't just go out there for a lark to see what was different. He studied Muggle culture. He went out there, and he lived it. He knows what a phone is, what a car is, what a plane is. The kid who looked down on me for years went to learn about where I come from. He called it a magic of its own. That's why I believe him. That's why I want to give him a second chance. Because rather than remain ignorant about those he was told to hate, he decided to learn from them.
"So why is it that you, the one that's so much better than him, know less about the Muggle World than him? And mind you, he didn't use four years to figure it out either. It took him one summer to learn these things."
"Hermione…I…it's not…"
Ron kept trying to speak, to find the words he wanted to say, but in the end, he just turned away, ashamed.
Hermione sighed.
"Look, I'm not happy about this either. Half the time I look at him, I want to punch his face in again like I did in third year. He's hurt me, Ron. If I had died in second year, he wouldn't have batted an eye. I can't forget something like that. Even if he suddenly became some kind of faultless saint, I don't think I could ever forget that. But I can acknowledge that he's changed. I can forgive him for what he's done."
Her face turned fragile at the end.
"I don't want him to die, knowing I could have changed it."
"...I understand him," Harry said quietly. "Being alone. Nobody believing in you. Thinking it was you against the world. I just don't…I don't know if I trust him. I can't just…put my life in his hands like that. Because that's basically what this is; this group is teaching people to survive against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. This is too important to risk on a variable like Malfoy. With the Ministry on our necks, Voldemort planning in the background, more and more Dark creatures gathering under his banner…those kids in that tavern might become the only people strong enough to fight against him."
Harry had seen the average wizard cast and fight, and he had never truly been impressed by them. Mad Eye Moody, supposedly one of the best magic users in Britain, had been captured and held for over a year, even with all of his experience and an eye that could see through solid objects. Moody was no Albus Dumbledore, that was true, but he had been taken out by a man who had fallen in one strike from Voldemort and Snape. A man who had dedicated his life to fighting the Dark Arts, and he had been beaten by a man who'd only been an active Death Eater for a handful of years.
Yeah, one could say that Barty Crouch Junior was an exceptional wizard in his own right, but that just made Harry's point more valid. The more he learned about the Dark Side, it seemed they generally had people who were tougher, more skilled, and more vicious than those on the Light Side. If he looked at his classmates as what he considered the average witch or wizard with no extra training was capable of…
Well, it was a wonder that Voldemort hadn't taken over the first time if he thought about it.
"I won't give up on him," Harry said resolutely. "If there's a chance he's legit…I'll risk it. But I'll do it personally. It isn't fair to others, especially not to people he used to abuse, to ask them to risk their lives for him. I'll take a chance on him, but I'll make it so that the only blowback will be on me."
"Count me in," Hermione said.
"...I…I just," Ron stuttered. Harry could understand his turmoil; sometimes it seemed that Ron and Draco hated each other more than he and Harry.
But then a look of determination entered his eyes, and Ron straightened up.
"I don't trust him, but I trust you two," the redhead said seriously. "You two want to take a chance? Then I'm in. I think it's a bad idea, yeah, but…I'm not leaving you two alone to deal with something this big.
"Not ever again."
*********************************************************
Harry didn't bother with small talk at the next Care of Magical Creatures class. He just grabbed his bowtruckle (apparently, this was their last lesson with them), grabbed Malfoy, and pulled him to a space away from the rest of the class. He could tell that the others were whispering as they watched, but right then, he didn't care.
"You know, you could have bothered to say hello, before dragging me off like a petulant child," Draco said, cradling his own bowtruckle. The thing made gurgling noises as Draco slowly fed it woodlice. Apparently, this nicer version of Draco liked to spoil the creatures he took care of, rather than abuse them.
"None of that right now. Give me a reason to trust you."
Anger sparked in the Slytherin's eyes. "Are you serious? After everything I said, you still-"
" Yes, I do. Because despite me knowing that you have changed, despite me seeing that you have changed, you have done your absolute best to present yourself as a complete and utter arse to the world these past few years. You cannot pretend that a significant amount of people at this school don't hate your guts. So you need to give me a reason, a reason that I can align with your past behavior, on why you want to join, because then, I can believe you without reservation."
"Me not wanting to serve a man who's been on a losing streak for damn near five years against a kid doesn't count?"
"I need more than that. Malfoy…you piss me off. So fucking much. I don't think you understand just how much I hate you, and how much of that hate I'm putting aside to hear you out. I just can not reconcile the you of today with the you of six months ago. It's impossible. So, I need you to give me a reason that I can believe that Draco Malfoy, the biggest wart I've ever met in my life, would want to switch sides despite worshipping every horrid deed that Voldemort has done for the last four years."
For a few good minutes, Malofy said nothing, not even looking at him, just feeding his bowtruckle more woodlice as they stood there in silence. Harry was wondering if he had pushed too far when Malfoy replied.
"You want an asshole reason on why I won't join him? Fine, here's one: I want power. Power like Dumbledore. I want people to trust every word that I say like it is the gospel. I want people to acknowledge me as their best chance of staying alive. I want people to rely on me so badly that just hearing my name sends a rush of relief through their body."
Draco's cold grey eyes stared at him as he continued.
"I can not get that kind of power from a madman who loses every year to my schoolmate. Albus Dumbledore managed to be the Dark Lord's equal without touching a drop of Dark magic in his life. And you were his downfall, and the Darkest ability you have is one that was passed down to you. That means there's something about your side worth pursuing. I'm in this for the win, Potter. That's all I'm here for."
Slowly, Harry nodded, a smile growing on his face as he did so.
"I can work with that."
