Chapter Text
“A happy family is but an earlier heaven.” – George Bernard Shaw
Draco
Draco had just emerged from the Great Hall after the dinner hour and was taking one of the lesser-travelled passages to the dungeon when he heard the voice. “Psst. Malfoy.” He slowed his steps a little, wondering if his ears were deceiving him. “Malfoy, please. In here.”
Draco sighed. Potter. Of course. He’d already resolved to keep his head down and avoid antagonizing the speccy nuisance, but he hadn’t even made it through a full day before being dragged into a confrontation. He drew his wand carefully, and took a step towards the tapestry. “What do you want, Potter?” He kept his voice low. If a Professor or another Slytherin heard him, the situation would quickly escalate.
“Can…can you come behind here for a second? I swear, I just wanted to talk to you.”
“What are you playing at?” Draco didn’t fancy being hexed and left behind a tapestry.
“Malfoy…please?” Potter’s voice sounded a bit desperate, and, curiosity piqued, Draco took a quick look around to ensure that nobody was watching. When he confirmed that he was alone, he held his wand aloft, and slipped behind the heavy fabric.
“What do you want?”
“I…er…I was hoping that we could have a truce.” Draco hadn’t noticed Potter at the feast, but even in the dim wandlight, he could see that Potter didn’t look well. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’d lost a lot of weight from his already skinny frame. It was his eyes, however, that caused Draco to hesitate. Behind the thick glasses, Potter’s eyes had lost a lot of the fire that they normally had. He looked tired, beaten. When Draco didn’t respond, Potter continued. “I…had a lot of time to think this summer, Malfoy, and I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“Potter, you have no idea what you’re asking.” Draco found himself at a loss. The summer had been illuminating in a number of ways. His father had been arrested before Draco had returned from school last term, and only a series of strategic bribes and threats had managed to keep him from Azkaban. His parents had spent the entire time Draco was home exchanging tense whispered arguments, and nearly every night, Draco had been banished to his suite of rooms, with the stern command to ‘Stay put, Draco.’
It had only taken a bit of pleading to convince his house elf, Pokey, to sneak him down to see what was going on. Draco still wondered whether he was glad that he’d witnessed what he had, or whether he would have preferred to stay ignorant of the mess his Father was in. The Dark Lord was, in a word, terrifying. He seemed completely unhinged, and liberally doled out torture to his loyal followers. After watching, white-faced, as his Father writhed and screamed under the Cruciatus curse, Draco knew he wanted no part of being a Death Eater.
He hadn’t yet figured out how to avoid that, however. His Father had been hinting that Draco would be initiated during the Winter Break, and his Mother had been suspiciously silent on the matter. Draco knew that help wouldn’t come from either party, but neither was he convinced that Albus Dumbledore was trustworthy.
On the surface, Harry Potter extending the branch of…if not friendship, at least a lack of animosity, was a double-edged sword. Draco wanted no part of the War, and there was no denying that Potter was in it up to his neck. Potter’s friends seemed to be just as frequently involved with Potter’s do-gooder sense of morals. Still, if his parents weren’t going to help him, it wouldn’t hurt to have the paragon of the Light in his corner.
Draco opted to adopt the age-old Slytherin tradition of ‘hedging one’s bets’, and so he said, “Fine, Potter, but you understand that my housemates are going to make it difficult for me to be friendly to you.”
“Yeah,” Potter sighed. “I know that you have appearances to keep up just like I-” he broke off abruptly, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, Malfoy, I get it. You can’t seem to be my friend. But maybe we could meet up in secret sometimes?”
Draco gaped. “Why? We can’t spend ten minutes in the same room without trying to hex one another.”
Potter sighed again, and bit his lower lip. It was a bit endearing, and Draco looked away. There was too much at stake to allow his guard down. “Listen, Malfoy…Draco. I need help with something. And I reckon you’re the only person who could do it.”
“What do you need help with?” Draco was glad that he hadn’t been too quick to accept the truce. Of course Potter wanted something. Everyone wanted something.
“I need to make Professor Snape stop hating me.” Of all of the things that Potter could have asked, Draco would never have guessed this one. His jaw dropped in shock and he stared. Potter seemed to shrink under his gaze, looking awkwardly at his beaten-up Muggle shoes.
“Leave it to you to pick something impossible to ask of me,” Draco commented dryly, once he’d regained his composure.
“I know,” Harry agreed miserably. “It’s important, though.”
“Why?” Draco asked, his suspicion rising again. “Are you trying to trick Professor Snape into something?” Draco wasn’t sure about his Godfather’s loyalties. He appeared to be a close friend of his Father’s, which meant that he carried the Dark Mark, but some of the conversations that they’d had made Draco wonder about Snape’s true loyalties.
“No!” Harry said, his eyes big and guileless. “Nothing like that, I swear.”
“Then what?”
“I…It’s personal, Draco.”
Draco hadn’t given Potter leave to use his first name, but for some reason, he didn’t bother correcting him. “Would you swear a Wizard’s Oath, on your magic, that you’re not going to hurt him?”
“Yes.” Potter pulled out his wand and opened his mouth.
Draco swatted his wand hand away. “Don’t, Potter. I was just asking if you were willing, not expecting you to do it. Merlin, do you have an ounce of self-preservation in that skinny body of yours?”
Potter flushed. “Will you help me?”
“What will I get in return?”
Potter’s face went blank, his forehead scrunched up as he considered this. “I dunno, Malfoy. What do you want?”
Draco couldn’t quite keep his expression neutral. Foolish Gryffindors! No sense of subtlety! Draco got the sense that he could ask for essentially anything and Potter would agree readily. Problem was, Draco found himself spoiled for choice, and unable to commit to anything. He’d be insane to waste an opportunity like this on something that wasn’t carefully thought out. Finally, he smiled at Potter. “I suppose you’ll just have to owe me a boon, won’t you.”
“Yeah, alright.” Potter looked relieved, and Draco nearly felt bad. It seemed unethical to get into a battle of wits with an unarmed man, but it also went against his upbringing to ignore the chance. Whether he understood it or not, Potter was powerful, both politically and magically. And now he owed Draco a favour, with no limitations. Draco extended a hand, and Potter regarded it quizzically. Finally, he seemed to understand, and he grasped Draco’s hand to shake.
“I need to think about your problem, Potter.”
“Harry.”
Draco paused. Since Potter didn’t really seem to follow any of the normal traditions, it was pointless to avoid using his first name. And it wasn’t like anyone was going to see them together anyway. “Fine. Harry. I have no idea how to make Professor Snape like you.”
“I don’t think he’ll ever like me, but I want to stop him from actively despising me.”
“Well, it’s going to take me a few days to determine the best approach.”
“I understand,” Potter…Harry, said. “Draco, thank you.”
Draco smiled, a smile that had been known to strike fear into the hearts of his fellow Slytherins. “Don’t thank me until you know what I’ll ask in return.”
To his surprise, Harry smiled back, and for a brief moment, the light in his eyes returned.
“I’ll owl you about a time to meet.”
“Kay. Night, Draco.”
“Good night Potter.”
“Harry.”
“Good night, Harry.”
Draco made his way to the dungeons, sticking to the less-travelled route. He was breaking one of the fundamental rules of Slytherin house by travelling alone. If Professor Snape caught him, he’d be in for it. To his relief, he managed to reach the Common room safely, and made his way to the sixth year boy's dorm. Pansy lounged on Blaise’s bed, snuggled into his side, while Daphne sat against Draco’s headboard, flipping through a magazine. “Did you get lost on the way to the dungeons, Draco?” Blaise’s lips curled into a teasing grin. “Little unattended Slytherins have a habit of going missing that way.”
“I got delayed by a personal matter,” Draco answered, opening his trunk and sending his clothes to the wardrobe with a wave of his wand.
“Oh?” Pansy’s eyes gleamed with the eagerness of a true gossip. “Do tell, Drake.”
“Don’t call me Drake,” he answered reflexively. “It’s plebeian.”
“Sorry, darling,” Pansy returned. “I do so hate being plebeian.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. She didn’t smile very often, and never in public, but Draco loved it when she did.
“So,” Daphne said mildly, glancing up from her magazine. “Are you going to tell us what waylaid you?”
“No,” Draco answered, with a quick glance at Vincent and Gregory. They weren’t very smart, but they were obedient. Anything they said would be reported back to Misters Goyle and Crabbe Senior, who were equally stupid, but just as dutiful at passing information to Draco’s father. His friends, who knew little of the careful dance of avoidance that Draco was performing, nevertheless understood immediately, and the subject quickly moved on to the latest scandal. Antigone Pearson, who, although older, had parents in their families’ circle, had gotten into trouble. With a Muggleborn. It was the excitement of the summer. Of course she’d been disowned, but there were rumours that she hadn’t been seen since early August. It was possible that she’d disappeared into the Muggle world with her paramour, but Draco doubted it. They all knew the cost of dishonouring the family.
Draco feigned a yawn, and excused himself. Daphne grumbled at being ousted from her spot, but placed a kiss on Draco’s cheek, then Blaise’s, and the girls retired to their own quarters. As Draco pulled on his nightwear, Blaise watched him carefully. “We’ll talk?”
“Yes,” Draco answered. He hoped to put the conversation off for as long as possible, but he knew that it was a naive hope. The four of them were close. They looked out for one another, and the cost of that was that they all got too far into one another’s business. As Draco drifted off to sleep, pondering the conundrum of Potter and Snape in the back of his mind, he realized that if that was the cost of having friends like his, he wouldn’t have it any other way.