Chapter Text
In the summer between sixth and seventh year Lucius Malfoy finally fucked up. Of course since he was a Malfoy, when he did, he fucked up royally. Voldemort's chief lieutenant met with a nasty fall from grace when he failed to capture the spy in the midst of the Death Eaters and had actually found himself cast in the role of traitor. The sorry sod actually met with a repeated Cruciatus curse, which finally caused his heart to give out in the end, not the most unpleasant way to die, really, when one considered just what the Dark Lord was capable of.
Voldemort had actually been somewhat kind to his former lieutenant. He'd even been so good as to give Narcissa and Draco something to bury. His body was unceremoniously dumped on the steps of Malfoy Manor. Not that anyone attended the funeral of a former inmate of Azkaban, no matter how old and powerful the family he came from was. Why, Lucius Malfoy was really no better than his wife's brother, Sirius Black. A common criminal with an old, pureblood name. After all, no sooner had he been acquitted of all charges against him and released from Azkaban then did he go back to being Voldemort's right hand puppet once more. And he'd expected his only son and heir to follow in his footsteps by towing the 'party line' so to speak.
However, if Voldie figured that Draconis Severus Leonis Malfoy was going to play the good son and follow blindly along the moldering pile of decaying flesh had another thing coming. Unlike his father, Draco had brains to go along with the looks. Oh, if Lucius hadn't been such a prat and had lived, Draco would have joined 'the family business' simply because he wasn't about to lose his inheritance. After all, money might not buy happiness, but it made one feel like they could.
But that was neither here nor there, as Lucius was now dead, and Draco took after his Black mother in the brains department. He wasn't stupid enough to back a loser, and the very fact that Harry fucking Potter survived time and again was a fairly strong clue that Voldemort was going down sooner or later. Of course Draco realized that insulting the boy who lived wasn't exactly the best way to ingratiate himself to the side of the light, so he did the next best thing. He threw himself on Dumbledore's mercy.
And ended up a spy in his own house, much the same way, he found out, that Snape was in the house of Voldemort. Now all Draco had to do was survive the year in Slytherin, and he could tell his former housemates to go stuff themselves up Nagini's arse and come out of the closet, so to speak, for the side of the light, well okay, not the side of the light but the winning side. Draco Malfoy was many things but a goody-goody wasn't one of them. He just wanted to be on the victorious side not the one that was bound to get pounded into the muck once Potter finally managed to get it together enough to control his wizardry.
And speaking of, why, oh why, did Dumbledore's perverse sense of humor have to rear its ugly head by making Harry bloody pain in the arse Potter Draco's guardian of secrets, his summoneo? The doddering old fool was trying to mend house rivalries, he just knew it, and what better place to start than the second generation of arch rivals - Draco and Potter. Why, their rivalry was almost as legendary as Snape and Black, and almost as lethal!
And Draco couldn't forget that Harry was Dumbledork's golden boy, the savior of the wizarding world, etcetera. Maybe the old fool was bucking to have Harry save his 'soul' or some such rot. Draco didn't believe in souls. He didn't even believe in religion per se. Oh, he swore to ancient deities, to the forefathers of wizardy; he even sometimes took 'God' in vain, but he didn't really believe in all that muggle mumbo jumbo.
The closest thing he could call religion was a belief in reincarnation. Now that he did believe in. When you died, you became a ghost, or you came back as someone else. Of course, like any good Slytherin Draco also believed in keeping his options open, thus the invoking of names, deities and even God. Never hurt to hedge your bet.
But that was neither here nor there. The fact was that Dumbledore figured he couldn't act for Draco the way that he acted for Snape, and who better to stand in his place to hear the intelligence Draco gathered but Potter, star player in this whole little melodrama. It was almost enough to make Draco think twice about this damned foolish idea of his.
"Why me?" Harry asked, aghast, as he stared up at Dumbledore. "I understand why it can't be anyone from Slytherin, but me?" He cast a disgusted look over at Draco, who was standing in the corner.
"Who better than you, my dear boy?" Dumbledore twinkled. "After all, no one would suspect a Gryffindor, let alone Harry Potter of keeping Draco Malfoy's secrets. Your... rivalry... is the stuff of legend."
"He's an idiotic git who can't keep his mouth shut or his nose out of trouble. You might as well let Voldemort fry me now; I'm as good as dead anyway," Draco informed the headmaster and Snape icily, not at all pleased but unable to do a damned thing about it. After all, Dumbledore was calling all the shots, and he knew that Draco knew it. Which meant Draco had to suck it up and live with it. But he didn't have to be nice about it, oh no, not at all. "I'll wager he's going to go running back to the Weasel and that mu..." The sharp look from Dumbledore and the snarl from Potty had Draco hastily reconsidering his words, but one could barely tell his speech was interrupted, "-ugglebornand tell them everything once he's been dismissed."
"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape muttered, "for not keeping a civil tongue in your head in front of the Headmaster," Snape stressed and then continued more quietly, "and for acting as stupidly as a Gryffindor, rushing into things without thinking them through."."
Harry bristled both at Malfoy's comment and Snape's snide remark. "You'd like that, wouldn't you," he snarled, glaring at the blond Slytherin. "You'd love it if I said something to Hermione or Ron and you got killed because it would give you the last laugh!"
"Awh, is itty bitty scarhead all upset because he'd suffer from a momentary pang of conscience if the ickle nasty Slytherin scum died due to his thoughtlessness?" Draco snarled. "Don't let it stop you now; it certainly hasn't in the past.
"Headmaster, with all due respect, I'd rather take my chances alone. I'm well aware that I've garnered ill favor because of the behavior I was forced to display for the sake of my late and not so dearly departed father and for others who were and still are keeping tabs on me.
"I've no illusions as to what Potter and the others think of me, but then what do you expect from the holier than thou contingent with their moral certitude that they are the only possible people who have had to give great sacrifices for the cause of good? Their sanctimonious superiority makes my stomach heave, and to be quite frank I'd rather trust my life to a bunch of backstabbing traitors I know than a goody-two-shoes who thinks he's the only one who's suffered and that I'm the scum of the earth." Draco was rather proud of the way he said the last as if it were merely a statement of fact not something that caused him no end of despair.
' '"With all due respect for your decision, Headmaster," Snape piped in, "I think perhaps young Malfoy is right. Better the snakes you know not to trust than someone who's proven himself to not care if you live or die, and has, in fact, stated so on numerous occasions," the potions master continued mildly.
Seething with the sanctimonious drivel Malfoy and Snape were spouting-the both of them, acting as if they were the wounded parties here when all they had ever done was to try to make his life miserable-Harry bit his tongue to keep from letting them have it.
Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, he exhaled, looking at the headmaster and trying to keep his tone calm. "I only asked why you chose me, sir. I never said I wouldn't do it."
"I chose you, Harry, because despite the differences you and Mr. Malfoy have, you are more alike than not. Now don't roll your eyes, and you, young Draco, need not make that noise. The fact is you have both lived through great difficulties and come out of them the stronger for it. And you are both leaders of men, young men whose beliefs give them the strength to make difficult choices that may impact the lives of many.
"Think on it long and hard, Harry. If Draco were everything he has made you believe him to be these past six years, why would he choose to spy on his own house and help in the war effort against Voldemort, betraying everything the Malfoy name has embodied for so long? If he were truly such a person, why would he chose the side of the light over the side of the dark where power is so much more easily attainable?
"And while you think on that, Harry, think on another thing. Money doesn't buy you everything, but it can sometimes be used to cover up some very evil things.
"You must also consider, Draco, that sometimes wounds are not physical; sometimes the greatest hurts can be inflicted without ever laying a hand on a person.
"I have much responsibility to take for the way both you young men were raised. I did what I did for the greater good, and though it was not a fair thing to do, it was the only choice I had. Neither of you is quite what the other perceives you to be. I think that you might be surprised by what you find out about each other," Dumbledore admitted softly.
"Now, Harry, Draco, you have classes to return to. Professor Snape will provide you both an alibi. Draco, you shall be tutoring Harry in potions three times a week and once on the weekend in Professor Snape's private lab. In this way we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. You, Harry, shall have the help in potions that you need, and Draco will have a contact outside of Slytherin to monitor his wellbeing. Professor Snape will arrange for the lab and inform you of the dates and times. Now off you go."
Oh joy, Harry sighed to himself, ignoring Snape's sneer as he mumbled, "Yes, sir," to the headmaster and walked out of the office, Draco following behind. Once the door was closed, he turned and looked back over his shoulder, wondering just what was in it for the blond to make him do such an out of character thing.
Draco sniffed the air delicately and then wrinkled his nose perfectly, a small moue of displeasure crossing his features. "My goodness, what is that awful stench? Why... I do believe it's a Gryffindor actually attempting to think!" he continued snidely. "Don't try to tax your pitiful excuse for a brain, Scarhead; you've still got to make it through potions later on," Draco finished with a condescending smirk and swirled past the star Gryffindor with a flourish of school robes that would do Professor Snape proud.
Secretly Draco was simply relieved to be out of there. Confession was tiring on the soul, even if it was purported to be good for it. And then to have Dumbledore intimate that which Draco fought so desperately to hide... it had nearly unhinged him. That particularly dirty little secret would remain his and his alone, thank you very much, Albus Dumbledore!
Raking a hand through his black hair so that it stood up more than ever, Harry reminded himself of what Dumbledore had said and refrained from grabbing Malfoy by the neck and throttling him. All right, if he couldn't do that, he'd just get his another way-he'd ignore the bastard even if it killed him too.
Draco gingerly accepted the potion vial that Snape handed him and glanced in the fireplace mirror. He looked like hell. Actually he looked worse than hell. How far the Slytherin prince had fallen, he thought ironically.
"I take it you've learned the errors of your ways, Draconis?" Snape chuckled dryly. "Drinking by one's self only leads to sorry drunken states and hangovers the next morning."
"But he made Potter my Summoneo ," Draco whined. "Why not just hand me over to Voldie right now and put me out of my misery once and for all!"
"Come now, Draco, ,Professor Dumbledore has face in the little prat so we must as well," Severus sneered but then relented a bit. "So Potter is your Summoneo, it's not the end of the world. After all, the headmaster could have chosen someone like Weasley or Granger. Potter, at least, is bearable."
"Yes, yes, I know. Prince Perfect can do no wrong,etcetera, etcetera. He's a sanctimonious prat and too damned beautiful for my own peace of mind!"
"That I did not need to know about, thank you all the same. Now drink your potion. You have a tutoring lesson with the heartthrob of the wizarding world," Severus replied with a look of distaste.
"But, Harry, having Malfoy tutor you? Bet you a galleon he teaches you everything wrong so you fail," Ron muttered as the pair of them walked the hallways toward Snape's classroom. "Why couldn't Hermione do it?"
"Dunno rightly," Harry answered, giving a small shrug. "I suppose Snape did it to torture me or something, and don't worry; I'll double check everything he goes over with me."
They reached the door to the class, and Harry sighed. "See you at dinner?" he asked.
"Of course," Ron smiled. "And don't worry; between the lot of us, we'll undo any damage Malfoy does."
"Thanks." Giving a quick grin, Harry schooled his features and opened the door. "Here as ordered, sir," he commented, seeing Snape and Malfoy in deep congress in the far corner of the room - probably trading spy secrets or some such rot.
"Very well, Mr. Potter," Snape replied and then spoke a little lower for Draco alone. "I shall be in my study should you need anything, Draconis. Perhaps you should start by explaining to our resident celebrity just what being a summoneo entails and then go from there?"
"Yes, Uncle Severus," Draco murmured dutifully. All he really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep for a week. Hangover potions tasted like shite and left the stomach feeling even more unsettled than the alcohol that caused the upset in the first place.
"Well, are you going to stand in the doorway looking like an arse, or are you going to come inside and shut the door?" Draco finally growled loudly enough for Potter to hear.
"I think you've got the corner on the looking like an arse part," Harry answered, pushing the door shut behind him. "Planning on tutoring me in that as well?"
"Moldering entrails, you are such a prat, Potter! And Dumbledore really expects me to trust you enough to to spill my guts to you on a weekly basis? He's "completely off his rocker!" Malfoy sighed. "You know, you had the option to say no, and it would have saved us both from this... fiasco waiting to happen.
"No offense, Potter, but while you might inspire trust from those simpering fans of yours and your lackeys, there isn't a Slytherin alive who'd believe you would actually willingly be responsible for their wellbeing and quite possibly their life. Your track record is rather... bad... when it comes to saving Slytherins. Any other house but and that's fine and dandy, but hey, what's another dead snake, right?"
Harry's eyes narrowed and he clenched his hands into fists to keep from going for his wand to hit Draco with a silencing curse. "The only Slytherins I'd like to see gone are the ones who are supporting Voldemort and killing off innocent Muggles and wizards," he ground out.
"And yet I've never actually done either, and still you'd like to see me dead, wouldn't you? Guilt by association. My father served Voldemort, so I must too, and since my father was a Muggle murderer, I must be as well. Never mind the fact that perhaps the reason I acted the way I did was simply to survive the bastard in question," Draco spat out.
"Oh but wait, I'm a Malfoy, therefore my life had to be perfect while yours was a story that would make little Orphan Angie cry," Draco continued, trying to use a muggle euphemism he'd heard once, along time ago, but not sure if he got it right.
"Oh, so this is where I hear how horrible it was being the prince of Malfoy Manor and the pride and joy of Slytherin House?" Harry spat. "Spare me the soap opera, Malfoy, and while you're at it, fuck off. Never once have I seen you do something out of common decency, so hearing that all the shite you've pulled was just an act runs pretty thin."
"Well, at least you never had a fucking father who flew into rages when you spilled your bloody milk and beat you bloody because of it," Draco snarled and then clamped his hands over his mouth. "Fuck. Just... forget it, Potter, I'll take my chances alone. It's how it's always been. It's been a slice of hell, let's not do it again anytime soon."
Harry bit back the retort that he had never had a father at all and that the Dursleys had made his life their own unique form of a living hell. "The fuck you will," he snapped.
Draco stopped, his hand on the door to Snape's study. Shoulders sagging, he rested his head against the wood and suddenly felt very old and very tired. "Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to be such a consummate actor that not even you remember who you really are anymore?" he whispered almost to himself.
Straightening his spine slowly, Draco sucked in a few deep breaths and when he turned around again, he was once more Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, in bold, big letters, instead of the real Draco none of the entire staff and student body had ever seen, save Snape. "Don't even bother with the charade, Potter. It's not as if you actually care one way or another about what happens to me and besides, I'm still the same prat you tried to hex with boils, the git who tried to terrify you by dressing up as a dementor, your arch rival at quidditch. Remember?"
Visibly grinding his back teeth together in frustration, Harry crossed his arms over his chest and looked Draco square in the eyes. "Because, no matter how many times I may have wished otherwise, you don't deserve to die. Even if you're doing this because you see which way the wind's blowing rather than out of any true sense of right and wrong, you don't deserve for that to happen, especially alone."
"I see which way the wind's blowing?" Draco laughed. "Oh, that's rich! You are such an idiot, Potter. Why the hell do you think I wanted to be your friend back in first year before I realized what a bigoted prat you really are? I already knew which way I wanted the wind to blow... anywhere that got me as far away from my fucked up family as possible.
"The only good thing Lucius Malfoy ever did in his sorry, pathetic life was give me a godfather who was a potions master. That way I could just drink a potion and hide the bruises. Well, that and being such a total arse that in the end even Voldie was so tired of him that he killed the bastard off. Never thought I'd be grateful to Voldemort for anything, but I am for that.
"Now if you've quite finished, I'll go and tell Professor Snape that this was a waste of time, that you're hopeless in potions, and that I'm transferring to Durmstrang to get as far away as possible from the lot of you raving lunatics!"
"I've got a better idea," Harry snarled. "Why don't you give up this stupid idea that you can be a spy and sod off to live your happy little life. Between you and Snape, it's been drummed into me how apparently I'm a useless arse who only makes things worse when I try to help, so there's no point in me trying anymore, is there? Maybe I should just go let fucking Voldemort cast Avada Kadavra on me and be done with it!" He was shouting by the end, and honestly he didn't care, being thoroughly sick of Draco Malfoy's pity party.
"Anyone ever tell you you're a drama queen, Potter?" Draco asked mildly, thoroughly taken aback by the other teen's sudden outburst. And impressed, if he were to admit it to himself.
"And did you ever stop to consider that without Professor Snape ragging on you, you'd probably end up with an impossibly swelled head? Savior of the Wizarding World, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Albus Dumbledore's star pupil, front page photo of the Daily Prophet and let's not forget Pin-up boy for Teen Witch Weekly's hunks of the wizarding world issue for the past three years. Don't you ever get tired of being Saint Harry?" he asked, honestly curious. Of course his motivations for ragging on Harry had been entirely different, but that was not a topic that Draco cared to discuss at the moment.
"Every single day of my life." That he'd admitted it came as a surprise to Harry, that he'd said it to Draco Super Ego Malfoy shocked him. "Do you think I asked for any of this? Do you think I want any of it? Being chased around like some - some boy band idol or treated like the second coming of Merlin or something because I happened to live? I'd trade it all to - to..." He shook his head and looked away, his green eyes dark with memories.
"And do you think I wouldn't trade all the Malfoy wealth and fortune to have a father who showed he loved me with a hug and not the back of his fist?" Draco replied quietly. "You don't want to be the Boy who Lived, I never wanted to be the son of a Death Eater, and yet here we are, both stuck in the roles fate gave us. So tell me, Potter, are we really so different after all?" Draco asked quietly before leaving the room. Perhaps they both needed time to cool off and re-evaluate. Perhaps, and Draco was completely loathe to admit this, even in the quiet of his own mind, perhaps Dumbledore was right, and they had more in common than not.