Chapter Text
Chapter 19 – The waiting game
“You realise this is ALL you, right Harry?” Blaise whispered in an awestricken voice, still completely unable to remove his eyes from their Head of House, who was by now gently spreading raspberry jam on his toast as if he wasn’t the focus of the eyes of the entire school. “This is the best birthday present I could have asked for!”
“Oh, so should we cancel the celebration and presents we had planned for Saturday?” Pansy responded without missing a bit, a mischievous grin on her face, the annoying bint.
“Absolutely not!” Blaise responded with an offended gasp, finally able to look away from the Head Table. “And I really need to get moving with this whole selling memories thing. Do you think Hermione would allow us to visit her during winter break to see that muggle implement you mentioned, Harry? The teevee, you said, right? And you mentioned another one, what was it?”
“Well, I’m sure you can have her ask her parents.” Harry sounded a bit uncertain, though, as if he did not know if it was acceptable to visit friend’s houses or something. “But TVs are really normal, even if you cannot visit Mione, you can go to any shopping area and you will see them. The other is easier, they’re called cinemas and they are in every city. They are like TV but public, and you only pay a ticket to be admitted. There is a huge screen where movies are played for a whole room to see. I think that would work really well for your idea!” While answering the other boy and providing him with data for his invention, Harry was pouring their teas and fixing them just as they liked them.
Blaise had learnt yesterday not to mock Harry on his eating habits, after the disaster with Draco before DADA class. Clearly, the boy had unresolved issues about care and food, but for the life of him Blaise could not understand this one quirk. Was there a way to ask it politely? “Say, Harry,” he started when they all had their breakfast ready and were quietly digging in, “would you mind me asking about your tea-making? Not that I mind, though! It’s nice! Just… why do you do that?”
Harry was now biting his lower lip, in what they knew was one of his habits when nervous, but did not appear to be upset or embarrassed, thank Merlin! “You are gonna think I’m silly…” he finally responded, a little bashful now. Thankfully, they could count with Tracey’s no-nonsense attitude for times like this. “No one here thinks you are silly, Harry, don’t worry. But we are a bit curious about the tea thing.”
“Right, ok. So, you know the Dursleys made me cook for them and serve them, right?” They all nodded, with a few frowns and the sombre looks that were now usual at the mention of his relatives. “For them, it was about making me feel less, belittling me. They didn’t even look at me, as if I was worthless. But when I do it voluntarily for people I care about, it’s like I am giving new meaning to the action. I’m not sure it makes a lot of sense outside my head. But basically, I feel like instead of an act of servitude, it’s made into an act of care and love. And it normally is acknowledged too, with a thank or a nod, or a smile. I’m not invisible anymore. And sometimes, like with Mione or Draco, they even fix me a plate or prepare my breakfast too and then I also feel like I matter. Because you don’t learn someone’s preferences and tastes, or waste time serving their food, if they don’t matter.”
They were all thoughtful for a brief moment, before Milly responded “I don’t think that’s silly at all. It’s actually rather cunning. It’s not about the action itself, but the meaning you are giving it and the results it gets you.” She was rewarded with one of Harry’s biggest smiles. “And for what is worth, I do like it when you pour my tea. It makes me feel a bit less homesick, because you prepare it just like my mom does. So, thanks for that!”
“We like taking care of our friends, too, Vince and I, so I get it, Harry. We just do it differently.” Blaise knew he wasn’t the only one looking at the quiet boys in a different light. He really needed to stop underestimating people.
Just then, the owls flew in with their newspapers and correspondence. Draco immediately looked up at the sound of their wings, searching rather franticly for his family’s owl, only to find it wasn’t there. “Expecting anything, Draco?”
“Not really. I wrote to my parents last night, so I thought perhaps I would have a response today.”
“They never get back to you so quickly, Draco!” Pansy saw fit to remind the blonde. But there was a degree of disappointment in his friend even if he confirmed that it was true that a response was not actually expected.
As they exited the Great Hall to the entertained chatter from all students, still amazed at the vision of their Head of House in a dress, they stopped to wait for Hermione to join them for a study session during their free period, when they ran into Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan. Of all the people we could see coming out of breakfast, why does it have to be these two? Since the re-sorting, Weasley had become a sore spot to them all and was constantly trying to pick up fights with them. Harry tended to ignore him, so the redhead had quickly learnt that the only true way to provoke him was to attack his friends.
“No letter from mommy, Malfoy?” The Gryffindor had also clearly noticed the distress from earlier and had gripped it as a perfect opportunity to mock one of them. In a second, they had formed a united front with Vince and Greg towering over Draco, and an enraged Harry staring daggers at his former best friend. Yes, going after his friends was the best way to get to him, and Weasley was exploiting that expertly.
True to their word, Vince was the one to jump to their defence, albeit in a much more subtle way than his normally flying fists. “Everybody likes to call me and Greg dumb and we might not be as bright as Draco or Hermione but, in comparison, Weasley here can’t even count yet. He hasn’t realised that there is only two of them and eight of us.”
“Are you threatening us?” Ron did not appear to realise the truth of Vince’s statement, but Finnegan was pulling on his robes and trying to get him to shut up, with absolutely no success. Unfortunately, they were beginning to get some attention from prefects and, in no time, the professors would start leaving the Hall for their classes. A quick look exchanged with Harry told Blaise that he was not the only one who had noticed the need to de-escalate the conflict. Naturally, the former lion intervened. “I just remembered I haven’t written to Mrs. Weasley in a long time, and she did want to hear how I was doing. Thanks for the reminder, Ron. Let’s go, guys. I have a letter to write.”
However, as with each time that he was giving a way out, Weasley was determined to get his foot in his mouth and yell his way into a detention. “Oh, of course the orphan threatens to tell on me with my mom. And it’s Hermione now for you all, is it? Why don’t you write to your own scaly parents about that? Do they even know that you are so friendly with a mudblood?” he spat the last word with such a venom that they all froze for a moment, only to notice too late that the excited voices and loud chatter from earlier had all but stop around them.
“40 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. And detention with Filch after class.” They heard the menacing voice of their Head. He had it coming. It was obvious that a teacher would come out any second now. The redhead turned around so abruptly that he nearly fell, to find not only Professor Snape looking down on him menacingly but his own Head of House shaking her head in clear disappointment. “I so abhor that word! And don’t concern yourself, Mr. Weasley, that I will be the one sending another letter to your mother today.” Snape finished with a deadly tone, and placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, who Blaise had failed to see before but who had evidently heard one of her former best friends just call her a mudblood. “Be off now, before I decide to double your punishment.”
“Come, Mione. Blaise wanted to know more about the cinema.”
That Weasley brat was becoming insufferable. Of course, their friendship had already been beyond repair, but to call Hermione that was unforgivable. He had learnt that lesson only too well. Likely, the boy would not have done it to her face, but it was a bad coincidence that the girl had been leaving the Hall at the same time. At least, Severus thought, he had been able to catch him in time to not only hear the slur, but stop any retaliation from his snakes. Just now, Harry was holding Hermione’s hand and leading her outside, when he turned back with a small side-smile to look right at him. The Potions Master merely gave him his trademark raised eyebrow and, sure enough, got an immediate response from his student. “Nice dress, Professor Snape. You are right, green really does suit you.” That cheeky brat! And he managed to say it almost without smiling, though his face probably hurts from the effort.
“Mr. Potter,” if the Entrance Hall had been silent following Weasley’s insults, it was positively still with dread now. Not even the whispering of portraits or the scuffing of feet could be heard, as both professors and students held their breath for the expected explosion that was expected from Harry Potter prodding Severus Snape. Minerva herself, standing still as if one of the statues of the castle, seemed to have paled slightly. Once, not so long ago, he would have been sure that the boy was trying to humiliate him or was being blatantly disrespectful. But now the professor knew exactly what Harry was doing. He was recognising his effort to seem less terrifying to his students, and helping him too. Sure, the boy was containing a laugh, but that was to be expected. He was, after all, showing that he could laugh at himself… but there was also something in those green eyes that he had not realised how much he had missed, they were proud of him. “I think you’ll find that this is not so much a dress, but a frock.”
“Oh. I’m not so good with words as you are, sir. Isn’t that another way to call a dress?” Harry doubled the bet with his most innocent face. Innocent, my arse. So you want to mock me, do you?
“Call it what you like, Mr. Potter. In any case, I thank you for appreciating my ensemble of the day. You see, when one is as tall and has such bone structure as I do, is easy to pull off even wearing a dress. Perhaps one day you’ll know what that is like.” This time he did allow a smirk to accompany his banter, after all they both knew Harry was effectively getting taller. At least it got the rest of the Entrance Hall breathing again. Harry, though, was offended.
“Hey! You can’t call me short!” He responded with a gasp, as if he never expected a professor to mock him, but soon he was beaming brightly at him as he realised the same thing that Severus had already noticed. “And I am getting taller!”
“That, you are. Now, I suggest you all run along,” he finally addressed the rest of the gathered crowd, “or those with classes on the first period will be late. I, myself, need to get going as walking on these shoes is near impossible.” Severus finished and leisurely strolled towards the dungeons, leaving behind a gaggle of equally confused and amused people and knowing for a fact that everyone was now focused on how well he was indeed walking. And of course he would, he never did anything in public without practicing beforehand, after all.
All through their free-period study, Draco had been unable to concentrate on anything at all. He knew it had been unlikely that his mother would reply so quickly, as he had sent the owl in the evening and it was possible that the elves had not even deliver it to her until morning. And still, he had hoped that she would read it and immediately respond to him, with reassurances of their continued support and love.
Oh, there was no doubt on his mind that he had made the right call in rejecting the pureblood supremacy ideals. The parallel to Harry’s relatives was too evident to avoid, only they stood at the exact opposite end of the spectrum – hating all magic just as much as supremacists hated all muggles. No, he couldn’t support those actions; that hate. He could not consent the activities of people willing to hurt others merely because they were different. And if only in May he had been willing to accept that muggleborns had a place in their world, based only on one apprentice healer, how could he deny it now that he was faced with the reality of what Hermione was? If anything, he was beginning to really admire her, Colin and Harry, being raised in such different circumstances and thrown into the magical world, expecting them to perform to the same exacting standards as those who were born into it. It was such an unfair and perverse system, condemning them if they failed and never extending a helping hand. And pureblood supremacy was not preserving their culture! It was creating gaps and trying to leave people behind, people who could be prodigious and had the potential to improve all of their lives.
Draco didn’t know in detail what the Death Eaters had done, only hearing whispers and accusations from the likes of Weasley, but not an actual and accurate description from any of the involved parties. It was all before their time, after all, thanks to Harry. But he did know muggles had been killed, Harry’s family and many others had been killed, and he knew that his aunt was in prison for torturing Neville’s parents.
Perhaps it could be argued that there was no need to bring up the issue at this time. He had spent most of the night awake wondering if he had been right in showing his cards so soon. After all, the Dark Lord was gone for the time being and his parents weren’t even here in the castle to tell him who to be friends with. Draco knew that there would come a time in the near future when He would return. Harry had told them about the spirit in the back of Quirrell, and he had seen it himself in the forest, drinking unicorn’s blood. But that was not even why he had sent that blasted letter. In his heart of hearts, Draco was aware that there were two undeniable reasons for his confession.
In the first place, learning that his father had been the invisible hand responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets and releasing the basilisk in the school had shook him. This had only been last year! He had thought that all of his father’s Death Eater activity was at least a decade ago, but it was clear that he was very much still active, and that was frightening. Should the Dark Lord return tomorrow, would his father run to serve him? To place the family’s name and fortune at his feet? Would he expect the same from Draco? And had his mother known? The blond had always thought that his mom would always care for him above everything else; but if she knew about the diary and the Chamber, then she had consented to endangering him. A basilisk was not like Sally, a tame little snake who they could reason with. It was a rogue beast that, once unconstrained, would kill everyone in its way without stopping to enquire about their blood status. It hurt quite a bit to think that his father had not consider his own child’s safety.
The other thing was that, as trivial and Gryffindorish as it sounded, Draco wanted his parents to continue to love him and cherish him, but for who he actually was. Every time he received a package from home, or a letter from his mother telling him how she missed him, he couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings would be the same if she knew his true nature. Could she still be proud of him if he was a blood traitor? Would his parents still believe him to be the perfect Malfoy heir, if he told them that he did not believe in blood purity anymore?
So, while he was aware of the risk involved in the writing of those words, he had felt that he couldn’t bid his time anymore. He couldn’t fake ignorance any longer. If his parent’s affection came with the strings of expectations placed on his shoulders, he would need to cut them at once. For better or for worse, he was convinced that he absolutely had to confront his parents – even if it meant to lose them. Pansy would say that if they couldn’t love him as he was, they didn’t deserve him. Easier said than done, though. She would also remind him how propense he was to make everything into a drama. But what would even happen to him if he was disinherited? He had been certain that this would be his biggest fear. And that is why the DADA class yesterday had been such a shock to him, when the boggart did not in fact turn into his father telling him that he was no longer a Malfoy. If anything, seeing Harry there had cemented his determination and made it clear that it would be much worse to lose his new friend that his family. Though, to be frank with himself, he had rather hoped that he would be able to keep both.
Now here he was, so distracted that McGonagall had already called on him twice and even taken 5 points from him. He hardly ever lost points! But while, all around him, his classmates were turning all manner of objects into rabbits, Draco’s mind was in Wiltshire, painstakingly cataloguing every room of the Manor and every plant and creature on the grounds and wondering if he would ever see them again.
“Come on, Draco.” Harry whispered next to him, “McGonagall is coming this way and you need to at least try this. Go on, is Lapifors. Just try it, ok?” But for the life of him, Draco could not perform the charm. His head was not in it.
“Mr. Potter, let’s see how you are doing then.” Suddenly their professor was standing in front of their desk and Draco forced his concentration to remain here for, at least, enough time to avoid detention. He couldn’t help a small smile when Harry managed to transform his flowery teapot into a perfect white rabbit with cute little flapping ears and a pink nose. “Very well done, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall congratulated him as she summoned another teapot. “Do you think you could transfigure it into a different breed?” And just like it was the easiest thing in the world, Harry said ‘Lapifors’ and frowned in concentration… and a grey fluffy Angora rabbit sat on their desk, his little twitching nose the only part of his face visible under the impressive bangs, and a puff of hair at the end of each ear. Harry had done well in Transfiguration in the previous years, but Draco knew that this year he was much improved. Their regular study sessions and his friend’s improved health and nourishing plan were clearly at work here, and it made Draco feel proud to see how their friendship and care was helping Harry reach his potential.
“10 point to Slytherin, Mr. Potter! I must say that I am very pleased with your academic performance so far this year. In fact, everyone in your… peculiar inter-House study group is doing much better; don’t think for a moment that us professors have failed to notice. Now if you could assist Mr. Malfoy with the Lapifors Spell, please, he seems a bit out of sorts today.”
Something was clearly bothering Draco, Harry could tell. He hadn’t been himself all day, hadn’t even retorted to Ron when he insulted them. During meals and breaks, he would only respond in monosyllabic words when they asked him something, and in class he hadn’t been there at all. It was so unlike the blonde, who had actually had points deducted in both Transfigurations and Care, for lack of attention. In quidditch practice he had been useless too, mostly floating about in his broom and staring into nothing. Flint was not happy, but at least he had recognised that this was not normal behaviour and had simply ignored Draco and focused on the rest of the team.
“I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.” Harry had had enough of silently worrying and stopped his friend as they were about to enter the Slytherin changing rooms. “I know something is upsetting you. You know you can confide in me, right? Just as I do in you. I want to be there for you as well, you know? But I can’t if you close yourself up like this all day. Please, Draco!”
His friend merely looked at him, as if he had just noticed Harry was standing next to him. “Sorry. Yes, I’m preoccupied with some family situation. But I rather not talk about this for the moment, alright?” Harry must have looked as hurt as he felt, he always had a hard time hiding his feelings, because Draco placed a hand on his arm and reassured him. “We can talk tomorrow, ok? I expect I shall have more information after breakfast, and then we’ll talk.” He gave him a last squeeze on his arm and walked inside.
Without really thinking what he was doing, Harry followed his friend in, only to realise when the rest of the team turned to look at him, that this was the first time he had done so. Normally, after practice, he went back to shower and change in the privacy of their dorm. He had never washed in a communal shower before, where his scars would be seen and commented on, and now that he was here it would be strange to walk back out. Evidently, his hesitation was plain as his teammates started sniggering and teasing him. It wasn’t meanspirited, but Harry was not quite certain how to react.
“Finally decided that we were not going to harass you in the showers, Potter?” Warrington threw at him with a laugh, “don’t worry, I’m not really into scrawny third-years!”
“Cut it out, Cassius,” Flint interjected, and Harry thought for a moment that the banter would end there at the word of their Captain. “It’s clear he is not afraid of you; he probably has a third nipple… or a tiny prick!” Oh, so they were all jokers in his team! Harry could recognise that this was simply locker-room talk, and there was no intention to hurt him. But still, he was glued to the spot and completely unable to respond, even in humour.
Draco quickly understood his predicament and turned to look at him, “for what is worth, we are all Slytherins here, family.” He reminded him quietly, to prevent being overheard by the others. “And they are mostly gone, should be completely vanished in a week. But we can go back to the castle if you want, I’ll go with you. Sod them and their teasing.”
And it was good to have Draco and his protecting ways back, if only for a moment. Surely, he would go back to worrying after showering. But so far, all of the Slytherins had been adamant about making him feel part of their House, and welcome. The moment the Hat had re-sorted him, they had accepted him. Many of the other years had seen Sally in the common room and heard them interact in parseltongue without freaking out, and without sending the exclusive to the Daily Prophet. And he had found that he could trust them, as unlikely as that would have sounded a month ago.
He nodded to Draco, and walked deeper into the changing room, to a bench adjacent to the wall to disrobe. There were towels and toiletries available here, and Draco always had more than one change of clothes in his bag, so he really had no other excuse. As he marched on, the other boys were playfully teasing him, wolf-whistling and jesting about him finally showing them the bum-who-lived. Of course, all their games meant that Harry was the first to be ready to walk into the showers, and he would have to parade in front of most of them to get there, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Resolutely, he straightened his shoulders and glared at them, “I don’t want to talk about it, ok?”
He had not seen his back this week, as he attempted to avoid seeing it most of the time and it took a voluntary effort to see one’s back, which he mostly didn’t partake. But Draco had been consistently applying the ointment for almost four weeks now, and he knew the scars would be mostly gone or slight pink lines at the most. His teammates might guess or suspect what had caused them, as it was rather evident, but at least they would not see the deep red gashes that had deformed his skin and the muscles below. Once he started walking, the leering comments and catcalling resumed, in what was evidently a rite of passage for any new team member. But as Harry made it closer to where they all were all huddled, it was clear that they had in fact seen and understood the nature of his scars – faint as they might be – for the room was flooded in silence and Marcus Flint stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s fucked up, Potter.” His captain said softly, his harsh words clearly not meant for him. But Harry had been clear, so he simply shrugged his shoulder to try to disengage the hand laying there, which grabbed harder, and looked at the older boy. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it, alright?”
Marcus was speechless for a moment, his eyes going from Harry’s face to Draco’s a couple of times, confirming that the other third-year was aware of the situation. But apparently, he couldn’t let it go. “Professor Snape knows?” was, blissfully, all he asked. And as both boys nodded their confirmation, he finally released Harry’s shoulder. “Right. None of our business then, if Snape is taking care of things.” It was reassuring to see that the older snakes all accepted that their Head would intervene and help in a situation such as this. “We keep our mouths shut, then. But you come to us if you need anything, ok? Slytherins support each other, remember that.”
“Thanks.” Harry responded softly as he resumed his walk to the showers. “I bet now you are all wishing I had a tiny prick instead…” he added in a louder voice and a laugh, as he turned the water on.