Indebted [H/D, rated R] - Part 1/3
Title: Indebted
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sesheta66
Beta:cleo_jay
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Word Count: 22.6K
Summary: Potter is a target again, but why won't anyone believe Draco? Desperate to rid himself of the life debt he owes Potter, he takes matters into his own hands. As usual, nothing goes as planned.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Indebted - Part 1
Harry nudged Ron as he caught a glimpse of a blond head. "Look who's back." He motioned to the other end of the platform where Malfoy stood talking with Parkinson.
Ron followed his gaze and frowned. "Great. As if going back to school isn't bad enough."
"Ronald!" Hermione, who had worked hard to convince the two of them to return with her for their eighth year, sounded scandalised. Harry grinned. He didn't know why Ron was so upset as it wasn't like he had to go back to Hogwarts. He was only really doing it to appease Hermione and to spend more time with her. She'd suggested that if he took Kingsley up on his offer to join the Aurors right away, they'd likely never see each other, what with her NEWTS and his rigorous training schedule. Harry rather thought Ron had got used to sleeping beside her, and faced with never seeing her, he'd chosen the most palatable option.
"What?" Ron said. "It's true. You might like school but I don't and – besides the meals and Quidditch – I've never pretended otherwise. You're the only reason I'm going back and now I find out Malfoy will be there too. He already took his seventh year. What does he need to be here for?"
"Really, Ron? You think anyone learned anything but a few basics and how to torture Muggles last year?"
"Well, it's not like that'd be much different from what the ferret learnt at home."
Harry scowled. "That's not fair, Ron."
"What's not fair?" Ginny asked as she sneaked up behind Harry.
"Harry thinks I'm being mean to Malfoy."
"I said unfair, not mean."
"Figures," Ginny said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ignoring Harry's question, Ron said, "Did you forget he tried to kill me?"
"And Katie," Ginny added.
"He wasn't trying to kill anyone. Not really."
"Actually, Harry, he was." Hermione joined the argument. "He was after Dumbledore as you well know."
Harry sighed. He thought they'd got past this. "It was a half-arsed effort at best."
Ron sputtered incredulously. "I almost died!"
Harry waved him off. "But you didn't. And –" He raised a hand to stop Ron's argument. "—he wasn't trying to kill you. Dumbledore knew what Voldemort had asked Malfoy to do and he was already dying."
Ron picked up his bag and made for the train. "I don't believe you, sticking up for that – that –"
That what Harry didn't know because Ron stalked away without finishing his thought. Ginny glared at him and followed her brother onto the train.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, Harry."
He dragged his hand through his hair, barely resisting grabbing a chunk and pulling. "Look, I'm not saying Malfoy wasn't a prat, it's just –"
"But that's what it sounds like to Ron. And don't forget what happened to Ginny in the Chamber."
"I know." He didn't bother pointing out that Draco wasn't Lucius. She knew that well enough. He glanced over at Malfoy and caught the other boy staring. Then, to Harry's surprise, he lifted his chin in greeting. Harry nodded in response. Hermione pursed her lips as she looked back and forth between them, a sure sign of her disapproval.
Before he could ask what that was about, however, she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "We'd better get on board before we're left without seats together."
Harry was about to argue that Ron would have saved them seats, but then reconsidered. He heaved his rucksack over one shoulder and trudged along behind her. What a stellar start to the year.
After a solid half hour of frosty silence, Harry'd had enough. "Ron, I know Malfoy's an arse."
Ron's snort in response caused Hermione to jump. Harry suppressed a laugh.
"I'm not trying to defend him."
"Could've fooled me."
Harry bit his tongue. "He did stupid things that harmed other people – you, Katie and Bill among them."
"You forgot Ginny."
"No, I didn't. But you seem to have forgotten that was Lucius, not Draco."
"Like father, like son."
The memory of James Potter hoisting Snape upside down for all to see invaded Harry's thoughts. The resulting treatment Harry had received at Snape's hand remained a sore spot. "Draco may be a twat, but he's not Lucius."
"There you go, defending him again!"
"I'm not. Really, I'm not. I just think you need to separate the two. Lucius handed his son over to Voldemort to be marked. Lucius would have killed Dumbledore directly, looking him straight in the eye and enjoying every minute of it. He would have revelled in the glory of killing and torturing, and he did do all of those things. Willingly. Draco didn't. He couldn't. Not without distancing himself and not without feeling that he had no choice. Dumbledore saw it and he said as much. And I saw quite a bit through Voldemort's eyes. Draco is not a killer."
Ron pursed his lips and stubbornly crossed his arms across his chest, refusing to listen.
"I still think he's an idiot, but he did suffer too." Harry tried to shake the images of Draco being forced to torture others out of his mind, but it seemed they were there to stay. "And I think you might want to consider the possibility that he feels badly about the choices he made and the people who got hurt along the way."
"I don't have to consider anything."
Harry cast Hermione a desperate look, a silent plea for help. She shrugged, then tried her best. "He did apologise publicly, and sent each of you a personal note."
Ron scoffed.
"I know it wasn't much, and that alone doesn't make up for what happened, but it was something." When he didn't respond, she continued. "Perhaps we can all just agree to disagree on the topic and move on. You can avoid Malfoy, and no doubt he'll do the same for you."
Ron stewed for a few moments before muttering, "Fine" under his breath.
It was something.
After another hour of watching Ron brood, Harry got up and left the compartment.
As soon as he walked about ten paces down the aisle, the whispering started. Compartment doors began opening and whispered "That's Harry Potter" and "It's him" followed him through several cars. When one tiny runt of a boy practically squealed and his friend sputtered out a shaky, "Mr Potter?" Harry'd had enough and he slipped through the next slightly open compartment door and slid it shut. He turned round and collapsed against the door, breathing as though he'd just run the length of the train.
"Escaping your hoard of fans, Potter?"
He opened his eyes to see – oh, for the love of Merlin – Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson and Goyle all gaping at him, Zabini looking particularly amused. "Must be so difficult having firsties chasing you down in the streets."
"Fuck off." It wasn't much, but it was all he had. He was surprised he'd even managed that.
"Tut, tut. Language, Potter. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, wait –"
And to Harry's surprise, Malfoy elbowed Zabini – hard – and told him to shut it.
Zabini stood up and brushed something unseen from his jumper. "Well, as pleasurable as this little interlude has not been, I think I'll go stretch my legs." He shot Malfoy a glare.
Parkinson jumped to her feet and pulled Goyle up by his shirt. "We'll be going too."
Harry would have protested, but he was frankly too shocked to form words. After all, he was the intruder. It would have made more sense to kick him out.
Goyle mumbled something that sounded like "Don't wanna," but then Parkinson pinched him and he yelped and complied.
Zabini led the way followed by Goyle whom Parkinson pushed along. Just as she left the compartment, she turned back. "Potter, I … last year … back at … well … you know … I … didn't mean … I just wanted ..." She stopped speaking and looked down at her feet.
Harry'd had time over the summer to replay the events leading up to the final battle and he'd found himself surprisingly calm about it all. He was angry too, but not so much at the people who'd been backed into corners. Yes, Parkinson had tried to hand him over to Voldemort, but she'd only been trying to save the rest of them. He'd never like her, but he didn't hate her either. He shrugged. "It's ancient history." Her head shot up and she looked at Harry with a mix of curiosity, skepticism and, if he wasn't mistaken, a hint of hope. He held her stare and added, "No need to revisit it."
She opened her mouth as if to say something, changed her mind, nodded and scarpered out the door.
Well. That was awkward. Speaking of awkward …
Harry turned around to face Malfoy. Who was looking utterly dumbfounded at him. "What?"
"Did you just forgive Pansy?"
"Forgive is a bit of a stretch."
"But what you said –"
"I just don't want to relive it, okay? It's over. It's done." He ran his hand through his hair and tried to calm his voice. "She made a choice she thought was right at the time. It wasn't, but she didn't know that. I guess she figured it was the fastest way to end things. Or maybe she just really wanted to see me get mine. I don't know, and at this point what good will it do to dwell on it?" As the words spilled forth, he realised he meant them.
When Malfoy didn't say anything, the awkwardness of being alone with him pressed in around Harry. "Look, I'll just leave." Malfoy didn't argue and Harry opened the door to go.
*~*~*
Draco listened to Potter, his head swimming with memories that he'd spent the past few months trying to forget. His stomach roiled as all the things he'd done – that he'd been forced to do – played before him. As always, Potter was at the centre of many of them.
As he watched Pansy fumble with what must have been meant as an apology, he could only stare in horror. Sincere or not, she'd certainly looked contrite. After she left, he had to ask, "Did you just forgive Pansy?" He wasn't entirely sure he'd have done the same. It's not like anyone would take her word over Potter's if he decided to hex her instead.
Potter explained himself and Draco found himself agreeing. He didn't much want to revisit what had happened either. Then again, Potter had saved him. More than once.
He'd nearly stepped through the door when Draco finally found his voice. "Potter, wait."
Potter turned around hesitantly. "What did I do?"
"Nothing. I just … well, I wanted to say thank you." Potter frowned but said nothing. "For saving my life."
Potter blushed. "It's nothing."
Draco clenched his teeth. This was hard enough without the stupid git tossing aside his thanks like it meant nothing. "Perhaps my life is nothing to you, Potter, but I assure you it's not to me."
Potter gaped at him before composing himself enough to reply. "No, no. That's not what I meant."
Draco raised a brow. "Really? And what did you mean?"
"I meant that you don't need to thank me. I would have done the same for anyone."
Well, that was just great, wasn't it? Draco apparently ranked no higher than some first year Hufflepuff.
His annoyance must have shown because Potter quickly attempted a recovery.
"Look, Malfoy, it's no secret that we don't like each other. In the past we'd as soon hex as look at each other. During the war I had to do things I'm not proud of, and I know you did too. But at that moment, when we were surrounded by Fiendfyre, I didn't stop to think whose side we were on. I just saw fellow human beings – my classmates – in danger of dying. And I saw the chance to save them. So I did. I didn't think about it – I just did it."
Draco recalled Weasley arguing with Potter at the time. And the punch he got in the face later in the castle. "Against Weasley's better judgement."
Potter hesitated for a moment, considering his answer. "Yes."
"But he did what you wanted anyway."
"Yes."
Potter looked more than uncomfortable. He never was good at hiding his emotions. Something was going on with him. Before he could fully contemplate whether he wanted the answer or not, he found himself asking, "So do you regret it? Regret saving us?"
Potter scowled. Then his eyes narrowed and he took a few paces closer. He stood with his hands balled into fists, taking slow, measured breaths as his eyes bored into Draco's. Draco found himself riveted to the spot, unable to move, even while wondering if Potter was about to hit him.
"No. I don't regret it. Enough people died that day." He looked away then, body still stiff but eyes aimed over Draco's shoulder, staring off into the past. "I wish that hadn't happened. I wish every day that I could go back and undo so much of what led up to that. Maybe save a few more people. But I can't. All I can do is look forward. Make sure all those deaths weren't in vain." He turned back to face Draco once more. "There were some people who deserved to die, some people I might have considered leaving behind in that fire. But not you."
With no further explanation, he turned around and made for the door.
"Thank you."
Potter stopped but didn't face Draco. "You already thanked me. I got your note."
Draco scoffed. The note. His mother had made him write ridiculous notes to everyone he'd slighted. Not that they hadn't deserved his apologies or, in Potter's case, his thanks. But it seemed so old-fashioned and impersonal to do it by correspondence. Not that that had stopped him. Appearances had to be maintained. And, truth be told, he wasn't sure he could have faced everyone. But, as always, Potter was different. Much as Draco didn't want to admit it to himself, Potter deserved better.
"I thought you deserved more than a note. After all, there's that whole life debt business."
Potter tensed and slowly turned round. Confusion written all over his face, he asked, "What life debt?"
Draco studied his face, looking for any sign he was having him on. "You don't know?" Curious.
"Know what?" The familiar irritation that usually peppered Potter's tone when he spoke to Draco began to surface.
"You saved my life. Now I owe you a life debt." He tried to keep the desperation out of his tone. After all, he didn't want to be tied to Potter for the rest of his life.
Potter relaxed a bit then. "We're square. You didn't identify me at the Manor. I pulled you out of the fire. Your mother lied to Voldemort and told him I was dead."
"But they aren't the same thing. My mother did it to save me, not you. Not really."
"I know."
"And I wasn't sure if you really were you."
Potter snorted. "Yeah, right. You keep telling people that." He tilted his head as he scanned Draco's features. Draco tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. At length he said, "I would have recognised you, no problem. And I don't believe for a minute that you didn't recognise me."
Caught out, Draco attempted a recovery. "Even if I had, I was doing it to save my family being tortured if we called the Dark Lord and you turned out to be someone else."
Potter grinned and shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I know what happened and we're even. No debt."
Then Potter breezed out the door, his voice trailing behind. "Don't make me regret it."
*~*~*
At the end of the feast, McGonagall took to the podium and addressed everyone gathered.
"To our new students, welcome. To our returning students, welcome back. It is wonderful to see so many familiar faces. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students, as are the areas of the school still under repair."
At the back of the room, Filch huffed importantly, Mrs Norris winding around his feet.
"We had hoped to have everything ready before the start of term, but the damage proved to be too much. We have set up temporary structures on the grounds to house some of your classes until the rest of the castle is habitable. We expect that to be complete by month's end."
Hermione looked concerned. "Do you think it's safe to sleep in the towers?"
"All areas open to students have been deemed safe. Those that are off-limits are strictly off-limits for everyone's protection."
All the teachers at the head table nodded in agreement and Heads of Houses cast meaningful looks at their students' tables. No one looked like they were going to argue.
Ron nodded. "There you go. Safe." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "How long do you think she's going to prattle on?"
Hermione smacked him.
"This year marks a time of healing, a time of coming together, a time of reflection. I look to the staff and all of you students, house affiliations aside, to work together moving forward. More about that later."
Harry wasn't sure, but thought she held his gaze for a bit longer than necessary as she spoke.
"On a more sombre note, we will be having a memorial service in the new South Wing this Saturday. Everyone is expected to attend in honour of those who lost their lives during the war, in particular those from our Hogwarts family." She looked around the room, acknowledging each of those who had lost a family member. "Anyone wishing to say a few words, and is comfortable doing so, should advise their Head of House to make the arrangements."
Ron looked horrified. "You don't have to speak," Hermione reassured him. Then she turned to Harry. "But you probably should."
"Me? Why me?"
She rolled her eyes. "Really? You don't think everyone looks to you for words of comfort after what happened? Particularly the little ones."
"No," Harry insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was call even more attention to himself. "It's not about me."
She bit her lip, looking poised to argue, but then relented. He suspected she wasn't going to let it go that easily.
"Good night and I look forward to working with all of you throughout a successful year at Hogwarts."
*~*~*
Glad that was over and eager to get settled, Draco watched the new Slytherins scramble to keep up on the way to the dungeons. Had he and his friends been that small or that frightened on their first day?
The Sorting had gone rather predictably, with very few new students added to the Slytherin ranks. Draco suspected that some families from a long line of Slytherins had sent their children elsewhere – probably Durmstrang – after what had happened during the war and since.
Small wonder, after the series of articles the Prophet had run. Some hogwash about Hogwarts houses and how each had played a part in the war. Gryffindor saved the day, as always, flanked by legions from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Slytherin, in contrast, had been the home of the Dark Lord and no one from there had ever amounted to any good. Draco had been livid when he'd read that.
Then, to his utter shock, that rag put out by Lovegood's father had run an article listing all the Slytherins that had helped in the war, not least of whom was Severus Snape. That had gone some way towards calming him at the time. But honestly, who read that paper?
Nevertheless, he and his fellow snakes welcomed the newcomers with enthusiasm, determined to prove the Prophet wrong. They remained a proud house, no matter what anyone else thought.
*~*~*
On the way to Gryffindor Tower, the conversation he'd had with Malfoy on the train came back to mind. After washing up, he found Ron snoring happily in his bed already and everyone else gone. He went back down to the Common Room and found Hermione in her favourite chair, Crookshanks on her lap.
Thankful the place was noisy enough to make a conversation possible without being overheard, he joined her. "Can I ask you something, Hermione?"
"Hmm?" She hadn't looked up from her scribblings. What she could possibly be writing about already when their classes hadn't even started, he didn't know. He decided not to ask.
"Have you ever heard of a life debt?"
"A what?" Still her eyes remained on her parchment.
"A life debt. When someone saves someone else's life and they owe them a debt."
This finally got her attention and she put down her quill. "Would this be some old Muggle movie life debt or a wizarding one?"
With what he felt was the utmost patience, Harry frowned and looked at their surroundings. Wizarding, obviously. Figuring it would be best not to antagonise the person from whom he needed information though, he bit his tongue. "Is there a difference?"
She nodded. "Those depicted in old movies tend to be based on some intangible honour code. One is 'honour bound' or expected to honour such a debt by presumably paying it off in some manner, like through another act. It should be significant, but not necessarily saving the other's life."
That sounded reasonable. He tried to recall any such instances he might have seen in movies or on television. "So someone might pay a large sum of money or help a family member of the person or something like that?"
She considered his suggestions before nodding. "Yes, I think that would constitute payment in lieu of saving someone's life, provided it was agreeable to both parties."
"But it's different in the wizarding world?"
"Oh, yes." Isn't it always? "A debt remains until it is paid in full through the saving of the other's life. There are stories of wizards and witches remaining tied to each other for the rest of their lives."
Of course there are. His head began to ache.
She carried on. "Some sort of pull towards each other whenever danger approaches."
Harry thought about those he'd saved and those he'd lost and wondered if he'd ever be free of these invisible bonds. His concern must have shown, as Hermione reached out and touched his arm. "These aren't facts, Harry. They're more like folklore."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "So it's not really a thing?"
"I wouldn't go that far," she said. "After all, most folklore has at least some basis in fact."
"Oh." Just great.
*~*~*
Draco closed the curtains around his bed, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. The encounter with Potter on the train had brought back the ugly memories he'd tried hard to suppress. He remembered watching his father taken away after his trial, not likely to see the world outside of Azkaban ever again.
Then his mother's trial and his own. Potter had testified for them both. At first, Draco had been angry that he hadn't also testified for Lucius, but he didn't have to think much about it before realising that he was being unreasonable. His father had made his own bed.
Recalling his own trial, Potter's testimony came back to him as if it had been only yesterday. It had been surprisingly accurate. Who knew Potter could be so perceptive?
He'd told the Wizengamot that Draco had been raised to believe the Dark Lord was to be the saviour of the wizarding world. He'd spent his childhood emulating and trying to win the favour of his father, a devout follower of the Dark Lord. He supposed that part hadn't required much thought or observation.
But then he'd gone on to talk about how Draco had been under extreme duress, with his father imprisoned and house taken over, every move monitored. The Dark Lord had tasked him with the impossible – to kill Albus Dumbledore.
Draco had been forced to watch the torture and murder of Muggles, witches and wizards. He'd have been asking for a slow and painful death if he'd defied the Dark Lord's orders.
When Potter had explained he'd been inside the Dark Lord's head, seen and felt what he had, the court had let out a collective gasp. There had been all sorts of speculation before that, but when Potter had told the court in his own words, it had shocked everyone. Draco had felt ill then, his mind conjuring up images of what it might have been like for Potter to feel the rage and hate inside.
Before he could contemplate it much, Potter had started to describe how sickened he had felt, watching what Draco had been reduced to. Then he stunned Draco by saying how strong and intelligent and full of life Draco had been in school, only to be crushed under the force that was the Dark Lord.
All Draco could think of was whether he would have done the same for Potter, if their roles had been reversed. Would he have defended this person who had made his life miserable, whenever possible, all through school? Would he have had a single kind word to say? Would he have even cared enough to try?
On the day his verdict was read out and he was free to go, after disengaging himself from his mother's tight grasp, he'd caught up with Potter as he exited the court. "I want to thank you for giving me my life back."
Potter had leaned in and said, "Buy me dinner sometime, and we'll call it even."
He'd not seen the man since, until the platform. And then again during that strange encounter on the train. He'd obviously not taken Potter's dinner remark seriously, but a part of him – that little boy who'd held out his hand in an offer of friendship those many years ago – wondered if such a thing might be possible.
*~*~*
Harry came down for breakfast to find Hermione sitting in her favourite chair once again waiting for him. She waved him over. "Remember when you asked me about life debts?"
What, did she think he'd forgotten overnight? "Yes, I remember."
"Well, I've found out more."
Harry smiled. Hermione could always be counted on to dig up all the details on a subject. "And?"
"And it's more complicated than a simple quid pro quo."
"A what?"
"It's not a simple exchange – one thing for another, this for that."
Harry didn't like where this was going. "And?" he prodded.
"According to what I've read – certainly not all there is on the subject, since it's not something usually discussed at school, and Hogwarts' library doesn't hold a huge amount of information about them – a deep bond is formed."
"Yeah, you said that before."
"It's more than just a connection, though. It's like some sort of draw between them."
He held up a hand to stop her progress. "I can't see how that's the case, because all sorts of people did things to save me during the war and I don't feel a particular draw to anyone." He'd thought about that after they'd talked the night before.
She looked excited now. "But you see, that's just it. It's all about intent."
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"No, Harry. During wars, people often save other people and these supposed bonds aren't formed."
She looked at him, clearly wanting prompting to carry on. He waved his hand to get her to continue. He was hungry and wanted to get to breakfast.
"If the intent is to win the war or protect the interests of the other person, as a means to an end, no bond is formed. But if the intent is to save that individual, for no other reason than to save them, it becomes personal and a bond is formed."
This was all very complicated. "You mean like when my mother saved me?"
"Well, yes and no. A bond already exists between parent and child so the magic acts differently in those cases."
"Different how?"
"Your protection became stronger, even beyond her own death. Life debts end with the death of the other, though there is said to be an impact on the living person as well, if it was something that they could have prevented, but didn't. But that's going off track."
Harry's stomach rumbled. "Could we walk and talk? I'm starving."
She jumped up. "Sorry."
"So, if I hear you right, what you're saying is that I don't have some life debt obligation to hundreds of people because of the war."
"Oh, you don't have a life debt to anyone."
"Excuse me?"
"Like I said before, this is folklore. Stories handed down for generations, but without proof of their existence."
He huffed out a breath. "You could've started with that, you know."
She shrugged. She probably wanted to get some mileage from her research and just had to tell him at least some of what she'd learned.
"Some of the stories were fascinating – people bound together for life, looking out for one another in good times and bad. Deep friendships and sometimes even romantic relationships formed. Of course, that might all be explained by the draw one feels towards another after a shared traumatic experience."
She was on a roll now. "But the important thing is that there's no such thing as a life debt bond, or at least nothing beyond honour and shared experiences," he said hopefully.
"Not that I could find."
"Brilliant." They'd reached the Great Hall and he quickly got to his seat and gathered up some food before it disappeared. "Thanks, Hermione."
Her face fell. "But don't you want to hear about all the stories I found? There are some quite lovely ones."
He didn't, really, but she had been helpful. "Sure. You can tell me all about them while I eat."
Before she'd managed to get through a handful of love stories, a first-year rescued Harry. Harry recognised him as one of the star-struck youths that had watched him and whispered about him on the train. He approached looking terrified and handed Harry a note. "Headmistress McGonagall would like to see you in her office as soon as you're done with breakfast."
Harry frowned at Hermione, feigning a desire to remain and listen to her go on at length about these relationships borne of shared trauma. She shrugged.
Ron, who'd appeared out of nowhere, said, "Better eat up there, mate." And he scooped some bacon from Harry's plate before sitting down.
*~*~*
Draco had slept poorly, memories of the past year – and some from before that – swirling around his head, stubbornly refusing to allow him rest. He'd employed all the relaxation methods he knew, but all had failed him. Perhaps being in the castle again was the problem. That and seeing Potter.
His mood didn't improve as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast to find people watching him warily and mumbling warnings to each other under their breath. In his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, this might have amused him, knowing that people feared him. But now it simply caused his stomach to clench even more.
In contrast, he watched students – and even some professors – gawp and whisper about Potter, faces full of awe and amazement rather than irritation and thinly-veiled contempt. The all-too familiar feeling of being bested once more assaulted him and his head began to throb.
Draco had spent a lot of time over the summer looking back on his life and the choices he'd made. Much as he hated to admit it to himself – and he'd certainly never admit it to anyone else – he'd been jealous of Potter. Jealousy bred contempt, wasn't that how the phrase went? He'd hated Potter with every fibre of his being, but in retrospect he doubted hate had much to do with it at all. And then the stupid git had saved his life – more than once! And if that hadn't been enough, he'd testified on Draco's behalf, just because it had been the right thing to do.
Potter wasn't the one Draco hated.
Before he could delve into his newly-realised self-loathing too much, a young Slytherin approached him, arm held out, paper shaking in her hand.
"What's this?" Draco asked.
Her voice quavering nearly as much as her hands shook, she said, "P-Professor McGonagall wants to s-see you in her office." She dropped the paper and scurried away.
He frowned as he read the paper. What did she want? He hadn't even had a chance to settle in, never mind bring the ire of the Headmistress upon him. His stomach roiled again and he pushed aside his food. Might as well get it over with.
He passed Pansy, Greg and Blaise sauntering in for breakfast as he left. He didn't pause to properly hear what Pansy called to him as he went.
As he stood at the bottom of the staircase to the Headmistress's office, pondering how he was expected to gain entry, the one person guaranteed to make his morning even worse approached.
*~*~*
Harry arrived at the entrance to the winding staircase to find Malfoy already standing there. "What are you doing here?"
Malfoy sighed. "Same thing as you, I expect. I was summoned."
"Good morning, gentlemen," McGonagall said as she swept past them, mumbling the password so neither he nor Malfoy could hear. "Come along, then, both of you."
As they followed her into the office, she told them to take a seat. "This won't take long."
They sat silently, waiting as she rustled some papers around on her desk. Harry looked up at Dumbledore's portrait but their former Headmaster steadfastly feigned sleep. As he glanced to the other portrait immediately behind McGonagall, he saw that Snape was doing the same.
She finally broke the silence. "Right, then. I brought the two of you here because, frankly, you rather famously – or infamously, as the case may be – spent years demonstrating just how divided we can be when we put our minds to it. Your antics and animosity towards one another were well known and perpetuated the rivalry between houses. And as much trouble as you may have felt you got into, I don't believe your punishments were nearly severe enough."
Dumbledore fidgeted slightly in his frame, but said nothing. Harry looked at Malfoy whose face stayed blank, but not without a tightening of his jaw and slight red flush to his skin. Harry's anger bubbled to the surface. Surely she didn't mean to punish them now, as adults, for their actions as children.
He knew he should keep his mouth shut like Malfoy, but this was beyond the pale. "So, what? You're going to give us detention now because you didn't then?"
Malfoy shifted in his seat and when Harry glanced over, he saw a twitch of his lips. Well, really. It had to be said.
"No, Mr Potter, I am not doling out belated punishment." Her icy voice cut through him. "And if you don't want any new ones, I would suggest you keep your tone in check. Adult or not, you are my student, and I will not be spoken to in that manner. I won't warn you again."
Chastised, Harry nodded. "Sorry, Professor."
"Right then." Her tone lost the icy edge but was not warm. "My purpose in calling you both here today is twofold. First, I want to be clear that I will not tolerate any shenanigans, no matter who you are." She stared pointedly at Harry as she said this. "Second, I expect your cooperation."
Harry turned to Malfoy and his perplexed expression reflected his own feelings. "How so?"
"I will leave that to the two of you. I still believe in the house system, and in the sense of family it instills. However, there remain deep divides and I would like the two of you to lead the charge in building bridges."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. What the hell did she expect from them?
"I want you to work together, show people you can get beyond your past and move forward. Enlist the help of your friends as well."
Malfoy spoke for the first time. "Did you want something in particular – events and such – or more of an overall sense of cooperation?"
"As I said, I'll leave that to you. But I rather think a combination would work best. Something tangible to show progress."
Malfoy nodded. Harry had no idea what he was agreeing to, but he did the same.
"Very well then," she said, standing up to conclude the meeting. "I look forward to your success."
*~*~*
Eager to get away from the two Gryffindors, Draco hightailed it out of the office. Unfortunately for him, Potter did too.
"Oi! Malfoy, wait up."
Oh, for the love of – "What do you want, Potter?"
Potter's buggy eyes would have been comical if not for the situation. Honestly, what did the Headmistress expect from them? They'd be hard-pressed not to kill each other, never mind work together. Right now, Draco just wanted to get as far away from Potter as he could before he said something he'd regret.
"I thought … well, I don't know what I thought." As articulate as ever. Apparently the additional fame hadn't improved his vocabulary. "What did we just agree to in there?"
Draco let out a deep, long-suffering breath and tried not to react out of habit. "I would have thought that rather obvious." When Potter continued to stare blankly, he continued. "We agreed in part not to kill each other or attempt to do so. I think we can both agree to that."
Potter nodded. "Well, obviously."
Draco was beginning to wonder just how obvious that was. "And – this part will be more difficult – we agreed to set an example for the rest of the school by getting along famously and showing everyone else that Slytherins and Gryffindors can be the best of friends."
Potter choked. "What?"
"Quite." Draco crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to resist the urge to punch Potter in the face. "But we've agreed nonetheless, so I suggest we go our separate ways for now – to ensure we keep to that first part of our agreement – and come up with ways we can look like we don't hate each other." As an afterthought, he added, "Get Granger to help you."
Potter scuffed his feet. "I don't hate you."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said. "Of course you hate me. As I hate you. It's how things are. It's how they've always been. And it's how things shall stay. But – here's the key part – we must pretend not to hate each other."
"Pretend to be friends?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Not even McGonagall actually expects that. I imagine she'll be pleased enough if we are civil towards one another."
"I can do that."
Draco raised a brow. "Really? It might be harder than you think."
Potter stood up straighter now. "If I can be civil with the Ministry, I'm sure I can be civil with you."
"Good. I can as well. But, so as not to push our luck with this civility thing, perhaps we should part ways and come up with some teamwork things to pursue."
"Teamwork things?"
Draco resisted the urge to pull out his hair. "Teamwork. The Headmistress wants us to lead by example, get along, and find some ways to bring people together. Again, I suggest you talk to Granger."
"I—" Potter looked poised to argue, or something, but instead looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.
"Yes?"
"Never mind. I'll talk to Hermione and you talk to Parkinson and maybe this won't be as painful as it sounds."
"Indeed."
Once he caught up with her and explained the situation, Pansy, traitor that she was, actually thought it would be a fantastic idea. Women!
*~*~*
"With Malfoy?" Ron was positively apoplectic as they sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch. It had been the first chance he had to tell them about his meeting with McGonagall.
"I think it's a brilliant idea," Hermione said.
"You would."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If a professor says it, it's brilliant."
Harry tuned out their bickering. Some things never changed.
But some things did, and this was huge. How the bloody hell were he and Malfoy supposed to avoid riling each other up, never mind encourage teamwork?
Harry's mind had been so focused that he hadn't noticed Malfoy's approach and the ensuing silence that resulted.
"Oi! What are you doing here, Ferret?"
Harry's head shot up at Ron's outburst, along with most of the others at the table. Hermione groaned. Ron's face was quickly flushing a dangerous level of red.
"Potter, a word?"
Harry, not eager to witness Ron going off on one, stood up quickly. "Sure." He ignored the collective stares of incredulity and followed Malfoy out of the room.
"Hold up," he said as Malfoy marched quickly down the corridor. "Where are we going?"
"There's a disused classroom round the next corner. I thought we could speak there, without prying eyes and ears."
He looked back towards the Great Hall and noted that some people had come through the main doors to watch the two of them. Much as he didn't want to acknowledge the fact, Malfoy was right. "Fair enough."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "So glad you approve, Saint Potter." And he was off again.
"Don't call me that," Harry grumbled as he made to keep up as they entered the classroom and Malfoy closed the door behind them.
"Right, let's get working on this," Malfoy began.
"I thought we were going to get Hermione and Parkinson to help with this."
Malfoy placed his hand on his head as though to stop it from exploding. "Yes, well … we may yet, but right now I can't deal with Pansy's enthusiasm."
"She giving you a hard time?"
"Quite the contrary. She thinks this is a bloody brilliant idea and can't wait to get started. I cut and ran as quickly as I could."
Harry laughed. "She and Hermione will make a great team."
Malfoy groaned. "What is it with women and teamwork and getting along?"
"Search me," Harry said with a shrug. "But give Hermione something to take charge of, be creative with and boss people around about on the side, and she's in heaven."
"Merlin, they will get along."
"McGonagall is evil," Harry said. "And manipulative."
Malfoy snorted. "Finally figured that out, did you?"
"Nah, I've known that about her for a while. It's just –" Harry narrowed his eyes, "—she's being particularly evil this time."
"You don't think Dumbledore and Snape?"
Harry nodded. "Definitely."
They spent a good hour talking about what they might do to satisfy McGonagall's request. The first thing they'd agreed upon, which would come as no surprise to anyone, was a friendly Quidditch league, with each team a mix of students from all houses. They'd sign up relatively equal numbers from each house, divided by years – first and second years in one grouping, third and fourth another, fifth and sixth another, and seventh with the returning eighth years.
That settled, they tossed about a number of other ideas that might bring other students together. In short order, recognising that they were utterly useless at such things, they agreed to defer to the women in their lives – namely Hermione and Parkinson – to lead that charge. Pleased with their progress, they parted ways.
Only later did Harry reflect that they might actually be capable of working together. In fact, without the cloud of war hanging over them, they might well get along.
*~*~*
"I don't get why you have to work with Potter," Greg complained.
Millicent agreed. "It's like she's punishing you all over again."
"Oh, I don't know," Blaise mused. "It seems to me Draco doesn't look too bothered by the prospect of cozying up to Potter."
Pansy giggled and Draco stormed off to his room. Truth be told, their first meeting had gone well. Not once did he have the desire to throttle Potter.
Choosing not to dwell on that – or Blaise's comments – Draco pulled out his notes and started work on his Arithmancy assignment.
Part 2
Author:
sesheta66Beta:
cleo_jayPairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Word Count: 22.6K
Summary: Potter is a target again, but why won't anyone believe Draco? Desperate to rid himself of the life debt he owes Potter, he takes matters into his own hands. As usual, nothing goes as planned.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Harry nudged Ron as he caught a glimpse of a blond head. "Look who's back." He motioned to the other end of the platform where Malfoy stood talking with Parkinson.
Ron followed his gaze and frowned. "Great. As if going back to school isn't bad enough."
"Ronald!" Hermione, who had worked hard to convince the two of them to return with her for their eighth year, sounded scandalised. Harry grinned. He didn't know why Ron was so upset as it wasn't like he had to go back to Hogwarts. He was only really doing it to appease Hermione and to spend more time with her. She'd suggested that if he took Kingsley up on his offer to join the Aurors right away, they'd likely never see each other, what with her NEWTS and his rigorous training schedule. Harry rather thought Ron had got used to sleeping beside her, and faced with never seeing her, he'd chosen the most palatable option.
"What?" Ron said. "It's true. You might like school but I don't and – besides the meals and Quidditch – I've never pretended otherwise. You're the only reason I'm going back and now I find out Malfoy will be there too. He already took his seventh year. What does he need to be here for?"
"Really, Ron? You think anyone learned anything but a few basics and how to torture Muggles last year?"
"Well, it's not like that'd be much different from what the ferret learnt at home."
Harry scowled. "That's not fair, Ron."
"What's not fair?" Ginny asked as she sneaked up behind Harry.
"Harry thinks I'm being mean to Malfoy."
"I said unfair, not mean."
"Figures," Ginny said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ignoring Harry's question, Ron said, "Did you forget he tried to kill me?"
"And Katie," Ginny added.
"He wasn't trying to kill anyone. Not really."
"Actually, Harry, he was." Hermione joined the argument. "He was after Dumbledore as you well know."
Harry sighed. He thought they'd got past this. "It was a half-arsed effort at best."
Ron sputtered incredulously. "I almost died!"
Harry waved him off. "But you didn't. And –" He raised a hand to stop Ron's argument. "—he wasn't trying to kill you. Dumbledore knew what Voldemort had asked Malfoy to do and he was already dying."
Ron picked up his bag and made for the train. "I don't believe you, sticking up for that – that –"
That what Harry didn't know because Ron stalked away without finishing his thought. Ginny glared at him and followed her brother onto the train.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, Harry."
He dragged his hand through his hair, barely resisting grabbing a chunk and pulling. "Look, I'm not saying Malfoy wasn't a prat, it's just –"
"But that's what it sounds like to Ron. And don't forget what happened to Ginny in the Chamber."
"I know." He didn't bother pointing out that Draco wasn't Lucius. She knew that well enough. He glanced over at Malfoy and caught the other boy staring. Then, to Harry's surprise, he lifted his chin in greeting. Harry nodded in response. Hermione pursed her lips as she looked back and forth between them, a sure sign of her disapproval.
Before he could ask what that was about, however, she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "We'd better get on board before we're left without seats together."
Harry was about to argue that Ron would have saved them seats, but then reconsidered. He heaved his rucksack over one shoulder and trudged along behind her. What a stellar start to the year.
After a solid half hour of frosty silence, Harry'd had enough. "Ron, I know Malfoy's an arse."
Ron's snort in response caused Hermione to jump. Harry suppressed a laugh.
"I'm not trying to defend him."
"Could've fooled me."
Harry bit his tongue. "He did stupid things that harmed other people – you, Katie and Bill among them."
"You forgot Ginny."
"No, I didn't. But you seem to have forgotten that was Lucius, not Draco."
"Like father, like son."
The memory of James Potter hoisting Snape upside down for all to see invaded Harry's thoughts. The resulting treatment Harry had received at Snape's hand remained a sore spot. "Draco may be a twat, but he's not Lucius."
"There you go, defending him again!"
"I'm not. Really, I'm not. I just think you need to separate the two. Lucius handed his son over to Voldemort to be marked. Lucius would have killed Dumbledore directly, looking him straight in the eye and enjoying every minute of it. He would have revelled in the glory of killing and torturing, and he did do all of those things. Willingly. Draco didn't. He couldn't. Not without distancing himself and not without feeling that he had no choice. Dumbledore saw it and he said as much. And I saw quite a bit through Voldemort's eyes. Draco is not a killer."
Ron pursed his lips and stubbornly crossed his arms across his chest, refusing to listen.
"I still think he's an idiot, but he did suffer too." Harry tried to shake the images of Draco being forced to torture others out of his mind, but it seemed they were there to stay. "And I think you might want to consider the possibility that he feels badly about the choices he made and the people who got hurt along the way."
"I don't have to consider anything."
Harry cast Hermione a desperate look, a silent plea for help. She shrugged, then tried her best. "He did apologise publicly, and sent each of you a personal note."
Ron scoffed.
"I know it wasn't much, and that alone doesn't make up for what happened, but it was something." When he didn't respond, she continued. "Perhaps we can all just agree to disagree on the topic and move on. You can avoid Malfoy, and no doubt he'll do the same for you."
Ron stewed for a few moments before muttering, "Fine" under his breath.
It was something.
After another hour of watching Ron brood, Harry got up and left the compartment.
As soon as he walked about ten paces down the aisle, the whispering started. Compartment doors began opening and whispered "That's Harry Potter" and "It's him" followed him through several cars. When one tiny runt of a boy practically squealed and his friend sputtered out a shaky, "Mr Potter?" Harry'd had enough and he slipped through the next slightly open compartment door and slid it shut. He turned round and collapsed against the door, breathing as though he'd just run the length of the train.
"Escaping your hoard of fans, Potter?"
He opened his eyes to see – oh, for the love of Merlin – Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson and Goyle all gaping at him, Zabini looking particularly amused. "Must be so difficult having firsties chasing you down in the streets."
"Fuck off." It wasn't much, but it was all he had. He was surprised he'd even managed that.
"Tut, tut. Language, Potter. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, wait –"
And to Harry's surprise, Malfoy elbowed Zabini – hard – and told him to shut it.
Zabini stood up and brushed something unseen from his jumper. "Well, as pleasurable as this little interlude has not been, I think I'll go stretch my legs." He shot Malfoy a glare.
Parkinson jumped to her feet and pulled Goyle up by his shirt. "We'll be going too."
Harry would have protested, but he was frankly too shocked to form words. After all, he was the intruder. It would have made more sense to kick him out.
Goyle mumbled something that sounded like "Don't wanna," but then Parkinson pinched him and he yelped and complied.
Zabini led the way followed by Goyle whom Parkinson pushed along. Just as she left the compartment, she turned back. "Potter, I … last year … back at … well … you know … I … didn't mean … I just wanted ..." She stopped speaking and looked down at her feet.
Harry'd had time over the summer to replay the events leading up to the final battle and he'd found himself surprisingly calm about it all. He was angry too, but not so much at the people who'd been backed into corners. Yes, Parkinson had tried to hand him over to Voldemort, but she'd only been trying to save the rest of them. He'd never like her, but he didn't hate her either. He shrugged. "It's ancient history." Her head shot up and she looked at Harry with a mix of curiosity, skepticism and, if he wasn't mistaken, a hint of hope. He held her stare and added, "No need to revisit it."
She opened her mouth as if to say something, changed her mind, nodded and scarpered out the door.
Well. That was awkward. Speaking of awkward …
Harry turned around to face Malfoy. Who was looking utterly dumbfounded at him. "What?"
"Did you just forgive Pansy?"
"Forgive is a bit of a stretch."
"But what you said –"
"I just don't want to relive it, okay? It's over. It's done." He ran his hand through his hair and tried to calm his voice. "She made a choice she thought was right at the time. It wasn't, but she didn't know that. I guess she figured it was the fastest way to end things. Or maybe she just really wanted to see me get mine. I don't know, and at this point what good will it do to dwell on it?" As the words spilled forth, he realised he meant them.
When Malfoy didn't say anything, the awkwardness of being alone with him pressed in around Harry. "Look, I'll just leave." Malfoy didn't argue and Harry opened the door to go.
Draco listened to Potter, his head swimming with memories that he'd spent the past few months trying to forget. His stomach roiled as all the things he'd done – that he'd been forced to do – played before him. As always, Potter was at the centre of many of them.
As he watched Pansy fumble with what must have been meant as an apology, he could only stare in horror. Sincere or not, she'd certainly looked contrite. After she left, he had to ask, "Did you just forgive Pansy?" He wasn't entirely sure he'd have done the same. It's not like anyone would take her word over Potter's if he decided to hex her instead.
Potter explained himself and Draco found himself agreeing. He didn't much want to revisit what had happened either. Then again, Potter had saved him. More than once.
He'd nearly stepped through the door when Draco finally found his voice. "Potter, wait."
Potter turned around hesitantly. "What did I do?"
"Nothing. I just … well, I wanted to say thank you." Potter frowned but said nothing. "For saving my life."
Potter blushed. "It's nothing."
Draco clenched his teeth. This was hard enough without the stupid git tossing aside his thanks like it meant nothing. "Perhaps my life is nothing to you, Potter, but I assure you it's not to me."
Potter gaped at him before composing himself enough to reply. "No, no. That's not what I meant."
Draco raised a brow. "Really? And what did you mean?"
"I meant that you don't need to thank me. I would have done the same for anyone."
Well, that was just great, wasn't it? Draco apparently ranked no higher than some first year Hufflepuff.
His annoyance must have shown because Potter quickly attempted a recovery.
"Look, Malfoy, it's no secret that we don't like each other. In the past we'd as soon hex as look at each other. During the war I had to do things I'm not proud of, and I know you did too. But at that moment, when we were surrounded by Fiendfyre, I didn't stop to think whose side we were on. I just saw fellow human beings – my classmates – in danger of dying. And I saw the chance to save them. So I did. I didn't think about it – I just did it."
Draco recalled Weasley arguing with Potter at the time. And the punch he got in the face later in the castle. "Against Weasley's better judgement."
Potter hesitated for a moment, considering his answer. "Yes."
"But he did what you wanted anyway."
"Yes."
Potter looked more than uncomfortable. He never was good at hiding his emotions. Something was going on with him. Before he could fully contemplate whether he wanted the answer or not, he found himself asking, "So do you regret it? Regret saving us?"
Potter scowled. Then his eyes narrowed and he took a few paces closer. He stood with his hands balled into fists, taking slow, measured breaths as his eyes bored into Draco's. Draco found himself riveted to the spot, unable to move, even while wondering if Potter was about to hit him.
"No. I don't regret it. Enough people died that day." He looked away then, body still stiff but eyes aimed over Draco's shoulder, staring off into the past. "I wish that hadn't happened. I wish every day that I could go back and undo so much of what led up to that. Maybe save a few more people. But I can't. All I can do is look forward. Make sure all those deaths weren't in vain." He turned back to face Draco once more. "There were some people who deserved to die, some people I might have considered leaving behind in that fire. But not you."
With no further explanation, he turned around and made for the door.
"Thank you."
Potter stopped but didn't face Draco. "You already thanked me. I got your note."
Draco scoffed. The note. His mother had made him write ridiculous notes to everyone he'd slighted. Not that they hadn't deserved his apologies or, in Potter's case, his thanks. But it seemed so old-fashioned and impersonal to do it by correspondence. Not that that had stopped him. Appearances had to be maintained. And, truth be told, he wasn't sure he could have faced everyone. But, as always, Potter was different. Much as Draco didn't want to admit it to himself, Potter deserved better.
"I thought you deserved more than a note. After all, there's that whole life debt business."
Potter tensed and slowly turned round. Confusion written all over his face, he asked, "What life debt?"
Draco studied his face, looking for any sign he was having him on. "You don't know?" Curious.
"Know what?" The familiar irritation that usually peppered Potter's tone when he spoke to Draco began to surface.
"You saved my life. Now I owe you a life debt." He tried to keep the desperation out of his tone. After all, he didn't want to be tied to Potter for the rest of his life.
Potter relaxed a bit then. "We're square. You didn't identify me at the Manor. I pulled you out of the fire. Your mother lied to Voldemort and told him I was dead."
"But they aren't the same thing. My mother did it to save me, not you. Not really."
"I know."
"And I wasn't sure if you really were you."
Potter snorted. "Yeah, right. You keep telling people that." He tilted his head as he scanned Draco's features. Draco tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. At length he said, "I would have recognised you, no problem. And I don't believe for a minute that you didn't recognise me."
Caught out, Draco attempted a recovery. "Even if I had, I was doing it to save my family being tortured if we called the Dark Lord and you turned out to be someone else."
Potter grinned and shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I know what happened and we're even. No debt."
Then Potter breezed out the door, his voice trailing behind. "Don't make me regret it."
At the end of the feast, McGonagall took to the podium and addressed everyone gathered.
"To our new students, welcome. To our returning students, welcome back. It is wonderful to see so many familiar faces. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students, as are the areas of the school still under repair."
At the back of the room, Filch huffed importantly, Mrs Norris winding around his feet.
"We had hoped to have everything ready before the start of term, but the damage proved to be too much. We have set up temporary structures on the grounds to house some of your classes until the rest of the castle is habitable. We expect that to be complete by month's end."
Hermione looked concerned. "Do you think it's safe to sleep in the towers?"
"All areas open to students have been deemed safe. Those that are off-limits are strictly off-limits for everyone's protection."
All the teachers at the head table nodded in agreement and Heads of Houses cast meaningful looks at their students' tables. No one looked like they were going to argue.
Ron nodded. "There you go. Safe." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "How long do you think she's going to prattle on?"
Hermione smacked him.
"This year marks a time of healing, a time of coming together, a time of reflection. I look to the staff and all of you students, house affiliations aside, to work together moving forward. More about that later."
Harry wasn't sure, but thought she held his gaze for a bit longer than necessary as she spoke.
"On a more sombre note, we will be having a memorial service in the new South Wing this Saturday. Everyone is expected to attend in honour of those who lost their lives during the war, in particular those from our Hogwarts family." She looked around the room, acknowledging each of those who had lost a family member. "Anyone wishing to say a few words, and is comfortable doing so, should advise their Head of House to make the arrangements."
Ron looked horrified. "You don't have to speak," Hermione reassured him. Then she turned to Harry. "But you probably should."
"Me? Why me?"
She rolled her eyes. "Really? You don't think everyone looks to you for words of comfort after what happened? Particularly the little ones."
"No," Harry insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was call even more attention to himself. "It's not about me."
She bit her lip, looking poised to argue, but then relented. He suspected she wasn't going to let it go that easily.
"Good night and I look forward to working with all of you throughout a successful year at Hogwarts."
Glad that was over and eager to get settled, Draco watched the new Slytherins scramble to keep up on the way to the dungeons. Had he and his friends been that small or that frightened on their first day?
The Sorting had gone rather predictably, with very few new students added to the Slytherin ranks. Draco suspected that some families from a long line of Slytherins had sent their children elsewhere – probably Durmstrang – after what had happened during the war and since.
Small wonder, after the series of articles the Prophet had run. Some hogwash about Hogwarts houses and how each had played a part in the war. Gryffindor saved the day, as always, flanked by legions from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Slytherin, in contrast, had been the home of the Dark Lord and no one from there had ever amounted to any good. Draco had been livid when he'd read that.
Then, to his utter shock, that rag put out by Lovegood's father had run an article listing all the Slytherins that had helped in the war, not least of whom was Severus Snape. That had gone some way towards calming him at the time. But honestly, who read that paper?
Nevertheless, he and his fellow snakes welcomed the newcomers with enthusiasm, determined to prove the Prophet wrong. They remained a proud house, no matter what anyone else thought.
On the way to Gryffindor Tower, the conversation he'd had with Malfoy on the train came back to mind. After washing up, he found Ron snoring happily in his bed already and everyone else gone. He went back down to the Common Room and found Hermione in her favourite chair, Crookshanks on her lap.
Thankful the place was noisy enough to make a conversation possible without being overheard, he joined her. "Can I ask you something, Hermione?"
"Hmm?" She hadn't looked up from her scribblings. What she could possibly be writing about already when their classes hadn't even started, he didn't know. He decided not to ask.
"Have you ever heard of a life debt?"
"A what?" Still her eyes remained on her parchment.
"A life debt. When someone saves someone else's life and they owe them a debt."
This finally got her attention and she put down her quill. "Would this be some old Muggle movie life debt or a wizarding one?"
With what he felt was the utmost patience, Harry frowned and looked at their surroundings. Wizarding, obviously. Figuring it would be best not to antagonise the person from whom he needed information though, he bit his tongue. "Is there a difference?"
She nodded. "Those depicted in old movies tend to be based on some intangible honour code. One is 'honour bound' or expected to honour such a debt by presumably paying it off in some manner, like through another act. It should be significant, but not necessarily saving the other's life."
That sounded reasonable. He tried to recall any such instances he might have seen in movies or on television. "So someone might pay a large sum of money or help a family member of the person or something like that?"
She considered his suggestions before nodding. "Yes, I think that would constitute payment in lieu of saving someone's life, provided it was agreeable to both parties."
"But it's different in the wizarding world?"
"Oh, yes." Isn't it always? "A debt remains until it is paid in full through the saving of the other's life. There are stories of wizards and witches remaining tied to each other for the rest of their lives."
Of course there are. His head began to ache.
She carried on. "Some sort of pull towards each other whenever danger approaches."
Harry thought about those he'd saved and those he'd lost and wondered if he'd ever be free of these invisible bonds. His concern must have shown, as Hermione reached out and touched his arm. "These aren't facts, Harry. They're more like folklore."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "So it's not really a thing?"
"I wouldn't go that far," she said. "After all, most folklore has at least some basis in fact."
"Oh." Just great.
Draco closed the curtains around his bed, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. The encounter with Potter on the train had brought back the ugly memories he'd tried hard to suppress. He remembered watching his father taken away after his trial, not likely to see the world outside of Azkaban ever again.
Then his mother's trial and his own. Potter had testified for them both. At first, Draco had been angry that he hadn't also testified for Lucius, but he didn't have to think much about it before realising that he was being unreasonable. His father had made his own bed.
Recalling his own trial, Potter's testimony came back to him as if it had been only yesterday. It had been surprisingly accurate. Who knew Potter could be so perceptive?
He'd told the Wizengamot that Draco had been raised to believe the Dark Lord was to be the saviour of the wizarding world. He'd spent his childhood emulating and trying to win the favour of his father, a devout follower of the Dark Lord. He supposed that part hadn't required much thought or observation.
But then he'd gone on to talk about how Draco had been under extreme duress, with his father imprisoned and house taken over, every move monitored. The Dark Lord had tasked him with the impossible – to kill Albus Dumbledore.
Draco had been forced to watch the torture and murder of Muggles, witches and wizards. He'd have been asking for a slow and painful death if he'd defied the Dark Lord's orders.
When Potter had explained he'd been inside the Dark Lord's head, seen and felt what he had, the court had let out a collective gasp. There had been all sorts of speculation before that, but when Potter had told the court in his own words, it had shocked everyone. Draco had felt ill then, his mind conjuring up images of what it might have been like for Potter to feel the rage and hate inside.
Before he could contemplate it much, Potter had started to describe how sickened he had felt, watching what Draco had been reduced to. Then he stunned Draco by saying how strong and intelligent and full of life Draco had been in school, only to be crushed under the force that was the Dark Lord.
All Draco could think of was whether he would have done the same for Potter, if their roles had been reversed. Would he have defended this person who had made his life miserable, whenever possible, all through school? Would he have had a single kind word to say? Would he have even cared enough to try?
On the day his verdict was read out and he was free to go, after disengaging himself from his mother's tight grasp, he'd caught up with Potter as he exited the court. "I want to thank you for giving me my life back."
Potter had leaned in and said, "Buy me dinner sometime, and we'll call it even."
He'd not seen the man since, until the platform. And then again during that strange encounter on the train. He'd obviously not taken Potter's dinner remark seriously, but a part of him – that little boy who'd held out his hand in an offer of friendship those many years ago – wondered if such a thing might be possible.
Harry came down for breakfast to find Hermione sitting in her favourite chair once again waiting for him. She waved him over. "Remember when you asked me about life debts?"
What, did she think he'd forgotten overnight? "Yes, I remember."
"Well, I've found out more."
Harry smiled. Hermione could always be counted on to dig up all the details on a subject. "And?"
"And it's more complicated than a simple quid pro quo."
"A what?"
"It's not a simple exchange – one thing for another, this for that."
Harry didn't like where this was going. "And?" he prodded.
"According to what I've read – certainly not all there is on the subject, since it's not something usually discussed at school, and Hogwarts' library doesn't hold a huge amount of information about them – a deep bond is formed."
"Yeah, you said that before."
"It's more than just a connection, though. It's like some sort of draw between them."
He held up a hand to stop her progress. "I can't see how that's the case, because all sorts of people did things to save me during the war and I don't feel a particular draw to anyone." He'd thought about that after they'd talked the night before.
She looked excited now. "But you see, that's just it. It's all about intent."
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"No, Harry. During wars, people often save other people and these supposed bonds aren't formed."
She looked at him, clearly wanting prompting to carry on. He waved his hand to get her to continue. He was hungry and wanted to get to breakfast.
"If the intent is to win the war or protect the interests of the other person, as a means to an end, no bond is formed. But if the intent is to save that individual, for no other reason than to save them, it becomes personal and a bond is formed."
This was all very complicated. "You mean like when my mother saved me?"
"Well, yes and no. A bond already exists between parent and child so the magic acts differently in those cases."
"Different how?"
"Your protection became stronger, even beyond her own death. Life debts end with the death of the other, though there is said to be an impact on the living person as well, if it was something that they could have prevented, but didn't. But that's going off track."
Harry's stomach rumbled. "Could we walk and talk? I'm starving."
She jumped up. "Sorry."
"So, if I hear you right, what you're saying is that I don't have some life debt obligation to hundreds of people because of the war."
"Oh, you don't have a life debt to anyone."
"Excuse me?"
"Like I said before, this is folklore. Stories handed down for generations, but without proof of their existence."
He huffed out a breath. "You could've started with that, you know."
She shrugged. She probably wanted to get some mileage from her research and just had to tell him at least some of what she'd learned.
"Some of the stories were fascinating – people bound together for life, looking out for one another in good times and bad. Deep friendships and sometimes even romantic relationships formed. Of course, that might all be explained by the draw one feels towards another after a shared traumatic experience."
She was on a roll now. "But the important thing is that there's no such thing as a life debt bond, or at least nothing beyond honour and shared experiences," he said hopefully.
"Not that I could find."
"Brilliant." They'd reached the Great Hall and he quickly got to his seat and gathered up some food before it disappeared. "Thanks, Hermione."
Her face fell. "But don't you want to hear about all the stories I found? There are some quite lovely ones."
He didn't, really, but she had been helpful. "Sure. You can tell me all about them while I eat."
Before she'd managed to get through a handful of love stories, a first-year rescued Harry. Harry recognised him as one of the star-struck youths that had watched him and whispered about him on the train. He approached looking terrified and handed Harry a note. "Headmistress McGonagall would like to see you in her office as soon as you're done with breakfast."
Harry frowned at Hermione, feigning a desire to remain and listen to her go on at length about these relationships borne of shared trauma. She shrugged.
Ron, who'd appeared out of nowhere, said, "Better eat up there, mate." And he scooped some bacon from Harry's plate before sitting down.
Draco had slept poorly, memories of the past year – and some from before that – swirling around his head, stubbornly refusing to allow him rest. He'd employed all the relaxation methods he knew, but all had failed him. Perhaps being in the castle again was the problem. That and seeing Potter.
His mood didn't improve as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast to find people watching him warily and mumbling warnings to each other under their breath. In his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, this might have amused him, knowing that people feared him. But now it simply caused his stomach to clench even more.
In contrast, he watched students – and even some professors – gawp and whisper about Potter, faces full of awe and amazement rather than irritation and thinly-veiled contempt. The all-too familiar feeling of being bested once more assaulted him and his head began to throb.
Draco had spent a lot of time over the summer looking back on his life and the choices he'd made. Much as he hated to admit it to himself – and he'd certainly never admit it to anyone else – he'd been jealous of Potter. Jealousy bred contempt, wasn't that how the phrase went? He'd hated Potter with every fibre of his being, but in retrospect he doubted hate had much to do with it at all. And then the stupid git had saved his life – more than once! And if that hadn't been enough, he'd testified on Draco's behalf, just because it had been the right thing to do.
Potter wasn't the one Draco hated.
Before he could delve into his newly-realised self-loathing too much, a young Slytherin approached him, arm held out, paper shaking in her hand.
"What's this?" Draco asked.
Her voice quavering nearly as much as her hands shook, she said, "P-Professor McGonagall wants to s-see you in her office." She dropped the paper and scurried away.
He frowned as he read the paper. What did she want? He hadn't even had a chance to settle in, never mind bring the ire of the Headmistress upon him. His stomach roiled again and he pushed aside his food. Might as well get it over with.
He passed Pansy, Greg and Blaise sauntering in for breakfast as he left. He didn't pause to properly hear what Pansy called to him as he went.
As he stood at the bottom of the staircase to the Headmistress's office, pondering how he was expected to gain entry, the one person guaranteed to make his morning even worse approached.
Harry arrived at the entrance to the winding staircase to find Malfoy already standing there. "What are you doing here?"
Malfoy sighed. "Same thing as you, I expect. I was summoned."
"Good morning, gentlemen," McGonagall said as she swept past them, mumbling the password so neither he nor Malfoy could hear. "Come along, then, both of you."
As they followed her into the office, she told them to take a seat. "This won't take long."
They sat silently, waiting as she rustled some papers around on her desk. Harry looked up at Dumbledore's portrait but their former Headmaster steadfastly feigned sleep. As he glanced to the other portrait immediately behind McGonagall, he saw that Snape was doing the same.
She finally broke the silence. "Right, then. I brought the two of you here because, frankly, you rather famously – or infamously, as the case may be – spent years demonstrating just how divided we can be when we put our minds to it. Your antics and animosity towards one another were well known and perpetuated the rivalry between houses. And as much trouble as you may have felt you got into, I don't believe your punishments were nearly severe enough."
Dumbledore fidgeted slightly in his frame, but said nothing. Harry looked at Malfoy whose face stayed blank, but not without a tightening of his jaw and slight red flush to his skin. Harry's anger bubbled to the surface. Surely she didn't mean to punish them now, as adults, for their actions as children.
He knew he should keep his mouth shut like Malfoy, but this was beyond the pale. "So, what? You're going to give us detention now because you didn't then?"
Malfoy shifted in his seat and when Harry glanced over, he saw a twitch of his lips. Well, really. It had to be said.
"No, Mr Potter, I am not doling out belated punishment." Her icy voice cut through him. "And if you don't want any new ones, I would suggest you keep your tone in check. Adult or not, you are my student, and I will not be spoken to in that manner. I won't warn you again."
Chastised, Harry nodded. "Sorry, Professor."
"Right then." Her tone lost the icy edge but was not warm. "My purpose in calling you both here today is twofold. First, I want to be clear that I will not tolerate any shenanigans, no matter who you are." She stared pointedly at Harry as she said this. "Second, I expect your cooperation."
Harry turned to Malfoy and his perplexed expression reflected his own feelings. "How so?"
"I will leave that to the two of you. I still believe in the house system, and in the sense of family it instills. However, there remain deep divides and I would like the two of you to lead the charge in building bridges."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. What the hell did she expect from them?
"I want you to work together, show people you can get beyond your past and move forward. Enlist the help of your friends as well."
Malfoy spoke for the first time. "Did you want something in particular – events and such – or more of an overall sense of cooperation?"
"As I said, I'll leave that to you. But I rather think a combination would work best. Something tangible to show progress."
Malfoy nodded. Harry had no idea what he was agreeing to, but he did the same.
"Very well then," she said, standing up to conclude the meeting. "I look forward to your success."
Eager to get away from the two Gryffindors, Draco hightailed it out of the office. Unfortunately for him, Potter did too.
"Oi! Malfoy, wait up."
Oh, for the love of – "What do you want, Potter?"
Potter's buggy eyes would have been comical if not for the situation. Honestly, what did the Headmistress expect from them? They'd be hard-pressed not to kill each other, never mind work together. Right now, Draco just wanted to get as far away from Potter as he could before he said something he'd regret.
"I thought … well, I don't know what I thought." As articulate as ever. Apparently the additional fame hadn't improved his vocabulary. "What did we just agree to in there?"
Draco let out a deep, long-suffering breath and tried not to react out of habit. "I would have thought that rather obvious." When Potter continued to stare blankly, he continued. "We agreed in part not to kill each other or attempt to do so. I think we can both agree to that."
Potter nodded. "Well, obviously."
Draco was beginning to wonder just how obvious that was. "And – this part will be more difficult – we agreed to set an example for the rest of the school by getting along famously and showing everyone else that Slytherins and Gryffindors can be the best of friends."
Potter choked. "What?"
"Quite." Draco crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to resist the urge to punch Potter in the face. "But we've agreed nonetheless, so I suggest we go our separate ways for now – to ensure we keep to that first part of our agreement – and come up with ways we can look like we don't hate each other." As an afterthought, he added, "Get Granger to help you."
Potter scuffed his feet. "I don't hate you."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said. "Of course you hate me. As I hate you. It's how things are. It's how they've always been. And it's how things shall stay. But – here's the key part – we must pretend not to hate each other."
"Pretend to be friends?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Not even McGonagall actually expects that. I imagine she'll be pleased enough if we are civil towards one another."
"I can do that."
Draco raised a brow. "Really? It might be harder than you think."
Potter stood up straighter now. "If I can be civil with the Ministry, I'm sure I can be civil with you."
"Good. I can as well. But, so as not to push our luck with this civility thing, perhaps we should part ways and come up with some teamwork things to pursue."
"Teamwork things?"
Draco resisted the urge to pull out his hair. "Teamwork. The Headmistress wants us to lead by example, get along, and find some ways to bring people together. Again, I suggest you talk to Granger."
"I—" Potter looked poised to argue, or something, but instead looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.
"Yes?"
"Never mind. I'll talk to Hermione and you talk to Parkinson and maybe this won't be as painful as it sounds."
"Indeed."
Once he caught up with her and explained the situation, Pansy, traitor that she was, actually thought it would be a fantastic idea. Women!
"With Malfoy?" Ron was positively apoplectic as they sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch. It had been the first chance he had to tell them about his meeting with McGonagall.
"I think it's a brilliant idea," Hermione said.
"You would."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If a professor says it, it's brilliant."
Harry tuned out their bickering. Some things never changed.
But some things did, and this was huge. How the bloody hell were he and Malfoy supposed to avoid riling each other up, never mind encourage teamwork?
Harry's mind had been so focused that he hadn't noticed Malfoy's approach and the ensuing silence that resulted.
"Oi! What are you doing here, Ferret?"
Harry's head shot up at Ron's outburst, along with most of the others at the table. Hermione groaned. Ron's face was quickly flushing a dangerous level of red.
"Potter, a word?"
Harry, not eager to witness Ron going off on one, stood up quickly. "Sure." He ignored the collective stares of incredulity and followed Malfoy out of the room.
"Hold up," he said as Malfoy marched quickly down the corridor. "Where are we going?"
"There's a disused classroom round the next corner. I thought we could speak there, without prying eyes and ears."
He looked back towards the Great Hall and noted that some people had come through the main doors to watch the two of them. Much as he didn't want to acknowledge the fact, Malfoy was right. "Fair enough."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "So glad you approve, Saint Potter." And he was off again.
"Don't call me that," Harry grumbled as he made to keep up as they entered the classroom and Malfoy closed the door behind them.
"Right, let's get working on this," Malfoy began.
"I thought we were going to get Hermione and Parkinson to help with this."
Malfoy placed his hand on his head as though to stop it from exploding. "Yes, well … we may yet, but right now I can't deal with Pansy's enthusiasm."
"She giving you a hard time?"
"Quite the contrary. She thinks this is a bloody brilliant idea and can't wait to get started. I cut and ran as quickly as I could."
Harry laughed. "She and Hermione will make a great team."
Malfoy groaned. "What is it with women and teamwork and getting along?"
"Search me," Harry said with a shrug. "But give Hermione something to take charge of, be creative with and boss people around about on the side, and she's in heaven."
"Merlin, they will get along."
"McGonagall is evil," Harry said. "And manipulative."
Malfoy snorted. "Finally figured that out, did you?"
"Nah, I've known that about her for a while. It's just –" Harry narrowed his eyes, "—she's being particularly evil this time."
"You don't think Dumbledore and Snape?"
Harry nodded. "Definitely."
They spent a good hour talking about what they might do to satisfy McGonagall's request. The first thing they'd agreed upon, which would come as no surprise to anyone, was a friendly Quidditch league, with each team a mix of students from all houses. They'd sign up relatively equal numbers from each house, divided by years – first and second years in one grouping, third and fourth another, fifth and sixth another, and seventh with the returning eighth years.
That settled, they tossed about a number of other ideas that might bring other students together. In short order, recognising that they were utterly useless at such things, they agreed to defer to the women in their lives – namely Hermione and Parkinson – to lead that charge. Pleased with their progress, they parted ways.
Only later did Harry reflect that they might actually be capable of working together. In fact, without the cloud of war hanging over them, they might well get along.
"I don't get why you have to work with Potter," Greg complained.
Millicent agreed. "It's like she's punishing you all over again."
"Oh, I don't know," Blaise mused. "It seems to me Draco doesn't look too bothered by the prospect of cozying up to Potter."
Pansy giggled and Draco stormed off to his room. Truth be told, their first meeting had gone well. Not once did he have the desire to throttle Potter.
Choosing not to dwell on that – or Blaise's comments – Draco pulled out his notes and started work on his Arithmancy assignment.
Part 2