Traitor: A Draco Malfoy Story

twenty-four

It was snowing as I looked out the window of the library, trying my hardest to study. I hadn't paid attention in the rest of my classes that day, my mind wandering to what Dumbledore had said about who I could be. What I could be. I'd read the same paragraph in my History of Magic textbook three times, and I still had no clue what it said. I groaned and let my head rest on my hand as I watched the flakes fall, shrinking lower into the couch I'd been glued to for several hours.

It was well past curfew and I'd managed to evade the prefects, though they'd done their best to clean out the library of students before they too had gone off to their common rooms to either study, hang out with friends, or sleep. But here I sat, letting the darkness of the room engulf me while I scanned the words on the page only visible by the light of a single small, white candle.

In the silence that surrounded me, I noticed the gentle wumph of a pillow compress and squash down. I glanced up, startled. I was still alone. I knew that ghosts traveled around the castle, like the Slytherin house ghost, the Bloody Baron, but they usually announced themselves. To my amazement, the space next to me shifted with a glimmer and Harry sat where there had been nothing before, holding a plain old cloak in his hand.

"Invisibility cloak," he grinned when he saw me gaping at him. "Out past curfew, huh? A lot on your mind?"

"Just something Dumbledore said to me," I said dismissively, waving my hand as a gesture of unimportance.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Dumbledore's back?"

"Of course. He didn't talk to you?"

"No," Harry said. "He didn't. He's been doing a fairly fabulous job of being the least helpful, even before he disappeared. I've been hoping he'd sneak back to talk to me, I've been--" He paused, rubbing his temples. "I just need to talk to him." There was obvious jealousy in his green eyes, and I felt kind of bad that I was who Dumbledore had gone out of his way to see. A knot began to form in my stomach when I thought that maybe he was spending his time hiding away from Hogwarts and Harry to research me.

"I'm sure you'll get to see him. He seems to be quite fond of you," I smiled, hoping to lift his spirits. He could see how weak my smile was, however, and the jealousy dropped from his face, replaced by sympathy.

"It was about the mark, wasn't it?"

"He told me not to tell anyone else about what he told me," I sighed. "But when was the last time he kept you out of the loop?" He chuckled in response. I continued. "He said there is a rumor of a creature that can take magic away from witches and wizards and either keep it for themselves or give it to others."

"And he thinks that it may be you?" Harry asked. "It would make sense why you'd be so valuable to Voldemort."

"Or to Dumbledore," I said, disdain tinting my voice. "You're forgetting that both sides want me."

He nodded solemnly.

"And I keep thinking, I never could do magic like I did earlier today before. Not before I burned the twins. There was a moment when they couldn't use their magic. They thought I was blocking it with some sort of spell."

"Hmm," was all Harry said, his gaze fixated on the snow outside, deep in thought.

"The more I think about it, the more I wonder if the only way for me to use whatever power this is is for me to hurt people." I struggled to choke out the last words, my eyes becoming glassy and a lump rising in my throat. A single, burning tear slipped down my cheek. "It's not like I can control it, it's not like I know how to use it." I took a breath, my voice shaking. "I don't know what to do."

My voice finally broke in a sob, and Harry moved closer to me, his arms finding their way around me and pulling me to him. It wasn't a romantic gesture. It was instead a gesture of understanding; an embrace of a person who understood the heartbreak of not knowing yourself or of not wanting to know yourself. We sat there like that for a long time, my face buried in his chest as he held me, a few of his tears dripping onto my shoulder. He rested his head on top of mine until I finally cried myself into a deep sleep.

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"NO!" 

Harry was yelling, thrashing frantically, and sweating. "DON'T HURT HIM!"

"Harry!" I cried, shaking him out of the dream. He was drenched, breathing heavily, panic in his eyes. "It was just a dream."

"No, it wasn't," Harry said. "It wasn't just a dream. I know my dreams, that was--" He paused, shooting up from the couch. "We have to find a professor, anyone I don't care--Arthur Weasley might have just been killed."

We raced out of the library after I grabbed my books and threw my robes on. He banged on Professor McGonagall's door, and she opened it groggily.

"Professor, Mr. Weasly might have been killed, or hurt, or something I don't know... in my dream there was a snake, Nagini, she was attacking him, please, Professor, you have to help--" 

McGonagall cut his rambling off with a lifted hand. "We need to see Dumbledore immediately." She turned to me. "What are you doing out of bed, dear?"

"Fell asleep studying."

"Well, get back to your dorm before Mr. Filch finds you. I didn't see you, and you didn't see me. Potter? Hurry."

They rushed away, leaving me standing there alone. Slowly, I turned and trudged down to the dungeons. I was almost run over by a running Snape, who stopped to shoot me a glare. "A student out of bed?" He sneered. 

"McGonagall knows," was all my tired voice could get out. He side-eyed me but rushed away.

Once inside the common room, I leaned against the door with a sigh. My eyes were puffy from crying, and I was so, so tired. I ran a hand through my hair and took several deep breaths, just to recenter myself.

The sound of footsteps made me look up from my exhausted pity party. Jenna hovered by the bottom of the stairs, her oversized t-shirt passing the bottom of her shorts, long brown legs exposed to the warm air that came from the fire. "Where have you been?" she demanded, though her voice was gentle.

"Oh, we're talking now?"

She rolled her eyes, "Don't be like that. You're too exhausted for this argument."

I hated that she was right. I huffed in annoyance. "I was studying in the library and fell asleep."

"You were doing more than studying," she said, walking over to me and taking my face in her hands. "You look awful."

"Thanks, Jennie. Love that." 

She only laughed at the nickname. "We don't have to talk about it now. I just want you to know I'm sorry for getting angry. I've been in an abusive relationship, and I would hate to see you end up in one yourself."

"I know, Jenna," I said, resting my head back against the firm wood. "But you have to believe, it was a heat of the moment thing. There's only ever been moments with him. It's not like he cares."

"Yes," she said, "But if he ends up caring after all, I'm just asking you to be careful. Can you do that?"

"Yes, mom," I groaned sarcastically.

She laughed. "Good. Let's get you to bed." She put her arm around me and guided me upstairs to our dorm.

When we reached the top of the stairs, I heard the gentle click of the boy's dormitory door as it closed. I don't know how much he'd heard, but Malfoy had definitely heard most of it.