17This was typed up faster than a speeding broomstick racing towards the snitch, and I only read through it once before deciding to post it. I figured you all had waited long enough for the next chapter :)
If there was one thing Draco didn't miss, it was Binns' History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts. The ghost's lectures were very much like the lecturer himself: bland, transparent and dead as dead could fucking be. He didn't think anything could be more boring than one of those lessons.
That was before he stepped into a meeting for the Order of the Phoenix.
All in all, he supposed he should have been impressed. What with Granger to his right and Lupin to his left, he knew he had two of the most respected members of the Order on his side. Plus, Harry fucking Potter himself had vouched for Draco at one point or another, so it should have been assumed that Draco Malfoy had renounced his Death Eater ways and wanted to play with the good guys now, right?
He wouldn't have admitted it, but the dining room in which he sat held a powerful group of witches and wizards, and all of his former enemies in the same room was rather a sight to behold. Of course, maybe if he had admitted it, they might take to him a bit more kindly. Then again, he wouldn't be able to admit anything, not with all the noise they all were making.
He sat back in a thick wooden chair, unable to hear his own loud exhale as it was absorbed by the shouting. He couldn't even really hear who was saying what, just that a number of things were being thrown out on the table.
"They'll not be going! It's madness!"
"No, madness is Harry Potter and my son missing for who knows—"
"But Draco is supposed to be in hiding!"
"Hermione's just a tiny thing—"
"Without knowing—"
"Who even—"
"Can you just imagine—"
"I'm of age!"
"How can we even trust—"
"Will you all just listen—"
"Well, fuck if we can't—"
"Watch your language, young man!"
"Molly, just—"
The last time he looked up, he wanted to punch someone in the face. Everyone was shouting, pointing at him as though he was a child, speaking about him as though he wasn't even in the room. Anger made his blood boil, so he forced himself to focus on a gnarled knot slightly to his left on the wooden table before him. He wondered how old the table was, and if it were true that one could tell by counting the rings that rippled from the center of the table.
"We can do this!"
"Where would you even—"
"It's dangerous out there!"
"He's a Malfoy!"
"Maybe we should—"
"NO GEORGE!"
"But, Arthur—"
"Kingsley, listen to reason!"
"How do you expect us to—"
"We're not getting anything done!"
"Shut up for one second, Remus,"
"I know what's out there!"
"We're supposed to be—"
"Dumbledore would have—"
"But he's—"
"NO!"
Through all the din, he could hear a shake in Hermione's voice, and for a second he thought she was going to cry. His head snapped up, only to see she wasn't shaking and holding back tears; she was angry and so red in the face she put the famous Weasley hair to shame. For a second he was thrown back to second year at Hogwarts, to a Herbology lesson about mandrakes. He could see that day clearly in his mind, the first day they were to repot the bloody things, and how horrifying the mottled faces were. Hermione at the moment reminded him of a screaming infant mandrake and the thought forced a bark of laughter from deep within him, startling everyone at the table to stop talking. The sudden shock of silence seemed even funnier still, and one short bark of laughter turned into a guffaw; he felt his own face turn red from laughing so hard, and he wondered if he looked anything like Hermione.
"Honestly, Draco, I don't see what's so funny about all this."
Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and he ignored the part of his mind that appreciated the way the action accentuated a particular part of her female anatomy. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying not to laugh as he exhaled. He looked around the room at the faces there, some familiar and some foreign. All of these people were going to decide his fate. The thought sobered him up faster than a Crucio.
Aurors he didn't know, and some he did. Tonks. Moody. Lupin. Even some old schoolmates like Lee Jordan and Neville Longbottom. Molly Weasley. Arthur Weasley. All of their Weasley children except for old Ronnie, and Draco was kind of glad he wasn't there because if he was Granger would have hexed one or both of them by now for all the insults they would be throwing at one another.
Hermione. She was there too, of course, and their "non-friendship" was proof that he had changed. Well, at least he had changed enough that they could trust him to some extent, right? He probably shouldn't have laughed, but he had, and there was only one thing to do now that they all were questioning his sanity and most likely his motives: work his Slytherin charm.
"Nothing's funny about all this," he agreed, nodding as he leaned forward to rest clasped hands on the table in front of him. He remained seated as everyone was still standing, knowing the difference in height would make him appear submissive. "It's actually quite sad, and while we sit here arguing, the enemy grows stronger, and Potter and Weasley aren't any closer to being found."
"Enemies that you work for?" Jordan spat, and Draco knew he had slipped back into Slytherin mode when he just let the comment slide without a scathing remark. If he was going to trick these people into allowing him his freedom, he had to act like a Gryffindor. Oh, if only Zabini could see him now.
"Enemies that are trying to kill me, same as they are you, Jordan. Look, I'm not asking you to accept me without question. I know I've done wrong—I have the mark to prove it—and I know I've done nothing to earn your trust—"
"But you have, Draco," Hermione argued, taking her seat next to him. There was a shine in her eye when she looked at him; to others it would seem as though she held back tears but Draco swore he could see a Slytherin-esque gleam in them. He held back a smile as she continued. "I can honestly say that you've changed. You're not the same rotten git I knew in school—you're a good man, and you've earned my respect, at least."
"Thanks Granger…I think." He smirked at the roll of her eyes, and kept his seat, looking around at the people before him, meeting each set of eyes. "I've fought you all for so long when I should have let you in. I can try to make excuses and say I was just trying to save my own skin, but so were all of you, and I regret it all, but I can't take it back. All any of us can do now is use what we've learned to our advantage.
"Harry and Ron have gone after the Dark Lord's horcruxes, and from what I gather, it's a touch-and-go mission. I haven't forced information out of Hermione or anything, but as a Malfoy, I was privy to the Dark Lord's plans, and I know things that could help you find the other horcruxes and Harry and Ron as well."
"Pretty words from a prisoner, Malfoy, but we haven't forgotten who you are. Just because Miss Granger here's been fooled, don't think we all are," Moody warned, and Draco had to suppress the growl that wanted to issue forth from his throat.
"I haven't been 'fooled,' Professor," Granger argued, and the fighting began again.
"I'll not have you going about—"
"I'm not a child—"
"She's got a point—"
"…disgusting pig of a…"
"Did you hear—"
"We can't just—"
"It isn't even an option—"
"But don't you think—"
"…lying son of a—"
Frustration was something Draco had grown accustomed to in his life here at Grimmauld Place, and he knew his crafty, tricky ways were a bit rusty, not having had much use with just Hermione around. As the shouting grew louder, he began to formulate a plan in his head—a plan that died before it even really had a chance.
Just as that plan began to take shape, a silver stag burst through a window, and the whole room went silent even faster than it did when Draco started to laugh.
The stag spoke in just a whisper, but the sound filled the room even after the message had been relayed and the stag evaporated.
Lupin turned to Draco and Hermione, who were both in shock as much as the rest of the group. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco registered that Hermione was crying but he couldn't even move to offer her any kind of comfort. He kept staring at the spot where the stag stood, and only the sound of the werewolf's voice snapped him out of his daze. "Pack your things. You leave tonight."
There was no argument.
I'm rather attached to this story, but a lot of things have happened since my last post to pull me away from it. Since then I've entertained the idea of finishing it, but I never had the heart to.
The other night I got a very nice message from Sugarcube18, and this chapter was written shortly after. It's not very good, I'll admit; when two years pass between chapters, you kind of lose your edge :P However, I'm trying, and I'm getting back into things, I think. So thank you, Sugarcube for inspiring me to finish the story, and thanks to everyone who continued reading and waiting even when I didn't know what I was doing. I think there's about one more chapter left, and I'm such a fan of procrastinating with school work that you just might get that chapter before another two years go by :)