Third Place - Drama

Between us, Dobby and I finally got Harry into bed Wednesday night. Harry was so weak and wrung out that it was like manipulating wet pasta. I cast a Weight-Lightening Charm on him and carried him through the hallways and dorms while Dobby opened doors and turned down the bed for me. People stared at us as we went by, wondering I suppose, why a red eyed and swollen nosed Draco Malfoy was carrying an unconscious Harry Potter while following an imperious house-elf who scattered students like mice.

Apparently, the whole episode was cleansing for Harry, as he had not slept as well in the whole near week I�d had him. I, on the other had, slept like shite. I tossed and turned and wrapped myself up in the blankets until I could hardly move. With my eyes closed, all I could see was a red light. With them open, all I could do was stare at Harry.

By the time morning came, I had dark circles under my eyes to add to the mix. I was dragging arse at least ten steps behind him the whole morning. Harry hopped out of bed as happy as you please and raced into the showers. He then bounced out to the dorm room to get dressed. After that, he skipped down the passageway to the Great Hall. He was exhausting me before we even got to the bloody breakfast table.

I chose to sit with the Slytherins this morning. They were a quieter bunch by nature and, dear Merlin did I need it. Pansy took one look at me and appropriated Harry. She dished him up and made small talk with him and wiped his mouth. I swear that had I not been in love with Harry Potter, I would have married that girl.

The morning post came in halfway through my croissant with cream cheese. Nothing like owl fluff stuck to one�s cream cheese. After disposing of my suddenly enfeathered breakfast, I noticed that an envelope had been dropped at my place setting. I had no idea who would be sending me letters as I had recently disposed of my primary correspondent, so I put caution before curiosity. Several spells later, I was assured that I could open the letter without explosion, hex or curse, and so I did.

My dearest son,

I know how hard it must be for you to read this. It is equally as difficult for me to write. We have not been as close in these last years as we might once have been. After your early childhood, I left you to your father to instill Malfoy ideals and Malfoy pride. He was concerned that I might taint your upbringing with my tender ways. I can see that I did. And I cannot tell you how pleased it makes me.

You did something very difficult, my son. Heartbreaking and painful and difficult. And you did it for the betterment not only of yourself, but also of the Wizarding World, of the Malfoy name, of young Harry Potter. I do not fault you your choice. It is a bit saddening to me to realize that I rather revel in it. In procuring your own freedom and that of Harry Potter, you have procured mine as well. I thank you for that.

I am sorry that it had to end as it did, but I am pleased that it is at an end. I feel that I may finally get to know the son I was forced to give up so many years ago. At least, I hope that I may get to know him. I am so very sorry, my son, for deserting you as I did. I wish to make it up to you. I wish to be, if not your mother again, then at least your friend.

Please, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would like to see you. I plan to be in Hogsmeade this Saturday. I often stop in at Madam Puddifoot�s for a spot of tea. I would like it very much if you could join me. I hear you also have a new charge. I and mine have done many wrongs to this young man. Please feel free to bring him along. I would like the opportunity to apologize and to thank the young man who saved my son.

Do consider it, my son. I miss you and I love you.

Your mother,
NBM

I couldn�t believe my eyes. Blinking and rubbing my eyes didn�t seem to change the words and so I handed it over to Pansy. She frowned a bit, I�d never let her read my post before, but she skimmed over it as she daintily ate her eggs. Then she dropped her fork and began to blink as well. With a quick pat to Harry�s head and a reminder for him to listen to Pansy, I grabbed the letter and headed up to Professor Snape.

"Albus, this is a spectacularly bad idea," Snape shook his head as he reiterated the same point he�d been making for the last half hour.

"I have the right to see my mother, Professor," I said tiredly. "You can�t stop me."

Snape sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Mr. Malfoy, I am not trying to prevent you from seeing your mother. I am trying to warn you that racing off to meet the sister and former wife of a Death Eater in an unprotected area such as Hogsmeade on the basis of a letter is quite dangerous."

"I want to see her," I protested stubbornly. "She says she wants to make amends. Shouldn�t she have the opportunity to make amends, Professor?" Snape nearly growled as he turned away from me. I could see his point, truly I could. And I was secretly quite pleased that he was so worried about my welfare as to lose his customary mask. However, deep down inside, I was still a little boy who desperately just wanted his mummy. And he was the man standing in the way of that.

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore�s quiet voice interrupted the growling. "Draco is correct, Severus, in that we cannot stop him from seeing his mother. However," he overrode the protest that was about to come out of Snape's mouth. "However, Severus is correct, Draco, in that it is a very foolish thing to simply agree to meet your mother without precautions."

I bit back the nasty words and took a breath. "What kind of precautions, sir?"

"I will not let you go alone. You must have some of your friends or Harry�s friends accompany you."

I rolled my eyes. "And what are they going to do?"

Dumbledore peered over his glasses at me. "Well, Harry�s friends are quite well versed in defensive spells and I�m certain that your friends know a thing or two that hasn�t been taught on school time." I flushed. Of course we did. What Pureblooded Slytherin came to Hogwarts completely empty of knowledge? "And besides, a crowd is much harder to steal away than a single boy or two."

I was about to nod my agreement when he continued.

"And I wish to have Order members stationed in and around Hogsmeade in general and Madam Puddifoot�s in particular." He raised his hand as I opened my mouth. "There will be no negotiating, Mr. Malfoy. You will do these things if you wish to meet with your mother come Saturday."

I sighed. Why the hell not? If for nothing else than Harry�s protection. "Very well, sir," I agreed. "I will make arrangements to go to Hogsmeade with several companions and will not argue with whomever you appoint from the Order."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded back. Snape didn�t smile. He didn�t look happy. But at least the growling had stopped. I�m pretty sure that was the best I was getting.

(Friday)

Harry was just as excited as I for Saturday to come. In the last two days, he had badgered me for dozens of stories of my mother and of the Manor and what my childhood was like. Needless to say, I focused on the happier moments of my life when telling him stories and I conveniently left out the existence of the dungeons when going through a verbal tour of the Manor.

I told him of my lovely, princess-like mother who floated on the edge of my memories smiling and laughing and offering me biscuits and kisses. After so many years, I wasn�t sure what was actually the truth and what was simply a story made up relived in my subconscious enough times for me to believe it was true. Harry was delighted with my tales, regardless of their dubious origin.

I had chosen to clothe him from my own wardrobe, as his own clothes were nothing short of tatty. Weasel bitched about it, telling me Harry wasn�t some doll to dress up and play with, but Granger told him to shut it. Needless to say, I was a bit flabbergasted when she showed up later that evening to help me.

I was prepared to offer a scathing commentary on how I didn�t want her Muddy paws all over my fine clothing and how she couldn�t possibly be able to match colors much less put together an ensemble that would impress my mother. She never gave me the chance. She burrowed into my wardrobe like some hideous clothes-beaver and came out with...a most spectacular dress shirt that I�d not even remembered owning.

As I was attempting to form a coherent sentence, she dove back in and appeared with a matching tie. I dropped onto the bed, holding the shirt and tie in limp hands as I watched her go in for a third time. When she came out with silk pinstriped trousers, a matching jacket and a set of black silk socks, I gave up. I pulled out my jewelry case and dumped it on the bed so she could select the perfect cufflinks.

When we�d finalized the outfit, we called Harry in from the other room and fitted everything to him, tailoring it like a second skin. He was delighted with his new outfit and bounced out to the common room to show it off. He was very careful not to brush up against anything dusty or to let anyone finger the material, realizing that he must attempt to stay clean.

Oh, all right. So I told him to avoid Crabbe�s greasy fingers. What? The great lump brought fried chicken into the dorm and then lumbered over to get a closer look at Harry�s suit. After the show, Harry carefully removed the outfit and set it out to wear the next morning. A bath and a story later and we both retired to our bed, far too excited to sleep. It was hours later that we finally succumbed to the darkness.

Retreat - Chapter 14

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