Third Place - Drama

(Thursday evening)

My Master Plan began that night at dinner. Dinner at the Gryffindor table. I wondered if my repugnance was as visible to the Gryffindorks or the Ravenbrains or the Hufflepoufs as it was to my own Slytherins. They sent me encouraging and commiserating looks as I made my way to the Table From Hell that evening, Harry�s hand firmly in mine as it had been since I�d informed him that we were sitting with his former housemates.

I could feel the Weasel�s glare burning a hole in my back as I turned to help Harry find a seat between Granger and myself. Harry stared around him as though he�d been forced into a foreign country rather than a table 20 feet to the left of where he�d taken lunch. As soon as I�d taken my seat, his hand slipped under the table and rooted around until he�d taken a death grip on my fingers.

I took a few moments to reintroduce the Gryffindors to Harry. "Harry, this is Hermione," Bloody Know-It-All my mind supplied.

"And this is Lo-Neville," Walking Disaster.

"Fin-Seamus," Slut.

"Dean," Hmm, I realized I hadn�t yet come up with a satisfactory derogatory term for Thomas.

"Wea-" Shit. Weaselette, Girl Weasel, Baby Weasel, Red Haired Bitch. Yes, yes, I had all of those down, but as for her real name, Jennifer? Genevive? Geena? Oh, for Merlin�s sake, I sighed. "I...I don�t actually know your name, Miss Weasley," I said politely, biting my tongue. I could tell from the interesting not-Weasley-at-all smirk she delivered me that I wasn�t fooling her one bit.

"It�s Ginny," she supplied with another smirk at me and then a heartstopping smile at Harry. It was that smile...no, rather it was the returning smile from Harry that convinced me not to pick at her Weaselly brother that evening. I nodded respectfully.

"Ginny, then. And this is Ron." Weasel looked vastly surprised that I�d not given in to my temptation to insult him. I wondered how he�d take it if he knew his sister had just saved his arse. Harry stared at each person with wide eyes, noting their smiling faces, but the only one to garner a reaction was Ginny. And so it was that I didn�t complain when she began loading up his plate just as Pansy had at lunch.

Harry dug in with relish causing a few chuckles around the table. He paused slightly, looking worried at what the amusement might signal, but Ginny pushed a glass of milk at him and he went back to stuffing himself. I took a small amount of food, not really feeling hungry, the only snake in a den of lions. It gave me plenty of opportunity to Gryff watch.

Next to Ginny, Harry seemed to be responding best to Neville's gentle demeanor. The Clod of Gryffindor seemed less so as he carefully wiped the remnants of dinner from Harry�s face and handed him his glass. Hermione attempted to mother him as well but I think the scare at CoMC turned him a bit off of her. He didn�t flinch; he just stared at her with big, scared eyes until she looked away with tears glistening in her own.

I wanted to say, "Ha! Take that Mudblood! How does it feel to have the tables turned for once?" However, what came out was "Harry? Why don�t you tell Hermione about the marble that Greg made for you?" Oh, dear Merlin. I was going soft. Granger shot a confused look at me before her attention was forcibly wrenched away by Harry�s gesticulating imitation of Greg�s wand movements.

I half tuned them out, just paying enough attention to note if Harry needed me, and went back to finishing up my dinner. Weasel�s glares put me off of my food entirely, but I wasn�t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Thusly, food that would have been palatable 20 feet to the right sat like cardboard in my stomach. I was never so glad as when Harry told me he was full.

I thanked the Gryffindors for allowing us to eat at their table, though the words nearly choked me, and made pointed noises until Harry had thanked them as well. Everyone waved goodbye, even Weasel looked lively for that, and Ginny blew Harry a kiss. He giggled and hid his face in my shoulder. As we turned to walk away, Granger grabbed my sleeve.

We had a brief staring contest in which I tried valiantly to convince her that I was still a hard-hearted bastard. She mockingly threw it back in my face by looking deliberately at the arm I had draped around Harry�s waist. I puffed up and lifted my chin. She snorted and dropped hers, sardonically staring back at me from under a raised eyebrow.

Really, it could have continued in that vein, both of us conversing in body language, had Harry not gotten wind of some inconsistency in my behavior. He made a slight whimpering noise and tugged at my sleeve. I forfeited the ridiculous game and smoothed a hand over Harry�s soft curls, making a shushing noise. When I turned back to Granger, those bloody tears were back as well as a tiny smile.

"Thank you," she mouthed. I nodded once and then ushered my charge out of the Hall.

(Thursday night)

After dinner, I set Harry to doodling with parchment and ink whilst I finished my homework. I thought I had kept a decent eye on him, at least until Pansy and her ilk made it obvious that I�d missed something along the way. Her laughter echoed through the common room, drawing my attention to Harry. He had given up on �writing� and gone into artistic impression...using his own flesh for a canvas.

I tried, I really did, to shake my finger sternly at him. He just looked too damn cute sitting there, big raccoon circles around his eyes where he�d rubbed sleepy fists. In the end, I could only laugh as well. I put my homework up and made a scary decision.

"It�s time for a bath, Harry."

I�m pretty sure he wasn�t any keener on it that I was, for he made a meeping noise and took off at a dead run. I earned my Seeker�s reputation trying to catch the elusive prat. I hadn�t even been aware of some of the hiding places I found him stuffed into. Eventually, after nearly 15 minutes of chasing, I caught him. Carrying a child who is having a tantrum over bathtime is difficult at any point. Carrying a 17-year-old child who is just as strong as you are is something quite different.

I wrangled him into the Slytherin shower room amidst chortles and howls of laughter and then into the corner where the lonely single tub sat. I plopped him down and before he could bolt again, warded the doors closed with my wand. I allowed him to beat himself against the unyielding door for a few moments while I caught my breath and rubbed my bruised shins and then I stood up and crossed my arms.

"Harry James Potter! You stop that right this instant!" For a moment I thought I was channeling my nurse. "You�re going to hurt yourself and it�s pointless anyway because there is no possible way you�re getting through those wards!" I was actually rather proud of the mature way I�d handled the situation. And then Harry slumped to the ground and began to sob.

Shit.

I think I might have ruined my trousers with the skid I launched into in an attempt to get to Harry�s shaking form as quickly as possible. I flung my arms around him and began babbling something. Something meaning I have no idea what words came out of my mouth. I was too busy mentally berating myself. What the hell had Dumbledore been thinking when he foisted Harry off onto me? I was obviously unfit as a caretaker. I couldn�t even get him into a bath!

Somewhere amidst my mental breakdown and Harry�s actual one, I noted that he�d stopped crying and just sat quietly letting me rock him to and fro. Hmmm. Too bad I wasn�t paying attention. Knowing what I�d said might have come in handy later.

"Harry?" I tried softly.

He whuffled and buried his face further into my robes.

"Harry, what happened here? Why did you get so scared?"

"Wmmwm," he replied. Huh?

"I can�t hear you, pet. Look up at me, please?" I cajoled. Draco Malfoy. Cajoling. Oh, the shame. But his eyes, sad and weepy, turned up to look at me. "Good boy," I praised him. For crying out loud. Dogs and children. Did anyone else notice the similarities? "Now what was it that you said?"

"W-water," he hiccupped. Long, spiky eyelashes blinked at me.

"You�re afraid of the water?" I tried to translate. He nodded vigorously. "Why?"

His nose scrunched up and his eyes grew thoughtful. He seemed to be searching inwardly for an elusive thought. Finally he huffed and shrugged. "Dunno," he pouted. "Just am."

"You needn�t be afraid as long as I�m with you, you know," I offered. Sap, sap, sap. "I�ll make sure nothing happens to hurt you." Oh, I�m so pleased no one else was there to hear me spouting such emotional goo.

He sniffed and eyed me warily. After hours...oh all right. It took maybe 30 seconds. After 30 seconds, he nodded and allowed me to help him up. I walked him to the tub and we investigated it together. I had him put the drain in and choose the bubbles. Oh, the horror. Bubbles. And then I helped him out of his clothes while thinking about Pansy�s breasts rubbing in my face. It was the most disgusting thing I could imagine in an attempt to distract me from his gorgeous toned body that housed a shaking 4 year old.

I helped him into the tub and quickly removed my outer robe. I knelt down and playfully splashed a tiny bit of water onto his chest. His hissed intake of breath scared the life out of me, but I acted as though I didn�t notice. Soon, he ventured a hand into the water to splash back and I grinned in accomplishment. He was able to wash himself. I didn�t know if it was a remembered thing or if he had actually had to wash himself at that age. I don�t think I wanted to know right then. It would have been just one thing too much to deal with.

When time came to wash his hair, he refused to lie back in the water. I tried very hard to ignore the chant of "not under, not under, not under," that he took up as he stared at the bubbly water Rather than fight with him or, as the occasion merited counsel him, I transfigured a cup from the washcloth and carefully cleaned his hair for him, making sure to keep the water off of his face. After the bath, I helped him out and handed him a towel. As he dried off, I broke the wards and poked my head out into the common room.

Pansy was perched on the couch making no attempt to be discreet about waiting for us to come out. I rolled my eyes and asked her to fetch some of Harry�s nightclothes for him. Ten minutes later, Harry was dressed warmly and had his teeth brushed and my next dilemma was at the forefront.

How to make Harry go to bed?

POV�Greg

What the hell was happening? Harry Potter regressed in age to a four year old? Not possible. He was strong. He was the figurehead. He couldn�t be weak, childlike. He was the hope that Vince and I were betting our futures on. He was our opportunity to finally be able to act as more than the Slytherin heavies. He was the only thing keeping us from slavery to the Dark Lord. And now, the hero was being taken care of by...Draco Malfoy?

It was bizarre.

Oh, we knew that Draco had a crush. Everyone knew it. Well, all the Slytherins. Hmmm. Except him maybe. But we never saw this coming. We never saw him as a wet nurse for Dumbledore�s Golden Boy. It opened a whole new can of worms. We could be bastards to Harry Potter, Draco's nemesis, but it was much harder to be bastards to Draco's charge.

But then we saw him. Harry James Potter, savior of the world, being led in on the hand of the Slytherin Prince. He brought Potter to the table and began dishing up. Potter just sat there, staring at the food and petting some weird stuffed toy. Draco asked him if he were going to eat and he said the oddest thing. He said he�d had to wait for leftovers.

The savior of the world had to eat leftovers? What the hell?

And then Pansy took it upon herself to start mothering the little whelp. I suppose she was pleased as punch that she�d finally found someone who would let her. The first years only let her mother them until they learned that letting her do so showed weakness. Then they shoved her away. It was sad, really. She�d make a good mum one day.

When the others Slytherins started passing food down, I sighed but passed along a rasher of bacon, refusing to be outdone by the bloody 6th years. The smile of thanks on Potter�s face actually made the embarrassment of feeding him tolerable. Not that I have any plan to tell a soul that. Even Vince. Though, I think he felt the same way, at least from the answering grin on his face as he fed Potter his ham.

When we went to classes, I kind of felt bad for the brat as well. He just sat there, looking all melancholy and confused. Like he knew he should know this, but couldn�t get a handle on how to do it. I fucked my spell up, not surprisingly as my �teacher� currently had his hands full with keeping Potter occupied, and I wound up with some color-changing marble instead of the damn green it should have been.

Potter didn�t seem to care that it was wrong, though. His face lit up in that smile again and he clapped for me. Good fucking Merlin. He actually stood up and clapped. As if failing weren�t humiliating enough. I figured that I wouldn�t be getting a decent grade given my mistake, so I gave the marble to laughing boy. He smiled at me again and held onto the damn marble like it was the bloody answer to his prayers.

I suppose I should be thankful. His enthusiasm made McGonagall give me a passing grade.

I suppose that damn smile works on her too.

POV Vince

I don�t know what the hell is happening. A month ago, Draco's crush was something we would giggle about behind the closed doors of our dorm. A week ago, his crush materialized into defiance against his father. A defiance that escalated into the death of Lucius Malfoy and the nightly presence of Draco Malfoy at Harry Potter�s sickbed.

The Slytherins just turned a blind eye for that whole week. We didn�t acknowledge what we all knew: that Draco had officially switched sides for a boy who may never wake up again. But then, this morning, Dumbledore announced that he had woken. And that he had regressed in age. It didn�t really come as a surprise when the Headmaster got around to telling us that Draco had volunteered to take care of him.

And still, we Slytherins didn�t make eye contact with one another. We didn�t bring up the defection. We just sat, like any good subjects, and let Draco do as Draco willed. We would clean up the fallout when it happened.

So, when Draco walked into the Hall holding hands with an obviously terrified Harry Potter, we all heaved a collective sigh and prepared to be stared at all day. But, something was different about this Boy-Who-Lived. Not just his regression, but also his honesty. It was all there, in front for everyone to see. He no longer had the skills to hide his feelings.

He didn�t know that admitting to being treated like some kind of servant was the wrong thing to do in front of a group of Slytherins. And so, we couldn�t approach it that way. Pansy was the first to break. She always is. And the fact that Harry was a �child� just threw her for a loop. She�s such a mother hen. Of course, she�s also a grade A, first class bitch who casts a mean bat bogey hex, which explains my quick acquiescence to her elbow.

Don�t tell her, but I would have done it anyway. Just to see if I could coax the same look of pleased happiness out of him that she had. It was like watching an entirely different person. Which, I suppose he is. But a Harry Potter without a mask is a heady thing indeed. His smile is addictive. His laugh is captivating. I found myself acting like a bloody Hufflepuff trying to get a fix.

Come lunchtime, I actually started slipping him sweets. Each time I �snuck� a piece by Pansy, Harry would giggle. He�d stuff it in his mouth quickly to help hide the evidence, and then he�d smile at me, mouth half full of pastry.

Oh, I knew that Pansy saw me. I noted that she was always looking �elsewhere� when I dropped a goodie on his plate and that she didn�t look back until he�d half chewed it up. But if Mother Hen was willing to overlook the balanced meal in order to balance the boy, who was I to complain?

What the hell. Here, Harry. Have another scone. Can I have my giggle?

POV Pansy

I suppose we should be hexing Potter, if not killing him. It's what The Dark Lord would want, and he would make us powerful in return. But this is a child. I can't do it. And neither, it would seem, can anyone else. As to Draco's treachery, I never liked his father anyway. Good riddance I say. Something is happening to Slytherin house. And try as I might, I can't say it's bad.

Everyone is changing. From Vince to Greg to Draco and me as well. I know that everyone thinks I over-mother everyone. And maybe I do. But I can�t help it. I can�t help it every term when the first years come into the common room, eyes wide in awe; I couldn�t help it now, watching Harry Potter stare at the breakfast food as though it were an unattainable treasure. I couldn�t help myself, and to be honest, I don�t think I wanted to.

Vince surprised me. I wasn�t expecting him to go along with me at breakfast. And I certainly wasn�t expecting him to take it to the whole new level that he did at lunch. Honestly, as though I could somehow miss Harry Potter with blueberry jam smeared across his face. And Greg. It�s hitting Greg harder than Vince. Greg was always more into the bullyboy fa�ade than Vince. For Greg to let go his ingrained �we hate Potter� mantra was rather a huge step.

Draco is like a new person. He�s been given a chance to show affection, to show the side of him that lurked just beneath the surface for years. It�s a good look on him. I know it took a lot for Draco to hide himself for so long. He�s such a drama queen, and having this Lucius shaped mask on for 17 years must have been like breathing through a clogged reed.

Potter�s good for him. He�s always been good for him. Potter kept him alive and infuriated when Lucius would have had him cloned and subservient. Lucius could never quite beat out Draco's obsession with Harry Potter. I�m surprised he missed when it turned from obsession to adoration. The rest of us saw. We knew. We knew what was coming long before Lucius, before Snape, even before Draco did. We saw Draco's future written in Harry Potter�s verdant eyes.

And now, now that Potter�s mask has been torn away, now that I can see what hides behind his eyes...I think I can see my own as well.

Retreat - Chapter 5

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