Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 18 Draco: What They Think About Me

Draco watched the large black dog skulk away with a dreadful sinking feeling. Like a bucket of cold water in the face, it effectively squelched his elation at the near-miraculous feat he'd just accomplished.

He'd made peace with Harry Potter. Not only that, he had taken the first step toward making friends with Harry Potter. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done--the aftertaste of several hastily swallowed gibes still lingered in his throat--but not nearly as bad as he'd expected.

Somehow, he had just assumed that if he could surmount that obstacle, the rest would all fall into place. After all, wasn't Harry the darling of the wizarding world? Who was going to argue with him, if he chose to bury the hatchet with an old rival who just happened to be the repentant son of a prominent Death Eater?

How utterly naive of him, to have thought it could be so simple. From the look on Harry's face as he watched his godfather exit, he was already having second thoughts. And Weasley might have got into one of his own brothers' Skiving Snackboxes by accident. He looked positively green.

Harry cast him an apologetic glance and then took off after Black at a run. "Yeah, go on then; I'll be around," Draco muttered.

Pointedly ignoring Weasley, with whom he was not yet quite prepared to deal, he turned back to the old Gryffindor witch, regarding her shrewdly. "Black's not going to let it go, is he? I'll wager he'd sooner see Harry take up with a Dementor than the likes of me." He kept his voice low, but was dismayed to hear the old habitual sneer creeping back into it.

"I wouldn't go quite that far, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall sighed, her rheumy old eyes reflecting depths of understanding he'd never guessed at. But then, when had he ever stopped to take a really close look at her before? "Come, walk with me a moment...I have a meeting to attend..."

On impulse, Draco offered the Transfigurations instructor his arm. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she quite graciously hooked her own through it and allowed him to escort her. He was aware, as they started off toward the kitchen, of Weasley tagging behind at a small distance, and firmly resisted the urge to turn around and demand that the aggravating redhead shove off. Anything he heard would get back to Harry, and that was all to the good.

Still, he couldn't shake the notion that he had got stuck babysitting the sidekick, and it was...annoying.

"Sirius Black has his troubles, as do we all, but he is a decent man, and he cares for Mr. Potter as his own," McGonagall was saying. "I do believe he might be persuaded to give you a chance, if circumstances were different. But I am afraid right now you represent too great an obstacle to his ambitions."

The young Slytherin tensed. It had all played out exactly as he had feared; everyone was gossiping about these being the last days of House Slytherin, but until now he hadn't known the source of the gossip. "He's the one spreading the rumors, then. Dumbledore wouldn't tell me who it was--"

"Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall corrected promptly. "But yes, I strongly suspect he's behind it. Though he's been clever enough about dropping his hints that no one could accuse him of attacking House Slytherin outright. He's let the rumor mill do his dirty work for him." The disdain in her voice left no doubt as to what she thought of that tactic.

"So is that what this meeting's about, then? To decide what's going to happen to my House?" His insides knotted up suddenly with anxiety.

"No, it hasn't gone so far as yet. We have a number of things to discuss, but I expect the matter will be raised, and then we shall have to decide whether or not it's even worthy of an earnest debate."

Her voice hardened noticeably. "Make no mistake, Mr. Malfoy--I believe most emphatically that it is not, particularly with Professor Snape indisposed, and I intend to say so in no uncertain terms. But I may be in the minority."

Draco nodded. "I'd appreciate it if someone would let me know what's decided."

McGonagall sighed as they came up on the kitchen door. "I am certain that someone will, Mr. Malfoy. If things move as quickly as I fear they may, you could well be the only spokesman present for House Slytherin." She disengaged her arm from his and put her hand on the doorknob, pausing to regard him soberly. "I don't envy you the responsibility."

He had no good answer to that, so he executed a very slight bow, and left her to her meeting.

Starting back down the hall in a state of preoccupation, he nearly ran into Weasley, and skidded to an unsteady halt at the last possible moment. "Fuckin'ell, Weasel! Eavesdropping's one thing, but d'you have to get right up my arse--?" he barked before he could stop himself.

The Weasel in question took a deliberate step backward, but retreated no further. His face was set with grim determination, and Draco groaned inwardly. Trust Ron Weasley to be spoiling for a fight just when he wasn't feeling up to it.

"Not if you paid me, Malfoy. What kind of sick game are you playing this time?" the redhead growled. "Think if you can convince everyone that you've changed your tune, they'll pull your rotten carcass out of the fire when Slytherin goes up in smoke?"

Draco pushed his hair back behind his ears, shutting his eyes briefly, and reminded himself of his promise to Hagrid. The gamekeeper had meant well, but he'd really had no idea at all what he was asking. Still, he'd given his word, and he meant to try to keep it, if at all possible.

"I don't suppose anything I can say will convince you that I'm on the up and up," he said without much hope.

"Well, let me think on it a mo'...nope. Wait!--On second thought, hell, no." Weasley actually started to advance on him, though he had the good sense to stop before he crossed the invisible line that would have made a real fight inevitable. But they now stood close enough to feel one anothers' breath, and Draco was impressed in spite of himself. The redhead ordinarily confronted him at arm's length with a wand in his hand. It seemed he'd grown some stones of late.

"I've known you for over six years, Malfoy. You're never going to change. I still dunno why you stayed when all the other snakes slithered off; you don't do anything unless there's something in it for you. But sooner or later, I'll figure it out."

"You'll have to pardon me if I fail to quake in my boots," Draco snapped. "Look, believe what you want. If you won't take me at my word, then just sod off, won't you? I've had enough of bickering with you for one lifetime."

"Happy to, Ferret. Just stay clear of us and we've got no problems at all."

Draco narrowed his eyes at that, smiling slyly as a new thought struck him. "Oh, 'us' now, is it? And just which 'us' do you mean?"

The other youth's ears abruptly reddened, and he knew he'd struck close to home. "Worried I might steal away your best mate, is that what this is all about? Or maybe it's Hermione you're thinking of? I might've known you'd turn out to be the jealous type--"

The Weasel was going for his wand, and Draco realised he was about to break his promise (if he hadn't already,) but at that moment a lean, haggard figure came striding up the corridor, brushed past Ron, and shoved Draco rudely out of the way without so much as a glance.

Sirius Black then threw open the kitchen door and slammed it to behind him, hard enough to bring a few puffs of plaster dust drifting down from the ceiling.

Harry had been following a few steps behind. "Sirius, wait..." He was cut off by the slamming of the door, and halted in the hall between Ron and Draco, staring forlornly at the unyielding wood.

Silence reigned for a moment or two. Weasley took his hand off his wand and reached out to touch Harry's shoulder gently. The Boy-Who-Lived turned to look at his friend, shaking his head helplessly. "He wouldn't listen. Just kept getting angrier and angrier...like I'd done something awful. Like I'd betrayed him somehow."

Ron cast Draco a murderous glance over Harry's shoulder. "Wish I knew what to tell you, mate. Maybe you should wait a while, let him cool down a bit...I'm sure he knows you wouldn't do anything to hurt him on purpose."

Harry looked as though he were chewing over something he wanted to say, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. Glancing from Ron to Draco, he frowned slightly. "What're you two doing hanging about the door, anyway? Waiting for someone?"

Draco pushed himself away from the wall where Sirius had shoved him, and shook his head. "No, I--we just walked down here with Professor McGonagall."

He paused briefly, avoiding Harry's eyes. "Look, it's been capital, but I've got some work to do, I should be getting along...I'll see you later."

As he walked off, he heard Harry say to Weasley--no, Ron, he corrected himself firmly; he must remember, Ron--"Now what the blazes was that all about?" He actually sounded a trifle hurt. Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that.

In fact, at the moment, he was far from certain how he felt about anything. Some of Weasley's--of Ron's accusations had struck uncomfortably close to home; he could scarcely deny he had a vested interest in getting on as many peoples' good sides as possible.

But at the same time, the further he succeeded in ingratiating himself, the more rewarding it became. It had felt good to sit and drink a cup of tea with Hagrid, to speak cordially with Dumbledore, and to take a little walk with McGonagall. He wanted more of that sense of open camaraderie, so different from the sort of stiff, distrustful socializing that typically went on in Pureblood circles.

Best of all, though, had been the moment when Harry Potter had smiled and put out his hand. For a few minutes, he had caught a glimpse of what it must be like for Ron and Hermione, to bask in the reflected glory of the Boy-Who-Lived instead of skulking resentfully in his shadow.

More than that; for the first time since their first year, he had felt as though he was speaking with Harry as one equal to another. And that changed...absolutely everything.

But. Why did there always have to be a "but"?

He found his way back to the small part of the ball room claimed by House Slytherin, and slumped dejectedly into a chair. Ron Weasley's angry denunciations still rang loudly in his ears.

He was so very tired of being hated.

And Harry's stricken look, when Sirius had slammed the door in his face...Draco put his head in his hands, trying to blot it out of his mind. He didn't want to be the cause of such anguish, not to someone who'd tossed out six years' worth of enmity and offered him a second chance--one which he did not, by any stretch of the imagination, deserve.

What he did want to do--and this was the part that really had him in a scramble--was pull Harry into his arms, hold him close, and...

He dropped his hands and looked bleakly around the sparsely-populated ball room. "I need a drink," he said decisively, to no one in particular.

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