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Chapter 27: Fallen Prince
xxx
Draco couldn't summon the energy to go to the library, though he knew he really should. Potter had dropped by his room later the same night of the DA meeting, only to inform him in an oddly reserved tone that he didn't believe that Dumbledore was responsible for this new curse afflicting the Slytherin. Naturally, Draco had accused him of defending his saintly Headmaster through utter denial, but Potter had explained with such conviction and calm reason how he hadn't yet ruled Dumbledore out, but was intent on looking into other possibilities.
Of course, that meant research. He'd refused to let the Gryffindor share his humiliation with anybody else who didn't already know, so that meant no outside help. He'd have to do his own work – for once. Bitterly, Draco cursed his own unfortunate circumstances.
He longed for the simplicity of that evening back in September, just before he'd been bitten. Back then, he could have ordered one of the lesser Slytherins to do the boring research on anything he needed. Back then, he would have been enjoying the French chocolates his mother owled him and flipping through a wizards' catalogue, picking out the latest designer robes to buy with his father's money.
That was a long-ago fantasy, now. Used to treating his expensive clothing almost carelessly, safe in the knowledge that he'd be updating his wardrobe within the month, every month, he was now reduced to brushing up on such menial magic as cleaning and mending charms, frantically trying to keep his robes in decent condition ever since Lucius had firmly cut him off. Worse, he found himself wearing muggle attire more and more frequently, if only to preserve more presentable outfits.
And if clothing was his biggest worry, he would have counted himself lucky. No, he was too preoccupied wondering about the schedule of the full moon, his father's increasing punishments, Potter's persistent presence and odd new power of persuasion, the fact that Granger knew far too much, his dwindling status among fellow Slytherins, and whatever new alarming hiding place he'd find Vanima in today…
Sighing, Draco rose to his feet. At least there was something he could fix. His housemates had simply forgotten the power of his presence since he'd started retreating to his own room so often, rather than deign to haunt the Slytherin common room.
He just had to remind them, was all.
xxx
"Pureblood," he murmured to the portrait which guarded his House. It swung forward obediently to allow him access. Self-consciously, he straightened the line of his robes and checked that his hair hadn't fallen out of place during the walk here. No, still perfect. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin in a manner he'd learned gave him an air of superiority and also added to his somewhat small stature.
Full of the obnoxious pride he'd found was the best method of keeping upstart Slytherins in line, he swept past the portrait and into the domain he'd always been at home in.
He saw Blaise and Pansy immediately, hovering near the fireplace in secluded conversation, obviously whispering about something or other. When the other boy turned toward him, it seemed for a moment a shadow of a smile crossed his face, as if by habit, before all expression was completely dropped. For a Slytherin such as Blaise, that could only mean true anxiety was surging away beneath the mask.
Draco's step faltered as he felt the atmosphere shift, and he came to a stop in the centre of the room, feeling suddenly foolish. Experience had refined his skill at sensing the collective mood of a room, and he felt his welcome was far too chilly to mean anything good.
It was Nott who spoke up first. Amidst a flurry of sudden whispers, his voice was loud and clear and challenging. "How the mighty do fall, Malfoy."
Oh yes, this was what he needed. Pretentious bloody prat…
He turned slowly, as if it was a great bother to be forced to acknowledge someone so far below him. He'd perfected the expression, all removed distaste, one that never failed to infuriate Weasley.
Nott didn't back down, though, much to Draco's surprise. Sure, the idiot was a loud-mouth, but he'd rarely shown spine enough to be this defiant. Uneasy, the blond cast a glance around, discreetly inhaling the scents that surrounded him. He'd always been sceptical that animals could smell emotions, but he'd discovered wolf-senses were quite adept at detecting such things as the adrenaline of fear or excitement. But here, there was nothing. Slytherins were watching him calmly, even coldly, and for the first time since he'd established his own authority at Hogwarts, his housemates weren't afraid of him.
He blanched.
Nott grinned, and it was a cruel, victorious expression that made Draco wonder how long the other had guarded his resentment. He moved to one of the low tables near the armchairs, grabbed the open newspaper there, and flung it in Draco's direction.
A combination of Seeker and wolf reflexes allowed him to swipe the tumbling paper from the air, without embarrassing himself further by fumbling. He cast a frozen glare at his challenger – reminding him, at least a little, of the anger that would meet such an insult – before disdainfully lowering his eyes to the page in front of him.
He scanned it quickly and felt his stomach drop, instantly finding the reason for his less than reverent reception.
Draco Malfoy, the headline read, A Malfoy No Longer!
He didn't have to reads the article that followed to know what his father had done. So this was his latest punishment, was it? For his continued disobedience, he was to be stripped of what little power he had left in the form of his reputation as his father's son. Lucius had gone and made his disownment public knowledge, and consequently, among his fellow Slytherins at least, plummeted him to the lowest of the low. They would realise, with the shrewdness that had helped put them in this House, what it all meant: Draco Malfoy's goodwill, always coveted, was now useless. No money, no might, no influence. His friendship could do nothing for them, his leadership even less. And if their parents were now looking for Lucius's favour, associating with him could even be detrimental, not just useless.
Furious, he tossed the copy of the Prophet to the floor at his feet. Nott was staring at him with overly bright eyes, expectant, waiting for the futile arguments he wanted Draco to voice.
The blond said nothing. He would not resort to begging, even if that meant allowing his power to slip away without a word of protest. So be it.
He turned on his heel, proud in his silence, and left the common room with as much dignity as he could still muster.
xxx
The façade lasted about as long as it took him to reach the safety of the deserted library, where he hurriedly sought out a table hidden behind the bookshelves and flung himself into a chair, head in his hands.
He should have seen this coming, he told himself. Of course Lucius would eventually resort to this, bastard that he was. As if he hadn't already humiliated him enough…
Quite ready to allow himself to spiral downwards into his depression and brood the rest of the day away, he was stopped short by someone scraping back the chair opposite him and taking the seat wordlessly. Slowly, he raised his eyes, narrowing them in silent warning. He was not in the mood for company.
He'd half expected Potter to be sitting there, staring back at him. Instead he found his female Gryffindor counterpart. Granger lifted her chin with false confidence as he put his full force behind a glare, trying simply to will her to disappear. In her arms, she clutched a stack of books pressed to her chest protectively.
"Is there something you want?" he ground out, when, surprisingly, she showed no sign of moving.
Apparently, she heard that as an invitation to dump the pile of books onto the table between them and make herself that bit more comfortable by depositing her school bag under her chair. "Look," she began, adopting a tone that might have been assertive, had Draco not been looking at her with absolute incredulity. "I've been looking into this… compulsion issue for you –"
"Excuse me?"
"There's actually quite a lot of information on the subject here in the library, you know," she said, for all the world as if they often had friendly little chats like this. "Of course, it sounds so much like the Imperius curse, so that seems the most logical topic to research. But then, I started thinking that – with the fact that you're a… well, you know – a variety of spells could affect you differently than they would normal wizards. So –"
"Granger?"
"Yes?"
"What the fuck are you doing?" His stress levels had never been so high. He gripped the table edge to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. If he wasn't mistaken, he saw her hesitate, and realised that his expression was probably a little crazed. Calming himself just slightly, he leaned across the table to hiss angrily, "Did Potter tell you to do this? I told him I didn't want anyone else –"
She had the audacity to roll her eyes. "You were the one who told Harry about it in front of me, so I already knew. And no, as a matter of fact, I'm doing this of my own volition. He'd probably throw just as big a tantrum as you are if he did know."
"I am not –" Draco stopped himself, realising how inane that particular argument would be. Gritting his teeth, he stared at her levelly. "Why would you help me?" he demanded ungraciously, scowling.
"I'm not doing it for you," she told him, in a tone that suggested that should be obvious. "This is for Harry. He hates having this kind of power over anyone." Personally, she thought he believed it made him like the Durseleys – which was quite untrue, she could have told him.
The Slytherin curled a scornful lip and refused to dignify her comment with a response.
"You're not the only one hurting lately," Hermione went on, averting her eyes all of a sudden to examine the titles of her books. "It seems like we've all had the rug swept out from beneath us this year…"
"Oh what would you know?" he snapped, feeling defensive. "You and Potter are just the same, always preaching about how your problems are worse –"
"Don't be so stupid!"
He looked up in surprise, unused to the whip-crack reprimand from the witch. She glared fiercely, spots of angry colour high on her cheeks.
"Harry would never say anything of the sort, and you know it. No matter that it'd probably be true if he did!"
He seethed. "Oh yes," he said very quietly, voice gone shockingly cold. "How couldn't I see it? Potter, with all his worshipping fans, his friends, that bloody oversized, interbred clan of Weasleys he calls a family, his money, his fucking reputation – oh yes! He's so much worse off than me!"
She stared at him for long moments, her lips pressed thin in a manner reminiscent of McGonagall. But eventually, she sighed and seemed to slump. "Alright… alright I'm sorry. I didn't mean that…"
"Yes you did," he muttered. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. That was perfectly fine, he told himself. He didn't want Granger's pity or understanding. It occurred to him that this ditch attempt to help him was probably on a par with her ridiculous campaign for House Elf rights. Good lord, could he sink any lower?
For a moment, it seemed as if she'd argue with him, a frown line appearing between her brows. He resisted the urge to snidely inform her she'd get wrinkles if she kept that expression up.
But then she sighed as well, and tiredly slid some of the books toward him. "I won't do all your work for you. Here."
He glanced at them automatically, eyeing the titles and wincing. They sounded boring as dust. Nevertheless, after a moment's consideration, he reached out and laid his hand on the cover of one and nodded. Fine. If Granger could put in the effort to do this, he certainly could.
With that, she rose and disappeared from the library, her frizzy hair bouncing on her shoulders, leaving him to sulk, his forehead now resting despondently atop a copy of, "Compulsions, Curses and Other Curious Maladies."
xxx
Harry had, of course, seen the Prophet that morning, and had consequently spent most of his day looking for the spurned Slytherin. Draco hadn't been sitting at his House table at breakfast, nor any other meal of the day. He hadn't been in his room, either, which was odd these days. When Harry had stopped by, Lilith had informed him that she hadn't seen the blond for hours, and inside he found only Vanima and a few leftover crickets she hadn't gotten round to eating just yet. The snake was no use either, not understanding a word Draco might have uttered to himself before leaving for… wherever he was.
He might have thought the missing blond was in his House common room, except that he'd happened to overhear a couple of other Slytherins discussing their less than favourable opinion of their former leader. Harry never failed to be amazed at the lack of loyalty shown by the serpentine House. He had to hide his unexpected outrage on Draco's behalf and hurry past, lest he make a complete prat of himself by saying something stupid in the blonde's defence.
So, that evening as supper was being served in the Great Hall and Draco had yet to appear, he was beginning to grow very worried indeed.
Watching him, Hermione shook her head in exasperation. Harry's chin rested heavily in one hand, his other wielding a fork and poking disinterestedly at his food. He couldn't be anymore obvious if he tried, and she was just thankful Ron wasn't here to see this. The Boy Who Lived was undoubtedly moping over Malfoy.
Finally taking pity on him, she scooted closer so they could talk quietly, and murmured near his ear, "He was fine the last time I saw him. Just a little moody."
Green eyes shot toward her. "When did you…? Where…?"
"This afternoon. I found him hiding in the library, if you must know." She arched an eyebrow in an attempt for haughtiness, but had to smile when she saw her friend's pathetically concerned expression. "He's fine, Harry. If I'd thought he was about to… to cut his wristsor something, I would have told you."
The boy frowned and picked at his food some more. "You talked to him?"
She shrugged. "Only for a moment. I… gave him some books I'd been reading. About compulsion –"
"What? He said –"
"Oh for goodness' sake, Harry, I know he doesn't want my help, he told me that much himself. But the pair of you wouldn't get a thing done if you tried to work on your own. Research… isn't your strong point."
He looked at her intently, caught between indignation and gratitude. "… He said he'd let you?"
"Not in so many words," she answered evasively, thinking of the Slytherin's sullen, silent acceptance of the books. "But pretty much, yes. So stop worrying. He's just sulking."
Harry snorted. "It's a bit more than that, Hermione. He's just been publicly disowned. I mean –"
He stopped short, blinking. Following his gaze, Hermione twisted in her seat to look at the entrance of the Hall as the blond in question strode in. There was no descending silence, thankfully. She felt that would have been far too dramatic. Malfoy didn't even glance at the two Gryffindors as he swept past, seeming just as arrogant as ever, even without his infamous Slytherin posse flanking him. That confidence only began to falter as he actually approached his table, to find himself met with stares that varied from indifferent to downright hostile. Still, Hermione had to admit she was impressed as she watched Malfoy take his housemates' displeasure in stride, taking a seat at one end of the table, far from his usual throne at the centre. With forced calm, the blond lifted his chin and silently went about his meal.
"How can they do that?" Harry hissed in her ear, glaring fixedly at the Slytherin table. "I would have thought they'd give him some support."
She tried to keep her voice low as she replied, afraid Harry would get too carried away and allow half their housemates to overhear. "Their parents will be able to guess why he and Lucius Malfoy split, Harry. They're probably getting letters ordering them to stay away from Draco."
"Still…"
They sat in silence for a while longer, Hermione refraining with difficulty from mentioning how surreal a situation it was, for Harry to be visibly fretting over his ex-nemesis. The boy was anything but talkative, snapping when his housemates tried to involve him in conversation, and barely tolerating Hermione's quiet attempts to draw him out of the mood.
They'd been there another fifteen minutes when, opposite them, Seamus and Dean broke off their conversation and turned toward them. "Oy, Harry, you'll know," the Irish boy said loudly, drawing attention. He waved a copy of the Prophet and indicated the familiar headline and picture of Lucius Malfoy. "What's this about?"
The boy froze. "How should I know?" he asked stiffly.
Seamus looked sceptical. "C'mon. You've been preaching Malfoy's few existing virtues to the entire DA since he first showed up there. You know something."
"I do not," Harry insisted defensively, frowning.
"You blatantly told us he wasn't a Death Eater. You well know something!"
"Well, it's none of your business if I do!" Harry finally snapped out, putting his fork down with unnecessary force. Hermione winced, sensing his anxiousness increasing and trying to place a subtle, calming hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
At the same time, from the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy rise to leave. Harry noticed him as well, as did many of the Gryffindors. Really, she thought, it was just bad timing, with Harry's flare of temper.
The blond was heading for the door in his dignified way when the loud and obvious snigger rang out from further along the Gryffindor table. Malfoy tensed, but kept going. Harry's head whipped to the side, eyes pinning the offender, who had yet to notice his attention.
Lavender Brown snorted as the Slytherin passed her, muttering to Parvati in an obnoxiously audible voice, "I think it was the money that did it. He doesn't seem that scary anymore…"
Harry could see what was coming, and moved accordingly, hurriedly rising from his seat and making his way along the table, eyes on the blond, who had stopped in his tracks and spun to face the startled girl, wand in hand and pointed steadily.
"Wanna bet?" he spat, looking furious. Parvati had gone pale beneath her tan skin, but Lavender only looked defiant. She spotted Harry's approach and smiled, apparently expecting him to come to her defence.
Instead, he reached out and gently grasped the Slytherin's wrist. Draco twitched and looked at him in surprise, not having registered his presence until now. Harry didn't say anything, afraid that whatever new magic linked them would interpret it as an order, but his expression was articulate enough.
Draco sneered, but lowered the wand without much real protest. Giving a final lethal glare at the two girls, he turned and stalked from the room.
Harry sighed. "Don't be a bitch, Lavender," he muttered tiredly, before following the departed Slytherin, oblivious to the astounded expressions of his housemates he was leaving behind.
xxx
At the staff table, the Headmaster watched the brief communication with fascination. He smiled, pleased with himself, when the blond boy yielded. If Harry had said something, he might have suspected a compulsion, but the Gryffindor had been silent. He felt sure he was watching an entirely natural interaction.
Happily, he turned to Severus, who sat at his side. "You see, my boy, I knew what I was doing. Had I not thrown them together, Mr Malfoy could have found himself entirely alone right now."
The Potions Master growled lowly, silently advocating the virtues of solitude.
xxx
"I realise my reputation isn't as formidable as it once was, but must you pulverise what's left of it!"
Harry stared at the blond incredulously. "There's not a lot left to pulverise!" he defended himself, throwing his hands up as he trailed after the other. "I figured it wouldn't matter anymore if your… friends knew you were talking to me."
"That's not your decision!"
The Gryffindor shrugged, though the motion went unseen. "I'm not going to stand there while you're attacked by Gryffindors and Slytherins."
At that, Draco stopped dead, causing Harry to almost walk straight into him. He whirled around with a similar expression on his face to the one he'd worn back in the Hall. "Are you… are you trying to protectme?"
Harry winced. "I… No… What if I am?"
"I don't need you to! Good God, I'm not that pathetic! And have you forgotten that your friends aren't exactly going to take kindly to you marching me protectively out of the Hall?"
"So? They'll just have to deal if they care that much. Besides, I don't think they will. They're used to me trusting you at the DA, this won't be much different."
For a moment, it looked like Draco might respond. His mouth was set firmly, and spots of colour beginning to appear on his pale skin – the first tell-tale signs of an unwarranted tantrum, in Harry's experience.
But then, without a word, he turned around and continued along the hallway they were in, toward his room.
"What are you going to do?" Harry called after him, oddly worried. He jogged to keep up.
"Drink myself stupid," came the short tempered response.
The Gryffindor frowned. "You have alcohol?"
"A bottle of Firewiskey I took from home last– Potter, why are you still following me?"
Harry shrugged again, sticking his hands in his pockets to stop them fidgeting. "I heard you shouldn't drink alone."
"What? You can't just invite yourself along!"
"I think I just did."