Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Harry Potter couldn't believe what Dumbledore had just told him. And he had absolutely no desire to laugh. His eyes narrowed dangerously before settling on Draco, who was watching the old headmaster with bored indifference. He couldn't believe it. He genuinely, sincerely couldn't believe it.
"You're joking, I hope?" he hissed in a dangerously calm voice.
He had no time to waste on this nonsense. He was already suffering from a splitting headache — he couldn't bear this on top of everything else. His patience was nonexistent, and Dumbledore had the nerve to ask something like this of him? He was exhausted. Exhausted from having to fight Voldemort every single night. Exhausted from watching her pillage, torture, and kill. He wanted to sleep. Just one night of sleep… that was all he wanted. A single night of sleep to recharge. Maybe then he'd even manage to smile a little more than he currently did. Ginny kept nagging him about his stoic expression. He had actually been determined to find at least a sliver of good humour — and now this…
"No, Harry. I am perfectly serious. Draco Malfoy has now joined our side, and he is even willing to help the D.A. Isn't that good news?"
No, it was not good news. He had no desire to endure the blond's sarcastic, icy remarks. He had no desire to have to convince the members of the D.A. that Malfoy had a place in their group when he didn't even believe it himself. He wanted to sleep, that was all. Just one night of sleep. He was going to have to take a potion. He hated that. He really did. But, bloody hell — it had been two weeks since he'd slept properly, and now… he was supposed to put up with Malfoy?
"He knows a number of spells, Harry. He is very powerful. Everything will be fine."
"If you say so, Professor."
He certainly wasn't going to start arguing with Dumbledore. He no longer had the age or the energy to throw a fit when things didn't go his way. He was 17 years old, for Merlin's sake! If Dumbledore was mad enough to trust Malfoy, then good for him! He would simply have to tolerate the blond's presence until the moment — and there would be one, there was always one — when Malfoy did something, and he could report it to Dumbledore. For now, he would settle for keeping a blank expression and enduring it all. Until he could sleep for at least 5 hours. 5 glorious hours… That was the only thing he was asking of Merlin.
"You may go, then. Harry, be so kind as to show Mr. Malfoy where the D.A. meets."
"Very well."
He stood up quickly and gave a slight nod to Dumbledore before leaving without even checking whether the Slytherin was following him. He was already mentally planning his schedule for the next day. He needed to help Creevey avoid offensive spells. He needed to make sure Neville finally understood that whimpering wouldn't scare his enemies away. He needed to…
"No shouting, Potter? I'm very surprised."
The brunet didn't even deign to turn his head in Malfoy's direction. He had nothing to say to him. The blond had spent his entire life insulting Muggle-borns and worshipping his father. And now, suddenly, he was on their side? The joke was so grotesque it wasn't even funny.
"No little Gryffindor speech for me?"
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"
"You know… 'If you hurt my friends, I will destroy you!' Or something along those lines."
"Malfoy, you'll inevitably do something to make Dumbledore realise you're not to be trusted. I don't need to say anything."
Besides, he had nothing to say. His head was hurting far too much to quarrel with Malfoy. Talking to the blond was a battle. A fierce, exhausting battle. He had no desire to be insulted any more than was strictly necessary.
"You don't believe I've switched sides."
"No."
"I have proof, though."
Harry turned toward Malfoy, who was looking at him with a tiny smirk. He looked harmless enough with those grey eyes, his porcelain skin, and his face far too pretty to belong to a boy. Lucky for Harry, he knew him well enough to know that no one should ever trust appearances. Especially not the appearances of a Malfoy. The Slytherin then drew his wand and murmured something Harry didn't catch. Whether it was because he was so tired that he simply didn't care what Malfoy was doing, or because he knew perfectly well that the blond wasn't stupid enough to attack him mere seconds after convincing Dumbledore — he wasn't sure. Something appeared in the Slytherin's hand, and he promptly pinned it to his robes. It was a badge that read: "The Light Side is so in right now!" He was seriously going to rearrange his face one of these days…
"Would you like one too, Potter?" Malfoy asked in a mock-sweet voice.
"Go to hell, Malfoy."
"Merlin! Such a foul mouth!"
Harry had expected him to make a comment about his mother. He had expected to have to draw his wand and retaliate. He had not expected Malfoy to roll his eyes and run a delicate hand through his hair. Well. The blond hadn't gone for a verbal attack. Miracles did happen from time to time. He stopped in front of the blank wall that concealed the Room of Requirement.
"Tomorrow at five o'clock, be here. Goodbye, Malfoy."
The blond ignored him magnificently, doing nothing but stare at the wall in front of him with an air of perplexity. If Malfoy wanted to stand there all day trying to uncover the secret of the Room of Requirement, that was his business. Harry had other fish to fry.
"You are aware, Mr. Potter, that you cannot take these very often, aren't you? You could become dependent and—"
"I know, Madam Pomfrey. I take them as rarely as possible."
He had no desire to hear her go on about what was or wasn't good for his health. He knew perfectly well that he risked becoming dependent on these potions if he wasn't careful. In fact, he only used them once a month. He was able to sleep properly once a month… He quickly swallowed the potion and couldn't help grimacing at the bitter taste. He would never get used to it, that much was clear. After a final goodbye to the nurse, he made his way to the Gryffindor common room, fully resolved to fall face-first into his bed. When he entered the common room, he was immediately ambushed by Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. He accepted his girlfriend's hug without much enthusiasm. The potion was beginning to take effect. He really wanted to sleep.
"Malfoy is on our side now, apparently, according to Dumbledore," he announced straight away.
He watched the eyes of his two friends and his girlfriend go wide, gave a nod, and headed off to his dormitory. He had no desire to answer their questions. He had no desire to linger any longer than necessary. He wanted to sleep… again and again and again… He dropped face-first onto his bed without even removing his clothes. He expected to fall asleep immediately, but found he couldn't close his eyes. Why had Malfoy decided to join their side? Why had Dumbledore believed him? The old headmaster was far from stupid. So why… He certainly wasn't going to believe that someone like Malfoy had managed to slip past Dumbledore's defences. Or perhaps Dumbledore believed so deeply in the goodness of people that he had decided to give the blond a chance? Both were possible… God, he was so tired… and he had absolutely no desire to lie awake thinking about Malfoy, of all people on this Earth. He closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away.
Draco let out a long sigh as he stared at the ceiling of his private room. His father would not be long in disowning him, and most of the Slytherins would probably want to strangle him. How charming. He almost felt like Juliet, renouncing everything she was just to follow the man she loved. Fortunately for him, Potter didn't love him in the slightest. He easily ignored the pang in his chest that followed that thought. He had no intention of surrendering to this curse. The farther he stayed from Potter, the better off he was.
Unfortunately, he couldn't be so far that he found himself in the opposing camp. He couldn't be on the side that was trying to kill the Gryffindor. How could he have borne it? His hands tightened on the silk sheets covering his bed and he bit his lower lip. How could he have borne listening to his father plot day after day against the person who was destined for him? After all, was it his fault that he was a Veela? Again, his breath left him as his heart clenched painfully. He didn't care about loving Potter for the rest of his days. He had no intention of becoming anyone's slave, anyway. Like his mother and his ancestors before her. He was going to be free — marry fifty times over, take countless lovers. After this war. After making sure the brunet was alive and married to his stupid little red-haired weasel.
Obviously, there was no question of him sticking around to admire their happy union and the billions of ginger children that were bound to follow. And besides, all of this suited him perfectly well. It really did. He certainly wasn't going to sit in a corner, papering every inch of his bedroom with photos of Potter and sobbing over the whys and wherefores. And he was even less likely to use his Veela charm to enchant him. He didn't need that ridiculous counterfeit love. Could he even call it love? Yeah… More like one massive mistake.
Now, all that remained was convincing this group of idiots that he was on their side — not that he had much choice in the matter — and ensuring they were strong enough to protect Potter. Or at least strong enough to protect themselves, so that Potter wouldn't have to put himself in danger to save them.
And that was the one thing he wanted… for Potter to live. After that, he would leave this wretched country and make sure he never heard from him again.
To be continued…