Snatch Part One
Title: Snatch
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Sadly. Notes: Many thanks to Kate for the beta job.
Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.
Draco Malfoy was not a stupid boy, despite what rather a lot of people thought. So when he found himself face to face with Voldemort the summer before his sixth year, the decision he made was not a hard one.
“Will you fight for me, Draco Malfoy?” Voldemort hissed.
“Yes,” Draco had said, with utmost sincerity. And then sent an owl to Dumbledore.
***
Two days later, he was sitting in the headmaster’s office, trying to avoid Dumbledore’s eyes, which kept twinkling knowingly at him.
Draco’s letter lay on the desk between them. He was rather embarrassed to see that several lines were all in capitols, and quite a few exclamation points littered the page. The words “RED EYES!” and “SLITS FOR NOSTRILS!!!” jumped out at him and he winced. It had been written in the heat of the moment, but still… he couldn’t help but think of what his father would say.
“I was very pleased, if a little surprised, to receive your owl, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore was saying. “There are several ways we could proceed from here.”
“Indeed?” Draco said, drawing the word out and raising an eyebrow. He was conscious of the fact that he now looked every inch the Malfoy he was. His trembling fingers he hid under the rim of the desk. It was important to keep up appearances.
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort-” Draco tried and failed not to flinch at the name, “-will most likely know that you are here by now. I trust you’ve thought about this and what it will mean for you?”
Draco nodded. He knew what it meant. It meant he wouldn’t be going home again as long as Voldemort lived; it meant every child in Hogwarts with a Death Eater for a parent would be told he was a traitor; it meant his father would probably disown him; it meant his life would never be the same again.
He didn’t tell Dumbledore that it was only after he’d sent the letter that he’d thought of these things, sitting alone in his room with the door locked. He wondered if things would have been different if he’d thought of it all before.
But of course Dumbledore hadn’t been thinking of any of those things when he’d asked the question. “It means I can’t spy for you,” said Draco with a sneer. “I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. I’m not one of your little Gryffindor pets. I wrote you because the Dark Lord is mad and I wanted to get away from him, not betray him where he could catch me.”
He watched the headmaster for signs of disapproval or disgust but found nothing. Dumbledore looked as serene as ever. “Very well, I’m sure you can be helpful to us in other ways,” he said. “You are willing to help us, are you not, Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco shivered and then nodded once.
“There will be many questions people will want to ask you. Are you willing to answer them?”
“Yes.”
“Under the influence of Veritaserum?”
Draco glared at him. “I’d tell the truth anyway.”
“Be that as it may, precautions must be taken,” said Dumbledore. “You should also expect your loyalty to be questioned. People will not readily believe you would join us without a motive.
“I do have a motive,” Draco pointed out. “Staying alive.”
“We shall do our best to help you with that,” said Dumbledore, with a small smile. “Beyond answering our questions, it will be your decision how deeply you wish to join in the fight against Voldemort. If you wish simply for a safe haven then you are welcome to it.” Draco glowered, wishing he could do something to throw Dumbledore off. Disrupt that brisk matter-of-fact voice. “The doors of Hogwarts are always open to our students, and you will be safe here no matter what you decide.”
Draco snorted. “Oh yes, everyone knows how safe Hogwarts is.”
He was pleased to see Dumbledore had nothing to say to that.
***
They took him to a dark house where he drank clear liquid and told them all his father’s secrets. All the ones he knew, anyway.
“Why are you doing this?” they asked him.
“Because I’m less afraid of you,” he replied in the same blank, level voice.
They didn’t ask him any more questions after that
***
Draco had known sixth year was going to be difficult. He didn’t realize how difficult until he opened the door to the Room of Requirement and, after a moment of stunned silence, was hit with several curses at once.
When he came to, he was aware of a great deal of shouting and a rather impressive headache. He rubbed his temples and then opened his eyes. Harry Potter looked back at him. Beyond Harry Draco could see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley standing in front of a rather large group of students in what appeared to be an attempt to hold them off. They weren’t doing a very good job of it, Draco noticed. Occasionally Ron would let someone nearly get past before receiving a stern look from Hermione, and halfheartedly shooing them away.
“He’s awake,” Harry said, and everyone stopped talking. Draco sat up slowly. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”
“Yeah,” said Ron, “there’s no Umbridge to rat us out to this year.” His frown suddenly deepened. “Unless maybe you’ve gotten Snape to side with you?”
Draco glared at him. It was very hard not to just get up and leave. It had been Dumbledore’s idea for him to come here in the first place. Or more like his subtle hint.
“I didn’t come here to turn you in to anyone,” he ground out. “I came to join you.” There was a moment of outraged silence and then everyone began shouting again. Except for Harry, Draco noticed, who simply looked curious.
“Harry, we can’t let him stay,” said Hermione.
“Of course we can’t,” said Ron indignantly. “We’re not going to!”
“Yes, we are,” Harry said softly. Draco watched the Weasel’s face pale and Granger’s face flush and then turned to look at the Boy Who Lived. His hair was as messy as ever and his glasses were crooked. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was looking back at Draco and there was nothing in his eyes other than that mild sort of curiosity and a weariness that seemed somehow permanent. No spark of anger or disgust. No sign at all of the animosity that had been there for nearly as long as Draco had known him. And suddenly Draco realized it just wasn’t there anymore. Somewhere along the way Harry had discarded it and now it was just… gone.
Draco would never have expected to miss it.
But he did.
***
They accepted him in the end because Harry told them to. They still didn’t like him, but Draco didn’t particularly like them either, so it all evened out in the end. He thought they at least believed he was on their side, if only because Harry got Ron and Hermione to grudgingly admit to overhearing Draco being questioned with Veritaserum. When Draco had asked them how Granger had muttered something incomprehensible about “Extendable Ears” and then gone back to glaring at him.
Weasley, of course, couldn’t leave it at that. “I heard what else you told them later, Malfoy. You said you’d help as long as you didn’t have to fight. You’re nothing but a coward.”
Draco ignored the whispers as he looked Ron straight in the eye. “If I had wanted to fight, I would have joined the Death Eaters.” No one seemed able to think up an answer to that.
So they didn’t like him, but they tolerated him. Because he could tell them about the spells no one in Hogwarts taught, and show them the tricks to look out for when fighting a Death Eater. And because none of them wanted to go against Harry.
It was disgusting how they all tiptoed around him. They turned to him for everything but never wanted to openly speak the truth. None of them wanted to say that he was the only one who could save them.
Harry was just as nice to Draco as he was to everyone else. He was polite and patient, and in return Draco was as rude and cruel as possible until he realized how tiring a one-sided fight could be, and then he was just himself. Not many people noticed the difference. Harry didn’t seem to mind though. Draco even noticed Harry would seek him out outside D.A. meetings after awhile.
Ron and Hermione were furious.
***
Sixth year passed quickly.
In June, a group of Death Eaters attempted to kidnap Harry in Hogsmeade, but several members of the D.A. had been there to help and everyone escaped relatively unharmed.
Draco hadn’t been there.
For the summer he was sent back to the dark house he had been questioned in. They told him it was called Grimmauld Place. Remus Lupin lived there with him, and he noticed a great many people would pass through quite often. Sometimes they came in groups and Draco was told to stay in his room. Eventually he dragged the secret of the Order of the Phoenix from Lupin, although at that point he’d already pieced most of it together anyway.
Draco hated the house, but found he rather liked being in the company of adults for a change. They hid their dislike better. Lupin had been cool towards him at first, but after a few weeks Draco began to suspect the man enjoyed his company. When Draco showed an interest in his collection of dusty, well-used books the ice was successfully broken.
Draco kept track of the moon’s progress and locked his door when it became full. He spent most of the night awake, listening for sounds of an attack. When morning came, nothing in the house looked any different, and Lupin appeared later in the day. He looked worn and slightly battered, but not especially vicious. Draco relaxed a bit after that.
***
“You remind me of someone,” Lupin said once. It was after he had found Draco in a screaming match with the portrait of Mrs. Black for the fifth time in one week. He’d flung a blanket over the painting and dragged Draco into the next room, but there was a faint smile on his face.
“Who?” Draco asked, pushing his hair back and trying to slow his breathing. He felt the fact that he was going out of his way to argue with a portrait was faintly ridiculous, but it wasn’t as though there was anyone else to fight with. He had a sneaking suspicion that his face was flushed.
Lupin opened his mouth to reply, and then paused. His face grew solemn. “An old friend,” he said at last. And then he went into his room and didn’t come out for hours.
***
On a day in early August, there was a knock on the door and Draco got up to open it. Harry Potter was standing outside in the rain. He blinked behind fogged up glasses when he saw Draco.
“I forgot you’d be here,” he said.
Draco was about to remark upon the rudeness of showing up on people’s doorsteps without so much as a hello, and then acting as if the person answering the door was the one with no right to be there… and then he saw the blood on Harry’s shirt. He didn’t say anything after all, just looked at Harry, and Harry looked back, his eyes clouded. For a moment, the only sound Draco could hear was the heavy summer rain falling all around them. Then he heard footsteps in the hall, and Lupin’s voice behind him.
“Draco, who is it?” The footsteps paused and then continued again more rapidly. “Harry! What on earth are you doing standing out in the rain? Is something wrong?” Lupin’s sharply indrawn breath came from somewhere above Draco’s left ear, and then he was being pushed out of the way.
“Where is the blood from?” Lupin’s voice was low and serious as he drew Harry quickly inside the house and shut the door. “Are you hurt?”
Harry shook his head. “No, it’s not mine.”
“Come with me,” Lupin said, steering Harry into the living room. The door slammed shut behind them.
For a moment Draco stood alone in the hall, silently looking after them. Then he rushed to put his ear against the door. He could easily hear every word being spoken within.
“Who’s blood is it, Harry?” he could hear Lupin ask.
“Look, I’m really fine,” said Harry. Draco wondered if he had heard the fear and worry in Lupin’s voice. His own still had a dazed quality to it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, showing up like this.”
“I would be a lot less frightened if you’d tell me whose blood is on your shirt.”
Quiet. Then Draco heard the sound of someone sitting down. “I was in the house this morning when I heard a funny noise outside. I went to go out and see what it was and when I opened the door I found Hedwig.” Harry’s voice didn’t sound so dazed anymore. It just sounded flat. Draco heard Lupin sigh. “I had picked her up when Aunt Petunia came and found me and started screaming, so then Uncle Vernon came and he started yelling… I just left. Death Eaters did it. They left their mark.”
There was the sound of rustling fabric, and Draco knew Lupin had put his arm around Harry’s shoulders.
“I know everyone wanted me to stay there a bit longer, but I couldn’t. Not anymore.”
“It’s fine. You can stay here, of course.” Again there was a long pause and then: “You don’t always have to be all right, Harry,” Lupin said. “You can cry if you want to.”
“I know,” said Harry.
Draco stayed there listening for a long time after that. But all he could hear was silence.
***
Draco lay awake in bed late into the night thinking about things. Like how he hadn’t seen Harry lose his temper since fifth year. Not once.
He let out a sharp sigh of annoyance, and wondered exactly when he’d become the type to want to “fix” people.
***
Harry stayed with them for a week and then Ron and Hermione came along with half the Weasley family. It was crowded and noisy, and Draco spent most of the time in his room.
When he came out, he would see Harry sitting between his best friends and listening to them talk. He smiled very rarely.
By the time they went back to Hogwarts, everyone had gotten used to it.
***
Seventh year went along feeling almost exactly the same as sixth year to Draco. And then November came.
They had a practice that day, and Draco had taken some pleasure in disarming Hermione. There was only one person who he couldn’t beat now; that was how it should be, he supposed. It was how things had always been.
Once they were finished and people began to file out the door, Draco went to retrieve his robes, left crumpled in a corner, and when he turned back, only Harry was left. He wasn’t playing with his hands or shuffling his feet or showing any signs of the nervousness that came along with awkward moments like these. He had noticed that unnecessary movements didn’t have a place in Harry anymore. Even that part of him was focused on… whatever it was that he was focused on. Winning probably. Draco briefly wondered when nervous habits had become a threat to defeating Voldemort, but didn’t ask. It was a stupid question, really.
“See you later,” Draco said, breaking what had to be some sort of moment, what with the silence and the staring and everything. He pulled on his robe, and started for the door without waiting for Harry to reply.
“Why won’t you fight?” Harry’s voice rang across the empty room, and Draco stopped walking abruptly.
“Honestly, Potter!” he said, turning and trying not to splutter. “You can’t just ask questions like that. It’s horribly rude.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco felt faintly disappointed in himself: that a raised eyebrow was now the only reaction he could provoke. Harry just stood there watching him, waiting. Draco looked down at his feet, and then back up. “Why do you think I won’t fight?” he asked. Because it was suddenly important to know.
Harry looked thoughtful. “Last year, I would have thought it was because you were afraid. I would have thought you weren’t brave enough or good enough to fight. But now… I don’t think that’s right. I see you practice in here, and you’re practically as good as I am now. No one could say you haven’t been working hard, or that you haven’t helped us.” Harry paused, and Draco thought that two years ago he would have shrugged, or pushed his glasses up. But then, two years ago, Harry wouldn’t have been talking to him.
“I just wanted to know why,” Harry said.
The answer was there, waiting to be spoken as it hadn’t been when people had asked him before. Maybe Draco wouldn’t have told him a year ago, when he’d thought he knew the answer just like all the rest.
“You’re first guess was right,” he said, feeling his lips twist into some bitter form of a smile. “I’m a bloody coward. Too bad Weasley isn’t here. No doubt he’d be pleased to hear me admit it.”
Draco could see Harry was confused, even though his eyebrows didn’t scrunch up like they would have before. “We’re all afraid,” he said, as though the words were barely recognizable anymore. It was what happened, Draco knew, when they’d been repeated so many times they stopped making sense.
We’re all afraid. We’re ALL afraid. We’reallafraidwe’reallafraidwe’reallafraid.
There were moments when he thought he might end up in St. Mungo’s, no mattered what happened.
He turned his attention back to Harry.
“We’re all afraid, but they’ll do it anyway. At some point everyone will have to fight.” It was amazing how easy it was for Harry to say it, when Dumbledore had managed to never say it at all. “You have a better chance then most of staying alive. I don’t understand.”
Of course he didn’t, Draco thought. Because being satisfied with the simple explanation would have been too easy for Harry Potter.
“Look, I’m a Slytherin, if I think I can get away with remaining as safe as possible while the rest of you go out and risk your necks, I’m going to do it. Because you’re wrong, Potter. Chances are, I’m going to have a harder time staying alive out there then the others will, even if it’s my own fault.” And here was where things got embarrassing. “I’m not sure-” he paused and took a breath. “I’m not sure I could actually do it. If it came down to it, that is. I don’t know if I could actually kill someone. It’s a bit different for me, after all.” When he looked up at Harry, he realized he was sneering. It was good that some things still came naturally. “What would you do if you recognized the voice behind the mask?” He leaned against the wall behind him, and then sank to the floor.
“You’re afraid of killing your father?” Harry said slowly.
Draco let out a harsh laugh. “I doubt I’d be capable of doing any such thing, but yes, you get the general idea. It’s not like he’s the only Death Eater I’ve ever known. Who do you think our friends were? Who do you think came to our dinner parties? And I’d be willing to bet that a fair number of my housemates have joined the ranks since summer.”
He paused for breath, and looked down at his hands. It was easier to speak when he didn’t have to look at Harry. “It’s not that I don’t want to win, and I know that means they’re going to die. It’s just… I don’t know if I’m capable of being the one to do it. And it’s one of those things I’d rather not chance. Because I do know that none of them would hesitate to kill me, and I have no interest in dying. It’s why I’m on your side, after all. It all comes down to self-preservation really.”
He didn’t look up. If he had, he would have seen Harry walking closer, and then maybe he wouldn’t have jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. That certainly made him look up.
There was no wrinkle of concern on Harry’s forehead, but somewhere in his eyes, Draco thought he saw a glimmer of something earnest. Maybe even something hopeful.
“I don’t think that makes you a coward,” Harry said.
It shouldn’t have been another moment. Not one of those moments anyway. With locked eyes and suddenly sweaty palms and the need to hold one’s breath for fear of breaking the silence. But it was.
Draco wondered if it was some sort of mistake, some awkwardness caused by the things he’d said. Or maybe if he was just imagining things. He was still wondering when Harry leaned down and kissed him.
He wasn’t sure if being kissed by his former worst enemy made his life better, or just that much worse.
***
The state of things both improved and declined for Draco after that.
On the one hand Ron and Hermione, who had up to that point had been doing their best to ignore him, went back to hating him vehemently and openly. Apparently there were some limits to Harry’s power over them, and Draco Malfoy was one of them. Other members of the D.A. followed suit, seeming to think that if they did it, then treating the Slytherin like crap must be okay again.
On the other hand, he had Harry. Sort of.
***
When Draco stopped to think about it, he was surprised. After all the years of intensity he would have expected fireworks, explosions even. But there was nothing. Nothing except the feeling of slipping into something surprisingly inevitable.
It was only natural, he thought. Harry might die; he was allowed to snatch at any experience he could get. It was what everyone else thought too. You could se it in their eyes when they looked at him. It was why they would never tell him that they disapproved.
And Draco, well, Draco had no intention of dying. It was why he was with Harry in the first place. But, he thought, you couldn’t always know what was coming. Maybe it was better to snatch. Just in case.
It was nice, just not what Draco would have expected.
He tried not to think about the fact he had ever expected anything at all. If he did he was afraid he might be disappointed.
***
They met in deserted classrooms full of unused furniture. Couches and chairs that, once you pulled the sheets off, were perfectly clean and comfortable.
Sometimes they brought their homework with them. Draco smirked at Harry’s potions grades, and Harry almost smiled when Draco transfigured a chair into a velvet dog.
Sometimes being with Harry felt like trying to run under water.
***
They started having what Draco liked to refer to as ‘mock Order meetings’. The D.A. would hold the meetings in a dark room with a round table, and at the table they would discuss plans of action, and try to guess what the enemy was doing. Hermione would make notes, and at the end they never reached any conclusions.
Harry didn’t talk much at the meetings, except when someone asked his opinion. Occasionally Draco would catch him looking at his friends, full of ideas and bright eyed with the hope that sitting in a dark room and talking in hushed voices would somehow make a difference. Then he would look away.
The truth was, they all knew that they were just keeping busy.
One night everyone left the room except for Hermione. Draco could feel her watching him as he gathered his books.
“Do you want something, Granger?” he asked.
“I want you to leave him alone,” she said quietly.
Draco froze and then set his books down again. “Excuse me?”
“Harry. I want you to leave him alone.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes, and all the bitterness and anger that she tried to hide from everyone else was clear to see now. It was never that far below the surface anyway. “You may be on our side, Malfoy, but you’re not helping Harry. I know why you’re,” she paused for a moment and a blush stained her cheeks, “with him. You just want him to protect you. He doesn’t need that now. He needs people who are going to look out for him. You’re just one more person on his list of people to worry about.”
Draco stared at her in disbelief and then sat down with a harsh laugh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He leaned back and let his lips curl into the familiar sneer. “I’ve got news for you, Granger, everyone is on that list. We all want Harry to save us. At least I don’t have any trouble admitting it.” Hermione opened her mouth but Draco didn’t let her speak. “When Harry’s with me, we barely talk about the war at all. He knows I want him to defeat the Dark Lord and keep me from a painful death, and he’ll do his best to make sure that happens. We don’t need to talk about it. He’s doing the same for everyone else.” Draco was proud of how he kept the bitterness from creeping into his words. “At least I don’t fuss over him or ask for anything else. Can any of you say the same?”
He picked up his books again and left the room, pausing in the doorway to look over his shoulder at Hermione.
“If you’re looking to shorten the list of people Harry worries about, you might think of taking your own name off before mine.” He turned and walked away, leaving silence behind him.
***
One day, Harry seemed different. He walked into the room, and barely looked to where Draco sat on an oversized chair. Its velvet was worn thin, and the stuffing was poking through in several places.
“What if I can’t do this?” Harry said abruptly.
Draco didn’t need to ask what he was talking about.
They had never discussed it before. Not like this, at least. Not when Harry’s fingers kept twisting themselves into nervous knots, and for once a small crease lay between his eyes. There was a plea hidden in his words, under his question.
Don’t let me die. I don’t want to die.
And Draco didn’t know what to do.
He stood up smoothly. “Can’t do what?”
“This,” said Harry, waving his hands around the room. “Do what everyone expects me to do. What if I can’t win? What if I try and he still beats me? What will I do then?
“Die, Potter,” Draco said. “Then you’ll die and so will the rest of us.” Harry gaped at him. “Did you come to me looking for comfort? A little bit of pity perhaps? You won’t get any from me. You should have run along to your Gryffindor friends. I’m sure they’ll tell you what you want to hear.”
He wasn’t sure why he had said it. Maybe because it was true. And because no one else would.
He glared at Harry, who glared back. He looked different when his face was alive like that. For a moment Draco thought Harry might yell or punch him. Draco thought he might punch back. But the moment faded.
“You’re right,” said Harry. “That’s why I came to you.”
Draco couldn’t help feeling that he’d failed somehow.
***
“Will you be sad if I die?”
“Yes,” said Draco. He didn’t add that he would be especially sad if Harry died before killing Voldemort. He didn’t really need to, though.
***
“There’s been a breakout at Azkaban,” Hermione told them.
“They’re getting ready for something,” said Harry.
Draco shivered and hoped that no one had noticed.
***
The siege began in May.
They weren’t allowed outside, but sometimes Draco would watch from the towers, trying to pick out people he knew. He couldn’t decide if he was glad or not when he never saw his father.
“Somebody’s going to have to attack eventually,” Harry said at the meetings.
“This from the boy who’s supposed to save us all,” Draco murmured.
***
When it finally happened, Draco stayed behind, just as he had always intended. He was one of the few spared to guard the youngest students.
Harry waved at them when they left, and Draco was just as glad to have avoided a long goodbye. Something more would have felt… odd. Draco stood and watched as Harry walked out the door, Ron and Hermione on either side of him. And then he went back to his post to wait.
***
Exactly five Death Eaters attempted to infiltrate the castle. The three that attempted to enter by passing Draco all ended up unconscious. He made the twitchy sixth year standing guard with him tie them up. It hadn’t been hard, or even that frightening, and Draco found he looked at it more as a way to pass the time.
Night had come, and Draco was just beginning to feel tired when his three captives suddenly screamed out in unison, as though they shared one voice. And then they stopped.
That was how Draco knew it was over, and who had won.
It all seemed dreadfully anti-climactic.
***
The survivors started filing in after that. Draco pushed past them all to stand at the top of the stairs leading up to Hogwarts huge doors, searching.
“Where is he?” Draco asked Dean Thomas, as he passed by. Blood covered his robes and he was limping slightly.
The boy shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Draco grabbed him by the front of his robes. “What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know where bloody Harry Potter is?”
“We just can’t find him. Can’t find Dumbledore either.” He gently shook himself free of Draco’s grasp. “Everyone who can is out looking for them. You could go help. I think a search party is forming over by Hagrid’s hut.” Before going through the door, he turned. “Be careful wandering around. Not all of the Death Eaters are accounted for.” And then he was gone.
Draco turned and stared out into the darkness.
“Where are you, Potter?”
Draco went to join the search party.
***
In the end, it wasn’t Draco who found him. Although he did find Dumbledore. Harry wasn’t that far away, close enough for Draco to come running when he heard the shouting, leaving the old man in the hands of those surely more capable then himself.
He was there to watch as Harry’s limp, still form was gently lifted, just as dawn broke around them.
Part Two