Fic: Shadowed Lives (25 of 29, HP)

[bookishwench]

When Draco arrived back in the Slytherin common room that night, a handful of students were sleeping in the chairs by the fire. For a wild moment he wondered if they were lying in wait for him after his detention, still furious over the loss of house points. However, if Millicent pillowing her head on a textbook and drooling on her Transfiguration notes was any clue, they had simply fallen asleep while studying for their upcoming exams. That was a relief. Still, when Draco arrived, the noise of his shoes on the stone floor made a few of them stir slightly, including the Quidditch captain, who looked alarmingly huge in the dim firelight.

“Oh, it’s you,” Flint said bitterly, his face twisting in a malevolent grin, “the one who lost Slytherin fifty ruddy points.”

Well, that had gone exactly the way he thought it would. Miraculously, just as Draco was sure he was about to wind up hanging by his pants from the chandelier, his brain churned out an answer.

“Use your head for something other than a target for Bludgers for once, Flint,” Draco spat back. “Yeah, I lost us fifty points, but I also got Gryffindor to lose a hundred and fifty. In case your tiny brain can’t handle the math, a hundred and fifty is a lot more than fifty. I knocked them right down to the bottom and us right into first place. So my getting detention tonight was the price of getting us the house cup in a few weeks. Unless the Gryffindors do something ridiculous like saving the school between now and then, which doesn’t seem likely, we’ll win for sure now.”

Flint seemed to be taken aback for a moment, and Draco could almost see him doing the math in his head.

“Damn, he’s right,” he grumbled.

With a shrug, Flint left the common room, presumably to go to bed, and Draco dragged himself into his own dormitory. As usual, Crabbe and Goyle were snoring away despite being the two who needed to cram more than anyone else in their year except possibly Pansy, though her low marks were less a question of her brains and more a popularity requirement. Not even bothering to undress, Draco collapsed face first onto his bed and was out cold in less than a minute.

When he woke the next morning, Draco was tired, shivering, and achy. He opened his mouth to yawn and found himself sneezing instead.

“Great,” Draco whined. “On top of everything else, I caught a cold in that stupid forest last night.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Nott agreed, and Draco jumped a little. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else to still be in the room since he seemed doomed to always missing breakfast. “You might want to go to the hospital wing.”

Draco shuddered at the thought of drinking Pepper-Up Potion, but it would certainly be better than catching pneumonia off his late-night outing.

“Probably right, Theodore,” he said, slowly getting up and realizing he really wasn’t feeling well as the room seemed to start spinning slowly. “Where are the others?”

“Breakfast, I suppose,” he said, pulling on his socks. “I overslept a bit. Too many hours looking at Charms notes.”

The realization that exams really were just around the corner made Draco break out in a sweat, or possibly that was his cold. If he didn’t surpass everyone else in his year, his father would be furious. He’d been doing very well in his classes, but he’d never sat exams before. He had no idea what to expect and was suddenly very worried.

“We should organize a study session for the Slytherin first years,” Draco suggested, trying to sound nonchalant.

Nott raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d want to work with anyone else,” he said. “You know, ‘Trust No One’ and all that.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned for myself so much,” Draco lied. “Crabbe and Goyle, though, they’re in trouble. I don’t want Slytherin disgraced by them being tossed out of school.”

That part at least was true. He wasn’t sure either one of them was up to the rigors of an exam. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure whether either of them knew how to hold a quill.

“Fair point,” Nott said. “I’ll ask around at breakfast and see if anyone else wants in.”

“Good,” Draco said, tying his shoes. “If Pomfrey doesn’t take too long, I’ll see you in the Great Hall.”

Now very familiar with the route to the hospital wing, Draco managed to get there in only a few minutes, expertly avoiding two trick stairs and a wrong turn that led to what he mentally referred to as the Corridor of Doom, the one Dumbledore had warned them about the first night. He’d wondered more than once what was down that way. Personally, he thought it might be nothing at all, just a test to see which students were stupid enough to try their luck. He actually had a one Galleon bet going with Blaise that Potter would do it before the end of the year. There wasn’t much time left, but he thought he still had a fair chance of winning.

An hour later, Draco had drunk the ridiculous Pepper-Up Potion, and while the steam coming from his ears had mostly abated, he decided not to chance the embarrassment of it happening again in front of people. Deciding to let himself have a sick day, he went into the Great Hall, grabbed some bacon and toast, then carried it back to the dormitory. He sat in bed, chewing the crispy toast, not able to taste much with his blocked nose and with his ears emitting an occasional puff of steam as the potion gradually took away his symptoms. He began to feel a bit better every moment, and he began to realize having a rest for once was actually. Just for the fun of it, he dug through his trunk and pulled out one of his favorite books from childhood, The Adventures of Sir Percival Pureblood, and, curled into a comfortable ball on his bed, he read and ate. It was easily the most enjoyable day he’d had at Hogwarts in months, and for the rest of his life, when someone said the word “cozy,” it was this moment that would leap to mind. Smiling, he drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, he awoke to Persephone gently tapping his foot. She was being less aggressive than usual, possibly because she knew he had been sick.

“’ello,” he mumbled, giving her a drowsy smile. “Have something for me?”

She chirruped once, then dropped a small package and a letter onto his coverlet. Draco gave her the last bit of bacon, and she ruffled his hair with her wing feathers as she flew away.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he recognized the handwriting at once: it belonged to his father. Straight away, he sat up with his spine perfectly aligned, the comfortable feeling of having the day to recuperate completely gone. His father had never written to him before, and he’d certainly never sent him something. His hands became sweaty, but he wiped them on the sheet before daring to open the letter.

Son,

I am aware the school year is nigh over, and you will be studying for your examinations with fortitude to bring honor upon the name Malfoy. I am equally aware that several of your housemates will be uninterested in their end of year marks, believing their superior blood status means that such things are beneath them. Do not fall into this trap. It would be humiliating to see half-bloods or, even worse, Mudbloods with their names above yours in the final standings. I am certain you will not permit that to happen.

Draco’s ears released steam again, and he could feel his heart rate rising from pure stress.

In an effort to secure a proper outcome in your testing, I have enclosed a gift. Show it to no one and destroy it after the final examination so that it will not be confiscated.

Puzzled, Draco stopped reading, unwrapped the brown paper from the small package, and opened the box. A small, nondescript ring fell into his hand.

“What’s this?” he said aloud, then realized he sounded like a prat and went back to the letter for the answer.

Wear the ring during each test and it will counteract the Anti-Cheating spell that will have been put on your quill. You may then use whatever methods you choose to pass your examinations with the highest possible grade.

I trust you will not fail me.

Your father,

Lucius Malfoy

Draco spared a moment to stare at his father’s signature, using his full name as though a letter to his son were business correspondence, before he looked at the ring again. His stomach flopped over, and he was certain it had nothing to do with the Pepper-Up potion.

His father wanted him to cheat on his exams. No, his father was all but ordering him to cheat on his exams. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to his parents that he might be entirely capable of passing with top marks on his own.

He stared at the ring, still feeling sick. Disappointing his parents was his very worst fear, and if he really did prove to be less than perfect on his exams, that fear was going to come true. What he wanted to do was throw the ring out the fake window and let it smash into oblivion on the ground below, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Deciding not to think about it, he stuffed the ring into the pocket of his robes and spent the next two hours trying to nap but succeeding only in staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a knotted mess.

Draco must have eventually drifted off because he awoke with a jolt when Crabbe slammed his bag full of books onto the floor.

“Classes over for the day?” Draco asked blearily.

Crabbe grunted in response.

“Anything interesting happen?” Draco asked hopelessly, knowing he was going to need to get notes from Blaise or Nott.

“Neville melted another cauldron,” Crabbe said.

“What color was the sludge this time?” he said, chuckling.

“Just plain old grey,” Crabbe said, sitting on the bed and looking glum. “Nothing special.”

“Anything else?”

“Got back my Charms essay.”

“Not so good?”

“Not at all. Flitwick says I need to spend more time studying,” Crabbe said, “but I figure if he were really a good teacher, we wouldn’t need to study at all, so it’s his fault, not mine!”

“Crabbe, do you even own a Charms book?” Draco asked.

“Uh, I think it’s in my trunk somewhere under my long underwear,” Crabbe admitted.

“And how much of your notebook is filled so far this year?”

“About half,” he said smugly.

“Drawings of Snitches and toads don’t count,” Draco said, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“Oh,” Crabbe said, his shoulders dropping. “None then, I suppose.”

“And I know for a fact you sleep through most of Flitwick’s lectures,” Draco said.

“You defending him?” Crabbe said, looking stricken.

“I’m only saying if you want to pass the stupid Charms class, then you have to at least do something other than decorate a desk chair with your posterior,” Draco said.

“What’s a posterior?”

“What you’re sitting on,” Draco said, starting to feel frustrated.

“The bed?”

“Your arse, you arse!” Draco said, finally losing his calm.

“Oh,” Crabbe said, then shrugged. “Do you think I can still pass?”

“Flitwick’s a soft touch, so I’d say yes,” Draco said, and he was surprised to see Crabbe’s eyes light up. “It actually matters to you?”

“I don’t want to get chucked out,” he said dismally. “My parents will kill me.”

Draco said nothing, but he could sympathize with that problem. He actually felt sorry for Crabbe. On top of that, not once this semester had Draco done anything to help him pay attention in class, and he was starting to suspect that good friend wouldn’t have acted that way.

“Nott and I were talking, and we agreed to start a study session for the first years’ exams,” Draco said. “We’ll get you sorted out. But you’re going to need to work at it.”

“Goyle too,” Crabbe said. “I think I’m actually ahead of him in marks.”

Draco rubbed his forehead in irritation, or maybe it was the Pepper-Up Potion attacking his sinuses again, but he realized he had a lot of work cut out for him. Still, Slytherins always managed to get what they wanted somehow, and Malfoys even more than usual.

“It’ll work out,” Draco assured him. “We’ve got time.”

Unfortunately, time seemed to magically speed up for the next few weeks. Nott and Draco did indeed organize study sessions, and Draco was surprised but pleased to realize that the trademark Slytherin ambition became outright ravenous in the face of exams. Although Pansy spent most of her time painting her nails during their meetings, occasionally stopping to smile at Draco, he was heartened to realize she really wasn’t as stupid as she let on. She was easily doing better than Millicent, who was in turn doing better than Crabbe, who had been correct about one thing, which was that he was doing better than Goyle.

Alas, Goyle was the problem. He ate or slept through nearly every study session when he bothered to turn up at all. Finally, wondering if he realized just how dire of a situation he was in, Draco pulled Goyle aside before breakfast one morning.

“Goyle, you do realize you’re heading straight for a permanent one-way ticket home if you keep this up, right?” Draco said.

“Nah,” Goyle said. “I’ll pass.”

“When Blaise asked you last study session to name the incantation to make a feather float, you said, and I quote, ‘Ursa impetum.’”

“So?”

“So, did you actually want to conjure up an angry bear intent on wreaking havoc? Because that’s what that one does,” Draco said, then added, “I think. It might make a constellation blow up. Either way, it wasn’t even close.”

Goyle waved his hand as though it didn’t matter.

“I don’t have to study. I found a loophole,” he said.

“What?”

“Cheating,” he said. “I’m going to use an Auto-Answer Quill during the exam. It’ll do all the work for me, no fuss.”

“Goyle, you prat!” Draco yelled. “They’re giving us quills for the exam, and they have an Anti-Cheating charm on them!”

“They never told us they were going to do that!” Goyle said, suddenly looking terrified.

“The teachers have told us about fifty times already,” Draco said, then sighed. “You actually have to do it on your own. You can’t cheat.”

Goyle’s mouth opened and closed silently for a few seconds before he burst into tears.

“That’s not fair!” he said. “I’ll never pass!”

Draco decided not to even attempt pointing out how ridiculous it was that Goyle thought cheating was fair. Besides, that ring was still burning a hole in his pocket, and suddenly he had a way to get rid of it. Goyle was definitely going to fail without help, and Draco had no desire to use the ring himself. In fact, he hated the thing and everything it meant. There was an obvious solution.

Draco put his hand in his pocket, took out the ring, and put it on the chest at the end of his bed.

“Goyle, listen really carefully,” Draco said. “This ring has a spell on it that blocks the Anti-Cheating Charm. Someone who had it could put an Auto-Answer spell on the quill the professors give us without getting caught. I’m not giving the ring to you. I’m just putting it here. Then I’m leaving. If it happens to be gone when I get back, I know absolutely nothing about what happened to it. Do you understand?”

Goyle’s tears stopped, and he looked at the ring with his mouth open, stunned.

“Really?”

“Not one more word, Goyle,” Draco said, putting his bag on his shoulder. “Not one.”

He quickly left the dormitory, heading towards breakfast. When Draco returned after lessons that day and looked at his trunk, nothing was on it.