Draco’s Dilemma

It was very late when Harry returned to the commons room. Much to his horror, while the party was winding down, it was still going. Harry had really hoped they'd gotten sick of partying and he was going to be able to sleep without having to answer any awkward questions.

"There you are!" George shouted and the remaining partiers – Ron and Hermione not among them – surged towards Harry. Harry wasn't able to muster up anything more than a weak smile upon seeing them. Suddenly, the idea of lying to these people, people who had had his back in the past, even if some of them could be fair-weather friends, made him feel a little bit nauseous. "Harry, you've got to tell us how you put your name in the goblet!"

A flash of anger surged through Harry yet again, overwhelming the guilt he would feel by lying to his so-called friends. They really didn't care about him at all, did they? They didn't know him. They only knew the Boy Who Lived. He could tell them he didn't put his name in the goblet until he was blue in the face, and they wouldn't listen.

"I used the Patronus charm," Harry lied. "Yeah, turns out with enough power, you can make it corporeal." He had absolutely no idea whether what he was just saying was anywhere close to truth.

"There's no way you can make a Patronus," Seamus scoffed.

Harry proceeded to cast the Patronus, causing everyone to stare at his Patronus in awe. He quickly dispelled it before anyone could ask for a demonstration of its alleged corporeality. "Now I didn't do all this for me," he said in a faux modest tone. "I did it for Gryffindor! It's time we had a chance at the eternal glory of the Triwizard Tournament!" Oh, God, he really was starting to sound like Draco.

Much to Harry's dismay, all his friends – if that name could be used for them – bought into it instantaneously. No one realized that Harry would much rather have been enjoying a calm, normal year than putting himself in danger yet again. Well, fine. If that's what they wanted, that's what they'd get. Maybe if he died a bloody death at the hands of whatever trials he'd have to face, they'd realize they were wrong.

After at least an hour of partying, Harry finally managed to extricate himself from the whole thing and trudge up to the dorms. He was practically dead on his feet and it was with no small measure of relief that he saw that Ron was sleeping, utterly dead to the world, snoring loudly like a freight train like he always did. That was good news. Ron could make some rather boneheaded decisions acting on instinct, but if he had time to chill, he'd probably calm down. Harry was not in a mood for an argument right now.

And so, with the knowledge that at least his fellow Gryffindors would have his back even for the wrong reasons, Harry finally got to a very restless, fitful sleep.

 .....

Life had once been so simple for Draco Malfoy. The world functioned as a pyramid. At the top were, of course, purebloods such as his family. Scions of Most Ancient and Noble Houses, sworn to preserve magic from mudbloods who sought to destroy society. Then there were the half-bloods and then the blood traitors and then the Muggleborns and then creatures such as vampires and werewolves and finally the disgusting and filthy abominations known as Muggles. Draco liked that way of looking at the world, especially since it put the Malfoy family – in the absence of the Dark Lord, naturally – at the top of the pyramid, the best of the best.

These days, life wasn't nearly as simple as it used to be. It had started last year. Draco had made the in retrospect phenomenally dumb move to taunt a hippogriff and almost gotten maimed by it. But something rather remarkable had happened instead. Harry Potter had taken the blow instead. Draco just remembered just gaping at the sight before him, the Boy Who Lived bleeding from a slashed chest. Sure, everyone had said what a hero he was, how he'd defended the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrell and how he'd slain the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. But Draco had assumed these were just exaggerations or outright lies. There were no real heroes in the world.

But Draco was wrong, because Potter was a hero. A true, real hero, who had taken a blow for someone he'd had every reason to despise. Someone who'd spent the last two years trying to taunt and undermine him at every turn. Why did he do that? It just didn't make any sense! Under most circumstances, Draco would have assumed Potter was trying to obtain some sort of leverage over his hated nemesis. But the incident had happened too fast for any such calculation to occur, and anyway, this was Potter. He didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

Draco had spent an inordinate amount of time at Potter's bedside, waiting for him to wake up. It seemed only fair. It could have been him in that bed. During that time, Draco was struck by how vulnerable the so-called Savior looked. He was small and scrawny and Draco felt he could have snapped him in two like a twig if he so chose. His mental state, despite being in a magically induced sleep while the healing potions worked, was not much better. He often had nightmares about someone named Uncle Vernon and occasionally mentioned a cupboard. Somehow, Draco didn't feel that the nightmares were about cooking.

"I am extremely disappointed in you, Draco."

Draco turned around with a start as he looked at his mother standing in the center of the room, looking as regal in the middle of an infirmary as she did at a society ball. It was surreal. It wasn't terribly uncommon to see Father around Hogwarts – he was, after all, on the Board of Governors – but seeing Mother at Hogwarts was completely unprecedented. "Mother, I don't understand."

Mother arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? I have had rather thorough discussions with your teachers. They do not speak well of you."

"I have gotten Os in every subject except –"