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story by @RDiavolos The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was quiet that night. The curtains surrounding the four-poster beds were drawn, and the only sounds disturbing the silence were the occasional creaking of the old castle and the soft breathing of its sleeping occupants. Everyone had long since surrendered to sleep, everyone except Harry Potter, who sat on his bed with his back against the headboard, staring intently at the large piece of parchment spread across his lap. His wand lay beside him, casting a faint light over the intricate network of corridors, staircases, and rooms depicted on the Marauder's Map. His eyes moved restlessly across the parchment, following the tiny names wandering through Hogwarts, searching for one in particular.Draceana Malfoy. "Where... where are you?" he muttered. He checked the Slytherin common room again. Nothing. The corridors surrounding the dungeons. Nothing. Even the library and the hospital wing, places where he had recently begun looking more frequently, offered no answers. Her name had appeared several times throughout the evening, only to disappear again without warning. Harry had become almost certain that she was spending time somewhere the map couldn't reveal. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision. How many times had he searched the same corridors tonight? Ten? Twenty? He had lost count. All he knew was that Draceana Malfoy was hiding something, and he was determined to discover what it was. A rustling sound came from the neighboring bed. "Lumos." A weak light suddenly illuminated the dormitory, causing Harry to squint. Ron Weasley had pulled aside his curtains and was staring at him through half-closed eyes, his red hair sticking up in every imaginable direction. "Harry, mate..." Ron mumbled, rubbing his face with his free hand. "You're still awake?" Harry glanced at him before returning his attention to the map. "Go back to sleep, Ron." Ron let out a tired groan. "Blimey. It's been, what, two days since you last slept properly?" He leaned forward, finally noticing the familiar parchment on Harry's lap. "You're still looking for that snake girl?" "She's hiding something." "Yes, you've mentioned that. About a hundred times." Ron yawned, barely managing to keep his wand upright. "Look, I know Malfoy's up to something. She's been acting strange all year. But you're going to break yourself before you find out what it is." Harry said nothing. "Seriously, mate. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look worse than Nearly Headless Nick." "Ron, I can't just stop looking. You don't understand. Voldemort's back, and Malfoy could be—" He stopped. The word was right there, waiting at the tip of his tongue. Death Eater. That was what he had been trying to prove for months. Lucius Malfoy had stood among Voldemort's followers in the graveyard after the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had seen him with his own eyes. He knew what kind of family Draceana came from, what sort of beliefs she had been raised with, and what her father had done in the Dark Lord's service. Was it really so difficult to believe that his daughter had followed in his footsteps? It made perfect sense, so why couldn't he bring himself to say it? "Harry?" She's a Malfoy, he reminded himself. Of course she's involved. She had been awful to him since their first meeting. Arrogant, spoiled, and impossibly proud of her family name. She had insulted Ron's family, called Hermione a Mudblood, and spent years finding new ways to make his life miserable. There were times when her relentless bullying reminded him of the Dursleys, of that familiar feeling of being ridiculed simply because someone had decided he deserved it. He had every reason to despise her. So why was he spending night after night searching for her? Why did the sight of her growing thinner and paler make his chest ache? Why had he started noticing her absence more than her presence? And, most irritatingly of all, why couldn't he get her out of his head? "Mate. Mate!" Something snapped in front of his face. "Oi! Harry!" "Wha—!" Harry jerked backward, nearly knocking the parchment off his lap. Ron was leaning out of his bed, waving a hand impatiently in front of him. "Merlin's beard, you really are out of it." Ron shook his head. The irritation on his face softened into genuine concern. "Look, whatever Malfoy's doing, staring at that bloody map until your eyes fall out isn't going to help." "But—" "No buts. Get some sleep, will you? I'll help you look tomorrow." Harry hesitated. Ron's expression was unusually serious, despite the exhaustion written all over his face. "...Right. Thanks, Ron." "Yeah, yeah. Just don't go chasing her around the castle without me." With another enormous yawn, Ron extinguished his wand and disappeared behind his curtains. A moment later, the familiar sound of his snoring began to fill the dormitory. Harry stared at the neighboring bed for a while before lowering his gaze to the map. His eyes searched the parchment one last time, finding nothing. With a defeated sigh, he tapped it with his wand. "Mischief managed." The intricate corridors vanished, leaving an ordinary piece of parchment. Harry folded it carefully, placed it beside his pillow, and lay down. He pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes. Just sleep, he told himself. You can think about Malfoy tomorrow. Unfortunately, his mind had other plans. The first image that appeared was of Draceana as he had seen her only a few days earlier. She had been walking through the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind her, her usual confident stride noticeably slower than before. Her once-pristine appearance had deteriorated. Her complexion was unnaturally pale, her cheeks had grown thinner, and dark circles rested beneath her eyes. Even her blonde hair, which she normally took such pride in, seemed neglected. Harry had almost called out to her, but before he could make up his mind, she had disappeared around the corner. She looked ill, he thought. Not simply tired, but genuinely ill, and it hadn't been the first time. His thoughts wandered further back, to the beginning of the school year, aboard the Hogwarts Express. He remembered the cold floor beneath his body, his limbs immobilized by Petrificus Totalus. Draceana had discovered him spying on her compartment, and she had been furious. She had stood over him, looking down with that familiar contemptuous expression, before bringing her foot down hard against his face. The pain had been unbearable, but strangely, that wasn't the part Harry remembered most clearly now. It was her voice. She had insulted him, of course, because she always did. Yet beneath the familiar arrogance, something had sounded different. Her words had trembled ever so slightly, as though she had been struggling to keep her composure, and when she turned away, Harry could have sworn he saw something glistening on her cheek. A tear. No. That can't be right. Harry shifted beneath his blanket. Perhaps he had imagined it. His nose had been broken, his eyes were watering, and his head had been spinning from the pain. It would have been easy to mistake the light reflecting off her face for something else. Besides, why would Draceana Malfoy cry after attacking him? Because she's hiding something, he answered himself. That had to be it. She was involved with Voldemort. She had to be. Everything pointed toward it. Her father was a Death Eater, she had been behaving suspiciously since the summer, and someone had already attempted to murder Dumbledore twice. Katie Bell had nearly died because of that cursed necklace, and Ron had almost suffered the same fate after drinking the poisoned mead. Harry was certain Draceana was responsible. He simply needed proof, and once he caught her, everything would make sense. Yet even as he repeated those words, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest. What exactly would happen when he finally caught her? Would he feel relieved? Vindicated? Happy? Harry couldn't imagine it. Instead, he found himself remembering the way her hands had trembled during their last encounter, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the way she seemed to avoid looking directly at him whenever they passed each other. Why are you doing this, Malfoy? He rolled onto his side and buried his face deeper into the pillow. It was ridiculous. She was his enemy. She had been his enemy for years. He had no reason to worry about her, and certainly no reason to lose sleep over her. But the harder he tried to convince himself, the more stubbornly another memory surfaced, one that had nothing to do with Dark Marks or Death Eaters. A completely different Draceana Malfoy. One dressed in green, silver, and black. Harry remembered the Great Hall on the night of the Yule Ball, the chandeliers glittering overhead and hundreds of students staring in disbelief as he entered with the last person anyone expected to see on his arm. He remembered their constant bickering, the complaints about his dress robes, his posture, and his apparent inability to arrive anywhere on time. He remembered thinking that agreeing to attend the ball with Malfoy had been the single worst decision of his life. And then they had danced. At first, it had been awkward. Neither had been willing to admit the other was doing anything correctly, and every misplaced step had been met with a muttered insult. But somewhere between the music and the movement, something had changed. Their arguments had gradually fallen silent, their steps had begun to match, and then, for the first time since meeting her, Harry had seen Draceana Malfoy smile. Not that smug, infuriating sneer she always wore whenever she managed to embarrass him, but a genuine smile, one that had made her look so different that Harry had almost forgotten who he was dancing with. He remembered her hand resting in his, the way her green eyes had met his as they moved together, and the strange disappointment he felt when the music finally stopped. Then came the balcony, the cold winter air, the stars scattered across the night sky, and the two of them standing side by side, neither quite knowing what to say. He remembered taking off his jacket and offering it to her. Naturally, she had insulted him for it, yet she had worn it anyway. For those few quiet minutes, neither Potter nor Malfoy had seemed particularly interested in being enemies. Harry opened his eyes. The dormitory was still dark. I thought we finally understood each other. He stared at the canopy above his bed. After that night, things had changed. Not immediately, and certainly not enough for either of them to admit it openly. They still argued. She still mocked him. He still snapped back. But their encounters had begun to feel different, and by the following year, Harry had found himself strangely looking forward to them. Then there was the night after Cedric's death. Harry remembered sitting alone, struggling to hold back his tears, when Draceana had appeared. For once, she hadn't insulted him or made some cruel remark about his misfortune. She had simply sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Harry had been too exhausted and overwhelmed to question it. He remembered burying his face against her shoulder, finally allowing himself to cry while she held him. She hadn't offered him some grand speech about how everything would be all right. She hadn't demanded an explanation. She had simply stayed until he no longer had the strength to cry. Why did you do that, Malfoy? Harry turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling again. He could understand why Ron and Hermione distrusted her. He understood why everyone expected the worst from a Malfoy. Had anyone asked him a few years ago, he would have agreed without hesitation. But things had changed, or at least he thought they had, and that was what frustrated him most. He couldn't tell whether the girl he remembered was the real Draceana Malfoy or whether he had simply been foolish enough to believe she could change. Was all of that a lie? The thought was unpleasant enough that Harry immediately pushed it away. No, he didn't know that. He didn't know anything anymore. Perhaps Draceana really had become a Death Eater. Perhaps she had been deceiving him from the beginning. Perhaps the girl he remembered from the Yule Ball had never existed outside that one foolish evening. But if that were true, why did the thought hurt so much? Harry squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his other side, pulling the blanket closer to his chest. He tried counting backward, listening to Ron's snoring, and even recalling one of Professor Binns's particularly dreadful lectures. Nothing worked. Whenever he felt himself beginning to drift off, another memory of Draceana would surface, dragging him back into the same thoughts he had been struggling with all night. He eventually gave up and stared at the canopy above his bed, watching the darkness gradually give way to the pale morning light filtering through the windows. A few beds away, someone began stirring. Harry heard the curtains being drawn, followed by the familiar sounds of his roommates preparing for another day at Hogwarts. He sat up reluctantly, rubbing his aching eyes before reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. He dragged himself out of bed and changed into his uniform while the others gathered their books and complained about the coming day's lessons. The Marauder's Map lay beside his pillow. Harry stared at it for a moment before sighing. "One more time." He unfolded the parchment and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The familiar lines spread across its surface. Harry scanned the dungeons first, then the seventh floor, the library, and the corridors around the hospital wing. He was about to give up when his eyes caught a name he had spent the entire night searching for. Draceana Malfoy. Harry blinked. There she was, on the sixth floor, inside one of the girls' bathrooms. Her name remained perfectly still, as though she had been standing in the same place for some time. For a moment, Harry could only stare. Finally. "Harry, mate, you up?" Ron called from behind his curtains. "We'd better get moving. If we're late again, McGonagall will—" Harry was already running. "Harry?!" He barely heard Ron shouting after him. He rushed down the spiral staircase, crossed the Gryffindor common room, and burst into the corridor, nearly colliding with two younger students along the way. His shoes hammered against the stone floor as he hurried through the castle, weaving between students heading toward breakfast. One of them shouted something as Harry brushed past, but he didn't stop to apologize. His heart was pounding by the time he reached the sixth floor. He turned a corner, nearly slipped on the polished stone, and finally stopped outside the girls' bathroom, breathing heavily. He pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket. Draceana Malfoy. Still there. And beside her was another name. Moaning Myrtle. Harry frowned. What was Myrtle doing here? More importantly, why was Malfoy with her? He glanced at the sign beside the entrance. Under ordinary circumstances, Hermione would have given him an earful for even considering entering a girls' bathroom. But after two nights without proper sleep, Harry found himself caring very little about that. He folded the map, returned it to his pocket, and pushed the door open. The bathroom appeared deserted at first. Pale morning light filtered through the tall windows, illuminating rows of empty stalls and cracked tiles. Somewhere deeper inside, water was running. Harry noticed a thin stream trickling across the floor, winding between the tiles toward a nearby drain. He stepped carefully around it, taking care to keep his footsteps quiet. Then he heard something. A sniffle. Harry stopped. Another followed, accompanied by a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like someone trying not to cry. He moved farther inside, keeping close to the stalls. The sound grew clearer as he approached the sinks at the far end of the bathroom, where a lone figure stood hunched over the porcelain. Harry recognized the blonde hair immediately. Draceana Malfoy. She was gripping the edge of the sink with both hands, her head lowered and her shoulders trembling. Her uniform was disheveled, and strands of hair had fallen loose around her face. Even from where he stood, Harry could see that she was in a worse state than he had imagined. He had never seen her like this, not once in six years. Harry instinctively stepped behind the nearest stall, crouching low enough to remain hidden. "You don't understand," Draceana whispered, her voice breaking. "He'll... he'll..." The running water swallowed the rest of her words. Harry leaned forward, trying to make out what she was saying. "My family... me..." She struggled to continue, tightening her grip on the sink until her knuckles turned white. "Then don't do it," another voice replied. Harry recognized Moaning Myrtle's high-pitched voice. "Just run away. You don't have to stay here." "No!" Draceana shook her head violently. "If I do, then... then he'll..." Her words dissolved into another sob. Harry felt an unpleasant tightness in his chest. Who? Who's going to do what? He shifted closer, trying to hear over the running water. "Why?" Draceana whispered. "Why now? Why, of all times, when I finally..." Her voice trailed off. Harry took another step. Something rolled beneath his shoe. Clack. A small bar of soap skidded across the wet tiles and struck the base of a nearby sink. Draceana's head snapped toward the sound. "Who's there?!" Harry froze. For several seconds, neither moved. Then he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Well, so much for that. He slowly rose from behind the stall. "Malfoy." Draceana stared at him. "Potter?" Her expression changed instantly, confusion giving way to horror before settling into something resembling her familiar scowl. "What are you doing here?!" Harry didn't answer immediately. Up close, her condition was even more alarming. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes were red and swollen. Dark streaks of mascara ran down her face, mixing with tears that had yet to dry. Her hands remained firmly planted against the sink, as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. Harry forgot the questions he had prepared. "Were you... crying?" Draceana flinched. For a moment, she looked almost embarrassed. Then she hurriedly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightened her posture. "Of course not, Potter," she snapped. "Malfoys don't cry." She attempted her usual sneer, but it lacked its familiar sharpness. "Now answer my question. What are you doing in a girls' bathroom? Have you finally lost what little sense you had?" Harry swallowed. There it was, that familiar arrogance. The same girl who had spent years insulting him, standing before him as though nothing were wrong. But he'd heard her crying. He knew something was wrong. "I know what you did," Harry said. Draceana went still. "What?" "Katie Bell. The necklace." Harry took a step toward her. "That was you, wasn't it?" Her expression changed. Harry saw it immediately, the slight widening of her eyes and the way her lips parted before closing again. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't lie to me, Malfoy." "Get out." "Please, just answer me." "I said get out!" Harry felt his patience slipping. He had spent months searching for answers, months watching her disappear into places he couldn't follow, watching her grow thinner and more miserable while pretending nothing was happening. And now that he'd finally found her, she was doing exactly what she always did. Pushing him away. "Malfoy, listen to me—" "Stupefy!" A jet of red light shot from her wand. Harry barely managed to throw himself sideways. The spell struck the stall behind him, splintering its wooden door with a deafening crash. "Are you mad?!" Harry shouted, scrambling to his feet. Draceana stood several paces away, her wand trembling in her hand. "Leave me alone, Potter!" Harry drew his own wand. "Whatever's happening, whatever they're making you do, you can tell someone! Tell Dumbledore! We can help!" "Silence!" Another red flash erupted from her wand. "Protego!" Harry's shield deflected the spell into the ceiling, sending fragments of plaster raining down between them. "Will you just listen to me?!" "Listen to you?" Draceana gave a bitter laugh. "Of course. Potter always knows best, doesn't he?" She stepped forward, her breathing ragged. "Always the hero. Always there whenever someone needs saving. How brave. How noble. How..." Her voice faltered. Harry stared at her. "Malfoy..." "Shut up!" She raised her wand again, and as she did, the sleeve of her uniform slipped down slightly. Harry saw it, a dark shape etched into the pale skin of her forearm. A skull. A serpent. The Dark Mark. For a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. The ruined stalls, the running water, the trembling girl standing before him. All Harry could see was the mark. So it's true. He had been right. All those months of suspicion, all those sleepless nights, all those arguments with Ron and Hermione. He had been right. Draceana followed his gaze. Her face drained of what little color remained. "Don't..." Harry slowly lifted his eyes toward hers. "You..." "Don't look at me!" "Malfoy, what have you—" "Cruci—!" Harry reacted. He heard the beginning of the curse, saw her wand pointed directly at him, and felt a sudden rush of fear and anger overwhelm what little patience he had left. A word flashed through his mind, a spell scribbled in the margins of an old Potions textbook. For enemies. His wand was already raised. "Sectumsempra!" The spell struck. "AAAAAAAH!" Draceana screamed as several deep cuts tore across her uniform, splitting the fabric as blood began spreading over her chest and abdomen. Her wand slipped from her fingers, clattering against the wet tiles. She staggered backward, remaining standing for one terrible moment, her eyes wide with shock, before her knees buckled and her body struck the floor with a sickening thud. "MURDER!" Myrtle shrieked, rising through the nearest stall. "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!" Harry stood frozen, his wand still pointing toward where Draceana had been standing. His breathing was heavy, and his heart hammered against his ribs. I did it. He had stopped her. He had defeated a Death Eater. After months of searching, he had finally found proof, confronted her, and won. A faint, almost disbelieving smile began to form on his face. Then he looked down. "Malfoy?" She didn't answer. Harry blinked. "Malfoy?" She lay motionless on the floor, her blonde hair scattered across the wet tiles. Blood spread beneath her, mingling with the water streaming from the sinks. Her uniform, once so immaculate, was torn and soaked crimson. Harry's smile vanished, and for a moment, another image flashed through his mind. Draceana in her green dress, the chandeliers above them, her hand resting in his, and that genuine smile he had seen during the Yule Ball. Then the memory disappeared, replaced by the sight of her lying in a growing pool of blood. "DRACEANA!" Harry dropped his wand and rushed toward her. He fell to his knees beside her, slipping slightly on the wet floor. He caught her by the shoulders and carefully lifted her upper body, supporting her back with one arm while desperately trying to determine where the blood was coming from. There was too much. It was everywhere. "Draceana? Draceana, can you hear me?" Her eyes were barely open. "Say something. Please." Harry pressed his trembling hand against one of the wounds, but blood continued seeping between his fingers. "I... I didn't know," he stammered. "The spell, I didn't... I didn't know it would..." His words failed him. He looked at her face. She had been crying before he arrived. She had been frightened. She had been begging someone to understand. And he had attacked her. He had struck down a sixteen-year-old girl who had been crying for help. Harry's breathing grew frantic. "Please, Draceana. Look at me." Her lips moved. Harry leaned closer. "What? What is it?" The words came slowly, barely louder than the running water. "So... you..." Harry held his breath. "...also... hate me..." Her eyes shifted toward his. "...Harry." Harry stopped breathing. Harry. Not Potter. For the first time in six years, she had called him by his first name. And the word before it. Also. As though there were already others who hated her. As though she had expected him to be different. "No," Harry whispered. "No, that's not..." Her eyes began to lose focus. "Draceana?" Her head grew heavier against his arm. "Draceana, stay with me." Nothing. "Please..." Her eyelids slowly closed. "NO!" Harry tightened his grip around her. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" His voice echoed through the bathroom.