A Series of Connecting the Dots

Authors note: Yay! My turn again!! Okay, again I note that if you never read the first Authors note, you should do so now. I'm adoring this story and I love Laurel's Harry to bits. Many thanks to our wonderful beta Robert! and if you haven't already notice I've begun posting Madame Scarlet's and I posted another two-shot called 'Wanting & Kneading' (the spelling is intentional lol) Love you all and on with the show!!

Chapter 3-Draco – Everything to Gain

I couldn’t wait to get out of the Divination classroom. I had gooseflesh all over my body, and the hairs at the back of my neck were standing on end from Trelawney’s ludicrous tea reading. They always seemed more entertaining when they happened to someone else, but I didn’t like the old bat predicting my future, however false her predictions might be. Worse yet, I could feel Potter’s eyes on me like I was some sort of sideshow circus act. It was nearly unbearable - nearly.

As it was I kept my cool, scoffing at the Professor’s –if one can even give someone like her the title of ‘professor’- words and making a show of yanking the cup back and pretending to study it myself. “Are you sure?” I asked at last. “It might just be a Grim or some other trite nonsense such as that.”

A snort from Potter’s side of the table told me I was heading in the right direction to distract him from the previous incident altogether. My reading was one thing. Clearly it was referring to my brand new life at the right hand of Voldemort when I graduate, foretelling my success at bringing Potter to the Dark Lord’s feet, and then getting to bask in the glory that would be my reward.

The dragonfly was just a coincidence. Probably every student in the class could spot a dragonfly in their cup. It was our final year; we were all graduating in a matter of months and being tossed out into the world. Of course we were maturing. Even a muggle fortuneteller could have made such a vague prediction as that.

Amateur.

No, what caused me concern was what she told Potter; what's more was the fact that he seemed to be eating it up like homemade treacle tart. The last thing I wanted was for him to have even a tiny clue as to what was in store for him. And the hangman? You’ve got to be kidding me. Could she have possibly given him more information? Maybe she could have just said, ‘Oh dear, Harry. It looks like the leaves have formed a picture of Malfoy holding up a bloody knife. Oh, and here it looks as if he’s stabbing you in the back. Perhaps you should stay away from him,’ and gotten it over with.

Moreover, the dove and ring? What kind of rubbish was that? Potter wouldn’t have time to experience true love. His days were numbered unless… unless it was referring to his relationship with Corner.

Was Potter in love with that Corner kid? If so, then snagging him for myself would prove to be much more difficult than I had originally expected; I would need to make certain that my every move was spot on.

As Trelawney left in a huff, moving over to another set of what I’m sure she considered more open minded students, I decided I needed more information on this nobody Michael Corner that Harry had been seeing. When I looked across the table I noticed that Harry was still staring intently at the contents of his cup and chewing his bottom lip slightly.

I briefly imagined what it would be like if I were the one biting into that lip in the midst of a heated kiss but quickly disbanded with that line of thinking. My prick was not the one making the plans or seeing them through, though if things went the way I wanted I should be enjoying rewards over and above that which would put me in the Dark Lord’s good graces.

Fucking Potter would be my prize for all my hard work and ingenious planning, and I doubted even my father would find it distasteful under the circumstances. I deserved my due; I deserved to rejoice in the sun instead of constantly having to bow into the shadows of the people who surrounded me. The first step would be to blot out Potter’s and then soon enough I would surpass even my father’s wide reach.

“Is she mad or what?” I asked, trying to pull Potter’s mind from the very place I didn’t want it.

He looked up distractedly from his cup and frowned. “What?” he asked, clearly having not heard my words, just my voice.

I gestured toward Trelawney, who was giving Lavender Brown a reading that entailed a dashing lover and a summer wedding.

Potter laughed and nodded then. “Definitely off her rocker.”

“How she stays under employ here is beyond me. I’ve complained to my father about her, but he says Dumbledore is adamant about keeping the old bat around,” I mused, waiting for his hostile reaction from mentioning my father.

I didn’t have to wait long, though it wasn’t quite the response I had expected. “Do you always run to daddy when something doesn’t go your way?” he asked. It was rude, and surely hostile, but there also seemed to be an underlying curiosity to it.

“Father and I are close,” I explained levelly. “You shouldn’t judge what you don’t understand.”

Immediately his face contorted into an angry frown, but then quickly smoothed into something more neutral. “I understand he’s a Death Eater,” he said at last, and it took all of my self-control not to laugh at him outright and say, ‘so am I’.

Of course my father became a Death Eater, every pureblood wizard with any sense joined Voldemort’s side. It was fairly clear who the winner of the war would be. I mean, whose joke was it to pit a child against one of the greatest wizard’s of all time? This scrawny boy who knew no other spells aside from what they taught him at Hogwarts was supposed to kill a wizard so dark that even death could not hold him? Rubbish.

Explaining it in terms Potter might understand was a different matter however. “My father has always done what is needed to keep us safe. If the only option he saw was to join the strongest side, then I have no doubt he would have made that choice,” I replied, neither confirming nor denying my father’s status as Death Eater. I knew from his stories that Potter had seen my father’s face during battles, but there was no reason for me to indicate that I knew of his title, or even how much I knew about any of it.

“There is always more than one choice available to us, Malfoy,” he replied, and when I thought he was going to start lecturing me on the differences between right and wrong he surprised me and left off the subject altogether.

I rolled my eyes and set my teacup down. “Not to be rude, Potter, but you of all people should know what would have come of making a different choice.” I had always pitied Potter for the fact his parents died. It seemed a terrible injustice that the mistakes of the parents would only serve to punish their child. It was wasteful really. I often tried to imagine what my life might be like if my father had made the same choices for our family that James Potter had for his own.

If he had, I’d probably be dead and buried right along side my mother and father, only to be seen as heroes in the aftermath for ignorantly standing up to someone more powerful than us. What use is being a hero if you’re dead?

As flawed as they were, because even I know that no one is perfect, I loved my parents, and I would far prefer them to be alive and under the thumb of a crazy dark wizard than dead and gone from my life altogether.

Potter didn’t seem nearly so convinced. His face took on that look he got when he was about to say something like, ‘don’t talk about my parents,’ but he didn’t say a word. Instead he merely watched me in silence.

“Really Potter, has there never been a time, even one random second, where you resented the choices your parents made? If they had done what my father did, they’d still be here with you,” I offered.

“Voldemort would have killed me,” he replied coldly. “It wasn’t a matter of joining or not; it was a matter of die or let Voldemort kill me. How can I be resentful of people who gave up their own lives so that I could have a shot at one?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“The Dark Lord was after you?” I asked instead, thinking that sounded about as likely as Voldemort having a favorite teddy bear. I always thought that the Dark Lord’s vendetta against Potter began after Potter nearly killed him, not before.

He didn’t answer me; he just leaned in and leveled his emerald gaze on me. “What would your father have done if Voldemort gave him that choice? Would he have saved you or himself and your mother?”

“Two lives are more important that one,” I answered automatically, wanting to retch at my own words. Malfoy logic dictated that you only sacrificed yourself if it will save more of our bloodline. My father would have given me over to Voldemort, and even though my mother would have protested, in the end my father would have won out. He always did. They would have just produced another heir.

I knew the Malfoy laws too well not to know the answer to Potter’s question.

He looked at me with eyes full of pity, and I wanted to punch him in his smug face. How dare he feel sorry for me? I have parents; I have wealth, power and a place in the throng of Death Eaters at Voldemort’s side. I have spells at my disposal people would only dream of. I have a future. What does he have? Nothing.

“Your parents sound cold,” Harry commented, reaching a hand across the table as if to comfort me, but I batted it away at once. Consequences be damned I wasn’t going to let The Boy Who Lived feel even an ounce of pity toward me.

“Do not presume that one civil conversation gives you the right to judge my life, Potter. You can keep your high and mighty sentiments to yourself,” I stated plainly, trying not to allow my anger to bleed through any more than necessary.

I got up from the table and dismissed myself just before the rest of the class disbanded at Trelawney’s insistence. I made my way quickly down the flight of spiraling stairs as quickly as I could, sprinting into the boy’s bathroom at the bottom of the tower.

I wasn’t sure what had come over me, but I knew I had blown it with Potter. Yet again I would be a failure to my family, proof that -if the choice had been posed to them- it would have been the right one to sacrifice me.

I ruined everything I touched.

I paced the echoing tile room, trying to determine my next move. I spun quickly when the door opened, wand raised and ready to hex whoever showed their head; that was, of course, until I saw the messy black hair and famous scar.

Lowering my wand, I tried not to smile openly at the answer to my problems. I hadn’t run him off after all, and his chasing after me was an unexpected new development. Clearly he was more taken with me than I had ever thought possible so quickly.

“Come to trounce your superiority over me some more, Potter?” I asked dully, turning away from him in a show of indifference, while letting him see only an ounce of the hurt he had truly inflicted on me.

He winced, which was as close as I would get to the ideal response. Ideally he would have apologized, which would have been so brilliant to hear that I would have replayed the memory in my pensieve over and over again, but I knew it was far too much to expect from him. I doubted the spoiled Gryffindor Golden Boy ever felt truly sorry for anything.

“Look, Malfoy,” he began, but the words fell short when I marched over and pinned him to the side of a nearby stall.

“No you look,” I whispered heatedly. “I don’t need this back and forth from you. I was trying to be civil, trying to share things with you because somehow we got thrown into the same lot together. I was trying to make the best of it, and you threw it back in my face.”

I could feel his pulse race under my fingertips, which were strategically placed on each of his fragile wrists, holding them over his head in a dominant and very suggestive manner. I let my thigh press between his legs, brushing ever so lightly against his groin, and I reveled in the small gasping breaths he was taking.

Making Potter fall for me would be a victory to top all victories. I could already taste his sweet breath on my tongue, could already feel his body squirming beneath my own, could already feel his heart beat frantically just for me.

Was he nervous? Perhaps. Though, he had certainly gone further than closely pressed bodies with Corner. Was he excited? It was fairly clear that he desired me –who wouldn’t- but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he would give himself over to me so easily.

I was the enemy after all, and no amount of shunning from his friends would change that fact. He’d spent too many years loathing me to be able to just flip a coin and want to suddenly have a relationship with me. Friends abandoning him or not I didn’t take Harry Potter to be the desperate type.

Which made me wonder what he was after.

“I’m just having a bad day, Malfoy,” Harry replied, and it wasn’t lost on me that he wasn’t trying to break my grip on him.

“We all have bad days, Potter. It doesn’t give you the right to be cruel,” I spat.

His responding laugh was harsh, but expected. I had goaded the boy into nearly everything he said in Divination. It was my fault he crossed a line, my poor preparation that allowed him to do it. Had I known more about my enemy he wouldn’t have been able to get the best of me. It had always been my problem. I could study Potter from afar all I wanted, but then it only left me to speculate and use the gossip surrounding him to fill in the gaps.

Unfortunately, having now spent an iota of real time with the raven haired celebrity, I knew that he was much more complex than the rumors made him out to be. I needed to be closer to him, learn about him the right way; it would all make it so much easier to take him down in the end. Just look at how easy it had been for Weasel and Granger to break his heart.

If I could get even closer than that, if I could place myself inside his mind, his heart, and of course, his body, then my betrayal would be worse still.

“I wasn’t being cruel,” he replied. “I was being honest. It was your idea to bring up our parents.”

“Clearly we can’t talk to one another,” I whispered, looking disappointed. “So where does that leave us?” I asked and leaned in as close as I dared. I thought about kissing him right then, just crashing against him and taking his breath away, but I didn’t think he was ready yet, so I merely hovered, drinking in the tension that pulled between us like an eternal game of tug-of-war.

His gemstone eyes were locked on mine, but I wasn’t sure just what he was thinking. I needed to. I needed to be able to read him like a children’s book if I was going to take him down. I searched those deep dark eyes for the answers to all my questions but came up short.

When Potter gasped I thought that I had said something in my concentration that I hadn’t meant to, but then I followed his line of sight just over my right shoulder.

My excuse for letting Potter go was standing just inside the door and gaping at us.

“What’s going on here, Harry?” asked the dark haired boy who had intruded on our intimate moment. I didn’t know too many Ravenclaw’s, but I assumed that since he was relatively good looking, calling him ‘Harry’ and even still talking to him at all that it must have been Michael Corner.

I made a show of narrowing my eyes at the boy and then glancing possessively at Potter before releasing his wrists. I didn’t step away though; instead I leaned in and whispered right against Potter’s ear. “I’d like to see where you and I might lead,” I offered in a low rich tone that had melted lesser men than Potter. “You intrigue me, Potter.”

With that I stepped away and waved to signal to Corner that Potter was all his again. Something I said must have stuck, however, because Potter didn’t even look at his boyfriend as I made my way to the exit because his eyes were still following me. “You know where to find me,” I called over my shoulder before leaving.

I only made it to the next floor before my laughter broke through. Seeing Potter’s wide shocked eyes at my blatant physical closeness was nearly too much to bear.

It was a risk leaving him alone with Corner so early on, for all I knew the dark haired boy could be taking Potter’s virginity right out from under me, but I doubted it. They would have found a way to be alone at some point, and better he be left with my breath against his ear right before he faced a clearly less worthy suitor.

Still, it made me wonder how far they had gone. Potter had been quite vague on the subject, and I wasn’t sure I liked that. Had they already been intimate? Had Potter already parted his legs and turned over his heart to an insignificant Ravenclaw?

The thought of it made me more livid than I had expected, but luckily a distraction from the conflict of my thoughts arrived just in time.

“What’s with you and Potter?” Pansy asked as she sidled up next to me, matching her step with mine. “I get that you were practically forced to work with him in Potions, but Divination too?”

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Pansy, an inferior Slytherin if ever there was one, to draw conclusions from something she couldn’t even begin to understand. “I chose to work with him in Divination,” I told her easily. There was no use wasting my talent of deceit on someone that wouldn’t even know how to appreciate the skill involved.

“But why?” she asked, her nose turned up unattractively. At least Potter looked oddly adorable when he found something distasteful; Pansy simply looked like her face had been smashed in the wrong direction.

“Because my dear, Pansy, I intend to shag him,” I told her, and it was the truth so far as she needed to know. I couldn’t let anyone in on my true plan or else I would run the risk of someone else making an attempt to do the same and ruining everything. Plus, it never hurt to rub it in that I often chased after people who weren’t her. It kept her from getting too clingy.

She laughed uproariously and swatted my arm. “Good one, Draco,” she snorted.

I merely looked down at the place on my arm that she had hit, and let my expression show her how displeased I was at the action. She quieted at once. “It’s no joke, Parkinson.”

And it wasn’t. I’m not sure when exactly I had decided it for certain, but at some point I knew that I couldn’t turn Potter over until I had my own way with him. It would be such a waste to let all this pent up tension between us go unanswered only to have him killed by Voldemort and leave me unfulfilled. I was the one doing all the work; I was the one taking all the risk. I should get the reward, and the reward I wanted was Potter in my bed.

I would get what I wanted, and then Voldemort could have what he wanted.

“But why the hell would you want to fuck Potter?” she asked ignorantly. “Why chase after him when you have plenty of others who would be eager to please?”

“Others like you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Of course. You know I would do anything for you,” she offered with a wink.

I groaned and shook my head. “Why don’t you understand, Pansy. I’ve already seen what you have to offer, and I’m not impressed.”

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes shot invisible daggers at me. “You’re an arse, Draco Malfoy. I don’t know why I even bother,” she huffed before storming off toward our common room.

“I don’t either,” I called after her with a chuckle before setting off in the opposite direction.

I still had a package to retrieve. My father had been giving me things through Snape for years, and apparently I had a new item awaiting me. Sometimes it was merely letters too secretive to send through owl post, sometimes it was a dark artifact that father wanted to get out of the manor in case of an Auror raid, and other times it was a present specifically for me.

As I set off toward the Owlery I wondered which it was this time.

Of all the spires in Hogwarts, the west tower was the second highest, it was so tall that the windows stopped halfway up and the top was just wide-open space with tiny niches in the wall to provide the owls with shelter. There the owls would come and go as they pleased until some student or staff member needed them.

I had no need to go into the straw laden room, however, because my purpose was on the floor below. A narrow door could be reached on the landing just below the Owlery but most students walked right past it. The door remained locked at all times, but even if someone were to dispel the locking charm they would only find rudimentary cleaning materials such as mops and buckets.

After checking the stairwell for other students, I cast a quick Alohamora before slipping into the small dark room. Carefully avoiding the brooms and rags sitting about, I made my way to the back of the room, which was far deeper than it looked at first glance. There, behind a blockade of distracting scrubbing tools and several different repelling charms, was a wooden wall with a tapestry of a tree swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

“Stinson,” I called, and a tanned face peaked out from around the tree’s trunk. “I’m here for my package.”

The dwarf, for that was what he was, looked at me skeptically and walked further into the glade surrounding the tree so that I could see him better. He wore a ruddy brown suit, which looked to be made of pliable bark and a pointed hat that drooped sideways to hang over his shoulder. A wiry, gray beard jutted out from beneath his bulbous nose and his beady black eyes studied me intently.

“Answer my questions and you may have your prize,” he called, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I had irked the dwarf once before, and it was months before he allowed me to retrieve what my father had sent.

I nodded, and he grinned. Clearly I was his only entertainment because I doubted Snape ever played along with his little game. I made a mental note to ask how he got out of it and listened to the first question.

“What is most precious to you?” he asked.

“That’s not your usual question, Stinson,” I replied with a frown. Typically the diminutive man asked me easy questions like ‘what is the weather like outside’ or ‘what color shoes am I wearing’, and even if he was feeling particularly ornery, the worst he would do was ask me questions about magical history. “How will you know I’m being honest?”

“Stinson always knows. Now answer the question,” he demanded with a stomped foot.

After some thought, I answered with the only thing I could think of. “Myself.”

The dwarf beamed at me and nodded. “Yes, yes that’s true. Good, good. Now, are you ready for the next one?”

I sighed and nodded, and he cleared his throat. “What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen African Swallow?”

“What?” I asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Just joshing, lad. I think that’s enough for today,” he teased with a chuckle, and the tapestry started rolling up into itself revealing a crevice in the wall behind it.

I reached in and grabbed the small package, which was wrapped tightly in brown paper and twine, and tried not to think of the oddness that had poured from the dwarf’s mouth.

“Thanks, Stinson,” I called as I made my way out of the room and into the stairwell once more. No one was around, so I quickly strode down the tower, pocketing my gift and heading toward the Slytherin common room.

I ignored the evil glares cast at me by the gang of girls in the corner all flocked around to hear Pansy’s tale. It mattered very little if she shared my intentions with anyone. Most of the other Slytherin’s knew better than to step on my turf, and those who might dare to would be too nervous to try something as bold with the Great Harry Potter.

It was amusing to me that Potter got so up in arms over his celebrity. It wasn’t to be helped, and most people knew that, deep down. At least I did. It was quite obvious that he didn’t bask in the glow that his fame provided. He didn’t seem quite as opposed to it as he would like people to believe, but he clearly didn’t enjoy it as much as someone like me would.

It was an easy button of his to push and always set him off when he thought people only cared about him because of that blasted scar on his head. Maybe some of them did, but to me he was uniquely more complex than that. I looked forward to unraveling the tightly knit angst that surrounded him before I turned him over to his enemy.

Once I understood him better, I was certain it would be easier to drop him in the Dark Lord’s lap.

But all of that mattered very little if I didn’t win his affections in the first place. Things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but it certainly wasn’t a failure. I could feel Potter’s attraction to me, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the all-consuming, fiery passion that would make him crumble in the end. Leaving him with Corner was a massive chance I had taken. So early in the game, Corner could convince Potter that he loved him and leave Potter shut down to my advances. However, I was fairly confident that Corner would fail to fully convince Potter of anything, and no matter how angry he got over our argument that day, the Gryffindor was certainly interested; I doubted there was much a sullen little Ravenclaw could do to counter that.

The parcel my father left me was a heavy weight in my robe pocket, so I went straight into my room and shut the curtains around my bed. With nimble fingers I removed the dull wrapping and found inside a small velvet box. With a creak it opened revealing a ring inside.

I had seen this same ring on my father’s hand for the last sixteen years and -to my knowledge- he had never removed it. I wondered briefly if it was his ring or a replica of it. The band was silver, but the face reflected the Malfoy crest set into black onyx. When I reached for it, I could feel the magic imbued inside the bauble like it was a tangible force. Strong spells were cast into this ring even as the metal was forged and melted.

Once I studied the ring over I noticed that a note was tucked into the box with it, so I eagerly unfolded it and began to read my father’s perfect script.

Draco,

This heirloom has been found out at the Ministry for what it is, a dark artifact. They plan to search for it here before the week is out, but I daresay they’ll not find it. I’m turning it over to your keeping, Draco, as it would have been yours come graduation regardless.

Please exert the utmost care and restraint when using it, and be sure to keep it with you always. It holds very powerful protection magic inside of it, and the bearer will remain safe through anything short of the killing curse.

It also holds a transportation spell inside of it that rivals even the Ministry Portkey. It will always bring you to the Manor, even through Hogwarts wards, by merely spinning the ring on your finger and saying the spell ‘Illic est haud locus amo domus’.

Stay safe my son.

Lucius

This could indeed come in handy. I slipped the ring onto the middle finger of my right hand and smiled, feeling the protective magics wrap around my body like silk sheets. It wouldn’t be long now before most of the Malfoy possessions were passed down to me. An odd feeling crept over me as I realized I would soon be taking my father’s place in the world, stepping into Lord Malfoy’s shoes. I hoped to do that with honor, and the kind of honor I would need could only be bought with Potter’s blood.

I slipped off to the showers where I stood under the warm spray and let my folly and regrets of the past flow down the drain. I was renewed with a sense of purpose. It was as if my father knew what I was now planning, and the ring on my finger was his sign on approval, his blessing if you will.

It was only as I finished and began toweling myself dry in front of the massive bathroom mirrors that I noticed the dark green mark on my arm: a skull and snake. Not my first choice of a tattoo, but then it wasn’t my design.

I wondered briefly what Potter would think if he saw it and decided it was far too soon to let him. No doubt he would flip out, and my plan would be a failure.

After rummaging in my nightstand I finally found an ointment my father had given me to conceal the mark. I hadn’t bothered until now, most of the Slytherin’s knew I had it, and everyone who saw me without my robes on had wanted me specifically for it. But for Potter, I would hide it.

For this game to work he couldn’t know how deep I was; for this plan to work he had to fall in love with me, and that would never happen if he knew who I really was. Harry Potter could never love a Death Eater.

I rubbed the icy liquid onto my arm and watched as the tattoo faded into milky white flesh. With a smile and an unmarred arm, I fell asleep that night feeling content and productive. Fantasies of a naked Potter would fill my dreams, but tomorrow another day would dawn and I would set out once again to make that fantasy become reality.

Soon enough, Potter would be mine.

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Authors Note: Muahahaha. Sorry, I just sort of thought that the end deserved some maniacal laughter. I hope you all enjoy how the story is evolving so far.