Gilded Soul

Prologue

Fog settled around his lithe form as Draco walked through an unknown forest. He had been following the path for hours, being lead along by a lingering feeling of need. A powerful force seemed to pull him further inside the dense landscape, until he could barely make out a path in the forest floor.

He began to feel vines cover his feet and move up his legs, deathly tendrils trying to slow him, stop him, or even kill him. Draco made quick work of dissolving them with a flick of his wand, and was more cautious going forward.

Eventually he saw what must have been his destination. Half rotted rock walls stood crumbling, but made stronger with foliage intertwined in the gaps. Set into the wall was a weathered wooden door. Deep red and splintered with age, it hung secure and unmoving; no matter the look of it. Draco approached the door, ignoring the sudden shrieks of warning in his head. He carefully inspected the large iron lock, bolting the door steadfast in it’s place. Draco shook his head in concern after several attempts at unlocking the door failed. After using every spell he knew, the lock stayed clamped shut and cold in his hands.

Draco woke up with a start; his hands still outstretched, grasping at an invisible iron lock. He immediately rummaged through his bedside table extracting a quill and his journal. He had been having these dreams subsequently now for almost three months, and each night he got just a little closer to whatever he was being pushed towards. This had been the fifth night in a row he had been stuck on the lock. He quickly wrote down everything that had transpired in his dream before little bits of it trickled away and he was only left with haunting shadows. He had begun writing about this dream, and other things a little over a month ago, when he discovered, after much research into dream interpretation, that it might be important.

Almost immediately after he finished writing it all down, most of the dream had escaped his consciousness. He tucked the journal back into the nightstand and sat up, stretching out like a wild cat. He got up and pulled on a pair of perfectly tailored black slacks and a light green cashmere sweater. He covered all of that with his black robes, bearing the Hogwart’s crest. Draco padded lightly across the room to the door leading out into the common room, pausing for a moment to see four other students still slumbering in their own beds.

Draco left the common room as quietly as a door mouse and made his way swiftly into the main courtyard of the castle. It was here he came most mornings, before dawn’s light could create the long shadows of morning. It was here that he often found himself, alone and silently mourning his childhood decisions. He was not so naive as to think he was no longer a child, but he knew now that most of his actions and words throughout his entire life had been fueled by ignorance.

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the cold moist morning air fill his lungs. He looked around as if noticing for the first time that everything around him was covered in a thick blanket of snow. He should feel colder, he knew, but he didn’t have the strength within him to feel anything right now. The logical thing would have been to go back into the looming castle, but Draco did very little based on logic these days. Instead he walked further into the snow-covered grounds surrounding the school.

He thought of the Manor and that soon the Christmas holidays would be upon him and he would be forced to leave the safety he felt here at the castle. The idea of facing the Dark Lord, after everything he now believed to be true, made him shudder. It would only take one minor slip of the tongue for Voldemort to delve into his thoughts and see what now filled his young traitorous brain, and then what? What would he do to him, to his Mother? Draco dared not think on it, knowing full well what the monster was capable of.

Another shudder racked his body as he thought of his Mother, trapped inside the Manor with the snake like creature. He knew not coming home would look suspicious and could put his Mother into further danger, so he had to clamp down his resolve and hope for the best. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. His Father in prison, his Mother imprisoned in her own home, his whole family under Ministry scrutiny, and now the task Voldemort had assigned him with. This death mission he was tasked to complete made him feel nauseous. Hope indeed.

At the sight of a large tree in the distance, Draco’s mind went to other places. He often thought of the moment that caused his change of heart. It was such a simple moment, such a fleeting point in time, that Draco might have missed it had he blinked. Then would he have remained the same arrogant Slytherin he had always been? Would that have been better than the current torment he felt at betraying his family lineage? It was hard to be certain.

The memory played through his mind over and over; the image of a boy, his own age standing against this very tree. It had been dusk and the sun was slowly sinking into the lake, and the soft scarlet glow lit up the boys face, making his green eyes sparkle like jewels. His hair, black and unruly whipped softly in the breeze and a small sad smile played on his lips. Draco couldn’t remember what he was even doing outside in order to oversee this deeply personal view, but he instantly felt a kinship to the boy that he had never felt with anyone.

After acknowledging the feeling, the hard part started. He then began to realize that he had always felt a connection to Harry, one that he even tried to solidify the first day of school, on the train. His confusion deepened from that point, because he was unsure what it was that connected him with the famous Gryffindor Golden Boy. The idea that they were born rivals carried him through the first several years, until the vision of the proud yet broken Gryffindor he saw but a month or so ago.

Draco moved forward, unhindered by the snow, feeling helpless. He was completely without true friendship. There was no one he could talk to about the growing doubts forming in his mind. He went so far as to keep up his daily ruse of pretending to be his former self, and not one of the other Slytherin’s knew him well enough to have suspected anything.

As Draco moved closer to the tree, he was filled with an urgent feeling to move away, to run back towards the safety of the castle. He did not heed the warning in his brain, and immediately regretted it, as the ground broke, shattering beneath him with a grating cacophony. Suddenly Draco was submerged in the icy depths of the lake, eyes wide, but unseeing as he jerked around, trying to pull his own body towards the surface. As he frantically clawed at the water surrounding him, his heart slowed and his eyelids drooped. He felt the blackness of death seep into his bones, his body going numb as began to float weightlessly in the watery depths.

--

Draco again felt the cold iron lock in his hand; he looked at it for several moments, turning it over and over in his fingers. On the bottom was a keyhole, and upon further study of the mechanism, he felt sure that he had seen the key that belonged to it. He pressed his brain for an answer to this question, but nothing came to him. In his heart he knew he had found the key at some point, but in his mind he could not locate it.

He felt the breeze press warm fingers into his forehead, and suddenly it was not the breeze, but actual fingers. He tried to reach out, to grab the invisible hand, or to swat it away, but his arms would not obey him, instead hanging limply at his sides. A small sliver of light blinded his vision…

“Malfoy?”

Draco could not make out the voice that spoke his name. But suddenly two very sparkling green eyes, made larger by a pair of black rimmed spectacles, came into focus. After blinking several times to determine that this was not in fact part of his dream, he sat bolt upright, and was rewarded with a splitting headache. “Where am I?”

Harry’s concerned face loomed over him still, “Hospital wing.”

Draco looked around briefly as if to confirm this fact, “What happened to me?”

Harry’s look of concern stayed firmly planted on his face, “I found you drowning in the lake. You were trapped under the ice. I pulled you out and brought you here.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “Why?”

Harry’s eyes went wide, “Next time I should just let you die, I suppose?” He placed a well-crafted mask of carelessness over his face, but Draco could still see the concern in his eyes.

“How bad was it then?” Draco said, gray eyes never leaving Harry’s.

“You were dead.” At Draco’s immediate protest, Harry lifted a hand to silence him. “I swear it. I saw you go under, and I ran as fast as I could, but by the time I pulled you out, you were blue and not breathing.”

Draco looked at Harry carefully. He was telling the truth. “I owe you a life debt then.”

Harry shook his head vehemently, “No. You don’t. We don’t even need to speak about it.”

Draco quirked his eyebrow “I’m confused.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You would be.” Harry noticing that Draco was not even remotely joking, continued, “Not everyone requires payment in return when they do something nice.”

Draco almost smiled at that, “I think you would have to concede that this goes a little beyond something nice.”

Harry shrugged, “You can think of it any way you want, but I still don’t need anything in return.”

Draco eased a little, but then curiosity got the better of him, “What were you doing out there so early?”

Harry’s face didn’t change a bit, but Draco saw the flicker of panic pass over his eyes. “I’m glad your feeling better, Draco. I’ll see you in class.” And he walked steadily from the room without glancing back.

Gone was the boy quick to jibe and rage against Draco. He marveled at the way Harry carried himself, the world on his shoulders, but still not a single slouch. Perhaps he had, like Draco, had a recent revelation. His reaction to the small seemingly insignificant question intrigued Draco. What had Harry Potter been doing by the lake that morning? It could very well have been as innocent as Draco’s reasoning of needing solitude, but Harry’s reaction suggested otherwise. Draco leaned back in his bed and drifted off to sleep. This time, what filled his dreams were not locks beckoning to be opened, but soft smoldering green eyes.

--

Later that week, Draco had gotten no closer to finding out the Gryffindor’s secret. In potions class, he watched Harry from where he sat in the back of the room. Hermione and Ron would be off in their own little world, practically ignoring the sadness that emanated off of their black haired friend. If Draco could feel it, why couldn’t they? Ron would crack a joke with him, and he would laugh, quietly making light of his sorrow. Draco pondered on the reasons for the proud Gryffindor’s sadness. Sure, there was a murdering dark wizard who wished him dead with every fiber of his being, but that was relatively old news so far as Draco was concerned. Draco himself would have to deal with that threat far sooner than Harry.

There had been whispers around the manor, about Harry, and about Sirius Black. He started to wonder if there was any truth them. If Sirius Black was indeed Harry’s godfather, that could cause his strife. Having two people out to murder you in cold blood might be enough to elicit the kind of feelings he was getting from Harry.

“Today we will be pairing up to create one of the more difficult potions for Sixth year potions class.” Professor Snape levitated cauldrons throughout the class. “Turn to page 98 in your textbooks, where you will see the ingredients and instructions to make the Wolfsbane potion. Then you will get into teams of two to start the process.”

Draco watched as Harry immediately turned to Ron and Hermione, who had already linked hands and looked at Harry sheepishly. Blaise approached Draco, and he only waved him off, much to the amazement of several Slytherin’s nearby. Draco watched as Harry’s eyes flitted about the room looking for a partner, and then turning around, his green eyes locked with Draco’s and a small frown curled on his lips.

Draco made room for Harry’s textbook and took notice of the heat that radiated off of the boys skin as he sat down beside him. Anger, embarrassment, or maybe he was just always warm to the touch? Draco banished the thought from his head. No touching. Harry looked at him sideways and Draco smirked. “Do you think you can handle this potion? It’s very advanced, even for 6th year.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “So I hear” he said, gesturing to the professor sitting at his desk.

Draco smiled, “Do you want to fetch the ingredients or should I?”

Harry shrugged, “I’ll go.”

With a sigh Harry walked to the ingredient closet and carefully picked through the bottles and jars until he had what he needed, and levitated it in a small pile up to Draco’s desk. Draco began opening and sorting the ingredients as soon as they hit the table and had them all separated into two piles before Harry sat down. Harry silently took his pile and began chopping and slicing as indicated in his textbook. Draco noticed however, that Harry’s had small scribbling print in the margins next to the instructions, and little notes here and there written in the same spidery handwriting. Draco recognized it immediately, but couldn’t pinpoint it.

Harry followed the handwritten text with his fingers a couple times and noticed the instructions were telling Harry to do something different than Draco’s own textbook “How do you know what’s written there is right?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, obviously gauging how much to say. “It’s been right so far.”

Draco thought about all the perfect potions Harry had suddenly whipped up this year and laughed to himself. “So this is why you have been doing so well in potions?” Harry nodded smiling. Draco laughed again, “That’s very Slytherin of you.” Harry paled slightly at the comment, which just made Draco laugh again.

Draco reached over for the book but Harry pulled it out of his grasp shaking his head. “Oh, no you don’t.”

Draco smirked, “I’m not going to steal it, but I need to read what it says about what to do with my half of the ingredients. It wouldn’t do very well for us to be making separate potions.”

Harry seemed to think this over and eventually handed the book over. As Draco wrapped his pale fingers around it, he grazed Harry’s hand and Draco dropped the book to the floor. Shaking his hand like he had been bitten, Draco looked at Harry, who was doing the same. Both boys looked at one another for a moment that seemed suspended in time. Draco could see the acknowledgment of the connection between them written plainly on Harry’s face. After several moments passed and their eyes still locked, motions still halted, Draco noticed a hush throughout the room, that he was quite sure was not in his head.

He broke eye contact with Harry and looked around the classroom. Sure enough, every eye was now turned towards the two of them. Draco saw Harry fighting a war against the blushing now conquering his face, his main focus on the faces of his two best friends sitting a few rows in front of them. Draco followed Harry’s gaze and first landed on Hermione, whose face showed curiosity and a slight smile playing on her lips. He then looked to Ron, whose face was inflamed with loathing aimed directly at Draco, and something else, something that looked a lot like…fear? Draco almost nodded to himself. Yes, Ron was afraid of the look he saw on Harry’s face.

Well this was an interesting development, Draco thought to himself. Draco leaned down to procure the forgotten textbook, and when he returned the book to the table’s surface, he noticed that Harry had moved further away from him. He felt a twinge of sorrow as he pretended to calmly look through the book, as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the class went by with the quickness of a snails pace for Draco. Out of the corner of his eye he kept watch on Harry, and his activities and not once did he speak or look in Draco’s direction. Draco’s sadness and confusion quickly turned bitter as he chopped ingredients and added them to the cauldron. I know he felt something, I could see it in his eyes. Draco fumed, he’s just afraid of what his lackeys will think of him being friends with a Slytherin. This thought pulled Draco from his anger. Wasn’t Draco too fearful of the same thing? Could he judge Harry in a negative light for something that Draco himself could not comes to terms with?

Draco visibly relaxed and sighed as his mind pulled him away from his anger. Harry looked over at him, Draco turned, their eyes meeting again, and Draco saw the motion of so many thoughts and feelings flicker through his emerald eyes. Fear…doubt…anger…loathing…lust. Lust? Draco yanked his eyes away from Harry’s at that moment. No, that couldn’t be right. Draco turned back to find Harry finely chopping his wormwood and it seemed, also attempting to ignore Draco.

“Listen,” Draco whispered, “there is something going on here.”

Harry didn’t even look up when he responded, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Draco gritted his teeth, “I think you do.”

Harry just shrugged, causing Draco sigh and sag in his seat, looking defeated. Harry looked over at him briefly then huffed, “Look, it’s not like I’m going to just be best mate with you because of…of whatever that was. It doesn’t work that way, Malfoy! Not after everything you’ve done to me and my friends.”

Draco just nodded went back to stirring the cauldron. Did I really expect things to change? Draco laughed to himself, realizing that he had. He had thought that he and Harry could be friends, and never even thought about what that would mean. Didn’t think about the measures he would have to take to make up for the past. The potion boiled and sputtered, yanking Draco out of his thoughts.

“How many clockwise turns did you give it?” Harry pressed.

Draco shrugged, “Twelve I think.”

Harry jerked the spoon from Draco’s hand and stirred the cauldron three times counter clockwise and then removed the spoon. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

Draco looked down at his notes and ignored the question. His mind was elsewhere today, he needed to clear it, and fast. He would have to think about his situation with Harry when he was not in the middle of class.

After class Draco stood back and watched as Harry quickly gathered his things and ran off to join his friends. Draco could hear Ron muttering foul things about him, but chose not to take the bait as he might have done previously. Hermione had Harry’s arm in a vice like grip and she was whispering fervently in his ear. Draco followed them as long as he could and watched, as Harry would sneak little looks over his shoulder to see if he was still there. Soon enough though, Draco had to veer off towards his own common room.

Once there he immediately went to his room, rummaged through his nightstand, pulling out his journal and flipped to the back. With quill in hand he began outlining a plan to win over the friendship of the famous Harry Potter.