she isn't what she says

Chapter 12: Harry

Draco could hear the screams all the way up in his rooms. He didn't want to know what was happening down there; didn't want to know who it was this time. He wanted to flee, but couldn't; he was trapped in his own home with no way out except death. And even if he could find a way out he had no place to go, nowhere to hide from what was happening here.

He wasn't even allowed to return to Hogwarts when the new term started in a few weeks because the Dark Lord had other plans for him. He said Draco would be of more of use if he stayed at the Manor. But the only use Draco had in this house was to be tormented by the other guests of his Master .

Tonight there would be another meeting, another jumble of memories to collect and never forget. The last time they had a big meeting, Professor Burbage was killed and plans were made to get their hands on Potter. Tonight would probably be another round of punishing people for not being able to capture Potter. The only thing Draco was slightly happy about was that the Dark Lord hadn't sent him on that mission.

He was instructed to stay at home with his mother while his father probably died out there. Not that his death would make any difference; his father wasn't better than any other snatcher in the Dark Lord's eyes. He had failed too often.

Throwing himself onto his bed he ignored the rumble coming from his stomach and closed his eyes. He knew his mother would wake him for the meeting; she wouldn't allow him to be late and make their situation even worse. Allowing himself to take a few deep, calming breaths Draco told himself that at least he wouldn't hear the noises from downstairs if he was asleep, and that had to be something.

When he woke up again it was nearly dark outside. At some point his elf had brought him something to eat, and Draco considered tasting it, but then he remembered the meeting and what would likely happen if he ate something before. If he was still hungry afterwards he could always eat then.

Dragging himself out of his bed, he got dressed and then slipped out of his rooms. He only made it a few steps into the dark corridor before his arm started to burn with so much force that he sank to his knees, gasping for air. They were being summoned, all of them. Whatever had happened tonight, it couldn't be good if all of them had to appear by the Dark Lord's side.

As he tried to get up he could hear someone rushing towards him but he was in so much pain he couldn't make out who it was. His arm still burned and all he saw was blackness, he knew the pain would take him out if it didn't stop. "Draco! Get on your feet, quick! The Dark Lord has called us! We must hurry!" his mother's worried voice billowed through the darkness confounding his mind. "I can't—argh—make it stop! It's too much!"

"You have to, my dear. Please, Draco, get up." His mother tried to pull him up, careful to not touch his arm, and Draco finally obeyed her. He felt a glamour rush over his skin, cast by his mother to hide the terrible state he was in, and Draco felt a rush of gratitude towards her. He knew without her help he would already be dead.

By the time they arrived at the ballroom Draco had regained most of his control. Holding his head as high as he could he led his mother towards their places. There wasn't be enough room for everyone who had been summoned, but Draco hoped he would be able to spare himself the indignity of making space for any scum that would turn up.

The room got crowded way too quickly for his liking—to the point where it was hard for him to breathe. The stench of dirt and sweat, mixed with the everlasting smell of blood and fear that never left this room no matter how often the elves opened the windows, was nearly too much to bear. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, but nobody dared to speak a word. All eyes were searching the room, searching for a clue as to why they had all been summoned. After what felt like years, the doors at the far end finally opened and Draco suppressed a shudder.

The Dark Lord stepped in, his face an unreadable mask, accompanied by Nagini as he always was. Forcing a path through the waiting people, he took his seat at the front of the table and sighed as he looked around.

"As I can see, we're nearly complete. Good. Very good, indeed. The ones who aren't here probably have a good— excuse as to why they couldn't make it. You are probably wondering by now why I summoned you all here tonight." The Dark Lord paused to look around the room.

"We have a new member in our midst. He came here today, and volunteered to help. Isn't that nice of him?" The Dark Lord laughed coldly. "We had a chat, the two of us, and I must say I was very surprised to hear what he had to say. And even more surprised to find that he really meant everything he said. I wanted you to hear it directly from the source himself, to see how he willingly gives himself away to follow me."

The Dark Lord went quiet and turned around to look at the door behind him. When it opened there was a loud intake of breath; Bellatrix, next to the Dark Lord, hissed and Draco's heart dropped to the ground.

This couldn't be, no. This didn't make sense; was this a dream? A nightmare? He felt tears burning in his eyes and blinked them away. What was left of the little hope he had was gone, vanishing with every step the raven-haired girl took into the room.

"I was raised like a pig for slaughter and I won't play his games anymore. Now that he's dead others will come to take his place, others who only want to use me for my name. And I'm here because I won't let that happen anymore. I watched my friends and family die for Dumbledore's cause, for his lies and sweet words, without ever knowing the truth. Without anyone telling me what was happening! But I know what's happening here. I know you will stop them, will make them pay for the things they've done. And I will help you. With me on your side the Ministry will fall! With me on your side they have no hope left. They'll have no other choice but to follow us."

Harry looked at all of them before turning to the Dark Lord. Dropping to his knees, he lowered his head and waited.

"What do you think, dear friends? Should we allow Harry to join us? He won't be much help right now because we have to wait for the right moment to tell the world he's ours. If we do it now, we'll have to face an open revolution and I'm not keen to spill good blood. But when our time comes we can take our little trained pet and show him to the world. Any opinions?" His red eyes moved across the room until they stopped on Severus. "Severus, my loyal friend, what do you think?"

"My Lord, I'm honoured," Severus drawled. "Can we be absolutely sure the boy is telling the truth? If he is, I'll gladly take him on—"

The Dark Lord waited for a few seconds but nobody dared to say a word. Suddenly his eyes swept to Draco and a deadly grin spread over his face. "Draco, you two are the same age. I'm sure you won't mind if Harry stays in your rooms while I'm busy, would you? You two could become friends; maybe you'll even learn something from him. This could really help you."

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat, "I'd be honoured, my Lord." He still couldn't believe what was happening, still hoped to wake up any minute now.

"Good boy." Looking back at Potter, who still kneeled in front of him, the Dark Lord pulled out his wand.

                                                                                     *    *     *

"Okay listen, Potter. I have no idea what you're playing at. If this is a trick of some kind I don't want to be involved with any of it, because I'm barely making it as is. You can have clothes—hell you can even have my bedroom if you insist on it—but leave me out of your games!" Valencia shouted. 

"It's not a trick, Valencia. I told the truth down there. And I'm sorry to hear you're barely getting by, but it'll be better soon—I promise. Your guest room is enough for me, it's nearly as big as the Muggle house I lived in before. You look tired so I'll let you rest, good night."

With that Potter turned around and left her standing slack-jawed in the middle of the sitting room. She didn't know if she should be angry with Potter, or scared. Not only had he called her Valencia and not Lestrange but his general appearance was somehow off. He was too cold, too calm for what had just happened.