The Big Green Chair

The only word Harry could come up with to describe his second year was ‘odd’. If he thought just about the Weasleys and staying at their home and riding in a flying car, he could say it had been ‘fantastic’. If he thought just about Quidditch and the fact that he had won against Malfoy not once, but twice, he could say it had been ‘exciting’. If he thought just about Ginny’s crush on him and the way she’d sent that little cupid to read him a poem in a hall full of people, he could say it had been ‘embarrassing’. If he thought just about Gilderoy Lockhart coming around every corner, saying and doing things that made Harry more and more terrified to go to Defence class, he could say it had been ‘frightening’. If he thought just about having heard voices in the wall and thinking he’d gone insane until he’d finally tracked down the sixteen-year-old spirit of Voldemort entombed in a diary, he could say it had been ‘nerve-racking’. But when he put it all together, nothing seemed to sum it up better than ‘odd’.

It had started at the Weasleys’ when a funny little house elf named Dobby showed up and tried to convince him not to go back to Hogwarts. He’d told Ron, but had made him promise not to tell his parents because Harry kept thinking that he’d rather not make that kind of impression his first stay over.

Then the wall to Platform 9ž had mysteriously closed and Ron had suggested flying his father’s car to school. Harry had wanted to object, because he knew that flying cars weren’t exactly regulation, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and besides, how many chances would he get to ride in a flying car? Well, to be fair, probably more than once if they hadn’t wrecked it into the Whomping Willow. He’d always been told that tree was dangerous, but until just then he hadn’t known how dangerous.

Snape had been livid, nearly as much so as when he’d thought Harry had stolen the dragon’s whisker two years ago, but Dumbledore and McGonagall had interrupted before things got out of hand. Harry didn’t doubt for a second that had they been alone, Snape would have put him over his knee and thrashed him. As it was, he had been given detention and a stern lecture from McGonagall before being sent off to bed.

Things had gone downhill from there. First Ms. Norris had been attacked and Filch seemed dead set on him having been at fault. Dumbledore had said that he knew Harry wasn’t to blame, which had helped, because he’d thought people were bound to believe Dumbledore, well, everyone except Snape anyway, who glared at him just that much more during Potions.

Then Dobby had struck again. Not that Harry had realised it was Dobby at the time, he’d been too busy dodging the rouge bludger to think much of anything. He’d still won though, much to Draco’s annoyance. Later, while he was lying in the hospital wing dealing with Lockhart’s little ‘mistake’, Dobby had shown up and told him that the Bludger and the barrier at the platform had been his fault and it was all Harry could do not to strangle the little elf, broken arm be damned.

And things rolled even further down the hillside that Harry was quickly coming to realise would be the entire school year. He joined the duelling club because it seemed like fun, only to find out that Lockhart was in charge of it. Then he’d discovered that he could speak parseltongue, which he had thought, for the briefest of moments might be interesting. After that the entire school thought he was the Heir of Slytherin and he was hard pressed to get anyone to look at him, let alone talk.

Hermione had been petrified, Hagrid was taken away, he was attacked by giant spiders, Ginny disappeared, and he’d had to fight a basilisk and Tom Riddle who turned out to be none other than Lord-bloody-Voldemort again. It was like there should have been a warning sign if things were going to get that bad.

Even though everything did turn out all right, Harry had never been so glad to see the end of a school year. Malfoy hadn’t been pleased, but then things going well for Harry rarely made Malfoy happy. Once he had said goodbye to his friends at the train station and he and Hagrid were walking back to the castle though, the year seemed to melt away. It was summer and he’d be damned if he were going to let anything ruin it.

____________________

It was three a.m. when the alarm was raised. It had only happened one other time that Draco could remember, but one time was enough. The loud ringing that ran through every occupant of the Manor was mentally deafening, making the inside of his head vibrate with it, alerting them to the presence of an unwanted guest.

Draco buried his head further into his pillow, but the sound only seemed to get louder. One of the house elves popped into his room. Draco sat up, dreary eyed and sneered at the fidgety, annoying little creature. The house elf motioned for him to follow, “Master Draco must be coming with Mimi.”

He turned to the window and saw the bright morning sun blazing around the edges of his thick curtains. Oh, just lovely, now he’d never get back to sleep. The elf looked around nervously, “Master Draco must be coming quickly, to the safe room before Master Lucius...”

Whatever it might have said was lost as Draco’s father stormed into the room, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t just been roused from sleep in the middle of the night. Well, unless you counted the pale grey night robe, but even that was finer than many Wizards’ daywear.

“There’s no need to go to the safe room Draco, it’s just some fool from the Ministry who thought it would be better to floo in than send an owl. There’s been an emergency, I’ll have to go in to work.”

“Now?” The ringing had stopped, replaced by the dull buzzing after affect.

“Yes. You were to be going to Hogwarts this evening?” Draco nodded, unable to hold back his yawn any longer. Lucius frowned at him for a moment before continuing, “You’ll have to leave now. I’ve no doubt Dumbledore is awake, considering the state of things.”

Go now, at three in the morning? “What’s happening?”

His father picked a piece of dark bed lint off the shoulder of his robes, “Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban.”

“Escaped?!” No one had ever escaped Azkaban.

“Yes, they’re not sure how just yet, but I get the feeling that I won’t be coming home for a while. Now get dressed, I’ll notify Dumbledore of the change of plans.” Without another word, he turned and left the room, the dark robe sweeping behind him.

Draco sat in bed for a while afterwards, until Mimi became so distressed by him not obeying his father’s orders that he got up just to make her be quiet. He stepped into the shower and quickly rinsed off. The water woke him and he was able to focus more on what was going on and less on the annoyance of having been roused so early.

Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban? He really hadn’t thought that was possible. There had been one time, when he was little, that he’d gone to his father’s work. There had been a trial being held for a prisoner in the lower levels and when they’d gone down there to pick something up from a rotund woman sitting behind a heavy wooden desk, a dementor had passed by them. It was not an experience that Draco ever cared to repeat.

By the time he’d finished in the shower, Mimi had already packed his things and put a fresh pair of clothes out on the bed for him to change into. The shirt was dark blue, but he didn’t feel like arguing yet, so he pulled it on with the light tan trousers. He’d just managed to tie his shoes when his father returned. “Are you finished, yet?”

“Yes, Father.”

The house elf disappeared with his trunk, presumably taking it to Hogwarts, and he followed his father through the Manor sullenly. He didn’t want to go to Hogwarts and put up with Harry Potter again. He already had to spend school years with him. Of course, he wasn’t going to say as much, especially not with his father already so perturbed and it being so early, but he could very well think whatever he liked.

Lucius stopped at the door to the study and looked down at his son. “I want you to be careful with Dumbledore. He may be keeping a closer eye on you this year than before.” Draco nodded his understanding, though in truth he couldn’t imagine why this year would be different from any other.

“And you are to continue trying to be as pleasant as possible with Potter. I know he’s a do-gooder Gryffindor and you’ve little patience for such things, but you’re a Malfoy and Malfoy’s do not allow opportunity to slip them by simply because they aren’t patient. You will play nice, help him if he asks and do not attempt to get him into any more trouble, am I clear?”

Draco nodded again, briskly this time, because the subject of his behaviour with Potter often led to punishment.

“There is also the matter about Black.”

His interest piqued and any weariness he might have had fled. “He’s escaped, right?”

“Yes.” His father seemed to be turning something over in his head for a moment before he spoke, “What do you know about Black?”

“Only what you’ve told me; that he was the Potters’ secrets keeper and that he betrayed them to the Dark Lord. And that he’s Harry’s Godfather.”

Lucius frowned and knelt down to look his son in the eyes. He didn’t often stoop to such undignified gestures and Draco took it as a sign of how important what he was about to say was. “Listen very carefully. Don’t say anything about any of it to anyone. I can’t be sure of what they’ve told the Potter boy, but unless I’m wrong, he won’t know Sirius Black from any other criminal. As long as he doesn’t know, you don’t say anything. I don’t want Dumbledore to think you know too much. Do I make myself clear?”

Draco nodded, slowly this time, to let his father know he’d been paying attention.

“Good. Now, stand straight.”

Lucius stood up and pushed the doors open, striding through them with confidence and marching to the fireplace. Even when no one was there to see it, his father liked to make an entrance. Draco supposed it was either force of habit or practise, but it was fun to watch, regardless.

The main fireplace that was connected to the floo was in one of the more lavish parlours on the first floor, perfect for greeting guests. There was a smaller one in his father’s study and another in the master suite in case of emergencies, but those were rarely used. This one was over seven feet high and made from black marble. It was wide, as well, and open, quite useless as a real fireplace, but then Malfoy Manor, which was kept at a temperate 24 degrees year round, had no need of a real fireplace.

Draco stepped in first and threw down the powder, saying, “Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s Office.” After several seconds of twists and nauseating jerks, he was deposited onto the carpet in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Getting up, he dusted off his slacks and stepped to the side just in time for his father to step out. It didn’t seem to matter the distance, Lucius always landed on his feet, but then the elder Malfoy could say that about a great many things.

Looking around the room, Draco spotted Potter, sitting in a chair, dressed in maroon Pyjama bottoms with fluttering snitch’s gliding around the material and a wrinkled, dull white undershirt. His hair was more tousled than usual, and his green eyes were half closed as he was staring dully at the ornate rug. Draco frowned, it appeared Potter was less a morning person than even himself.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk in livid turquoise robes. He looked up at Draco and smiled wearily. Draco continued to frown. “Have a seat, Draco, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius shook his head, “Unfortunately, I have to be leaving, I simply wanted to ensure that my son arrived safely.” Draco could tell that his father did not consider this an unfortunate thing at all. “Draco, I’ll send your Mother your best.”

Draco barely had time to nod before Lucius had left again, this time calling “Ministry of Magic” before stepping into the green flames.

Potter looked ready to fall out of his chair, “Morning Malfoy.” He slurred the words together before yawning widely.

Dumbledore chuckled and Draco shifted nervously, remembering his father’s words ‘be careful with Dumbledore. He may be keeping a closer eye on you this year than before’. The blue eyes seemed to fix on them and Potter straightened up a bit, staring back expectantly.

“My dear boys, allow me to apologise for having roused you so early in the morning.” Harry nodded, but still seemed unable to open his eyes fully. “There has been a breakout in Azkaban.”

Predictably The-Boy-Who-Seemed-to-Know-Nothing raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Azkaban? Isn’t that where Hagrid was sent last year?”

“Precisely.” Why did Dumbledore always have to look so proud every time Perfect-Potter opened his mouth? “It’s a top security wizard prison and, until recently, was thought to be impossible to escape from.”

Potter’s eyes widened a little, “And this Black fellow, he’s done it?”

It was quite obvious his father had been right and Draco got the feeling Dumbledore wasn’t going to elaborate. “Yes, Black was sent to Azkaban for killing twelve muggles just after the fall of Voldemort.” Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat, looking sternly at Potter. “Listen very carefully, Harry. It is presumed that Black is headed here in the hopes that he can kill you. Whatever his intentions are, I cannot know, but the likelihood that he is coming here is very great. Do not leave the school unsupervised.”

Potter looked taken aback, but nodded obediently and Draco tried not to scoff. He was like a bloody lapdog.

With that out of the way, Dumbledore smiled again, “Now, as an added security measure, I’ve asked Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to return for the remainder of the summer. I believe that with them, as well as Professor Snape, Professor Trelawney, Professor Hagrid and I, you will be very well protected indeed.”

Potter beamed, “Hagrid’s a Professor now? What’s he teaching?”

Dumbledore smiled patiently and stood up, walking around his desk to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder, “You’ll have to ask him yourself later. Right now, I believe it’s time that we get the two of you back into bed.”

Draco started to follow Harry, but Dumbledore’s voice stopped him. “Draco, wait. Stay a moment.”

He paled slightly, but couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. Looking ahead, Harry shrugged and waved a little, walking away towards the dungeons with a slight bounce to his step. Resisting the urge to growl, he went back in and reluctantly sat in the chair.

There was an awkward silence, well awkward for Draco, who wanted nothing more than to return to the relative safety of the room in the dungeons. Dumbledore motioned to a small bowl of sweets on the corner of his desk. “Lemon drop?”

When Draco shook his head, Dumbledore folded his hands on the desktop and stared at him meaningfully. “Have you had a pleasant summer?”

Draco hesitated and settled on, “Of course.”

“Good. Now, I wish to speak with you about your father. It has come to the attention of some of our staff that you often seem to return to the school... less than well.” Draco flushed, but refused to say anything. Stupid Potter had probably told on him, or Snape. He felt a stab of something akin to gratitude mixed with resentment at the idea that Professor Snape might have been concerned enough about his well being to inform the Headmaster.

“What I wish, however, is to hear it from you, Draco.”

He grit his teeth, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Of course not, my boy.”

He hesitated, “And there’s nothing wrong with my father, either. He... he cares about me.” He wished he could say ‘loves’, but love was a strong word for a Malfoy and Draco wasn’t sure it was one he was permitted to attribute to his father.

“I would never suggest any different.”

Knitting his eyebrows together, Draco suddenly felt restless. “May I be excused, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded, though there was a hint of disappointment in his blue eyes as Draco got up and all but ran through the door and down the staircase, not stopping until he was several halls from the Headmaster’s office. Leaning against the wall, he panted slightly. He was acutely aware of the mostly healed, pale marks lining his back as he slid down onto the floor and sat, staring at the stone wall in front of him.

His father loved him, he did. The only reason he caned him was because Draco didn’t know how to act like a Malfoy and that was very important. If his father didn’t tell him how to act, didn’t show him when he was doing something wrong, how else was he supposed to know?

Putting his head on his knees he took deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It was all perfectly standard, it was. Then why had he felt the need to defend his father? Draco pushed the thought aside and stood up determinedly.

The Headmaster was just playing mind games with him, trying to get him to turn against his father, but he wouldn’t. His father was only doing what was best for him. Heading off towards the dungeon, he ignored the sudden feelings of uncertainty.