Attention

Chapter Twelve

'You're going to be a Death Eater whether you like it or not.'

Draco watched Ginny walk away, blinking back the glitter at the edge of his vision. She was wrong, he was sure of it--there was no way he would be a Death Eater. Absolutely no way.

A clock chimed, and Draco realised with a sick feeling that he had to go to the lesson now or face McGonagall's wrath. Already he faced a detention for arriving late.

Draco finished collecting his books, his body feeling rather wooden and stiff, and then pointed his feet in the correct direction and forced his legs to move. He really didn't want to go -- Transfiguration had most of the year in it, including Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Pansy and Millicent: the five people he least wanted to see.

Ginny's comments still stung, no matter how much he tried to push them away. You think being a Malfoy makes you the fucking ruler of the universe, she'd said, and to that Draco asked himself, why not? The Malfoys were the richest, most powerful pureblood family; the Blacks and Crouches were now gone, and none of the remaining families came anywhere close to his pedigree.

And she'd actually had the gall to question whether his father would want to kill him. Of course Lucius would never kill his own offspring. Malfoys were simply too valuable to be disposed of idly...

Draco stared at a painting bereft of its occupant. Then again, his father could always have another child; there were even rumours that Draco wasn't actually the first of Lucius' children, but Draco had always dismissed those as poor attempts to mar the Malfoy name.

Maybe it was true. Maybe there was some older brother of his, lying in an unmarked grave in the middle of England, his branch violently torn from the family tree--

No. He was being stupid.

The painting's occupant returned and scolded Draco roundly for woolgathering, to which Draco replied rudely and hurried off.

Professor McGonagall glared at him when Draco arrived ten minutes late, and stopped her lecture as he found a seat off to the far left of the classroom, but to his surprise said nothing.

Draco slumped in his seat and slowly took out parchment and quill.

'You should have already found,' McGonagall resumed, thankfully taking her glare from him and aiming it at Weasley, who was whispering to Potter and sat up unconvincingly straight at the attention, 'that the transformation of objects becomes understandably more difficult the farther you try to take them from their original form. The alignment of...'

Draco tuned out. He was watching the backs of Pansy and Millicent, both sitting ramrod straight in their chairs, and not sure he wanted to know what they were thinking.

Seeing Millicent's Dark Mark had shaken him a lot more than he'd let on to Ginny.

Sunday night, Draco had tried to enter the girls' dormitory and at least attempt to patch things up with Pansy, so that he could send a reassuring letter home telling his parents not to worry, but Millicent had been standing there, blocking the doorway, her sleeves rolled up so as to display her new tattoo.

'Malfoy, stay the fuck away from her,' she'd said. 'She doesn't want to see you, and you've obviously got another girl to see.'

Draco had protested that there was no one else, but Millicent had only smiled in a way he really didn't like and said, 'Right. You just keep on believing that.'

Whereupon Draco had retreated, confused and startled. Now, sitting in his lesson, he understood what was happening. Pansy had taken a situation and turned it to her advantage, as she always had. Actually quite a Slytherin thing to do, and something Draco might have admired, had it not been his neck being risked.

Shit.

If Lucius thought that Draco had fallen in love with Hermione Granger, the fact that he was theoretically imprisoned in Azkaban would in no way prevent him from finding a way to cause both of them harm. And while Draco found the Mudblood abhorrent and such a bloody annoying know-it-all, he had to admit to himself that he would feel guilty to know that he'd caused her death.

Damnable conscience. If only it didn't carry with it such a heady sense of self-worth. At least he was reassured to realise that he'd feel even worse causing his own death.

Shit again.

He'd have to find some way of protecting Granger, which would simply fuel the rumour mill even more and make it seem that he really was interested in her. Unless he found some way to make someone else protect her? Surely if Potter knew the whole story, he'd keep his friends safe... by tying Draco up and stabbing out his heart with his wand. Bad idea, then. Weasley would only turn red and gibber, and Ginny--what could Ginny do against such determined hatred? Bat-Bogeys were all very well for school fights, but Draco knew that whatever Lucius threw at them would be more than even she could handle.

Then again, came a sudden thought, this was the Ginny Weasley who went up against six Death Eaters, including Lucius, and even though she had been with Potter and Weasley and some more of their little club, she was still alive. And then there was the power she radiated... a power of concentration, a power of will. Draco imagined putting Ginny in leather, giving her a whip, and chaining his father to a wall. He smirked, hearing his father's pleas.

'Yes, Mr Malfoy, do you have something to add?'

Draco looked around, his smile fading. The class was staring at him. Pansy looked triumphant, Millicent looked hungry, and the others looked as they always did--only now did he recognize it as distrust. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were shooting him especially wrathful looks. He wondered if Ginny had told them.

'No, Professor,' he replied.

'Then would you care to share what was so amusing about my lecture?'

'Nothing, Professor, I was thinking about something else. I'm sorry.'

McGonagall gave him a cold look, said, 'I wish you would pay better attention, Mr Malfoy; please see me after class,' and then continued, 'Transfiguring water into wine is something all of you learn by your third year, but if you look closer at the sub-elemental shift, you find...'

Draco drifted off again. He'd read about the sub-elemental shift of the water-to-wine transfiguration last week.

What he wanted was something he could do. He didn't want to wait around for a missive from either of his parents, perhaps a Howler from his mother, or something incomprehensible from his father.

Draco shuddered. He simply couldn't think anymore. He ran a hand through his hair and turned his face toward Professor McGonagall, who was drawing elaborate diagrams on the board, but everything that came out of her mouth was white noise.

You're going to be a Death Eater whether you like it or not.

After the lesson he went to talk to Professor McGonagall, who, as he'd expected, told him off for arriving late and not paying attention.

'I know you're under a great deal of stress, Mr Malfoy,' she said, and he noticed her eyes flicking to his left sleeve, 'but you are still a student, and while you are a student I expect you to be punctual and attentive. You may have already read the lesson--an excellent habit for which I commend you--but items that come up in the lecture often aren't explained in the reading. I would also remind you that your participation in class is not only a part of your final mark, but an extremely important aspect of your education. If we felt that you could learn simply by reading the books and doing the homework, there would be no point of having a school.

'And it's not just today, Mr Malfoy,' she said, much to his surprise. 'You have been participating much less than usual this term, and I'm not best pleased. I expect from now on that you take a more active role in the class. You have a great deal of potential.'

'Yes, Professor,' Draco said, looking at the bridge of her nose.

Professor McGonagall regarded him for a moment, then said more gently, 'I know you're having a difficult time, Draco. Remember that there are those you can talk to in the school.' She paused, then said, 'Professor Snape, as your Head of House, might be the best option.'

'Yes, Professor,' Draco said again, and found himself thinking that might be helpful. 'I think I'll go see him directly.'

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in a sort of smile, then nodded in dismissal.

Draco left, heading for the dungeons, trying to come up with a good way to introduce the topic of not wanting to be a Death Eater. Snape was generally quite amenable to talking with Draco, but even their usually casual relationship might be strained by the topic.

As he reached the door, he saw Ginny Weasley exiting the classroom, looking upset and irritated. Their eyes met and they shared a cold glare, but Ginny swept past him down the corridor without speaking to or hexing him.

Draco knocked.

'Come in,' said Snape's voice. 'Ah, Draco, what can I do for you?'

'How well do you know my father?' he asked.

'Lucius and I were at school together,' came the calm answer. 'I've known him for many years, and we correspond regularly. Why?'

'Well,' said Draco hesitantly, 'I've run into a spot of difficulty.'

Snape nodded, a trifle impatiently, for him to continue.

'It's Pansy,' Draco said with a sigh. He pulled a chair over to the side of Snape's desk and slumped dramatically into it. 'You know she's dumped me?'

'Yes, of course. Quite the melodrama.'

'Indeed,' said Draco. 'But as you also know, my father was very much for the marriage--he arranged it just after we were born, and he's been talking about it for most of my life. He desperately wants to acquire Silvertongue Publishing, and with the marriage, he'd be able, through me, to control it.'

'Go on.'

'So I'm not sure what to do,' Draco said. 'I haven't told him yet that she's broken it off. I was going to owl Mother and let her tell him next time she went to see him. I'm not sure what to write, really--that she's broken up with me and good riddance? Or that I'm doing my best to reinstate the engagement? I'm not too keen on it, personally,' he confessed, 'and I think Father knows that. But I'm worried about his reaction... You know how he can sometimes get a little violent. I know he's in Azkaban and all'--Draco let out a sniff and blinked a few times--'but still, Professor, it just worries me. Do you think he'd be very angry?'

This was Snape's cue to assure him that Lucius would do nothing to harm him, and that Draco's safety was utterly secure while at Hogwarts, and that he, Severus Snape, would personally keep Draco safe if that was what it took.

Instead, he said, 'Draco, I don't think I'm the best person to advise you on your love life.'

'I understand, sir,' said Draco, rather stiffly, 'but it's not really the love part of my life that I'm worried about.' He tried to stress the word 'love' in such a way that it conveyed that he was worried about his life, but he didn't think it worked.

Snape looked at Draco for a long time, and Draco had the strange sensation that Snape knew exactly what Draco was worried about but was afraid to interfere. Draco decided, rather irrationally, to take the plunge.

He said, 'Sir, Pansy's going to tell my father that I'm seeing Hermione Granger.'

His hopes that this would make Snape understand the gravity of the situation were immediately dashed. Snape snorted, then burst into a sudden spurt of noisy laughter that took Draco completely by surprise--he'd never heard Snape laugh like that before. It rather offended him. He kept very still, waiting for the ridicule to end.

'Granger? Hermione Granger? Oh, that's the best I've heard in years.' Snape wiped his eyes. 'Draco,' he said when he'd calmed down, 'I wouldn't worry about anything. Go to lunch, talk to Pansy and see if you can sort things out. Women love Malfoy men, and often some take it amiss. Pansy's just trying to get your attention. Don't worry; it will all settle down in a few weeks.'

'Yes, you're probably right,' Draco said politely. 'Thanks for helping me out,' he added, further lying, 'I feel much better.'

'Glad to help,' said Snape absently, already reaching for his sandwich and marking quill.

Draco stepped out of the classroom, closed the door quietly, and found himself facing Harry Potter.

'Hello, Malfoy,' said Potter, leaning against the wall. 'Care to talk?'

Draco stared at Harry, startled, then said, 'Do you know, I think I might.'