Chapter Text
Draco had hardly been able to sleep. Or eat. Or talk. The year was off to a rough start.
It all began when Mother started sending strange letters. People were staying, guests, but she couldn't say who.
It was easy to guess who. He had already read about the Azkaban escape, and knew of his father's alliance. It was clear they were Death Eaters.
But then it got worse. Aunt Bella just killed the cat, she wrote, or the second floor sounds like something has died, or the roses have all gone black.
Cryptic, fragmented letters. They didn't sound like it was too bad at home, but it was Mother's tone that concerned him. She was normally more coherent, even when she was trying to keep their letters from being easily read by outsiders.
It was all relative unease for the first few weeks. But then, she sent a different letter. There was one line that was clear to him, that stood out to him.
He is back, Draco dearest, and he has taken over the house.
From there, the letters only got worse and worse. Mother sounded wilder and wilder as she grew more terrified, and Draco began to truly wonder if everything was alright.
The floor is red now, she wrote the next week.
Whisper, whisper, plots came the week after that.
Then, I do not think we are their equals any longer.
Her words spun around in Draco's head. He had stopped worrying about his foolish infatuation with Potter or his drama with Pansy's friendship. Not even his grades mattered.
Just Mother.
He begun expecting them every morning. He would sit at the table and stare at his mother's scrawled, scrambled attempts to describe her day.
And then came the letter that broke him. That changed everything.
Draco, he is gone. He is not anywhere, I have looked. I hear his voice, see his eyes, he reaches out to touch me but it is not him. Someone else has taken his soul, this hideous body has replaced him. They have taken Lucius.
When he began reading that one, he had hoped that she had been referring to the Dark Lord. But of course, she wasn't, he saw when he was done.
What had happened to Father?
And that was why Draco could not sleep.
Ardfyn watched both Potter and Malfoy closely. He had long since grown to see them as his gauges of the Dark and Light sides, and as lopsides as that might have been, it told him enough about the state of affairs.
Malfoy's eyes were constantly red and the skin beneath was dark and sagging. He was jumpy, antsy, paranoid. Over the past months at school, his handwriting had slowly deteriorated from a fine cursive to a scrawled slant.
Potter looked equally as exhausted, though he was not so jittery. He had begun to drift off during classes, and his essays had become long and rambling.
Ardfyn knew, then, that it was not going well for either side of the impending war. And never had he felt so grateful to be on neutral sides.
He knew Lucius Malfoy's side had dissolved back into Voldemort's. He also knew that Malfoy hadn't come to speak with him since securing the job for him. And that could only mean, loathe as he was to think it, that Blindeye had been correct, and Malfoy was being punished by the Dark Lord.
As disturbing as that was, Ardfyn couldn't help but think it boring that there was now only two sides to the war now. It was no longer Potter, Death Eaters, and Neo-Death Eaters. It was only the former two.
Unless Ardfyn played his cards right. He could rally Godwyn and her pack, which he had learned was flourishing wonderfully some fifty miles to the south of him. If he could convince her that they could fight their own war... That would be exciting.
Godwyn would have her own agenda, of course. Probably something along the lines of overthrow all wizard-kind. Her beliefs were exactly like Greyback's, and yet she had been so keen to kill him. She would probably end up dying in the same fashion as he would.
Clearly, such a cause could never win.
Which was why Ardfyn stayed close to the humans. He just needed to decide which side he wanted to be on...
"Mr. Potter," Professor Offrey called. "A moment please."
Harry hung back a moment, giving the new Defense teacher a long look.
"Yes, sir?" He askes cautiously. Rationally, Harry knew he had no reason to distrust the man, but as of late he had been feeling especially suspicious of everyone.
"I wanted to congratulate you on your high marks on the last test," Offrey said with a grin that showed pointed teeth and sent chills down Harry's spine.
"Thanks," Harry murmured. "We've been over werewolves before," he added, remembering Snape's emphasis on werewolves when he was trying to rat out Remus.
"So I've heard," Offrey murmured. "But don't you think it's of extra importance now, after the break-in?" He inquired casually.
Harry stiffened. What did Offrey know of the break in? It must have been in the Prophet....
"Perhaps, sir, but I don't teach the course," he said, clutching his book to his chest and willing the professor to let him go. Not only was he uncomfortable, but he was about to go meet with Cedric, Ron, and Hermione about the idea he had been talking with Cedric about in the Prefect's bathroom before the strange ghost had interrupted.
"Then what might you suggest?" The professor asked him.
"I don't know, sir," he muttered. On the inside, however, he thought it would be valuable to know how to fight against dementors. And it wasn't just because of his immense fear of them.
"Oh, but don't you?" Offrey inquired, standing from behing his desk. "Surely, you have an opinion, Mr. Potter..."
Harry couldn't help but shudder. He didn't know what it was, but something about this new professor was off. Harry was no longer enjoying his defense classes. Offrey hardly even taught them Defense... As of late, he just talked about the hunting patterns of various creatures.
"Sir, do you really believe that it was werewolves that caused the break-in?" He inquired suddenly, a thought occuring to him. If it really was werewolves, how would the Prophet had known?
A sly, unsettling grin formed on Offrey's face.
"I do," he replied, stepping around the desk and looking down at Harry. "Don't you believe in the media, Potter?" He asked, cocking his head.
So it had been in the papers. Why hadn't Harry seen it, then?
"Well, no," he admitted, shifting incomfortably. "After all they've written about me, I don't think I can trust them. Especially not the Prophet."
Though, he did trust Sirius. Which meant that he knew werewolves had caused the escape... But how?
Offrey laughed. "I think they had a very reliable source, Mr. Potter," he whispered, his eyes glinting with something either mischevious or dark.
Harry scowled in distaste. "Who, then?" He demanded, now more curious than disturbed. "One of the Death Eaters? Why would they tell the Prophet anything?"
"Potter," Offrey snapped, "use your brain."
Harry took a step back. "Sir?" He inquired.
"It wasn't in the media," Offrey replied, peering down at him devilishly. "And yet you spoke as if you had reason to believe it was. Who told you, Potter?" He demanded. In a lower tone, he added, "And are they reliable?"
"Of course," Harry replied, feeling bitter about being tricked. "Who told you?" He demamded.
Offrey only smirked.
"I have plenty of reliable sources, believe me." He took a long, slow glance around the room. "And they aren't at all like your sources."
Harry swallowed. That sounded menacing.
"What do you want, sir?"
"Just keep an eye out, Potter. The tables are turning, and you never know you can trust anymore." He leaned in close, his breath hot and chilling all at once.
"The Dark Lord is back, as I'm sure you know. What are you going to do about it, Harry Potter? He's going to strike soon, and you better start planning if you want to strike first."
Then, he shoved past Harry and walked away, leaving him clammy and terrified and wondering why, oh why would anyone trust the fate of the wizarding world to a just a boy?