Who: Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin
What: Unexpected help.
Where: the DADA classroom
When: June 3, 1998
Rating: PG-13 for violent imagery.
Status: Complete



Hermione Granger was on her knees, coughing up blood.

The Head Girl was still in uniform, though it was somewhat battered and torn by the usage it had gone through, and her hair was disheveled, her face bruised. She leaned forward, gasping, and then it happened again:

As if shocked, or held by an invisible puppeteer, the girl Draco had hated for most of his years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began to writhe, her mouth forming a scream she never released.

Draco lunged forward, slashing with his wand. “Ridikkulus!”

The body flopping like a dead fish – the one that still held Granger’s shape – began to transform again, and as soon as the hair began to mutate from bushy brown to golden silk he shut his eyes, unwilling to spy either his mother’s form or Tonks’, if the boggart chose that she should retain his mother’s hair colour. He had often thought of her that way, when not picturing her with neon shades not found in nature. It made for a rather interesting family portrait – but not one he wanted to see like this. Or hear, as the boggart raised its voice and began to use the illusions’ voices to call out to him.

Murderer. Monster. How could you do this? Help me, please. Draco… You failed. Why did you fail? Monster. Get away from me!

Draco very nearly almost dropped his wand when he forced himself to look again and found himself staring back at Granger. In the reflection of her eyes he could see himself, and it was the very thing that haunted him most: coldly triumphant, that face, and lost to any sort of emotion other than calm necessity.

It was the face he’d tried to present when doing Voldemort’s bidding, only this version succeeded. There was nothing of sanity or clarity in those eyes, only the twisted belief that he was doing the right thing.

Only he had lost himself to it. There was no one to pull him back from the edge, no one to realize that he could not do what they had asked. He was alone, and broken.

Draco cringed, and not even the fading light of a summer twilight could make him remember that he was standing in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and he’d done this to himself. Most of the student body was at dinner, but Draco had no intentions of eating, not when he’d done so poorly on the practice exam Lupin had given the NEWTs students. It was his own frustration that had tripped him up; that, and most of the DA students who were in the class had produced a perfect or nearly perfect Patronus when asked, and Draco – like the smaller ratio of students who didn’t join the Army - had been unable to do so. It was only for bonus points, but Draco had intended on coming back to the classroom to practice again, when he was alone.

It was tempting fate to expect Remus to not be in the classroom, but Draco had checked the preparation room and had seen no sign of the professor.

That was before encountering the boggart. This must have been preparatory work for the next class of third years, left trapped inside a gigantic wardrobe that Draco had vaguely remembered. And he’d had the bright idea to test it out himself.

Not even remembering this empirically could stop him from seeing the fearsome nightmares the boggart wanted him to.

Remus wasn't exactly eating as well as he probably should have. It was the new moon, or nearly so, so he could hardly blame that. Rather, if he was being honest with himself, he was nervous. The class about to take their NEWT level exams was, admittedly, his own special group. Harry's class, Hermione and Ronald, so many other students who'd witnessed his first days of teaching and most, had allowed him that. A great number of them had ridden out the war at Harry's side, fighting with the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, and many of those Remus had taught him. And the fact that so many of them had conjured a beautiful corporeal Patronus, something he'd once only thought Harry capable of, gave him hope. But those weren't the only students in his classes. Due to the new requirements, he had all of the seventh year students, and while some of them would likely skip the exam all together, he wanted better for them. The fact that some of the students looked ready to take home Ps did him no good at the dinner table, and his stomach churned. It wasn't long before he made his excuses, feigning a headache to escape upstairs.

But he didn't go to his rooms, nor did he slip out the Entrance Hall to Apparate to a certain Auror's front door. No, for once Remus retreated to the calming comfort of his classroom. Along with the practise practical exam he'd given the seventh years, the fifth years had been given a trial written exam, and he could easily hide himself away marking them.

The classroom, however, didn't seem to be empty. The door was cracked open and he heard unrecognizable sounds from inside. Carefully, Remus drew his wand, pushing the door open just enough to slide his thin frame through. And what he saw made his heart stop.

Hermione, his brilliantly dedicated Hermione, kneeling on her hands and knees, bloodied, bruised, her eyes pleading for help but her mouth unable to form words. Pain was evident on her face as her body twitched and writhed. Long, curly brown hair grew matted with sweat and Remus' first instinct was to rush towards her and hex the hell out of whoever had done this to her. She'd gone through too much, this couldn't be happening. He felt he'd be sick, watching the scene unfold, and felt the feeling increase tenfold when he finally realised the man standing in front of her with the wand in his hand was none other than his girlfriend's cousin.

Remus' face contorted with anger and fear, but he paused when the shape in front of him began to switch form. He watched as Draco Malfoy cast the boggart banishing spell, and he nearly laughed in relief as the form changed. Though he knew what he was looking at was Draco's worst nightmare and therefore horrifying, it was calming knowing it was neither the Head Girl, nor was it something Remus couldn't handle. It sickened him, though, to see Tonks' form lying there, bloodied and battered. When he couldn't take it any longer, he rushed the rest of the way in the door, his wand still at the ready. "It's alright," he murmured, resting a careful hand on Draco's shoulder. "Remember," he murmured, forcing himself to look directly at his student and not the shape of the woman he loved, "imagine the funniest thing you possibly can. Don't let it win, you know it's not real. It's alright." His last words were repeated soothingly, though there was a slight catch in his voice. He could do this himself, of course, but Draco would never learn if he did.

The voice was almost dreamlike, though the clarity of it shook him more fully than the weight of a hand on his shoulder did. It’s not real. The words were echoing as Hermione transformed into Tonks, and then into his mother, and he found that he was biting his lip hard enough to let it bleed, the metallic taste acid-sharp on his tongue.

It’s not real. It’s a boggart. And you failed to recognize that. How in the seven hells Salazar Slytherin had probably bloody created was he supposed to think of something funny?

But the boggart unintentionally helped him when it turned back into Tonks; the figure lying there had pink hair, the color of cotton candy, and it made him remember, with a shock, the first time he had gone to her for help in transfiguring his own hair colour. Tonks was still alive, and this was an empty classroom. Almost empty, anyway. That was Remus at his shoulder. The Defence professor had come back, and just in time, too.

Draco blinked, giving his head a little shake as he cast the ridikkulus charm once more. Tonks changed, turning into Teddy Nott, though not bruised and battered. No, Teddy was about seven or eight, spattered with pink ink and glitter. The story behind that one - a Valentine's project for their mothers gone awry - would have taken a lot longer to tell than the image itself, and Draco couldn’t help letting out a relieved laugh of his own. The acidy pink was the exact same shade as Tonks’ hair.

A slightly amused smile crossed Remus' face, taking in the small child in front of him, covered in what looked like children's craft materials. "You're doing fine," he urged, giving the shoulder beneath his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just say it once more..." With any luck, the boggart would resume its place in the cupboard, if not vanish completely. Without luck, well... Without luck, Remus would be facing the familiar sphere he'd always seen on facing the dreaded creature.

Draco felt somewhat more confident with the memory, and repeated the charm, looking almost rueful. This choice was deliberate, rather than random. It morphed once again into someone Remus knew, but it was a far more recent and less beloved image: fireworks exploded, lighting the classroom with colours as Dolores Umbridge stood in the middle of the maelstrom with her hair on fire. After all, though Draco had not found that year quite as terrible as everyone else not in Slytherin seemed to have had, that image was one of the funniest memories he possessed. With it, and the laughter that followed, the boggart disintegrated, leaving him quite unsure as to what to say to Remus, other than 'thank you,' which he did.

Remus was attempting to cover his laugh discreetly, as technically, Dolores Umbridge was still in a position of much higher power than he was. And yet still, for all the grief the woman had put him through over the years, he couldn't help the amusement that filled him. As soon as the boggart disappeared, however, he allowed himself a look of pride, much like the one he'd worn when Harry had completed the same task his third year. "Well done," he told the young man at his side, though a little less enthusiastically than he was actually feeling. "Very well done. As soon as you had your wits about you, you were just fine there, weren't you."

The smile faded off Draco's face, and he nodded, sliding his wand back into his sleeve. "Yes, well done," he muttered, far less enthusiastically.

For a long moment, Remus merely studied the boy. Finally, he pulled himself up casually on the edge of his desk. "Draco," he asked, sounding completely conversational. "What are the dangers of crossing a lethifold? And how do you vanquish one?"

"The leithifold attacks sleeping humans, smothers them, and digests them. Its only known successful repellent is the Patronus Charm." The very stupid, utterly impossible Patronus Charm, Draco added to his recitation, albeit silently. He looked at Remus. "Which, in case you didn't notice, I failed at miserably. Unless you believe I meant to produce a fog."

At least the written exam had potential where the Malfoy boy was concerned. But Remus knew him to be capable of more than that. In fairness, despite hispast, Lord Voldemort wouldn't have plucked him out of the children of his followers had he not thought him able. Yes, he'd likely done so as a threat to Lucius, but he would've gotten his use out of Draco in the process.

Besides. Draco had rather amazing genetics.

"You know," he began, sounding again incredibly conversational for someone who had just witnessed a young man's worst nightmare coming true in front of his eyes, "The Order of the Phoenix actually used the Patronus Charm as a form of communication. It's terribly useful, I have to say. Most people look at it as simply a Dementor repellent...well, I suppose the events during the summer of your fifth year would lead to that, wouldn't they? But it really does have many other purposes. Not every wizard can produce one, though. Pe-- A friend of mine, he was in the Order. Still couldn't conjure one until he was much older than you and your classmates." All the time that had gone by and Remus still couldn't bring himself to say Peter's name out loud.

Draco definitely looked away from him at that. Reminders of the Dementors usually just conjured up images of Azkaban, and the fears he’d used to have. Voldemort had used the Dementors for … a kind of crowd control, and the feeling of being around them had been a memory Lucius had unwittingly shared. The look on his father’s face whenever he saw them was enough to let Draco know that Lucius was actually frightened, not just angry and humiliated.

Not that Lucius hadn’t betrayed the same thing that first night he and Narcissa had been forced to watch Draco –

He pushed that memory aside, shrugging. “I don’t enjoy not being able to do something.”

"It won't be required on your exam, you know," Remus explained gently. "If you can't manage it, Draco, no one will look down on it." But the boy's eyes had looked so dark and so intense at even the mention of Dementors that Remus began to reconsider. "You don't have to learn it. Not if you don't want to."

"I will look down on it," Draco admitted, though it sounded more like he snapped at Remus than anything else. He couldn't help that; anger was his first reaction when he felt fear. And he was most definitely scared, though he wouldn't admit that to Remus Lupin of all people if the only other alternative was to walk on hot coals. He was scared that being unable to perform this meant that he was losing his grip on the one thing he had never doubted - his own magical skills. Doubting his ability to kill was fine. Doubting his ability to perform a spell? That was something else.

Remus didn't take offense to the tone, however. He knew Draco was in a difficult position. Every wizard had their weak spots. Remus' was potions, unfortunately. Sirius had always been a bit weaker in charms. Even Tonks had that hatred of History of Magic. (Though who didn't, really?) Maybe Defence wasn't meant to be Draco's subject. He'd certainly never applied himself to it in Remus' presence. But that didn't stop him from gesturing the boy closer.

"All right," he said simply. Not an out loud offer to assist, and not a reprimand of any sort. Simply a statement, offering the chance to help. "I know it's hard right now. You've had a lot of bad lately, but I need you to focus on the good. Think very carefully through your entire memory until you can pinpoint the happiest you've ever been. Can you do that?"

The happiest he'd ever been. Easier said than done, truth be told, but Draco tried. His concentration had been off in class, he would admit; alone with his professor, he was willing to give it a second shot. So long as he didn't have everyone watching him fail. He exhaled when he'd selected the memory he felt was strongest, and nodded. "Fine," he said.

Remus gave an encouraging nod, though he knew it must have looked condescending. How could it not? Still, he motioned to the sleeve where Draco had stored his wand. "You know the charm. Expecto Patronum. I want you to say it focusing as hard as you can on the memory you've come up with." They were all words he'd said before, in class, but never one-on-one with Draco and never with his undivided attention. "Wand at the ready...and whenever you want. Go on."

Draco held tightly to the memory, exhaling as he tried to recall the warmth of that particular afternoon, the exact shades of every colour. And with the brightness of an entirely different summer afternoon fresh in his memory, he gave the proper gesture with his wand, saying the words out loud. The laughter was still echoing in his head when the white mist emerged from his wand, coalescing into a shape that was entirely unlike the one he was expecting. He had been told the Patronus reflected an animal symbol of one's self, and the most obvious choice was, for Draco, his namesake, or perhaps a serpent. As it was, the wolf that leaped into the room did not linger long; it was far too translucent to be a proper Patronus. He had seen some of the others' and they were far more solid. Still, it was a far better effort than his first try. The fact that it was a wolf was just a puzzling aside he would later work out. "Well," was all he said.

It had taken shape. Not quite a proper one, as it'd been fuzzy at best. But there it had been, completely canine in nature. Remus couldn't refrain from lifting his eyebrows at that. There was Sirius' animagus form to consider, and Tonks' own Patronus. It did run in the Black family, and it seemed to do so with the ones Remus actually preferred, which was food for thought in itself. Shifting slightly but still allowing his long legs to dangle over the side of the desk, he chose to give a grin in Draco's direction, rather than mentioning the shape he'd just seen produced. "It's a start," he said agreeably. "And a rather solid one, I'd say. It'd be a bit different in a dangerous situation, of course, but you're doing really well, I'd say." Better than poor Teddy who, despite his tutoring, would never be able to call the class one of his best. But the improvement was definitely there, and Remus couldn't help but swell with pride over the progress the students had made that year. After years of slightly backwards teaching, who could blame them all for failing if they did? But they weren't, most of them were going to do amazingly well, and the ones who didn't at least stood a chance at passing. "You'll keep practicing that one, I assume? It really does get some wonderful bonus points on your practical. If they ask, which they likely will."

Draco had spent his summers, unlike some of his classmates, in lessons which Lucius Malfoy demanded he excel at, thus attempting to make up for some of their ‘backwards’ years. The only years he hadn’t were his fifth and sixth years, when he’d been concerned with more than just lessons. Sixth year had been hell, and he’d lost a lot of ground. Ironically, though, his research had kept his Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration skills up, even if he wasn’t thoroughly acing those classes. He’d been closer to failing, truth be told, though he'd made a lot more progress this year. Still, Draco wasn’t used to not being at the head of the class lists; granted, he was never Granger, but he was always in the top ten, except for sixth year. That year had put him very close to the bottom, and he was not enthused about the prospect. Furthermore, doing well on his NEWTs would help. At least no one could use this as an excuse, anyway.

And then there was what Severus had said to him when they’d discussed Granger the first time. If there was to be any fighting back, any at all, he would need all the options available. Draco intended on not letting Granger or anybody else get ahead of him; not again.

He frowned; it had nothing to do with the words, but the next few days. The countdown to the NEWTs was far too short to not get this right. It was far too short a time to make stupid mistakes, like he just had with the boggart. “Yes,” he said, somewhat absently, already inwardly planning out a schedule. “I’ll practice it.”

"You're really quite talented," Remus commented casually, as if he complimented the young Slytherin every day. Which, clearly, he didn't. The treatment he'd gotten from the third year Draco had been chilly at best and Remus had typically kept his distance. Things were different now, of course, with him dating Tonks and Draco attempting to get closer to his cousin. It would figure that the girl so determined that she wormed her way into Remus' life whether he wanted her to or not was the tying point between them. He'd never been able to tell Draco that he thought he was a skilled wizard with all the potential to be great. It had seemed he'd be trying too hard or coming off cold. "You should do well. With your NEWTs, I mean." And after, if the Ministry would let him do anything other than be someone's lackey.

Though Draco hadn't been given a particular mandate where Remus was concerned, in third year, it was quite obviously easy to make fun of the man, or ignore him altogether. Draco had, at the time, thought that DADA was pretty much a joke, at least at school. In some ways it had been, at least his first couple of years, and with Umbridge. Moody - or, rather, the fake Moody - had burned things into his students' brains, and Remus ... well. Remus was Remus. The man was likeable, which was in some ways censure in and of itself. Gryffindor alum, halfblood, and poor had rounded out the list of reasons necessary to dismiss him. Now ... things were different. He had to reach out to Remus for the help as much as he'd had to reach out to Tonks, and it unnerved him. Also unnerving? Receiving a compliment from a Gryffindor Order member, never mind that he was Tonks' ...whatever he was. Boyfriend, Draco supposed, was the correct term. Still, Remus had proved to be competent after all, and so the compliment was one which relieved him a little, even if it did make him uncomfortable. He returned his wand to his robes, glancing at Remus sideways before answering. "Whatever I achieve grade-wise has been declared irrelevant at this point. But I see what you're getting at," he said evenly, knowing he was contradicting his own presence there by the words. After all, if it didn't matter, then why bother trying?

Except that he knew very well that it did matter, and so did Remus.

At first, Remus could only look stunned. To him, his marks had been everything. It sort of had to be that way, when you were friends with two of the most popular blokes in school. The myth that hanging around with popularity made one popular was just that: a myth. No one really looked twice in Remus' direction and his name rarely came up unless it was as 'that bloke James and Sirius talk to.' He was the brains, and he was alright with that. Perhaps it was the reason that, of all of Harry's friends, he looked so highly on Hermione. It was sometimes difficult to put so much of your future on a few scores on tests, exams, and essays, but he had. And had been sorely disappointed when, no matter how well he did, the Ministry had prevented him from getting any further.

Which was something that made him identify with Draco. It was sort of strange, watching as the Ministry placed the same laws on the elite of Wizarding society the way they'd done to him most of his life. Part of him even wondered if Dolores Umbridge might've been behind it. No matter the offense, the law had been taken out on a population at large. Murderers and supporters, those who'd simply had to stand by and watch and those who'd tortured and destroyed. It was impossible for Remus to not feel compassion towards a lot he'd once fought against; though he'd never actually hurt anyone as a result of his condition, the same restraints were put on him that they were on those who enjoyed being a lycanthrope and caused harm because of it.

So his face settled into something more resembling sympathy, though not pity. If there was one thing he hated, it was being pitied, and he'd never do the same to a young, able-bodied, capable wizard like Draco. "These laws won't stay in place forever," he told the Slytherin, getting to his feet and moving a bit closer. "They can't, Draco. There's too many people fighting against them. If not with this Minister," he paused, feeling a pang in his chest at Kingsley's betrayal, "then perhaps with the next. Things change. And when they do? You'll want to be the educated one. You'll want to be the one ready to step into whatever role is available. You're not going to be someone's assistant for the rest of your life, I'm sure of that." Oddly, it didn't feel strange offering the young man comfort. He only wished he'd had that supposed Gryffindor courage when it came to offering it to him sooner.

Draco regarded the older man half a second more, and then shook his head, suppressing something like a smile, only far more bitter. "I have no intentions of not doing well on the exams," he informed Remus. "If for nothing else other than to deny someone the chance to use that rather flimsy excuse for denying me. As for change, I don't see it coming as I'd like it to, but perhaps that's for the best for your lot now. Let them get a little power in their hands and see them rot with it, just to prove the point that they're no better than we were. The alternative, of course..." He paused, thinking on it. "You expect too much of people. You and my cousin. Did you really not think this would happen? I admit that I didn't see how far down it would trickle--" and here his eyes flashed as he thought of his aunt, of Teddy "--but I knew it had to happen in some way. It would be truly naive to think that any one party could hold power over the other and use it justly. Particularly if that party had spent the last forty years fighting."

Remus sighed heavily. His years of bitterness were well past him now, but he certainly couldn't say he hadn't felt them at some point. Even now, he often wondered if he'd ever be able to be regarded as an equal by those who'd refused him work, who would walk on the other side of the street if they saw him coming, and those who simply thought him dangerous. It wasn't so much that he couldn't see where Draco was coming from. It was that he didn't want the younger man to be right. "Draco," he began, attempting a reasoning tone versus a pleading one, "you can't think that way. There's nothing wrong with optimism, and having faith in others. I can't say I thought it would come to this. I'd expected retribution against those who committed crimes during the war..." A flash of Molly Weasley hexing Bellatrix Lestrange crossed his mind. In all fairness, wasn't that just as much of a crime? Take no prisoners and what not? And Severus... Though his story had been told, did it not count? Merlin, where was that line between right and wrong; where did justice end and abuse begin? Shaking his head, he regarding Draco a bit more carefully.

"There was a muggle girl, one who'd been through her own war. She was guilty of no crime other than her birth, and yet those in power abused her. They tortured her, imprisoned her, and let her die of a normally curable illness. She kept a diary during the war, though, and she said something that's stayed with me. 'Despite everything, I still believe people are good at heart.' I want to believe that, can't you see?" Now the reasoning was gone completely and he'd switched to downright urging. "I don't want to think that anyone's ultimately bad. Not the Ministry, not the Death Eaters. From the things Theodore has told me about his father, he wasn't a bad man, he followed bad people. He made bad decisions, certainly, but I don't think that made him a bad person. I want to believe that about the Ministry's current leaders, too. I know right now it seems they're power hungry and laying down the wrong laws, but I have to keep believing they'll see the error of their ways." He was babbling, and pathetically so, and in front of a man whose words were few and well chosen. Severus' godson, no less, and as bitter as Severus had been that Remus had taken Theodore under his wing, he'd likely not be thrilled with this encounter, either, but dammit, he had to try.

Draco snorted. “You think those in power will see the error of their ways? Remus, honestly.” It was the first time he’d addressed the man by name since their holiday, and it was only because he was fed up. “People with power rarely surrender that power by choice. They have to be forced into it. Sound familiar?”

Despite himself, Remus rolled his eyes. An uncharacteristic gesture, especially with a student, but he was rather tired of the defeatist attitude. "Could be there's a difference when it comes to the reason behind the power. Can you honestly say you like the new regime? Of course not. Therefore, I'd suggest you quit arguing with me that it'll be in place forever and start working against it."

"Ironically enough, P---Snape says the same thing." Draco stalked away from him, towards the empty wardrobe. It, like the one at home, had a mirrored door, one that he closed quietly, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps," he murmured, almost to himself; aloud, he added, "As it stands, thank you for the aid." The words were not wholly emptied of frost, but he was trying. He turned, eying Remus for half a second more before inclining his head. "I should go. I've some studying to do."

Remus merely sighed. He couldn't win them all, he knew that. It didn't stop him from wanting to. Badly. Especially this one. For Tonks, for Severus, for Kaleigh... "I imagine you do. Good luck, Draco," he offered, giving a small smile. "If you need any help, well... You know where I am."

Draco offered the same inclination of the head, given much to think about. His disturbing boggart, for one - its changed shape had slipped from what it had been before, Kaleigh and Teddy both standing there, accusatory, silent. They did not have to be dead for him to know that he had disappointed them, or why it had not been his mother. It had been his mother when this first had started, long before he truly knew what he was in for. Narcissa had been weeping, three years ago, and the sight of her tears still drove him. When Voldemort had had held their lives in his hands, it had been all Draco could think about. His mother was crying, and he could not stop her. His proud, beautiful mother had looked defeated, broken, and it was his fault. His father's, too, yes, but mostly his. He had not escaped, hadn't played it safe, and had made her cry.

And now it was Granger, calling him out for what he was. Tonks, too, betrayed by the darkness inside him. It still seethed, raging beneath the surface for an exit, a chance to flee the oppressive chokehold he placed upon it, because Draco feared his own rage more than any other emotion. It had blinded him, rage, and it caused him to behave stupidly. It had cost him everything.

It made him a monster, and it still played in him. Every word Potter wrote, every flash of that damned badge. The bitterness that had encased Teddy in mistrust and lost that innocence which had still kept him Teddy - that was partially Draco's fault. If Draco had managed to keep his head above water and simply do what needed to be done, perhaps Voldemort might have succeeded - or the Order's victory would have been complete enough that the guilty parties of the Malfoy family were gone, and Teddy, Kaleigh, and Narcissa might have escaped persecution.

It was vain fantasy, but he had to dream, in looking back, that it could have been changed. Though Severus wasn't wrong to push him, nor Remus. Rethink the angles, their words said. Be the Slytherin you were meant to be.

Draco would simply have to find another way, and if that meant relying on this man, or his cousin, or Ernest Macmillan, then by the gods, he was going to do just that. "I will ask," he said sincerely.