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The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
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Chapter 2 - A Welcome Distraction
Draco Malfoy was living through hell. He could not recall being more miserable in his entire life. The summer of his sixteenth year should have been entertained by the revels of youth, but not for him. Instead, he had been -
No, no, don't think about that. Inevitably, his mind always made its way back to the horrifying, the terrifying, events of the summer. His assignment, the meeting with Him, the scorching pain upon his forearm that even now seemed to burn with an eternally searing pain. His right arm slipped automatically to his left, fingers clamping over the scarred flesh that seemed unnaturally warm even through layers of clothing and thick bandage.
Don't think about it. Don't think about... Don't think...
Kings Cross Station was a buzz of activity, even, or perhaps because of, the weekend. Draco weaved easily through the masses of Muggles, seeking the distant signs of platforms nine and ten. He knew it was a likely a figment of his imagination, a prejudice enforced upon him from an early age, but the mulling mass of Muggles seemed to reek with a heavy odour that caused him to scrunch his nose for relief. Gods, how did the Mudbloods and Half-Bloods stand living with them? He almost felt sorry for them.
Finally sinking through the gateway onto platform nine-and-three-quarters, Draco set off immediately to the train idling sleepily in the platform. He barely glanced behind him to ensure that the house elf dragging his trunk followed his lead, barely acknowledged his stone-faced parents that similarly trailed behind him. With a flick of his wrist, a nod of his head, Draco sent the house elf scurrying aboard to deposit his trunk in the baggage carriage before turning back to his silent parents.
Volumes were spoken wordlessly amongst the small family. Outside observers could hardly term them as being ‘close-knit’, yet what did they know? Nothing, for sure, of the love and suppressed affection felt by the three members of the Malfoy family. A love that was always hidden under the folds of formality. Draco swallowed subtly - always subtle in any expression of unease - and opened his mouth to break the tension. Only to have himself cut off abruptly by his mother's slender arm sliding around his neck and drawing his face to her shoulder.
At any other time, any other year, Draco would have hissed and spat like a cat thrown into water. Not this year. With the events of the holiday break looming over his head, he could only sink into her thin shoulder and awkwardly return the embrace.
Narcissa's lips brushed his ear and tickled the lobe as she spoke. 'Be safe, my son. Do what you must, but remember, no matter what, it is your safety that is of the greatest importance.'
Draco stood in a lull of disbelief and strangely moved immobility as Narcissa withdrew from her swift embrace. The ice-queen had never been as rigid and lacking in affection as the public eye painted her, but she was rarely the doting mother. The faint sheen of tears in her eyes took his breath away. He couldn't reply, couldn't even nod, and was only shaken from his focus on his mother when Lucius placed a slender, long-fingered hand upon his shoulder. Shifting his attention to the man in disbelief, he nearly flinched from the similarly tear-filled eyes. His father made his mother look like a school girl in the bloom of her exaggerated enthusiasm for all of the expression he presented, yet here, on the platform awaiting departure to his sixth year of school, Draco's father was nearly in tears and touching his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance for the first time in over a decade.
The world was indeed turned upon its head.
Draco didn't know if Lucius would have provided his own comment had they been left to their isolation. Within moments of their house elf returning and sinking into his parent's shadows, a voice called from over his shoulder. It would have sounded nonchalant, even unkind, had Draco not been familiar enough with Blaise Zabini's facade to note the tinge friendliness beneath the cold surface.
'Draco! You finally grace the hordes with your presence!'
Turning his gaze to the tall Italian youth rapidly approaching, Draco affixed his expression into a similar guise of nonchalance. 'Really, Blaise, if your disappearing house elf is any indication, you arrived only moments before I did.'
Blaise's mouth quirked in a handsome smile that would, and did, turn the faces of most female passer-bys. Approaching his childhood friend, he bowed his head respectfully towards Draco’s parents. 'Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy. I trust you had a pleasant summer.'
Lucius and Narcissa for their part readily adopted their public faces. Both plastered cool, condescending smiles upon their faces and exchanged sideways glances as though sharing a secret only they knew. Lucius stepped forwards and gently clasped the young man's hand, shaking it briefly. 'Well enough, Blaise, well enough. And yourself?
'Absolutely splendid, Mr. Malfoy, thank you for asking.'
Lucius' lips curled in genuine yet muted amusement that he quickly covered back up. Turning towards his son, he nodded his head once more before turning and marching towards the gateway.
Narcissa, perhaps unable to depart with such coldness even under pretense, briefly touched Draco on the shoulder, gave a poor attempt at a warm smile, and trailed after her husband. Both regal figures disappeared rapidly in the mulling crowds.
'Wow, they seem happy. Something wrong?'
Draco snorted, intentionally adopting an irritated expression at his parent's 'coldness'. 'Is anything ever right in my family, Blaise?'
The young man chuckled in good humour. 'True. Is anything ever right in either of our families?'
They shared a bubble of mild amusement, briefly bumping shoulders in a display that could barely be deemed the intimacy of close friends, before boarding the train with the second to last calling whistle.
* * *

Draco and Blaise met up with Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott mid carriage as the train begun its rapid retreat from the platform. Their small party acknowledged one another with off-hand small talk, completely impersonal, yet the simple act of being with one another was a confidence boost great enough to enable a ready adoption of the arrogant, domineering attitude for which they were so famed. Since fourth year Crabbe, Goyle and Nott rarely mixed with their housemates in private, the former two disregarding the need for company other than each other’s, and Nott being more comfortable with the Ravenclaws than Slytherins. But even so, the show must go on. Especially before the other Houses. Especially in such troubled times. Simply the presence of greater numbers eased the tension in them all exponentially.
Striding with renewed entitlement down the length of the train, the small group headed towards their customary cabin. The seats were as good as reserved for them after five years of repeated claim. Stepping into the 'Slytherin' carriage was like falling into a comforting embrace, though without something so unnecessary as an ‘embrace’. Each cabin of Slytherins they passed nodded their heads in detached welcome, yet the facade of indifference was easily overlooked by those accustomed to the adopted masks. Friendliness, satisfaction, welcome, even affection swirled just beneath the surface.
Their cabin was positioned at the very rear of the train, as far from the engine as possible. Blaise led their party with swaggering ease, chattering inanely over his shoulder as he strode towards their seats.
'...didn't want a signed copy, even if it was more prestigious, for I hardly give a damn who the author is. I've never heard of him and I can't fathom the need to obtain an autographed copy if I don't - what the fuck?!'
Draco nearly walked into his friend's back as Blaise abruptly stalled in the doorway to their cabin. Scowling, with genuine rather than feigned irritation this time, he elbowed the taller youth aside, scanning for exactly what had triggered the cuss, and-
'What the fuck?'
Their cabin was occupied. Not full, definitely, but the slight figure leaning idly on the window was definitely in Draco's personal seat. A girl, short and slight, with a thick mane of dark hair hanging just past her shoulders, sat swimming in a knitted grey jumper that covered her hands and jeans to mid-thigh. A single pale finger stroked idly along the protruding spine of a small cat curled in her lap, tugging gently at the black fur in a monotonous motion. At the repetition of the cuss, the girl turned a pale, thin face towards the intruding Slytherins and-
Oh. Not a girl. A boy. A natural mistake given the boy’s prepubescent androgyny. Regardless, it was just as bad. Draco sighed in frustration, rubbing his forehead to ease the frown from his brow. He was too young to impress his face with wrinkles.
Stepping forwards, Draco adopted his guise of sneering, righteously entitled rich boy and peered down his nose at the boy...girl. Damned if he knew, the figure could have been either or neither for all he cared. 'What are you doing?'
The girl peered up at him through a dark fringe that stretched the length of her face to her chin. Thick, black-rimmed glasses adorned a delicate nose, her petite features giving her the infantile guise of a child dressed in their parent’s clothing. Silence ensued awkwardly, made more awkward by the complete lack of cowing the girl demonstrated with the blankness of her face.
'What do you mean?'
No, he was a boy. The tone, though not overly deep and accented in softness and foreignness, indicated the gender if his appearance did not. It was mildly disconcerting, and Draco had to forcibly thrust the contemplation aside, pressing the sneer more fiercely to his face.

'Are you stupid or just being provocative? Every student on this train is aware this cabin is taken.' Draco didn't recognise the boy, but it was obvious, even without this lack of recognition, that the boy was from the younger years. He was short, small, a third or fourth year at most if Draco was to hazard a guess. That he wasn't Slytherin was both remarkable and equally apparent; no Slytherin would sit in their seats, yet none that were not Slytherin would venture into the end carriage. Perhaps the boy was simply dumb? Or blissfully lost.

The boy cocked his head, the only indication on his blank face that he questioned Draco's statement. 'Oh? I wasn't aware that the train has reservations. My mistake. Don't trouble yourself, I'll move.'

Draco nearly rocked back on his heels at the words. Don't trouble yourself, I'll move. The presumptuousness! Had he really expected them to find alternate seating themselves? Not even a child would be oblivious to the open aggression both he and his Slytherin housemates emanated like a vicious cloud.

Finding himself at a loss for response, Draco was hence unprepared for when the boy abruptly stood and approached the door. He barely reached Draco's chin yet somehow seemed taller with his marked indifference to both Draco's chagrin and Blaise's continued and increasing anger. Peering through the strands of his fringe, Draco met the boy's eyes only briefly before he dropped his small, pointed chin.

'Excuse me, please.'

Almost without meaning to, Draco shifted, stepping to the side to allow the boy passage. Shifting the black cat to his shoulder, the boy drifted slowly down the carriage and passed through the sliding door into the deeper reaches of the train. The Slytherins stared in muted disgruntlement and more than a little confusion as the anonymous boy retreated.

For himself, Draco found his eyes drawn like a magnet to the softly glowing eyes of the cat crouching at the boy's shoulder. The vibrant green was eerily similar to the boy's own yet somehow held more emotion than the blank flatness of its human's. Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination, a projection of human eyes onto the feline, but the creature's gaze seemed to glitter with amusement at the Slytherin's expense. The group watched in frozen silence until the pair were finally hidden by the closing doors of the carriage.
* * *
The train trip to Hogwarts was predictably boring, though the carriage ride presented its own trial as Draco was exposed for the first time to the skeletal, winged horses that carted the children to the school. He paused only briefly, closing his eyes in an attempt to compose himself, before clambering with as much elegance as one could muster into the sturdy carriages. Yes, it had been a trialing summer.

Dinner held the same monotonous boredom with such predictability that Draco feared for his sanity at the lack of external stimulation the coming year presented. Not that he didn’t have enough to occupy his mind, but a distraction would have been nice. The matted old enchanted hat nattered an ignorant spiel of the need for the school houses to unite to face the 'encroaching darkness to come', but it was nothing that had not been voiced before if not in as many words. In fact, the only notable point of the evening until the welcome surprise of chocolate trifle for dessert was the non-attendance of Professor McGonagall. Draco exchanged a raised eyebrow with Blaise at the notable absence, the like-minded query conveyed wordlessly between the friends, before he shrugged the abnormality off as Unknowable. Perhaps the old bird had retired? Professor Snape would be thrilled.

At the conclusion of the dinner, however, before the headmaster wished them all a good night and good luck for the year to come, the true surprise was thrust upon the unsuspecting student body.

'I hope you all enjoyed the delightful menu supplied by our esteemed chefs of the kitchens.' Draco couldn't suppress an eye roll at the statement, at the sincerity of the old man’s smile, but refrained from comment. 'Before I bid you leave to seek the comfort of your beds, and for the first years to become acquainted with their new dorms, I have a rather delicate announcement to make. Professor McGonagall, if you would.'

As one, the students turned their gaze to the unobtrusive side door to the right of the staff table. Many rose slightly in their seats to obtain heightened view of the anomaly that approached. The head of Gryffindor house strode purposefully towards to podium behind which the headmaster stood, chin held high in a display of confidence that entirely undermined her attempt. Yet no one, not even Draco, spared her more than a glance as all eyes were fixed upon the second figure that trailed in her wake.

The girl - boy, the boy - had apparently not deemed the situation formal enough to dress himself in anything more fitting than the shapeless jumper, jeans and canvas shoes that showed about as much fashion sense as a house elf's pillow case. Nor had he taken the liberty of addressing the issue of his hair, which masked most of his face and curled like an ever-growing vine around the rims of his glasses.

A hesitant buzz erupted throughout the hall as children and young adults speculated excitedly over the boy's identity. Draco himself found his interest piqued, not the least given his continued disgruntlement over their brief exchange. He felt somehow slighted, beaten even, by the indifference presented to him, and felt it his due to re-establish himself as the loathsome yet largely respected sixth year prefect. His focus was so consuming that he was barely aware of Blaise's indignant not-quite-whispers in his ear as to the boy's familiarity.

'This, my dear students, is Harry Potter. Until recently, he has been living with distant family, yet due to circumstances has decided to attend Hogwarts to complete the final two years of tutelage.' Dumbledore positively beamed like a proud parent as he dropped the bombshell upon his unsuspecting students. ‘Given the nature of his belated attendance, we will refrain from sorting him into a house unless deemed necessary. Professor McGonagall has taken it upon herself to address the basics of magical theory with him, but despite his exceptional progression he may still be in need of assistance where necessary.'

Dumbledore's comment, even aside from the merry twinkle in his eye, seemed to be deliberately provoking the boy into a response. Draco himself would hardly have stood for the slight and glanced expectantly towards the boy to determine his degree of indignation. Something akin to disappointment spread a frown across his forehead at the boy's complete lack of concern. Or expression, for that matter.

Dumbledore appeared to reach the same conclusion to the boy's silence more rapidly for he continued with barely a moment's pause. 'I am sure you are all familiar with the relative lack of transfer students our school receives, so let this be an experience for us all. It would be most agreeable should his fellow sixth years to welcome him and offer any assistance he may require. Please assist me in upholding the standard of this school in...'

The rest of Dumbledore’s speech jumbled incomprehensibly in Draco's ear. Wait, what? Sixth year? The boy as the same age as him? That was...unexpected. Draco found himself reassessing the new student with different eyes. What a strange scenario. And the name too. Harry Potter was... it rung a bell faintly on the edges of his memory. Something about...something that happened with his family, years ago. Something to do with Longbottom? The familiar distaste as Draco considered the Gryffindor was oddly overlaid by the curiosity before him. The boy definitely had a connection to Dumbledore’s Golden Boy, but Draco couldn't quite discern what. He didn't truly wish to dwell on the topic either. Thinking of the Boy-Who-Lived triggered unwanted dwelling on a certain Dark Lord that Draco had done his best to avoid thinking of since he had left Kings Cross. Or failed to avoid thinking of. Shaking his head, the Slytherin turned back to the podium to catch the end of the speech.

'...and I'm sure it would be most satisfying. If you would all make him feel welcome.' A short but surprisingly enthusiastic applause caused Draco to snort as he observed his fellows with chin propped in his palm, his other hand tapping his irritation into the polished wooden table in a rapid rhythm. With his attention half focused, he had gleaned little more than that the boy was from France or some such. And had been attending Muggle school of all things, not Beauxbatons. The Headmaster had seemed to speak an awful lot without truly saying much at all. 'Now, Harry, I wonder...would you like to say a few words of introduction to your peers?'

As one, every student sat straighter in their seats, leaning slightly forward in anticipation. To his horror, Draco found himself attempting to peer around the eagerly bobbing heads. He quickly dropped his chin back into his palm.

Harry Potter stared blankly at Dumbledore for a moment before stepping to his side. He was barely visible behind the podium for a moment until his abrupt elevation to nearly the same height as the headmaster to his left. Who knew the grand podium of the Hogwarts hall included a step for undergrown novelties?

Peering through the his fringe, the boy - for he was still a boy, regardless of the headmaster's declaration of his age - finally raised his chin to observe the audience before him. Pausing as though playing the crowd, he opened his mouth and took an inaudible breath.

‘Thank you, Headmaster, but I think you’ve said just about everything that could possibly be said on the subject.'

It was a blank, monotonous statement, as blank and monotonous as his expression. Only the faint emphasis on ‘everything’ broke the dullness of his words, coloured grey despite his foreign accent. A moment later and Potter had slipped silently back from the podium and resumed his place beside McGonagall, barely a nod given to the Headmaster left in his wake. The witch herself displayed the rapid progression of every individual in the hall: eagerness, bewilderment, disappointed confusion, and finally bemusement. That is, every audience member except Draco Malfoy.

Before he could contain himself, a bark of laughter erupted from his mouth. Perhaps it was due to the build-up of tension that had sunken in his chest over the past weeks, but for some reason the young Slytherin found the response impossibly amusing. Gazing at the boy on the slightly raised platform at the head of the hall, he somehow got the impression that the new student was similarly amused, had perhaps even deliberately shattered the growing climax, like a house of cards flicked before the final piece could be place. Though expressionless as he had been since Draco first laid eyes on him, he couldn’t held but wonder… Besides, what had they all expected? Some grand speech, elaborately choreographed and eloquently recognising the so-called ‘welcome’ of his new classmates? His mirth could not even be contained when almost every face in the hall turned towards him, ranging from curious to irate to openly hostile. Even clamping his lips between his teeth and slipping a hand over his mouth in a very un-Malfoy-like gesture could not contain his amusement. His shoulders shook with the failed attempt at composure and his genuine good-humour both. How long since he had laughed at anything, even something so simple as an unexpected, and likely unintentional, bad joke? For truly, he could not perceive just what he found so entertaining.

It was with utter confusion, then, that through the silence punctuated only by his own feeble attempts to stem his laughter, a similarly unrestrained bubble of laughter burst from another student. Raising himself briefly mid chuckle, Draco just managed to glimpse the dirty blond head of hair and face reddened by suppressed laughter before Longbottom effectively buried his head in the folds of his arms. How surprising. Who knew they shared the same irrational taste in humour? Draco couldn’t even bring himself to be disgruntled by the fact.

The unlikeliness of their similar tastes did more to ease the tension than the laughter itself. A smattering of giggles and bursts of laughter dotted the hall as chatter ensued. Draco had finally composed himself enough to fulfil his role as a prefect when, as one, every student rose to their feet and moved in exaggerated slowness towards to door. Glancing over his shoulder to catch a final glimpse of Harry Potter, Draco thought he could just make out the ghost of a smile touching the edges of the boy's lips before he was ushered through the staff side door and disappeared.
Well, the two instances Draco had happened upon the curiosity had left him with entirely different impressions. It was a study, to be truthful. Perhaps Hogwarts would provide him with just the right distraction from the mess his life was rapidly evolving into.

A/N: I'm sorry, I lied! Not twice as long as the previous chapter. Rather, the chapters just get progressively longer throughout the story. Sorry if I disappointed anyone.

On the plus side, I'll probably be updating again in a few days as a result.

Hope you enjoyed.
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The Masks of Real Heroes