Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Speaking
Parseltongue
:Mind speakage:

Semper Letteris Mandate
Lady Draculea
Chapter 10: Fama nihil est celeries

"What kind of answers?" Harry asked as he found a seat on a dusty desk.

Malfoy shot Harry a look, mild annoyance decorating his face. "The answers to last week's charms quiz. Really, Potter, what do you think?"

Harry shook his head, not surprised by Malfoy's sarcasm, but still confused. From the way that Malfoy had been acting for the past couple months Harry was sure that the blond Slytherin knew more of what was going on than he did. The demand for a truce (Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was simply to let bygones be bygones), the knowing smirks, the little hints. No, Harry thought as he tugged at his sleeves, Malfoy definitely knew something. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you."

With a sigh, Malfoy ran a hand through his loose blond hair. "Let's start from the beginning," he said, moving to lean against the wall, "but first…" Once he magically locked the door and cast a couple of privacy charms that Harry had never heard of, Malfoy lowered his wand, and tucked it into his robes. "When did you start having the dreams?"

Time seemed to stop. Everything was silent save for Harry's heartbeat. He wasn't even sure if he remembered to breathe. "How?" It came out as a whisper, a plea that could almost be disguised as a sigh. Merlin, Harry thought, if Draco knows then who else? Is this some running gag between the Death Eaters? Operation Seduce Harry?

Draco almost seemed sympathetic, for once he didn't carry his patented smirk or condescending sneer. "I don't know much, probably less than you do. All I know that this isn't a game, no matter how much it might seem like one."

The tight apprehension in Harry relaxed a little, but didn't go away entirely. "Why are you telling me this?"

Grey eyes flickered to the far wall as he thought, mouth down turned in a frown. It was strange, Harry mused as he watched his once rival. Draco didn't appear to be the same person that he had spent fighting with during his years in Hogwarts. There was no smirk or sneer, just silence and thoughtfulness. For the first time Harry saw Draco as a human and not a representation of all things that he hated.

After a moment, Draco spoke, his eyes never leaving the wall. "Everything changed this summer." Another pause, this time more hesitant. "Before, I was blinded by my own stupidity. I was arrogant… selfish."

"Was?"

Draco shot a glare at the raven-haired teen, but Harry could see that there was not any of his usual malice within it. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

A small smile and a shrug, Harry motioned for the blond aristocrat to continue.

Draco sighed, "he's not what you think he is. None of this is what any of us thought it was. I thought that… I thought I knew!" The last part came out as the quieter half of a shout, his voice cracking.

Grey eyes were suddenly on Harry, the colour hard and unrelenting. "It's a lie, can't you see?"

His mouth suddenly dry, Harry swallowed thickly. "What's a lie? Or maybe I should be asking what isn't a lie?" He wasn't sure what to believe any more. Who could he turn to for answers? Who could he trust? Certainly not Dumbledore, and the clenching knot in his stomach told him that he should be wary of his uncle. His best friends have already proven who they were loyal to, and Ginny, while a trustworthy companion, was not someone he wanted to dump his worries on. She at least deserved a normal life. How Harry wished that he could talk to Cygnus. The Black ancestor had always managed to help him untangle his thoughts and sort his priorities.

Draco was silent during Harry inner monologue, grey eyes watching as emotions flashed through the emerald depths, but something was… off. "You've changed."

"Huh?" Harry blinked, suddenly his thoughts scattered.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Though you're still an uncultured heathen, someone has been teaching you."

Slightly perturbed at Draco's perceptiveness, Harry shifted his gaze to a dusty corner. Somehow he knew that he could trust Draco, at least to a certain point, but he still hesitated. He wasn't completely convinced that Death Eaters weren't huddled behind a corner, just waiting for him to let his guard down before attacking.

He was tired though. Tired of having to worry at every shadow, tired of having to be suspicious of every stranger he met, tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. Would it hurt to tell Draco of Cygnus' guidance? It wasn't as if the Slytherin would go and tell Dumbledore, not now. This wasn't about getting the other expelled or in trouble. Those childish days were long gone.

"I…" Harry stumbled over his words, unsure of how much he could tell. The fidelius charm on the Black Home restricted direct mention of the house itself and while there were ways around it, Harry wasn't sure if Draco would be able to connect the dots. Narcissa was, after all, a Black by birth, and surely Draco would be aware of the ancestral house of Black. Would Draco recognise Cygnus as his distant relative? But then, Harry thought in relief, he didn't need to tell Draco the name of his teacher and hopefully he wouldn't ask. "Yeah," Harry nodded finally, grateful for Draco's patience. "A friend has been helping me with pretty much everything."

"Everything?" Draco echoed, a brow raised. "Politics, etiquette, vocabulary…"

"…Traditions, useful charms, history, general knowledge." Harry picked up where Draco trailed off as he remembered back on the things that Cygnus had briefly covered before Harry had left for Hogwarts. "Things I should have known, but-"

"-Didn't." Draco watched Harry, silently for a moment before continuing. "It wasn't Granger who has been teaching you," his voice was firm, sure, "nor was it Weasley."

Harry shook his head, choosing not to say anything.

"A pureblood, surely." Draco gave Harry a measuring look, no doubt wondering who Harry could possibly be acquainted with that would be able to teach him the knowledge that he was lacking. "Your great uncle?"

Harry shook his head, "I didn't even know I had an uncle until the opening feast."

Frowning, Draco tilted his head to the side as he processed that information. Once upon a time he had been under the impression that Potter had been raised in the lap of luxury, that the wizarding world's savoir had been surrounded with everything and everyone that he could possibly need. It was only years of silent observation that he discovered that that was not the case and it was obvious just by looking at the young wizard that life had been hard on him. Potter's statement only reinforced that theory. "Who then?"

"Does it matter?"

Draco sighed in exasperation, but told himself to be patient. He couldn't afford to scare Potter away, not now when time was of the essence. "It may, especially if that person is giving you the wrong information. I can only assume that the people you are exposed to are feeding you the adapted version and not is normally passed down through the generations." A headache was started to building, slowly pounded against his skull and scraped at his carefully acquired patience. He was more than the boy he had been last spring, but that didn't mean that he was an entirely new person.

Understanding dawned, and Harry nodded his head. In the past Harry had only been educated on the ways of wizards when the moment called for it. He had neither sought out further information unless it somehow pertained to the task at hand. He had listened to what others had told him, seldom questioning whether or not if their words were valid. How was he to know that they were wrong? While Hermione could recite anything that she had read in her books, her knowledge was not limitless, and Ron hadn't grown up in the typical pureblood family and only exposed to a handful of the older wizarding traditions.

What he had learned from the Weasleys, practical in its own way, was still only the tip of the iceberg. Household charms and how to deal with Garden Gnomes was one thing, but how and why some things had come to be and all the detailed intricacies expected of the Lord of a family was another. Harry had certainly never witnessed Ron's father act in the manner Harry would have assumed the Lord of a family would act, but then again the only example Harry could really compare him to was Lucius Malfoy. The blond aristocrat, though aligned with Voldemort, always acted with dignity, at least, in Harry's presence.

"I don't think," Harry began after a moment's hesitation, "you have to worry about that. The... person who has been helping me isn't – he." Harry sighed, frustrated. "Listen, you'll just have to trust me on this. I think you would approve."

Draco frowned, but didn't press the subject. As long as Potter was learning from a reliable source, that would have to be good enough for now. He would, of course, prefer that the Gryffindor give him a name so he could further "If you say so."

Harry nodded slowly, suddenly tired. He could feel last night's events catching up to him, the mental and physical stress wearing at his body. "Can you get to the point? I had a long night."

Slowly, much to Harry's horror, Malfoy's lips curled into a smile, though it could hardly be categorised as something positive as smiles were generally described as. It was more like a smirk, but it was wicked and completely knowing. Malfoy's eyes were dancing. They were dancing and suddenly Harry remembered Draco's words from the evening before at the dance. Have a good night, Potter. Have a good night. Night. Night when Voldemort infiltrated Hogwarts; when he killed Snape; when the Dark Lord pressed him against the wall and-- Clenching his fists, Harry pushed that thought from his mind. He would not dwell on the conflicting feelings that bubbled inside, the wrong feelings that any thoughts of Voldemort were eliciting lately.

"You knew," the words were out of his mouth before he realised what was happening. "You knew that Voldemort was going to kill Snape; that he was going to be here?!"

Malfoy nodded, that infuriating little smilesmirkgrinthing still twisting his face. "I knew."

"Why?!" Jumping to his feet, Harry advanced towards the Slytherin. "I thought you liked Snape? You were always hanging off of him before!"

Slightly perturbed by the quickly declining space between the two of them, Draco shrugged, tilting his head to hide the slight cringe that Potter's words brought. "I was young and foolish, but believe me when I say that I have seen the error of my ways.

"Listen, Potter," Draco ground out while he fought the urge to step back. He would not give into Potter's intimidation technique, even if it was unnervingly effective. The boy simply did not understand the sort of power he radiated when he was angry. "Professor Snape was a traitor, plain and simple, but he was also more than that. His position made him more dangerous than he should ever have been made. You know that everything has changed and that they are still changing. Snape was just one obstacle to further helping those changes along."

Draco's voice didn't once waver, leading Harry to believe that what Malfoy was saying was sincere, that he truly believed that Snape's death was the correct path. Harry's anger waned. Snape was a double agent, playing one side for the other and if Voldemort had killed him, Snape must have been working for Dumbledore in the end though. Killing Snape would have been the logical choice if you looked at it from Voldemort's side of the conflict. Of course, Harry didn't condone the killing of people, not if they were innocent, but was Snape innocent?

Draco watched in silence as Harry fought with his thoughts. He didn't expect the Gryffindor to understand, but he had expected Harry to start throwing spells at him. It surprised him that other than a bit of the expected yelling that Potter managed to keep himself in check. "Potter, I can't explain everything now, but everything will make sense in time."

Harry sighed, his anger suddenly gone and replaced with an exhaustion that nearly sent him off his feet. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

Uncaring of the dust, Harry lowered himself to the floor, pulling his legs against his chest with his arms. "Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

"Answers," Draco grunted, somewhat distracted. What had happened to the loud 'attack first ask questions later' boy that Draco had come to know? Nearly curled up into himself on the floor, Potter looked ever smaller than he was and so much more the defeated boy that Draco had met at Madam Malkins all those years ago. "Your dreams, tell me about them."

Harry shook his head and cursed silently when he felt himself blush. "How do you know about those anyways?"

Draco shot Harry a look, a brow raised and his lips twisted in what Harry would consider the cross between a smirk and a grimace. It was rather unpleasant. "It was my duty to... insure that certain requirements were met. I don't know the juicy details, Potter, so don't worry."

Relief flooded Harry like a wave. Though dreams involving Voldemort worried him, they were also immensely private. Harry had only told his uncle about them because he felt that he could trust him. The sudden appearance of a flesh and blood Tom Riddle, one not created by dreams and who knew what psychological troubles he may or may not be facing threw a wrench into everything and it frightened the hell out of him. The fact that Malfoy knew of these dreams meant that he had been aware that Harry was having dreams which means that they were something his mind had cooked up.

Resting his forehead on his knees, Harry closed his eyes, thankful for the temporary relief from the headache that was slowly building. "What's there to know? I start off alone, Voldemort appears, and I wake up."

"There's more to it than that, even I know that." Draco's amused drawl made Harry uneasy.

"I thought you said you didn't know any details?" His words were muffled against his legs, but were clear enough. Harry didn't think he could look at Malfoy at the moment anyways.

Rolling his eyes, Draco moved closer to Harry, stopping only to crouch in front of the younger student. "I don't, but I do know that it is because of those dreams that your world is changing."

Harry didn't reply, afraid that speaking would make Malfoy's words correct. It had been those dreams that made him question Dumbledore's actions, the words of those around him, everything. And Harry couldn't say that he regretted asking those questions, but why did it have to be Voldemort?

Seconds passed and when Potter didn't respond Draco sighed before standing and moving back to the wall. Perhaps it was time to change the subject since Potter was obviously reluctant to further elaborate. "I'll understand if you want to forget this conversation ever happened, but your cooperation would make things easier."

His interest piqued, Harry looked over his knees to the blond aristocrat. "What do you mean?"

Draco smirked, the familiar cockiness back. "I need you to spread a rumour."

TRHPTRHPTRHP

By the time the students were allowed to venture further than common rooms and the castle deemed safe, Harry had spoken with nearly half of his year mates in Gryffindor and soon the whole house knew. It was surprisingly simple to lie, the false words falling from his tongue with ease. It was as if he had years of practice at the art of falsehood. And with the thought brought painful clarity to the realisation that he did have years of practice.

It hurt to acknowledge the fact that he had kept the grand majority of his childhood to himself, twisting the truth when his friends had asked. What was he going to tell them? 'Yes Hermione, I had a lovely time of being starved and psychologically abused. Would you like to see my bruises?' There were times when he had wanted to tell them, to come clean. Then maybe he would be able to leave the Dursleys. Many times he had wanted to talk to someone, to Remus, to Sirius, to someone, but something always held him back. He had always thought that they knew how he was treated. Mrs. Figg had watched him for years, had even patched him up a few times when he was sent there while sporting a bloody knee, so she must have relayed how he was treated to Dumbledore. Unless, unless nobody knew because Dumbledore had never told them.

A chill snaked down his back, and Harry felt the blood rushing from his face, glad that he was hidden in the depths of his bed where no one could see him. Was Dumbledore aware of the abuse he was subjected to by his relatives? Did Dumbledore know that he was just as likely to be hurt where he was supposed to be safe? He had to. It had taken an uncountable amount of letters and even resorting to sending Hagrid to find out why a reply was never sent to Hogwarts. Every year he returned to Hogwarts bruised and undernourished, weak. Sent to school where he was given safety, a soft bed to sleep in, education and plenty of food, yet was sent to another year of lying and holding himself back.

Sometimes Harry wondered if they knew he was lying, that he only skimmed through his summers and that he downplayed the abuse his relatives subjected him to. Over the years Ron and Hermione asked less and less questions. At first Harry had been relieved that they seemed to have backed-off. That they realised that his stay with the Dursleys was a sore subject and that he wasn't ready to talk about it, but slowly the niggling doubt in the back of his mind grew. Did they know he was lying about his summers? Did they know he was lying now?

Hermione hadn't said a word as he had explained what he had 'overheard' on his way back to the common room. The rumour was simple, short, and completely plausible. It was also completely true, but nobody knew that. "I didn't hear all of it, only parts, but Voldemort was definitely in the castle."

Pale under her freckles, Ginny had chewed on her bottom lip. Out of all of Harry's friends, Ginny was the only one who had any real contact with Voldemort. His younger counterpart, though charming and handsome, had been just as dangerous. She remembered him well and Harry had to look away from her as her fear reminded him of his own and the man who had visited him in his dreams and who had captured him the night before.

"Who saw him?" Ginny had asked after clearing her throat, the silence that had fallen once Harry had shared what he had heard and effectively knocking out the slim chance that Snape had died of a natural cause out of the window.

Harry had shrugged, "if they said, I missed it. I only heard a bit since they were walking away."

"I don't know," Hermione had said once Harry finished. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Voldemort himself come here whether it was to murder Professor Snape or not? And for that matter, how did he get in?" Harry had recognized that determined look in her eyes and had groaned silently. Hopefully he would manage to escape her volunteering him to help research ways a wizard could sneak into Hogwarts. An argument between them meant nothing when Voldemort was involved. At least, that's how it used to be.

Hermione had then looked to Harry as if he had known all the answers. "Are you sure Professor Dumbledore never said anything to you?"

Harry had sighed, but knew that he wouldn't be able to curl back into bed without some sort of inquisition from Hermione. "Not a single word. He probably doesn't want people to know that Voldemort was able to get into Hogwarts."

Hermione hummed, but it had been clear that her thoughts were elsewhere. The following conversation had progressed in a similar manner and it wasn't long before Harry was reminded of his headache. While Hermione had already been flipping through any books she had on hand, it was Ginny who had acknowledged Harry's pained expression and sent him to bed.

He had ignored Hermione's disapproving frown, but at the time, Harry really didn't care. Now he relished in the silence of the dorm room and the warmth of his blankets. With the curtains closed darkness enveloped him and calmed his pounding headache, but no matter how he tried he couldn't fall asleep. His mind kept replaying his meeting with Malfoy, the plans they made and the conversation they didn't have.

Finally, Harry's thoughts slowly drifted off and became whimsical. Faintly he remembered he was to meet with Malfoy the next morning, but the unimportance of the thought was easily brushed away at the promise of uninterrupted rest.

TRHPTRHPTRHP

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Harry looked nervously into the cauldron, grimacing at every vomit coloured bubble that rose before popping with a sickening gurgle.

Draco rolled his eyes at the fidgeting Gryffindor; he was quite ready to smack him across the head with his potions text. "Relax, Potter. I am only at the top of the advanced potions class," he said, conveniently forgetting that Hermione shared that spot with him. "I think I know what I'm doing. Besides, it is supposed to look like that."

Harry didn't look so sure. He was all for fixing his eyes, his glasses were old and a continuing inconvenience, but once Malfoy had announced so enthusiastically that he'd be the one to make the visual-correcting potion, since Harry was 'absolutely hopeless' when it came to potions, was when he begun to have his doubts. He had seen a many oddly shaded potions, but this one had to take the cake. It didn't smell so pleasant either. "Tell me it isn't almost done."

"It is not almost done."

The timer Draco set went off. It was done.

"Malfoy!"

The blond Slytherin smirked, "Don't get angry at me. You told me to tell you it wasn't done."

Harry glowered, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," his grey eyes narrowed gleefully and he chuckled, "you're pouting."

Harry froze and schooled his face, "I am not."

Draco shook his head, "whatever, Potter." He shoved a glass of the cooling potion into Harry's hand. "Drink it while it's warm or my efforts will go to waste."

The smell alone made Harry nauseous; it reminded him of Dudley's fouled attempt of baking cookies – cookies that his cousin had forced him to eat.

Impatient, Draco tapped his manicured nails on the table, "Oh, suck it up. What kind of Gryffindor are you?"

Choosing to ignore the insufferable prat, Harry pinched his nose before kicking back the foul concoction. The thick, syrupy-potion slugged down his throat, but the taste still burned his mouth and Harry fought hard not to gag.

Draco, in the meanwhile sat leaning against the work table, watching curiously as Harry shuddered, quickly slamming to the now empty glass on the table with one hand, and covering his mouth in an attempt to keep the potion down with his other. Minutes ticked by in silence as Draco watched as Harry suffered in barely kept silence.

Finally, the slight shudders that wracked Harry's body halted and the younger boy let out a gasp. Falling onto his stool, Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes as they prickled slightly, but otherwise held no irritation. Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly snapped his mouth shut as a wave of aftertaste hit him and he nearly leapt for the jug of water prepared earlier on the table.

As Harry downed one glass of water after another, Malfoy watched silently from his seat, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Slow down Potter, you'll just end up making yourself sick."

Acknowledging that his ex-rival was right, Harry slowed down to sipping the rest of his water, placing the empty glass on the table once finished. "That tasted horrible."

"Obviously."

Harry shook his head, swallowing his annoyance. When Malfoy had asked to meet him the day after their first meeting Harry hadn't known what to expect, but whatever is had been, it was no where near close to having Malfoy offer to brew a vision correcting potion for him. At first Harry had been a little suspicious; would Malfoy try to poison him? He had hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough for Malfoy to roll his eyes and start brewing the potion.

"Killing you now would mess up my plans, Potter." Malfoy had said.

"But what about later?"

Malfoy just laughed.

Harry hadn't died yet and his eye sight was improving. The potion slowly improved his vision over a period of six hours, but already Harry could see better than he did with his old pair of scratched, and outdated, glasses. It was liberating to be able to see clearly and to be without the bothersome weight on his face.

"If you're done grinning like a fool you can start helping me clean up." Malfoy scowled as he banished the remaining cooled potion. "This cauldron needs to be cleaned and the ingredients put away."

They were tasks easily completed and Harry did so almost mindlessly, his thoughts elsewhere. It was clear that with Malfoy's offer to brew the potion he was trying to earn Harry's trust. Why, Harry wasn't completely sure, but he couldn't help but think it would be nice to have someone he could trust. Whether that person was Draco Malfoy or not, the fact that he was trying to act further on their truce was reassuring to Harry.

Now if only everything else worked out so well.