A/N: Everything except the stuff you don’t recognize belongs to JK Rowling and her utter genius.
The Truth
“Just think, mum, this is the last time we’ll do this,” Medea comforted after she kissed her mother’s cheek. Her mother looked exactly like she had the first time Medea had set out for Hogwarts seven years ago, shining eyes and all. In fact, it seemed like she hadn’t aged a day since her wedding, or so Medea gathered from the pictures.
Hermione smiled at her grown daughter. “That’s little comfort; you’re a grown woman now.”
Turning to her father, she gave him and hug and a kiss and boarded the familiar train. This year, though, she already knew where she was going to sit; she was Head Girl.
Medea went strait there. Since she’d spent most of her school days in the library, mostly to avoid the ruckus made by the Weasley cousins in the common room, she didn’t really have friends. But one of the few she did have was a shy Ravenclaw boy who was now Head Boy. Needless to say, she was happily content.
Glenn smiled up at her shyly when she entered the cabin. “Hello,” he greeted in his soft, low voice.
“Hello, ready for this year?” she challenged as the trained started down the track.
He shook his head.
“It’ll be fine, I’ve got a feeling,” she comforted. He looked absolutely petrified. Glenn was an excellent wizard and obedient to the core, but he wasn’t the best at making others the same way, but Medea had faith in him.
For the rest of the ride, Medea had her nose buried in her Advanced Runes book.
“You should’ve been in Ravenclaw,” Glenn said about a half an hour before the came upon the school.
She smiled sweetly. “I guess the Sorting Hat didn’t think so.”
Before he could say anything more, their attention was drawn to the corridor outside. Medea set her book aside and pulled the door open. Sure enough, there was Patrick Potter holding a frog over a first year’s head. “Potter!” she yelled.
He glared at her, but relinquished the frog as she approached. “What? No harm done.” He challenged her with a cocked eyebrow.
“Potter,” she spat venomously. “Don’t make me take points from my own house this year. Merlin knows I had to do it enough last term.”
He shrugged. “Then don’t.”
“Listen, I don’t know what’s got your knickers in a twist, but I’m quite fed up with it. Either you and your cousins behave this year, or you’ll never see the inside of the Quidditch pitch,” she threatened.
His eyes darkened. “You wouldn’t.”
She stepped closer so they were nose to nose. “Try me.”
Patrick backed down at this. If he knew one thing about Medea Malfoy it was that she was a woman of her word. If she said she would give him detention all season, she would. And he was the captain this year; he had a family tradition to carry on…from both sides of the family.
“Fine,” He put his hands up in surrender. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Let’s see that I don’t.” She glared at him as he retreated down the corridor behind the other three of the quartet.
When she shut the door to the Head’s compartment, she tried to ignore Glenn’s huge eyes.
* * * *
“Who does she think she is?” Odile yelled when they returned to their seats.
Hyatt snorted. “Head Girl.”
Both Phaedra and Odile glared at him in unison.
“She won’t do it,” Odile continued confidently as she fell onto the seat. “She won’t jeopardize our chances at the Quidditch Cup or the House Cup. She’s a Malfoy, and deep down, she only wants glory.”
“Pack it in, Dile, that’s just your father talking,” Hyatt countered. “Besides, she’s only half Malfoy.”
“That’s true,” Phaedra agreed, surprisingly. “But her mother can’t be much better if she married a Malfoy.”
Odile rolled her silver-blue eyes. “Either way, she won’t do it.”
“Yes, she will,” Patrick said quietly from window. All three of them looked to their unofficial leader. Patrick wasn’t the oldest, and he wasn’t even the tallest anymore, but they all looked to him for everything. He commanded authority in his whole house even though he’d never even been a prefect. “And she won’t hesitate. She doesn’t care about glory, she cares about education and if I get in the way of anyone’s education, she’ll do it without a second thought.”
The compartment remained quite after that.
But Patrick’s mind was in utter chaos. He’d seen something in those furious, challenging orbs. He was at least ten centimeters taller than her, but she hadn’t been intimidated by him in the least. She had stood up to him because she knew it was right. How could someone like that be bad?
* * * *
Medea led the group of scared first years up the many staircases to the Gryffindor Tower. She’d done this last year and she felt a small pang at the realization that this would be the last time she’d see a new group of witches and wizards begin their education.
After giving her speech to the trembling lot and showing them to their dorms, she set out for her new residence. She would have a room to herself this year, and share a common room with only one other person. And no more Weasleys, she mused with a smile.
And then it happened. It happened so fast that she hardly knew what was going on until she was being tackled to the floor. First there was a loud creak and then…”Medea!” and then she was on the stone floor with someone on top of her.
“What in the”” she began, and then she looked around the load on top of her. The massive axe from the knight along the wall was now lodged in the floor…right where she’d been standing. Someone had just saved her life.
Her savior rolled off of her and stood up. Medea froze as he reached a hand down to help her up. He smiled shyly when she didn’t take it, his green eyes twinkling. “It’s just a hand.”
“Y-you just saved my life,” she managed in her astonishment.
He shrugged and shook his hand until she grasped it. He pulled up and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t mention it,” he whispered and released her.
Medea stared at the back of his dark auburn head as he walked down the corridor. “You just saved my life,” she whispered again even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “Patrick.”
* * * *
Medea tried not to stare, she really did, it just didn’t work. There they sat in Advanced Potions, working on a complicated potion from the book, and she was staring at Patrick Potter. He was the only one of the group in this class; no doubt he wanted to be an Auror like his father. But of all the classes she’d had with him, this was the only one he’d ever actually concentrated in.
“Miss Malfoy,” Professor Selene said from above her, and apparently not for the first time. “Are you finished?”
Medea looked from her cauldron to the Professor. “Yes.”
The young Professor bent over the cauldron and inspected its contents. “Looks good,” she said. “I’ll go test it, but it seems to be correct.” She smiled and before she walked away she whispered, “I think Potter over there could use some help.”
Her first impulse was to explain that she was merely staring at him in contempt, but it was a flimsy lie and she knew it. She walked to his table, but then she didn’t know what to do. He’d never admit that he needed her help and she wasn’t subtle or manipulative.
Then he looked up. “Go away, Malfoy.”
She crossed her arms and looked at his boogy green, bubbling potion. “I was just going to offer my assistance.”
“I don’t need it,” he retorted distractedly.
“Coulda fooled me.” And she walked away, feeling his green daggers stabbing her back the whole way. Well, she thought, that fixed that problem. Only, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Patrick glared down at his cauldron. You should’ve just listened, his brain yelled at him, because you have to do well in this class if you have any hopes of being an Auror. He knew his father had only gotten through because of his friend. But Medea wasn’t his friend. She could be if you’d be nice, a voice inside his head said. “Where did that came from?” he mumbled to himself. But the truth was he knew exactly where it had come from, he just didn’t want to admit it.
* * * *
Patrick sat in the Great Hall with his cousins for lunch like he had for so many years. They carried on conversations around him, but he wasn’t listening; he hardly ever did. The girls normally complained about how their boyfriends were immature and that they only cared about Quidditch, and Hyatt complained about the fact that they didn’t care about Quidditch enough, even though they were part of Gryffindor’s team. Patrick never worried about it; they’d gotten their game together and helped Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup for the past three years.
A sixth year Ravenclaw girl waved at him from her table and Patrick nodded to her impassively. He didn’t consider himself a jerk when it came to girls, and he didn’t think anyone who really knew him did either; he just wasn’t interested in them. He snorted to himself. That’s not completely true, he thought.
Then Hyatt jabbed him in the ribs roughly. He turned to him with a scowl. “Whaahhhh!” He didn’t need an explanation when he saw a livid pair of chocolate eyes glaring down at him.
“Why did you do it?” she demanded, her pale nostrils flaring in anger.
“What?” he asked desperately. “I didn’t do anything!” And, for once, he was telling the truth.
Her eyes widened; it was pretty scary. “Yes, you did!” she shrieked. “You sa””
“Malfoy! Stop!” he cut her off; he understood what she meant now and he didn’t want anyone else to hear it. Plenty of people were looking as it was. He left the bench so he towered over her, but he’d forgotten that his height had no effect on her. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t give her time to protest before he walked out the doors of the Great Hall and away from prying eyes.
“Why did you do it?” She crossed her arms and bore into him with her turbulent eyes.
“I wasn’t really in the mood to see someone get spilt in half by a massive axe, but next time I might just be up for the show,” he answered sarcastically.
If possible, she looked even more furious. “Bastard,” she spat.
Well, what did she want from him? He never understood women. “I wasn’t just going to watch you die! What kind of person do you think I am?” Okay, maybe he didn’t want to hear her answer on that one.
“So it was just some latent heroism showing through?”
Somehow he knew that it wasn’t a good thing in her eyes. “Yeah, maybe, after all, my father did save the world from Lord Voldemort.”
This brought a strange smile to her surprisingly pink lips.
That smile made him uneasy. “You know, when I said don’t mention it I meant don’t mention it.”
“Oh, right, so if it was just some random act of inherited heroism then why don’t you want your cousins to know?” she challenged.
Yep, he’d right about that smile, it was definitely not a good thing. He was stumped. His cousins always disliked her a great deal more than he had even though she was always getting on him and not them.
She just nodded at his silence and turned on her heels.
“Medea, Wait.” He went after her and waited for her to turn back around. After that it all just seemed to spill out of his mouth. “Listen, I’m not supposed to like you, alright? And if they knew I did, I’d never hear the end of it. Then they’d tell my parents and then I’d get the same crap at home.”
“But you don’t like me,” she reminded him. Maybe she did have a little manipulation in her; she fervently wanted to hear him say that he liked her, at least a little bit.
He hesitated; it was obvious that he didn’t want to tell her. “Well…”
“What?” she prompted.
Then Patrick saw it. There was a glint of something in her eyes that he’d never seen before. Granted, she normally looked at him with frustration or fury, but not this time. There was lighthearted, giddy, girlish hope; She was fishing. Well, he could too. “What do you want from me, Medea?” he asked softly, purposefully.
She was surprised by this, but she was ready nevertheless. “The truth.”
Oh, well, so much for fishing. They might have been students, but they were also adults, and this game was silly. He shrugged. “Alright,” He looked around to make sure no one had followed them and pulled her further away from the doors for good measure. “Here’s the truth, I don’t understand it, but I give you my word that it’s true. I like you, I do, but I’m not supposed to.”