Transformation: Chapter Three

 

“You won’t believe what happened this morning in the library,” Hermione said to Harry and Ron as they stood in the courtyard, hands in their pockets against the October cold. Her cheeks were stung red with the wind, which made her look even keener about the news. “Pansy Parkinson started a row with some first years. They weren’t even Slytherins; I think two of them were from Hufflepuff and one from Ravenclaw. All because of some silly book.”

Ron rubbed his hands together in the chill and said dryly, “Parkinson stole a book from some first years? And that’s exciting why?”

“She threatened them with hexes until they gave it up,” Hermione said, as if Ron hadn’t spoken. “But the best part was, it’s some silly book about household spells. I’ll bet your mum has it, Ron. A Thousand Ways To Scrimp With Sylvia, or something ridiculous–“

“It’s not ridiculous,” Ron said, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Mum got tons of ideas about mending old robes from that book. She learned how to shrink Bill’s shoes to fit Ginny in first year.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking rather embarrassed herself, “well, yes, that’s just it. Why would Pansy Parkinson need a book like that?”

Harry hadn’t been paying much attention and said absently, “The Slytherins will probably have a good laugh about it.”

“No,” Hermione replied, and she almost sounded triumphant. “It was for Malfoy.”

“That wanker?” Ron scoffed. “He’s got loads of money. What’s he need that for?”

“No, I heard from Padma that he hasn’t got any money left,” Hermione informed them both. “She said she heard the Slytherins weren’t so inclined to treat him like royalty now that his dad’s name’s sullied. Apparently, he’s borrowed Nott’s robes for a few Sickles. Did you notice at breakfast how they seemed too long on him?”

“I have better things to do with my time than remember what Malfoy was wearing,” Ron said disgustedly.

Harry interrupted. “His mother won’t even send him new robes? Surely–“

“Serves him right,” Ron muttered, finally seeing the justice in the situation. “All those years of his jibes, let him see how it feels! I hope he mixes up the spells and turns his robes pink or something awful.”

“Ron,” Hermione said. “I’d think you would be more understanding, seeing as–“

“As what, Hermione? Seeing as I’ve been hearing from Malfoy ever since I met him how poor my family is? How we’re good for nothing because we live in a hole and all our things are secondhand and even Ginny’s got clothes that were my mum’s when she went to Hogwarts? How do you think it feels, Hermione? D’you think I’m going to be chummy with Malfoy because he can’t buy new quills either? I’d rather make friends with Grawp!”

Hermione flushed, apologetic, but Harry was embarrassed himself: he had lent Malfoy money to buy quills, and he hadn’t even got any for Ron. “I would buy you quills, Ron,” he said, quietly.

“I don’t need any bloody quills,” Ron snapped. “Forget it. How does Padma Patil know all this, anyway?”

Hermione still looked flustered. “She’s seeing Nott,” she explained, shrugging. “They’ve been on and off since the middle of last year.”

“Theodore Nott?” Ron choked. “That weedy bastard? But his dad was in Azkaban!”

“Well, Theodore wasn’t,” Hermione said, though she did look away; it had, after all, been Hermione herself who’d Stunned Theodore Nott’s father in the Department of Mysteries. “Besides, Padma says Nott doesn’t know anything. She wouldn’t be with him otherwise. Honestly, Ron, she was in the DA.”

“Could be a spy,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione looked cross. “Padma is not a spy.”

“You never know,” Ron insisted. “It’s a bit fishy, don’t you think, Harry? Shouldn’t Ravenclaws datepeople in their own House?”

“Cho was a Ravenclaw,” Hermione said impatiently. “And as for Anthony, if you happen to be insinuating–“

Thankfully, Harry was saved from another bickering session as Ron exclaimed, “Bollocks, I left my Transfiguration essay in the common room.” He dashed off to get it before class, leaving Hermione shaking her head.

“Oh, honestly,” she sighed. “Hasn’t anyone else paid attention to the warnings? ‘We must unite inside her or we’ll crumble from within,’ that’s what the Sorting Hat said last year. And didn’t you hear it this year: ‘Stand together or all will be lost.’ That’s what it said.”

“And that’s why you’re dating Anthony Goldstein, then?” Harry said cheekily. “Because the Sorting Hat told you to?”

Hermione colored. “No, but – oh, Harry, you know what I mean. The DA, that was progress, we were finally working together! I don’t see why it’s bad to reach out to the Slytherins either. Certainly not all of them, well, but Theodore’s all right, he was in the library once and he didn’t call me a Mudblood or anything–“

“Not calling you a Mudblood makes him an all right bloke?” Harry demanded. “Hermione, come on.”

“I’m only saying. Besides, you like Lisa, don’t you?”

Harry had to admit that, actually, he did like partnering with Lisa in Potions. She was more impatient than Hermione and more inclined to stamp on his foot whenever he opened his mouth to speak, but she’d probably saved him from detention more than once. Besides, he’d come to appreciate her ever-present sarcasm. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Inter-House unity, Harry,” Hermione said, as if he hadn’t been listening to a word. “Now that Umbridge is out of the way, it’s really important to start working on it, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” Harry replied vacantly, preoccupied with a different train of thought. All that she’d said about Slytherin had got him thinking. “Hey, Hermione. Would you, er, would you know a Dark artifact if you saw one?”

She looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s hard to say, isn’t it? Some of them disguise themselves very well. There are some spells you can use to test it, but they’re rather delicate. It depends how evil they are, too. Haven’t you been listening in Defense? Some things are outside the Ministry classification, but some still think of them as Dark magic. And, well, some of them, made of bones and human hands and things, it’s rather easy to surmise, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry deliberated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and drawing out the little dragon. “What do you think of this?”

Hermione took it from him and turned it over in her fingers, lips pursed. “Where did you get this?”

“Um. Malfoy.”

She looked up at him sharply. “You stole it?”

“No! It was – it wasn’t like that. I lent him some money.”

“You lent Malfoy money?” Hermione looked incredulous. “Malfoy?”

“He didn’t have any,” Harry said, as if that explained everything. “He was trying to charge it to his father’s bill, but the storekeeper said something about a memo from the Ministry. I think all their money’s been taken or something.”

“Yes, but Harry, you hate Malfoy.”

He hoped he wasn’t flushing. “Me lending him money had nothing to do with him being Malfoy.”

“Oh, and I suppose if Voldemort had been standing there rummaging for pocket change, you would have given him a few Sickles, too?” Hermione said edgily.

“You were the one just going on about inter-House unity!”

She looked at him frankly. “For some of us. Harry, has Malfoy ever shown you anything but animosity? I was referring to the students who hadn’t threatened your life. He goes out of his way to taunt you about your parents, and you heard him on the train, he knew about Sirius–“

Sirius’s name triggered something in Harry, and he snapped, “Look, it happened, all right? Can we just talk about the dragon?”

“All right,” Hermione said, looking both annoyed and apologetic. “Then let me get this straight. You lent Malfoy some coins, and he sent you this?”

“I didn’t expect it,” Harry explained, “I thought he would just pay me back.”

Hermione hmmed. “Well, it does seem that he doesn’t have any money,” she shrugged. “He could be giving away his things because they’re the only things of value he owns. But why would he send you–“

“I just don’t want it attacking me when I’m sleeping,” Harry said helplessly. Then, quickly, “Don’t tell anybody, all right?”

“I wouldn’t,” she frowned. “Do you want me to look at it for you? But Harry, if there’s any chance it could be dangerous, you have to go to Dumbledore, you know that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, despite an odd reluctance, which he thought Hermione could sense. It wasn’t that he was protecting Malfoy. Why would he want to protect someone who was supporting Voldemort? But ever since he’d seen Malfoy slump out of Tonks’s rooms, cringing away from Moody, he’d felt –

“I saw him just like you did,” Hermione said, as if she’d read his thoughts. “After Moody gave him Veritaserum. I know, Harry. I don’t think it was right, either. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Remember, Lucius Malfoy is loose now.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Harry watched her tuck the miniature dragon in her bag, feeling strangely protective of it. Shaking it off, he turned back towards the castle. “Come on, or Ron’s going to get to Transfiguration before us.”

It was another week before Hermione could pull him aside and inform him that the dragon didn’t appear to be dangerous at all, or even magical. It did, however, seem to be rather expensive. “What on earth did you buy him?” Hermione had hissed. “Harry, this is worth a lot.” When he’d told her about the quills, her eyebrows had shot up. “This could pay for far more than a handful of quills.”

Harry had taken it from her, frowning. “How do you know?”

Hermione had reddened. “It’s just a silly charm Ginny taught me,” she explained. “It tells you how much something’s worth based on the materials it’s made of, things like that. It doesn’t account for the work put into it, of course, but it gives you a general idea. It’s useful for shopping, whether or not something’s a fair price or utterly outrageous.”

He’d pocketed the dragon again, more curious about it than before. What was Malfoy playing at?

He was wondering that idly at breakfast one morning, peering at Malfoy over his copy of the Daily Prophet, when Ron nudged him sharply in the arm. “Oy, Harry, your name’s in the Prophet. Look.”

Harry straightened out the paper, hoping desperately that it didn’t mean bad news. All he found, however, was a grainy picture of him and Hermione from what appeared to be second year, and a long column that seemed to feature Hermione’s name much more often than his.

“It’s only Rita Skeeter, back to her old ways,” Hermione said grimly from across the table. “Oh, Harry, don’t read that rubbish.”

Ron, however, had got a hold of it, and ignored Hermione’s protesting as he flattened out the paper. “Look here, Harry,” he exclaimed, “it says you were ‘betrayed by Granger’s fickle longings,’ ha ha! Here, d’you reckon . . . oh, yeah, right here! ‘Granger has taken up with Hogwarts student Anthony Goldstein, a chubby Ravenclaw. “She’s certainly not with him for his looks,” one Hogwarts student told me, sniggering. Many speculate that Hermione Granger’s own stellar marks are a direct result of her new associations with the House known for its wit–‘”

“Stop reading that pack of lies right now, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione snapped, scarlet. “The woman is a vicious liar, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

“She called Goldstein chubby,” Ron continued to snicker, folding the paper and sticking it into his bag for posterity. “Ha, he is getting a bit round, isn’t he?”

“Ron,” Hermione shrilled.

“Oh, Herm, obviously she’s lying about you, we all know you’re smart enough on your own–“

Hermione looked ready to burst. “She’s lying about Anthony, too,” she said sharply. “How dare she attack me like that? Still smarting from her year of silence, I expect. Well, I’ve still got the upper hand; we know she’s an unregistered Animagus and can turn her in any time. She’d better watch what she writes. And I know just where she got her information, too, I’m sure of it.”

Following Hermione’s gaze, all three of them looked across the room. Their glances at the Slytherin table certainly confirmed Hermione’s assumptions: The whole table was listening with mirth while, it appeared, Malfoy read snippets aloud. They were all laughing uproariously, and Harry glowered at their table, suddenly furious with Malfoy. How dare he insult Hermione? Harry had been right about Malfoy all along. What he’d spat at Harry at the club, laughing about Sirius and Dudley, that was the Malfoy he knew. He’d probably been faking in Tonks’s rooms, just as he always did. He’d probably –

“I reckon you owe Harry an apology, Hermione,” Ron chuckled, catching sight of Harry’s face. “Just look at how ‘betrayed’ he looks . . .”

“It’s really not all that funny, Ron,” Hermione sniffed. “I’d rather not think about it at all. I won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her lies. I think that’s the best way to respond to rumors, and Padma agrees.”

“Padma,” Ron snorted, buttering a roll ferociously. “Why is it that all the ugly blokes get the pretty girls? First Nott with Padma, and Goldstein . . .” He coloured rapidly as he realized he had just called Hermione pretty.

Hermione, on the verge of growing more annoyed, realized too, and flushed. “Why, thank you, Ron,” she said, looking rather delighted. Then she added, “But Anthony isn’t ugly! He’s really a nice boy, Ron, I’m sure you’d like him if you gave him a chance.“

“Not bloody likely,” Ron muttered, his embarrassment turning into a scowl.

Harry quickly changed the subject.



&*&*



“Oh, Harry, hurry up,” Hermione urged him later that day, pulling at his arm as they tripped down the stairs towards the dungeons. “You know Snape will take more points if we’re late to class again.”

“I can’t help it if the stupid classroom is so far away,” Harry grumbled. “Besides, what are you worried about? I’m the one Lisa’s going to murder when we show up late.”

They rushed around the corner, then, and drew up short, Hermione grasping his wrist in surprise. Outside the usual classroom, students were milling, and the classroom door was shut. Anthony caught sight of them and waved.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said and put his arm around her. Harry tried to frown at him for Ron’s sake. “Hey, Harry. Snape’s not in the classroom. Nobody knows what’s going on. I reckon we should stick around anyway, though, or he’ll probably give us all Ds for not turning in our essays. And that’s the last thing I need now.”

“You’re doing fine in Potions,” Lisa said, appearing beside them. “Besides, take a look at Pansy Parkinson. She seems to be having a breakdown over there.”

They all looked. Pansy was clutching the arm of Millicent Bulstrode, who did not look too pleased to be the recipient of Pansy’s tears, and her face looked very pale, though it could just have been the lack of light in the dungeons. “. . . so worried,” Harry barely made out. “He could be . . . it’s dangerous . . .”

“What are you looking at?” Malfoy suddenly snarled at them, having seen them watching Pansy curiously. He took several steps forward, facing Hermione directly. “Mind your own business, Mudblood.”

Harry tensed, but Anthony was faster, and he seized Malfoy by the sleeve. “Don’t you talk about her that way,” he snapped, showing more emotion than Harry had ever seen from him.

Malfoy looked similarly shocked, and he wrenched his robe out of Anthony’s grasp. “Get your filthy hands off me,” he snapped. “As if I’d want anything that touched that,” here he looked at Hermione with an ugly sneer, “anywhere near me.”

“Hermione’s the best witch in the school,” Harry hissed right back. “She’s better at everything than you, so I don’t see how pure blood has anything to do with it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Malfoy’s lip lifted with disdain. “Didn’t you like Rita Skeeter’s article, Potter? I made sure to tell her all about how Granger betrayed you. Or did you get sick of her, was that the way of it? Her dirty blood get to be too much for you?” Behind him, two Slytherin girls giggled in appreciation, and he smirked.

“I’m standing right here, Malfoy,” Hermione said, her voice steely. Harry noticed that she was gripping Anthony’s wrist as if holding him back from pouncing on Malfoy. “So if you’re going to insult me, say it to my face. At least I don’t have to resort to petty attacks on other people just to keep my friends.”

Malfoy looked furious. “As if you have any friends, Granger,” he jeered.

”Actually, Malfoy, I do,” she said evenly. “And luckily, none of them were bought with money, so it wouldn’t matter if I ran out.”

Behind Malfoy, one of the girls snickered and whispered something to her friend, whom Harry thought might be Daphne Greengrass. Malfoy seemed even more enraged by this. In fact, he looked so incensed that Anthony stepped forward, as if to protect Hermione.

Just then, a calm voice interrupted, “I am afraid Professor Snape will not be able to hold class today.”

Harry spun to see Dumbledore standing in the classroom doorway. Everyone else whirled around to stare at him, too; they had all been eagerly watching the confrontation between Hermione and Malfoy, and no one had heard the classroom door open. Dumbledore smiled at them, his eyes twinkling.

“Professor Snape has been detained by unforeseen circumstances,” he continued, though he did not seem very distressed. It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was looking right at him, as if to tell him something important about Snape’s location. “He will return in time for your next class, of course, and naturally expects you to be prepared.”

Harry stepped forward, hoping that Dumbledore would take him aside and tell him why Snape had gone – had Voldemort called the Death Eaters to him? was Snape on a spying mission? – but before he could even speak, Dumbledore had winked at him and disappeared back inside Snape’s classroom with a click of the door. He looked at Hermione, bewildered. The Slytherins appeared equally confused, though Pansy seemed even more distraught.

“Let’s go out by the lake,” Anthony said to Hermione, hefting the bag on his shoulder. It bulged with books. “I could do with some more revision before the Charms exam tomorrow. Do you want to come, Harry?”

“Oh,” Harry said, caught off guard, “no, that’s okay, I’ve got – other things to do. See you.”

He watched them walk away with Lisa, hearing Anthony say, “How did you know that, about Malfoy?” and Hermione reply, “Oh, isn’t it obvious? That’s how Slytherin is, it’s despicable. He’s been riding on his father’s name all these years, and now . . .” Her voice trailed off in the distance as they began climbing the steps.

Harry frowned. He was again grateful that he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin, if that was how it was. Shouldering his bag, he thought maybe he would go practice for Charms, too.

“Tell your Mudblood to watch her back,” Malfoy spat, just then, and Harry whirled around. He had thought all the Slytherins had gone. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yeah? At least Hermione can afford her own robes,” Harry retorted, before he realized what he had said and felt a horrible rush of guilt surge through him. Malfoy would have gleefully said the same thing to Ron – in fact, he probably had in the past – and Harry would have wasted no time wanting to hex him. Yet here he was, insulting Malfoy for the very same thing.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at him as if he’d read Harry’s mind. “I’m not a Weasley,” he hissed. “I’m not poor. It’s only until my father’s name is cleared and he–“

Harry snorted. “Malfoy,” he said, almost patiently, “your dad’s name will never be cleared. He’s a murderer and he works for Voldemort. There’s no way the Ministry’s ever going to let him go.”

The words seemed to hit Malfoy like a sack of Bludgers, because he went white.

“Unless they never catch him,” Harry continued, “but that doesn’t do you much good, does it? He’d still be a fugitive . . .”

“You’re wrong,” Malfoy snarled almost desperately. “My father is coming back!”

Harry thought of the hope that had flared at the sight of his Patronus when it appeared by the lake, and how he had believed, so desperately, that it had to be his father. He thought of the way he had stared at the Veil after Sirius fell through, sure Sirius would reappear at any moment, that if Harry just waited a moment longer, Sirius would be there.

For once, he knew just how Malfoy felt.

“If your dad’s all you lose out of this,” he said, simply, “you should feel lucky, Malfoy.” And with that, he turned away and walked out of the dungeons without a backwards glance.

He didn’t much feel like Charms anymore.



&*&*



Having Professor Lupin at Hogwarts was, for Harry, an enormous comfort. Sometimes Harry felt like only Lupin knew how he felt about Sirius, and though they rarely talked about Sirius, it helped. Harry visited him sometimes – he went with Ron and Hermione or by himself, often to press him for information or to talk about the DA, but just as often to have tea and complain about Snape. He was even getting used to calling his professor Remus when not in class.

They held the first coordinated DA meeting the last week of October, in the Room of Requirement. This one was publicly announced, and Harry noticed with shock that Theodore Nott had come with Padma and was slouched beside her on a couch, looking skeptical.

What shocked him even more, however, was the appearance of Malfoy. Harry hadn’t seen him come in the door, but later, he caught sight of him in the very back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and an inscrutable look on his face. Once they began practicing, however, Malfoy disappeared. Harry suspected he’d slipped out when everyone was partnering up.

Though Harry didn’t mention Malfoy’s appearance to Ron or Hermione, he brought it up during one of his meetings with Remus.

“He hasn’t come since, though, has he?” Remus mused, cradling his empty tea cup. “It’s hard to say, Harry. It could be that he was trying to spy. Or he could have just been curious.”

“Tonks asked us to keep an eye on him,” Harry said, taking the last sip of his chocolate. It was lukewarm at best, and he made a face. He didn’t mention that he’d thought about Malfoy when he’d pulled himself off the night before; he’d imagined Malfoy standing beside his bed, the same enigmatic look on his face, and afterwards had tried so furiously to clear his mind that he thought even Snape would be proud.

“Well, it never hurts to be cautious. We’re all watching out. Do you want the last biscuit?”

“You take it,” Harry said. “I’ve got to be off anyway, I’ve got twelve more inches to do for Potions. Snape’s just waiting for an excuse to kick me out, I know it.”

Remus gave him a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Goodnight, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The halls were full of shadows, and Harry was preoccupied with thoughts of their conversation, so he didn’t notice the footsteps coming towards him until they stopped and an amused voice said, “Wotcher, Harry,” and he looked up, gaping, to see Tonks standing a little ways down the hall. She grinned at him.

“What are you doing here?” After a moment, he realized how belligerent that sounded, and amended quickly, “I thought you were looking for the Death Eaters – has someone been hurt? Did you find them?”

“Nothing so exciting,” Tonks said, pushing off the wall to walk beside him. She sounded almost bitter about any lack of progress. “Little meeting with Dumbledore, that’s all.”

If anyone would let him in on Order business, it would be Tonks. Even Remus, who had insisted last year that Harry was old enough to know of matters that concerned him, said that some things were better left to others. Harry looked at her hopefully. “What’s happening? What was the meeting about?”

“Oh, things in Wales,” Tonks said airily. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I do worry about it,” Harry snapped. “Only I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to be worrying about, since nobody will tell me a thing. Are the Death Eaters in Wales? Is Voldemort?”

Tonks gave him a look. “Only you would shout his name in the middle of Hogwarts,” she said. “Come on, Harry, walk with me to the doors.”

“Are you going to tell me something?”

“Maybe.” She winked at him, and he suddenly felt like an awkward teenage boy again, whose hair was too messy and whose arms were out of place hanging at his sides, who had no idea what he was doing. “C’mon.”

Harry followed her down the hall, persisting, “What’s in Wales?”

“What’re you going to do, go there yourself?” Tonks asked, one eyebrow raised. “It doesn’t matter because there’s nothing you can do. You’re supposed to be concentrating on your Occlumency and working with the DA–“

“I am!” Harry shouted, finally having losing his patience. “But I want to know what’s going on! Don’t I deserve that?”

“Harry,” Tonks said, evenly, “you’re still a boy.”

He couldn’t believe it. Even Tonks was taking Dumbledore’s side. For some reason, he’d always felt as if Tonks were on his side, and this last betrayal infuriated him. He’d had enough of all of it, even this awful embarrassment that surged up every time he even heard her name. “Yeah?” he challenged, before he could stop himself. “You didn’t seem to think so the other night, did you?”

“That’s different,” Tonks said, as if the difference should be obvious. She didn’t even sound phased. “Besides,” and she raised an eyebrow at him, “you’ve fought You-Know-Who more times than you’ve had anybody suck you off, right?”

Harry flushed. “So what? What does that even mean?”

“It means,” said Tonks, and deliberately pushed him backwards towards the wall, “that I don’t want to talk about You-Know-Who. So maybe you shouldn’t be thinking about You-Know-Who right now.”

“Oh,” Harry managed, before Tonks sealed his mouth with hers and he was left unable to say anything more. The stone on his back was cold, compared to the warm weight of Tonks against him, and he squirmed a little. Tonks apparently took it for something else, because she pressed in closer. When he felt her bumping against his knee, he was surprised enough that he moved instinctually, letting her slip her leg between his.

Which was when he realized that the name in his head was not Tonks’s. It didn’t even begin with a T.

Harry almost choked.

“I can’t, I’ve – Potions,” he hastily explained, pushing Tonks away, “Potions essay, going to be late – good luck in Wales – if you’re even going to Wales–“

“Harry,” Tonks said, in a mixture of shock and surprise, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’ve got Potions,” he said desperately and dashed away down the hall before she could even say goodbye. He imagined her staring after him, probably thinking he’d gone absolutely barking mad, but he wasn’t about to turn around, even to look.

Fucking Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy, shimmying against Pansy at the club, leering at Harry more often than not whenever he fell asleep, popping up unwanted when Harry tried to wank, staring at him in DA meetings, sniggering about him in Potions. He couldn’t even kiss somebody without thinking about Malfoy. About kissing Malfoy.

Could that be? Did he . . . want Malfoy? Malfoy, the bigoted little creep who complained to Snape about him and laughed about Sirius in his face and called Hermione a Mudblood just to see him fume?

What was wrong with him?

Malfoy had never been anything special. He didn’t matter. He was nobody to Harry, just an irritation who refused to leave, who persisted in getting attention by trying harder and harder to get under Harry’s skin. Malfoy repulsed him. Everything he stood for disgusted him. Malfoy wasn’t worth a second glance.

But Harry was giving him one. In fact, he couldn’t stop giving him one.

Why?

Harry swallowed. He would talk to Malfoy. That’s what he would do. And Malfoy would say something horrible about Sirius and fleas and lost pets and Harry would punch him and that would be the end of it. Once he saw how rotten Malfoy was, it wouldn’t matter. He’d send Tonks an owl in the morning. And he’d find Malfoy and everything would settle itself.

In the meantime, he had to do Potions. And wonder what exactly was so important about Wales.



&*&*



Harry went looking for Malfoy after his Thursday Occlumency lesson. As a last minute thought, he’d tucked the Marauder’s Map into his bag, and upon leaving Snape’s office, he unfolded it to find that Malfoy was only a few hallways away, apparently speaking to some student named Tracey Davis. He made his way to the hallway, but stopped before rounding the corner, suddenly apprehensive. Did he even know who Tracey Davis was? He could hear Malfoy’s voice.

“Well, then, let Pansy handle it,” Malfoy was saying sharply, something shrill and impatient in his tone. “I haven’t got time for this sort of thing, and if a third-year girl is too much for you to handle – “

That appeared to be enough, for an unfamiliar girl’s voice answered, simpering, “Oh, I can take care of it, Draco, I’ll just go and talk to her now–“

“Yes,” Malfoy said. He sounded very cold. “You do that.” It was clearly a dismissal, and just then he rounded the corner alone, his expression turning pensive just before he caught sight of Harry. “Oh,” he said, startled. “It’s you.”

Harry had his hands in his pockets and suddenly felt very unprepared. “Malfoy,” he said, eventually, not looking at Malfoy, not looking anywhere but at his feet.

“What do you want, Potter?” It wasn’t necessarily a sneer, but it wasn’t exactly polite either. “I happen to be busy, so if you’ve just come to harass us, I’d rather you pull out your wand right now and have done with it.”

Trying not to flush at the inadvertent innuendo, Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t – I wouldn’t,” he tried, and then, in a rush, “I thought maybe you’d want to study Potions with me.”

Well. He hadn’t expected to say that.

There was a pause. And then Malfoy laughed. It wasn’t the snide little laugh Harry normally heard, but the fact of the matter was that he was still laughing at Harry. “You,” he tried to begin, between laughter, “want to study Potions? With me? Get lost, Potter.”

“I’d help you with Defense,” Harry said desperately, determined not to back down now.

“Excuse me?” Malfoy had stopped laughing. Something glittered in his eyes. “If I did need help with Defense, which I most certainly do not, what makes you think I’d want your pathetic assistance?”

“You are pretty bad,” Harry said. Something sparked in him at the fury in Malfoy’s eyes, something of the old enjoyment, and he pushed on. This was more like it. “You slipped up on your jinxes last week. I bet third years could do better. And,” with something of delight, “I am the best at Defense in our year.”

“Get bent, Potter,” Malfoy said furiously. “Why did you come down here? What do you want?”

“I want,” Harry said, “I–“ Malfoy was looking at him, gray eyes slitted and angry, and Harry suddenly stopped grinning, too. Malfoy was very close. “I,” Harry said again. His voice sounded as if it were coming from far away.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, looking at him. For his part, he looked much more fragile up close, cheekbones sharp, his pale lips thin and dry. He looked rather spindly, actually, two warm spots of color on his cheeks, and the rest of him pasty.

Harry thought he wanted to kiss him.

“I owe you,” he said, instead. “That dragon you gave me–“

“I didn’t give it to you,” Malfoy scoffed. “I’m only charitable to my friends, Potter. I was repaying a debt.”

Harry had seen Malfoy’s so-called charity: upon receiving sweets from his mother, he’d dole out a select few morsels to a handful of other Slytherins, then hoard the rest for himself. Once Harry had overheard him snap at Goyle, “If you touch my chocolates again, I’ll tell your mother you still wet the bed,” upon which Goyle had reddened and thrown Malfoy a guilty, apologetic look. Harry and Ron had laughed over that gem for days.

“It’s worth a lot more than a few quills, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly.

“Well, it’s all I had lying around.” He looked disdainful. “Why should I know the exact value of my things? My family’s never had to worry about money.”

“I could probably buy you a year’s worth of quills with this.”

Malfoy’s eyes flared. “Well, why don’t you run off and do that, Potter, instead of chasing me around Hogwarts as if I haven’t got anything better to–“

“Tarantallegra,” said Harry, calmly, wand suddenly in hand.

Perhaps he’d learned something from Snape after all.

Though never the best at deflecting when fully prepared, Malfoy had been caught entirely off guard, and his legs jerked wildly in place. “I hate you,” he hissed at Harry, body twisting out of his control, twin points of red fury on his face. He was staring at Harry with a look of venomous rage. “I’ll kill you, Potter, I’ll–“

“Finite incantatum,” Harry said, feeling a surge of pity. Nevertheless, before Malfoy could snap out a curse in return, he threw out another hex, this time sending Malfoy crashing to the floor. He cast another in quick succession, just as Malfoy leapt to his feet.

“Furnunculus,” Malfoy shouted, enraged, but it was weak at best, and Harry dodged it with ease.

He was breathing harder from casting, though, and yelled, somehow exuberant, “That’s it, fight me, Malfoy, you think you can? Try it, try to stop me, go on, don’t just sit there–“

Malfoy hexed him again and he blocked it, magic sparks flying off the stones of the dungeon. It was both like a battle with a Death Eater and like play-fighting with Ron, and he felt like screaming and laughing all at once.

“You’ve gone fucking mad, Potter,” Malfoy screeched, and shouted a desperate “Expelliarmus!” which Harry avoided easily.

“Expelliarmus,” he cast right back, and Malfoy’s wand flew through the air and landed with a clatter at his feet. He picked it up.

Harry called out, “Finite incantatum,” expecting Malfoy to slump in defeat, or spit at him and run, or something of that sort. What he was not expecting, however, was what Malfoy did, which was to leap at Harry with his fists.

Malfoy was stronger than he looked: Quidditch had made him lean and wiry, and for his puny size, he wasn’t weak. Still, Harry was larger and probably stronger, and he wrestled Malfoy to the ground, feeling a bit sorrier for having to do it.

“Stop it,” he said, almost sternly.

Beneath him, Malfoy slumped. He was staring at Harry in something like shock, as if in the middle of some harsh realization. Finally, he gave a sullen sneer. “You’re the one who attacked me, Potter.”

“That wasn’t an attack. It was a challenge.”

Angry gray eyes stared up at him. “Challenges are verbal, you fucking Muggle,” Malfoy hissed, “you can’t just have at people like–“

“Voldemort does,” Harry said, rather casually, and stood up. “Here.” Malfoy’s wand clattered to the floor, and he grabbed for it, scowling. “It was a challenge because I wanted you to fight back. Now will you let me help you with Defense?”

Malfoy looked like a furious, drowned cat. “Not like that,” he snarled.

For some reason, Harry laughed out loud at that. As strange as it might be, he was enjoying himself. And it dawned on him that he had the upper hand here, no matter how Malfoy yowled.

“No, not like that,” Harry conceded. “Come on.”

“Why would I want help from a madman?” Malfoy sneered, trying in vain to retrieve lost dignity. “What is this, Potter, your idea of charity?”

“I’m only repaying a debt,” Harry echoed him.

Malfoy, sullen, said, “I’d rather have more quills, thanks.”

“And I’d rather practice Defense with someone who isn’t afraid to hex me,” Harry shot back. “Are you in or not?”

“No,” Malfoy said, scrambling to his feet. “Now piss off, Potter. We don’t need the likes of you lurking around here.”

“Think about it,” was all Harry said. He tucked his wand into his pocket before he turned away.

Four days later, when Harry had all but given up, he found a crumpled scrap of paper tossed on his desk during Potions. Unrolling it, he saw I suppose you want Potions help in return scrawled lazily on the parchment. He looked at Malfoy across the room, whose head was bent in affected concentration. But Harry would bet he knew Harry was looking.

He slipped it into his pocket, just as Snape strode by looking particularly dour. “Not paying attention as usual, I see,” Snape sneered down at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know the next step in this draught, would you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry desperately cast about in his mind, but couldn’t for the life of him think what they were studying. He looked up hopefully. “Um, stir it?”

“That is incorrect, Potter,” Snape hissed, then turned sharply to glare at the section behind Harry, where someone had giggled quietly. “How unsurprising. Ten points from Gryffindor. Perhaps a Slytherin might know . . . yes, Mr. Zabini, do inform us . . .”

While Snape moved on, swooping through the classroom like some strutting bird of death, Malfoy looked up from across the room and fixed his eyes on Harry.

Harry smiled.



&*&*



“And there are at least sixteen different runes for violence, you see, so it was impossible to track down a book until we were able to clarify whether the . . .” Hermione trailed off impatiently, glaring at Ron and Harry as they walked to the Room of Requirement. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Mm,” Harry said noncommittally, readjusting the strap of his bag, while Ron nodded.

Hermione frowned at them. “Well, it turns out that it was actually – oh, forget it. I can already see your eyes glazing over.”

“Nobody except Percy takes Ancient Runes anyway,” Ron grumbled, looking thankful that she’d left off. “Bunch of rubbish, if you ask me. Who wants to memorize a bunch of silly symbols?”

“They’re actually useful and practical, Ron,” Hermione began, but just then, they rounded the corner towards the Room of Requirement and saw a slim figure standing by the doorway, arms folded. She stood up when she saw Harry and came forward, almost hesitantly.

Harry said, disregarding Ron’s raised eyebrows and Hermione’s tugging him away into the room, “Hi, Cho.”

“Hi,” Cho said, smiling. She looked very pretty; her hair had grown longer over the summer, and it hung past her shoulders, very shiny. Her cheeks were pink, and she kept smiling at him.

Harry couldn’t believe he’d ever liked her.

“I – suppose you have a meeting,” Cho added, glancing at the door to the Room of Requirement. “It’s really nice of you to keep up the DA, Harry, I really think–“

“Yeah, and I suppose that’s why you’ve been coming so often,” Harry said sarcastically. He hadn’t seen Cho since the beginning of the year, and after last year’s debacle with Marietta, he hadn’t exactly cared.

Cho flushed. “I’ve got NEWTs this year, I’ve been busy–“

“We don’t need the likes of you and Marietta anyway,” Harry snapped, not caring if he sounded cold.

“Well!” Cho exclaimed, looking startled and hurt. “I didn’t tell on you last year, Harry, you know I wouldn’t have! And I’m – I’m sorry about Sirius Black, I read about him in the Daily Prophet, and Hermione told me–“

“Oh, you’re friends with Hermione now, are you?” Harry said savagely.

Cho flushed again. “Well – she’s going out with Anthony now, isn’t she – and she told me about last year, how all that was a mistake–“

“Yeah,” Harry said, and from the way Cho stared at him in surprise, he knew she knew just what he meant. “It was a mistake.”

Flustered, Cho was speechless.

“I’ve got to get to the DA meeting,” Harry told her pointedly. “’Bye, Cho.” He scarcely heard her mutter a goodbye in return as he pushed open the door.

When Harry stepped through into the Room of Requirement, he found Remus and Ron rearranging cushions for that evening’s lesson, but Hermione seemed to have been waiting by the door, and she immediately pounced on him. “Oh, Harry,” she said, looking oddly worried. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Treat Cho like a nobody,” Hermione clarified, frowning at him. “I can tell, you were awful.”

“I wasn’t awful,” Harry said indignantly. “Were you listening at the door?”

“I don’t eavesdrop, Harry,” Hermione retorted, just as indignantly. “I can see it by how you’re scowling. Cho’s not bad, you know. She’s been helping me practice with Apparation and everything, and she’s been so helpful.”

“How nice of her,” Harry snapped, his tone sarcastic.

“I know it seemed like all she wanted was to talk about Cedric,” Hermione went on. “But she didn’t know who else to go to. And you know she’s just broken up with Michael. She probably wanted to apologize.”

Harry glared at her. “Ron’s right, you know. You should just go live in Ravenclaw.”

This seemed to fluster Hermione enough that she had no response, and Harry left her in a hurry to join Ron and Remus, who looked at him with curiosity.

“You look a bit frustrated, Harry,” Remus said mildly. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s Cho,” Ron said, exchanging a glance with Harry. “You’re better off without her, Harry, with all that crying. Didn’t I say Ravenclaws were bad news?”

“Lisa Turpin’s okay,” Harry said, shrugging. Then, too late, he realized how Ron might take that.

“Oh, d’you fancy her?” Ron asked immediately, grinning at him. “She’s the one with the glasses, isn’t she? Oh, no, that’s Mandy Brocklehurst. Lisa’s the one who looks kind of angry all the time, doesn’t she?”

Harry tried not to laugh. “I don’t like her, Ron, we’re just partners in Potions.”

Any teasing Ron might have been about to give him was forgotten, as he snorted, “Oh, once Hermione abandoned you for Goldstein, you mean.”

Luckily, Harry was saved from answering, as the door opened and Anthony walked in, followed by Padma Patil, Theodore Nott, and Terry Boot. From across the room, Harry could hear Terry and Anthony immediately engage Hermione in a conversation about Ancient Runes, Charms, and Egypt, among other things. Next to him, Ron coughed loudly, as if to prove his point.

The room filled up quickly after that, and they settled down to work, which had become more varied as the year progressed: they were mostly working on dueling now, and Remus had suggested they pair up in threes for practice on fighting two foes at once, which they promptly did. Harry and Ron originally partnered with Neville, but once Harry saw Luna wandering around by herself, he left Ron to fend off Neville and Luna and circled the room with Remus.

“Behind you,” Remus called out to Zacharias Smith, who turned to look at Remus instead of Ernie Macmillan. Ernie promptly cast a Leg-Locker Curse unimpeded and turned him rigid. Remus added, “Don’t look at me next time,” and left Ernie to end the spell.

He turned to Harry. “How are things with you?”

“All right,” Harry shrugged, then signaled to Hermione to move to Anthony’s left side, which was left unprotected. She hit him with a Petrificus Totalus, just as Terry Boot cursed him from the other side, and he was left as rigid as a mummy, covered in boils. Harry couldn’t help covering a laugh.

“Keep an eye out on your left,” Harry instructed him.

Remus, with what sounded like similar amusement, pointed out, “And, Mr. Boot, you might find that a curse of boils is not as effective in a duel as it is in a third year fight. Well done, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said, rather breathless, before turning away to inquire whether Anthony was all right.

As they moved on to where Katie Bell was barely holding her own against the team of Ginny and Dean, Remus said in a low voice, “How’s the Occlumency proceeding?”

“Better,” Harry said, making a face. Beside them, Katie was felled by a Bat-Bogey Hex, which seemed to be Ginny’s specialty. Harry and Remus watched as Ginny immediately removed the hex, feeling sorry for Katie as she beat at her face. Without losing a moment, Katie cast a hex in return, and both Harry and Remus gave her an approving nod for her quick recovery.

“But I’m supposed to push him out with my mind,” Harry continued, drawing Remus aside, “and I still don’t know how to do that. I can’t very well stop Voldemort from reading my mind by distracting him with a Stinging Hex.”

Next to them, Justin Finch-Fletchley’s head flew up at the sound of Voldemort’s name, and he was consequently caught unawares by an Expelliarmus, which sent his wand flying into the midst of Katie, Ginny, and Dean. His partners continued fighting without him as he scrambled to get it.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder. “As loath as I may be to admit it, Snape knows what he is doing. He’s very skilled. If Dumbledore isn’t concerned about the pace of your progress, I wouldn’t be.”

“If he even knows, I haven’t seen him for ages,” Harry mumbled resentfully, but he turned back to the dueling students.

When the evening’s meeting came to an end and students began trickling out of the room, Ron flopped into the chair beside Harry, wiping his forehead. “Tiring work, dueling,” he muttered, but he was grinning. “I beat Neville and Luna, did you see?”

“Oh, what do you expect?” Hermione said, approaching them. She had pulled her hair back, probably for the heat but also for better visibility. “You have seen them duel, Ron.”

“Oh, shut it,” he returned good-naturedly. “Both of them did all right in the Department of Mysteries, didn’t they?”

“I don’t think we should talk about that in public,” Hermione was beginning to say, when Luna wandered over to their group, looking as vague and curious as she usually did.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” she said solemnly. “Your friend Ronald casts very good hexes.”

Ron practically glowed as he glanced in Hermione’s direction, as if to say, see? “Thanks, Luna,” he said pointedly. Luna giggled.

“It’s nearly curfew,” she continued, looking dreamy. “I’ve got to get back to Ravenclaw or Daddy says a Blibbering Humdinger might come for me.” She glanced at all of them in turn, even Hermione, as if they, too, should keep an eye open for one. “Goodnight, Gryffindors.” With that, she tucked her wand behind her ear and strolled away, her necklace of Butterbeer caps jingling.

Hermione snorted. “Come on, you two,” she said wryly. “We should get back too, before the Blibbering Humdingers come.”

Harry waved them on ahead of him so he could put away the books left lying on the table and say goodnight to Remus, who gave him a squeeze of the shoulder and a “Good luck” for the Occlumency. As a result, he was the last to leave the Room of Requirement; he was alone when he reached the staircase and nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy accosted him.

“Where have you been, Potter?” he hissed, glaring furiously out of the shadows.

“What d’you mean, where’ve I been?” Harry said, rather put off by being shaken so badly. He glared right back. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sneered. “I saw your D on your last Potions essay. How dreadful to be such rubbish at Potions that you can’t even scrape by with an A. Do you need my help or not? Because I’d rather not waste–“

“You mean,” Harry interrupted, a rather gleeful shock running through him, “you need my help with Defense, that’s what you mean. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

Glaring at him balefully, Malfoy snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, I’ve seen your Defense marks lately, and they aren’t exactly Os, either,” Harry retorted. “Lupin’s shown me.” Remus had, of course, done nothing of the sort, but there was no need to tell Malfoy that.

“Oh, yes, the werewolf,” Malfoy smirked. “I’ve heard that werewolves mate for life, Potter. Is that why he looks so mangy and depressed all the time? He can’t get it from just any dog?”

“Don’t you dare say one more word about Sirius,” Harry hissed, furious with Malfoy, furious with himself for continuing. “I’ll meet you tomorrow night at seven. Right there.” He gestured fiercely behind him, towards the Room of Requirement.

Malfoy stared at him as if he had three heads. “Potter,” he said, as if explaining this to a very small child, “there’s nothing there but a wall.”

“Walk by it three times while thinking about the kind of room we’ll need,” Harry replied, equally scornful. “If that’s too complicated for you, just wait.”

“I’ll have you know,” Malfoy said after a moment, giving him an appraising look, “that I can say whatever I choose to say about your filthy mutt of a godfather. I am the Prefect here. And speaking of Prefects, only Prefects are allowed out at this hour. But luckily you’re a Prefect, Potter – oh, wait, that’s right. You aren’t. Well, well.”

“Look, I’m going back, all right?”

“Oh, no, Potter, no special exceptions from me,” Malfoy said. He looked delighted. “You’ll find that I, unlike you, actually follow the school regulations. I’ll have to report you, of course. I’m sure Professor Snape will be interested in your disregard for rules.” He stared at Harry triumphantly, as if daring him to protest. “Nighty night, Potter. Run along, now . . . I wouldn’t want to have to report you twice . . .”

Fuming, Harry set off towards Gryffindor Tower. Tomorrow, he thought grimly. Something told him that he was really going to enjoy hexing Malfoy.



&*&*



Dinner at the Gryffindor table rarely passed without some sort of squabble, whether it was Ginny and Dean fighting and making up within the course of a meal over something nobody but Ginny and Dean could understand, Seamus inevitably offending somebody, or Ron flaring up over the topic of Anthony Goldstein, which was happening more and more frequently. Most of the time, Ron addressed these arguments towards Harry, as if they were in perfect agreement, which left Harry to nod occasionally or add a halfhearted, “Sure, Ron.” Hermione, for her part, ignored them.

“. . . well, I don’t mean to say everybody, of course,” Ron was saying, gesticulating with his roll, “because Harry, if you want to fancy Lisa Turpin, it’s all right with me . . .”

“I don’t fancy Lisa,” Harry said, for what seemed the hundredth time. “There isn’t anybody, all right?”

“If you say so,” Ron replied, not sounding convinced, but luckily, he jumped into Ginny’s and Neville’s conversation upon overhearing mention of Fred and George’s joke shop, and Harry was saved from protesting further. He hoped Hermione wouldn’t start in on him next, but she was going over her returned Transfiguration essay with a small frown on her face, unaware of anything else.

Harry’s attention wandered and he stared at Malfoy while he ate, unaware that he was doing so, that he was following the other boy’s movements, watching him speak disdainfully to Pansy, then take a regal sip from whatever he was drinking. Once, a tall girl who looked as if she were a seventh year said something to the entire table, and he laughed. Harry couldn’t tell from his table whether it was a dutiful laugh, a derisive one, or even genuine.

“Harry,” Hermione said eventually, having looked up, “what’re you looking at?”

Harry realized, then, and flushed. “Nothing,” he said. “I was just. Nothing.”

After dinner, he spent a restless hour poring over Hermione’s Transfiguration notes before leaving to meet Malfoy. Luckily, Ron and Hermione were at a Gyffindor Prefects meeting, and neither were present to notice him leaving. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to spill about whom, exactly, he was going to see.

Malfoy was already in the Room of Requirement, looking uncomfortable, as if he expected Harry not to appear. When Harry peeked open the door, Malfoy jerked in surprise, then glared warily at him.

Harry said, not unfriendly, “Hi, Malfoy.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Malfoy sneered immediately. “I don’t want your stupid Defense lessons. As if I’d let you get near me with a wand.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, and Malfoy said quickly, “And don’t you dare hex me, Potter.”

“You’re backing out?” Harry said, incredulous. “Now?”

“You actually expected I’d practice Defense with you?” Malfoy scoffed. “Lord, Potter, you really are thick.”

Harry stared at him disgustedly. “Why’d you say yes in the first place, then, Malfoy? Why’d you look for me yesterday? Why’d you even bother coming tonight?” It was only once he’d spoken that he realized Malfoy had less answers than he did. “You can’t even tell me, can you?”

“You’re the one who came looking for me,” Malfoy hissed. “If you haven’t noticed, Potter, I go out of my way to avoid you.”

“Oh, really?” Harry raised an interested eyebrow. “Because it seems to me you’re around an awful lot. In fact, every time I turn around, you’re right there. Ron even thinks that you’re stalking me.”

“As if I would stalk you.” Malfoy made a disgusted sound. “Don’t be nauseating, Potter. If you must know, seeing you begging for a little Potions help was amusing. But you’re daft if you think I’m going to let you near me with your wand.”

“Then why’d you come tonight?”

Malfoy, Harry could see plainly, didn’t have an answer to that one.

“I mean, it could be that you were trying to be polite,” Harry continued, enjoying Malfoy’s discomfort, “and you didn’t want to stand me up or anything . . . but no, I don’t think calling my friends names or insulting my parents was really that polite of you, come to think of it . . .”

“I said we’re through, Potter!”

“It could be that you wanted to get me in trouble,” Harry mused, “but then, I’m not doing anything wrong. In fact, it’s hours until curfew. So maybe you wanted to get me alone so you could get me back for what happened with your dad, is that it?” He saw a glint of fury in Malfoy’s eyes and pressed onward. “Bet you were furious about having him gone, huh? The Ministry taking your stuff, all your money taken. Did you have a rotten summer, Malfoy? Want to make me pay for it? Because you can try, if you want, but we’ve all seen what rubbish you are at Defense.”

“You’re asking for it now, Potter,” Malfoy snarled, coloring rapidly.

“Oh, am I?” Harry challenged back. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared to fight me, that’s why you don’t want to practice Defense. Because you’re scared. And now you don’t have your precious father or Umbridge to back you up.”

Malfoy shot to his feet, furious now. “You think you’re so high and mighty,“ he spat, “you think you’re better than me?”

“I think you’re scared, that’s what I think,” Harry said, nearly grinning. “You wouldn’t want to fight me, would you? Not after what happened with your dad, I bet. Or Bellatrix Lestrange, isn’t she your aunt? Because I fought her, too . . .”

“Fine, Potter, you think this is funny?” Malfoy hissed, red-faced, and in that split second, Harry could see him going for his wand, but it was too late to react. “Are you laughing? Crucio!”

The shock of the spell, coupled with the split second of lightning bolt pain, sent Harry stumbling backwards. He shook it off an instant later, however, and the tumult of emotions on Malfoy's face told him everything.

He laughed.

"You've never cast the Cruciatus Curse before, have you?" he asked smugly, flashing back to the Department of Mysteries and Bellatrix’s sneering face. "I can tell. You have to want to hurt me, Malfoy. You have to want to really, really hurt me. And do you know what? I don't think you do. I saw your face when the curse hit. You aren't as bad as you like to pretend, are you?"

"I hate you, Potter," Malfoy hissed, so enraged that Harry almost backed down. He had never seen Malfoy quite this upset, even at the end of fifth year. "I loathe you. I would like nothing better than to see you groveling at the Dark Lord's feet. I want to kill you, Potter – is that enough hatred for you? Do you hear me? My father is in Azkaban because of you! You put him there, and you humiliated me, and a Malfoy never forgets!"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and he had to repress a smirk. He couldn't stop himself. Here was Malfoy, so angry that his veins popped and his fists clenched, and it was all Harry could do to keep from laughing.

"I bet you've never met Voldemort," he shot back. "I bet he's forgotten that you even exist, now that your dad's gone."

"You don't know anything," Malfoy spat.

"Oh, yeah? I know that that curse you just used is an Unforgivable Curse. I know that I could tell the Ministry and they'd have proof from your wand in no time. You must really want to see your dad again? Miss him enough to go to Azkaban for him? Oh wait, I forgot, your dad’s not there. Well, I suppose you’d just have to wait for him, keep his cell warm."

Malfoy had gone white. "Potter–"

"Oh, I know you’re underage,” Harry said conversationally, “but in these times, Fudge is taking every precaution, haven’t you been reading the Prophet?”

“My mother–“

“I’m sure the Ministry doesn’t look very favorably on the Malfoy name,” Harry continued cheerfully, “and, well, the Blacks don’t have the cleanest record in history either, do they, so your mum couldn’t do much there. It’s good to have friends in the Ministry, but you seem to have made the wrong ones, haven’t you? I heard Umbridge is still in St. Mungo’s and won’t be working for years, if she’s even allowed back.”

“Potter–“

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t worry, though, Malfoy. I won't tell anyone. If you let me help you with Defense."

"What?" Malfoy stared at him in speechless shock. After a moment, he demanded, "Why? Have you gone mad?"

"Like I said, I need to practice with someone who’s not afraid to hex me,” Harry said calmly. “Even if he probably couldn’t Stun someone in a Full-Body Bind. And I could do with some help in Potions, I suppose.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Malfoy said, his tone incredulous.

“You know, I think I am.”

“But you–“ He appeared to have seized on a thought, then, and said in a hurry, “What if I’m dealing with the Dark Lord, eh, Potter? I could tell him all your weaknesses, give him the inside information.”

"I think," Harry said mildly, "if you saw Voldemort, you'd be too scared to do anything at all. And if Voldemort wanted somebody to spy on me, I highly doubt he’d pick you."

Before Malfoy could splutter a reply, Harry added, "I hear Azkaban's nice for family reunions. One owl, and they'd probably have you there by next week. I bet they’re going to catch your dad any day now. I reckon he’d be overjoyed to find you waiting for him, what do you think?"

"You're mad, Potter," Malfoy snarled, white-lipped. "Fine. All right, by all means. Teach me how to beat you."

Harry snorted. “Malfoy,” he said, “I don’t think you ever could.”



&*&*



The air was cool for the end of October, and Hermione had her Gryffindor scarf wound around her neck, her cheeks flushed pink with the chill. “Oh, Harry, Ron, it’s cold out,” she said, as soon as they stepped outside and began making their way across the grass, still stiff with frost. “Ron, what would your mum say? You should bundle up!“

“The best part of Hogwarts is that my mum isn’t here,” Ron said pointedly, rolling his eyes. “Now are you coming or not?”

Hermione sighed, but she followed them down the slope towards Hagrid’s hut. “What’d you do last night, Harry?” she said, in an attempt to change the subject. “I didn’t know the meeting would go so late, I know I told you I’d help you with Potions.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said vaguely, “I, I did some Defense work. And some Potions, by myself.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue.

“I was thinking about the essay on Veritaserum,” Hermione mused; Harry seemed to have sparked something with his mention of Potions. “I’d like to address it through ethical application, along with the issues Snape raised in class, about potency, and how its distilled cousins could be employed in more basic, less regulated–“

Ron groaned, then, and interrupted her. “Must you talk about work even when we’re not in lessons?” he demanded.

“Well, I – I do think about other things, Ron,” Hermione protested, flustered. “Fine, what do you want to talk about? Quidditch, I suppose?”

“If you’re offering,” Ron said with a grin. “You know, Harry, I’m beginning to think Jack never sleeps. I saw him in the common room at two in the morning one day, muttering about our plan of attack. Ginny heard from Andrew that he spent all summer practicing.”

“Well, he did whack himself with a Bludger bat on accident last term,” Harry said wryly. “If he’s aiming for a better season than last year’s, he hasn’t got a lot to worry about, has he?”

“Slytherin’s got two new Chasers to replace Montague and Warrington,” Ron muttered. “Some third year named Pritchard, Jack says, skinny little kid, good on a broom. Don’t know who the other one is . . .”

Harry was about to suggest that it could be Nott – he didn’t know any other Slytherins out of their year, come to think of it – but they’d reached Hagrid’s and Hermione was knocking enthusiastically on the door. Whether her enthusiasm was borne of excitement to see Hagrid or gratitude for an end to the Quidditch discussion, it was unclear.

“’Ere, Fang, look who it is,” Hagrid rumbled, beckoning them inside and bolting the door behind them. He sounded pleased to see them – as did Fang, who leapt at them the instant they entered the hut, licking wildly at their faces.

“Bin wonderin’ when I’d see yeh three outside o’ class,” Hagrid said, beaming down at them. “Had a good summer, then, did yeh?”

“It was all right,” Harry offered, not quite sure how to sum up his summer. It had happened nearly three months ago, but it felt like much longer. The news of Dudley could have happened years before. “You probably heard about my cousin.”

“O’ course,” said Hagrid, “was sorry ter hear about ‘im, an’ so soon after Sirius, it’s a dead shame–“

Ron gave Harry a quick look and interjected, “How’s Grawp doing, Hagrid?”

“Oh, loads better,” Hagrid exclaimed. “Got in an awful fight with a centaur, bellowin’ like yeh wouldn’ believe, but he’s healin’ up splendidly, the lad – bin thinkin’ abou’ givin’ ‘im some company, come ter think o’ it–“

“Company?” Hermione echoed, sounding rather startled. “You mean, like another giant?”

“Well, yeh never know,” Hagrid said, shrugging an enormous shoulder, “he gets lonely, Grawpy does, he’s always pleased ter see me. Livin’ in the forest like an animal, though’ maybe he’d like a friend.”

“A friend?” Hermione echoed him again. “Hagrid, I’m not so sure it’s the best idea to bring another giant here, especially not – well, you said yourself, they’re not exactly friendly, are they?”

“He jus’ gets lonely,” Hagrid said, almost mournfully. “Yeh go in the forest an’ yeh can hear ‘im bellowin’, like he’s lookin’ for a mate–“

Ron looked slightly queasy. “Er, Hagrid, does Dumbledore know about Grawp?”

“Busy man, Dumbledore,” Hagrid rumbled, “he’s got loads o’ importan’ things ter do, can’ be bothered with every creature in the Forbidden Forest, now can he?”

“I think he ought to know,” Hermione said, a bit louder. “Maybe you can tell him at the Hallowe’en Feast. We thought we’d come down to check on your pumpkins. They’re looking lovely.”

“Got a feelin’ this’ll be me best batch ter date,” Hagrid beamed. He didn’t appear to notice the change of subject. “Got me special treatmen’ fer ‘em, got ‘em growin’ good.” He suddenly stopped, and then said, “An’ where’re me manners! Yeh bin listenin’ ter me talk an’ I haven’ offered yeh a cuppa. Jus’ made some biscuits, if yeh’re hungry.”

“Tea would be nice, thank you,” Hermione said, and Ron and Harry agreed, though all of them eyed Hagrid’s plate of rock-like lumps suspiciously. While he was putting his copper kettle on the fire, Harry took a rock-biscuit and gnawed on it, hoping he wouldn’t break a tooth, and said innocently,

“Hey, Hagrid, what’s in Wales?”

Hagrid spun around so fast Harry was surprised he didn’t accidentally punch through a wall. “Wales?” he said, hastily. “Who yeh bin talkin’ ter abou’ Wales? Nuthin’s in Wales, who told yeh anythin’ abou’ Wales?”

Hermione and Ron stared at him, seeming to be asking the same question.

“I ran into Tonks,” Harry explained, “and she told me she’d been in a meeting with Dumbledore, and they were talking about Wales. But she wouldn’t tell me anything else. Is that where the escaped Death Eaters are, Hagrid?”

“Can’ tell yeh,” Hagrid mumbled, “an’ even if I could, I don’ know anythin’ abou’ those Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban . . . not me area o’ expertise, yeh see, it’s all top secret Auror business . . .”

“What is your area of expertise?” Hermione asked, giving Harry a look as he gave up on the biscuit. Her look told him explicitly that he had better stop keeping things like this from her and Ron, or else. He gave her a halfhearted shrug of apology.

“Can’ tell yeh that, either,” Hagrid protested. “The three o’ yeh, nosin’ abou’ where yeh don’ belong, only leads ter trouble . . .“

“Trouble like Sirius dying, you mean?” Harry said sharply. “Because that’s what happened when we were left out the last time and had to figure everything out for ourselves. We’re all part of the Order, we deserve to know what’s going on, don’t we?”

Hagrid looked guilty at the mention of Sirius’s name, which in turn made Harry feel guilty, as he’d only used it for that very reason. “I don’ know much o’ anythin’,” Hagrid began miserably, but luckily he was saved by the tea kettle, and lumbered about pouring them tea before he could finish his story. When he sat back down, he looked as if he weren’t going to say another word.

“Well?” Ron prompted him impatiently. “What’s in Wales?”

“Yeh can’ do anythin’ abou’ it,” Hagrid grumbled, and then looked at Harry in sudden alarm. “Yeh aren’t plannin’ on goin’ ter Wales, are yeh? O’ all the foolhardy things ter do–“

“I won’t,” Harry said, just as impatient as Ron. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“There’s nuthin’ yeh can do,” Hagrid said again, as if they hadn’t heard him the first time. “Nobody knows the truth, an’ Dumbledore doesn’ tell the Order everythin’ he knows, either – select information, yeh know, I don’ hear much o’ what’s goin’ on – anyway, bin hearin’ rumors all summer long abou’ activity over there. Firs’ nobody wanted ter listen, with loads o’ diff’rent stories all over the Prophet, bu’ eventually we had ter pay attention–“

“Pay attention to what?” Hermione said. “If it was in the summer, it wasn’t Lucius Malfoy and his gang.”

“Well, Yeh-Know-Who, o’ course,” said Hagrid. “Death Eater activity, people claimin’ they saw ‘im, all the time. Dumbledore had a few o’ Aurors go an’ investigate, an’ that was the end o’ all of ‘em.”

Ron frowned. “The end of them? They were murdered?”

“Don’ know what else it coulda been. Suspectin’ Yeh-Know-Who’s gatherin’ forces, an’ with the Dementors gone an’ out o’ Azkaban, they mighta gone ter join ‘im in Wales, ‘cause Muggles can’ see ‘em, yeh know – the giants with Golgomath too, could be hidin’ out in the mountains. When Yeh-Know-Who firs’ came ter power, he pooled his strength out in the country, gatherin’ all his Death Eaters an’ allies before anybody even knew who he was. Could be the same kind o’ plan, only thanks ter you, Harry, this time we’ve got a warnin’ ter keep an eye out fer ‘im.”

“So they’re all in Wales?” Harry frowned. “But there have been reports of Muggles being killed even in London, haven’t there?”

“Got ter be some o’ his followers around,” said Hagrid. “Bu’ he isn’ goin’ ter jus’ attack Diagon Alley, yeh see, he’s got ter assemble his forces, so ter speak–“

Hermione shivered. “But isn’t anyone doing anything? The Order? The Ministry?”

“Dumbledore’s bin workin’ on it. Bu’ nobody knows where ter find Lucius Malfoy an’ the rest o’ ‘em – could be they’re all in the same place, bu’ Dumbledore doesn’ plan on takin’ any chances. Now are yeh satisfied? I shouldn’ tell yeh anythin’ more, said too much already.”

“They’re keeping quiet,” Hermione said, as if she hadn’t heard Hagrid. “So everyone’s in this state of alarm, thanks to the Ministry’s constant issuing of these silly manuals on defending ourselves, but there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Yet. Oh, it all makes so much sense, it’s horrible.”

Harry frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“They’re putting too much energy into useless things,” Hermione explained, sounding distraught. “How to seal up your home, what to tell your children if someone you know is killed, rubbish! And meanwhile, Voldemort – oh, Ron, don’t look at me like that – Voldemort is getting stronger and stronger, and one of these days he’s going to attack, and none of us will expect it.”

“We’re doin’ our best ter try an’ keep track o’ Yeh-Know-Who,” Hagrid said, uneasy. “Got, er, a couple spies in his ranks, an’ some o’ the best Aurors on the case.”

“And Dumbledore, he knows what’s going on,” Ron added, rather enthusiastically. “And my mum and dad, they’re keeping an eye out.” Still, he looked grimly across the table at Harry. “I reckon we better keep on with the DA, anyway.”

Harry nodded. “At least we’ll all know how to defend ourselves.”

But, as their talk turned back to the Hallowe’en Feast and even the upcoming Quidditch match, Hermione looked about as comforted as Harry felt, which wasn’t comforting at all. He felt as if he had a lead weight in his stomach, lying heavy inside him, like a dark promise.

It could have been Hagrid’s rocklike biscuits. But somehow, Harry doubted it.

 

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