Harry slouched on his four-poster bed, mindlessly tapping the marauders' map with his wand. Ron was the next bed over, and on the other side of Ron's bed was Dean's, where Dean and Seamus now sat cross-legged.
Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, had just won their first match in years.
Ron, who had been nothing short of ecstatic since hearing their victory announced on that radio of his that morning, was leaning excitedly over the gap between his and Seamus' beds to exclaim loudly and with enthusiasm about the Cannons' "brilliant chasing strategy." His bright orange Chudley Cannons bedspread, which he had draped over his shoulders in a spurt of patriotism, clashed horribly with his shock of ginger hair.
"And then - did you see – how Wellesley passed to Koopmans right under the nose of that beater – brilliant, just brilliant…"
Harry was disgruntled. Hermione and Ginny had just made him get rid of the Prince's book – and now, although Harry had agreed to it, as he lounged in his bed bored out of his mind he had to admit he was feeling just a tad remorseful.
Ron went on – "and that save! Wonderful, wonderful…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over dreamily as he gazed off out of the dormitory window, apparently overwhelmed by admiration of the Cannons' goal-saving techniques. Contemplation of their win seemed to be moving him into a state of rapture.
Although Harry would have normally found this behavior amusing, today he was rather annoyed.
As he tapped the map rhythmically with his wand, he thought about the incident in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom the other day – Malfoy, unconscious on the bathroom floor, blood pooling around him from the wounds on his chest –
No, Harry thought. It just didn't make sense – the prince had been someone he trusted. Although he had never met the person, although he had no idea who they might be – he had felt connected, confident – the prince couldn't be a dark wizard, he just couldn't… he had to be good… he had certainly boosted Harry's Potions grade, if nothing else.
And then there was Malfoy himself. When Harry had caught sight of the effects of his spell, his heart had caught in his throat. And not just out of shock at what he had done, but out of concern for Malfoy as well. Could it be, that even though he had known Malfoy to be cruel, to have attempted to kill Dumbledore, to have cursed Katie – that the sight of him crying in the bathroom stall that day had brought up some feelings Harry hadn't known that he felt. After all that, was it possible that he actually – cared – about Malfoy?
Harry frowned. Frustrated, he gave the map a hard jab.
Malfoy's behavior was terrible, that could not be debated. But, if Harry's theories were true, and Malfoy was a Death Eater – could it be that he was being forced to do things he would much rather not have done? Could it be that he had been coerced into joining the Death Eaters, and not, as Harry had initially assumed, signed up willingly?
Harry looked down at the map and started – The map, which had been open, showed Hogwarts as usual. But now the roving names of each person in the castle appeared in different colours.
Harry quickly sat upright, intrigued.
"Ron!" he called, not taking his eyes off the map. "Come here!"
Ron, still engrossed in conversation with Dean and Seamus, didn't hear.
Harry slid out of bed and put on his shoes and a robe. Taking the map with him, he left the dormitory in search of Hermione.