Chapter Seven - Restless
Harry trudged through the dark hallways of the school on the ground level under the cover of the invisibility cloak and felt his stomach twist a little. It's my first night back at Hogwarts, he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time, and I'm already out after curfew and breaking so many school rules. Seeing as he was particularly poor at learning from past mistakes, Harry knew this could not be a good start to the year. He recalled only too well that he had broken the rules from day one when he was sixteen, and that year didn't bring many positive experiences at all. Nevermind the fact that Draco Malfoy had played a major role in Harry's investigations then too. Harry had to shut his eyes tight and hold his breath for a moment to stop his hands from shaking from the irony.
Just a few more steps and… yes. The passageway leading to the dungeons below the school was in such an obscure and unnecessarily far away location from everything else, and Harry was grateful for his decent memory or else he'd probably have ended up completely lost in the darkness. He stopped for a second and assessed his surroundings. A ghost trailed through a wall on the far end of the hallway that he had just come from, but the air was otherwise completely still but for his racing heart. As much as he didn't like the idea of being alone in the dungeons with Malfoy, Harry couldn't just ignore his letter, not when there was a chance that Malfoy could change.
Taking another breath Harry plunged his body into the total darkness of the passage and down a seemingly endless flight of stairs. The blind descent was unnerving so he cast a Lumos with his wand under the cloak. The light shone brightly in his face but did not penetrate into the darkness beyond him, and only the very near edges of steps by his feet as they brushed past the cloak could be seen. It wasn't desirable, but the only real cause for complaint was the creepiness the passage exuded. Just how exactly did all of those Slytherin students manage to stand going up and down this claustrophobic space from day in to day out? It was bad enough without the steepness of the stairs; Harry felt like he could fall at any moment. No wonder he hadn't tried going back to the dungeons since his first venture with Polyjuice potion in second year – it just didn't feel like it was worth all the hassle.
After what seemed like an age, Harry finally felt his foot step onto level ground and let a wave of relief pass through his body. First obstacle down, his mind flickered, still trying to pay some attention to the task at hand. However, he didn't need to walk for long before he heard a sharp voice from beyond the threshold of darkness before him.
"I know you're there, Potter," came a low drawl from Malfoy. "After all this time I'd expected you to be competent at concealing yourself properly, but this is the second time that I have caught you under the guise of your cloak." He stepped from the shadows that hung around a torch burning emerald green on the wall to reveal a grimace staring at the staircase expectantly.
Harry threw off his cloak, somewhat impressed. "How did you know it was me?"
"Do you not realise that just because I can not see you does not mean that I can not hear you?"
Harry felt a slight flush in his cheeks. Of course he hadn't been trying to stay hidden, there was no one to hide from! Regardless, it was possible that in his slack he might have been discovered by whoever listened carefully to the sound of his dragging feet or heavy sighs. Malfoy could see this clearly on Harry's face, and an impish grin slid across his own.
"That doesn't matter!" Harry called, quickly remembering that it was past midnight and they were both out of their common rooms. He adjusted his voice as necessary, "I'm here now, so what do you want?"
Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and quickly pulled him into a nearby room, shutting the door behind them quietly. Harry lit up the area with his wand to find it was an old storage closet used for cauldrons, and large enough for the two to stand at a comfortable distance. Malfoy cast an imperturbable charm, locked the door behind them, and turned to face Harry.
"Okay, right. What do you want?" Harry asked again, a bit more loudly.
He saw the blonde man's face buckle slightly before regaining absolute composure once again. "You can not possibly tell me that you can't read?" His voice was cold and cruel.
"What?"
"Did you even read my note, or are you just exploring the halls, being the bad boy?" Malfoy's tone lingered on those last few words with a heavy slice of contempt as his arms curled up into a tight fold across his chest. Harry guessed that he was trying to conceal his jealousy that Harry always did whatever he wanted and always got away with it. He didn't understand why it was such a big problem seeing as everything always seemed to work out just fine at the end.
"Oh yeah, the note." Caught up in the eeriness of his surroundings Harry had almost completely forgotten about the short note that Malfoy had sent. That was a stupid thing to do, considering it was the reason why he was down here in the first place, but the spooky aura of the dungeon hallway had gotten under his skin.
"And?" His counterpart showed his impatience.
With that, he decided to cut to the chase. "I spoke to Hermione about the Galleon, but she made one for herself too, which means that we can't use them without her finding out," Harry admitted with a little more regret than he had anticipated. If they couldn't find a way to communicate, then he could just walk away from their deal. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, and he wasn't keen on spending too much time in the same vicinity as Malfoy than what was absolutely necessary and unavoidable, so Harry couldn't understand why he was suddenly experiencing this pang of guilt. But he was.
Despite this, Malfoy didn't look the slightest bit irked. He had probably been anticipating this, waiting for his opportunity to show that Harry Potter, the Boy Wonder, jwas helpless on his own. Or so Harry thought, anyway. Instead, Malfoy shrugged and let a tiny sigh of air escape his mouth before clenching his jaws shut tight. He was disappointed.
"W-wait!" Harry stammered, grasping for any idea, any at all. "I'll figure something out."
"Never mind, Potter." Malfoy's voice was as loathsome as ever, but Harry couldn't help but detect a hint of emotion there that seemed to express what he had just seen. "It's not like any self-respecting Slytherin would be caught dead cooperating with you anyhow. Just think what my father would say." With that he turned on his heels to open the door and leave.
"Malfoy!"
He stopped at the sound of his name, but didn't turn to face Harry. "What is it?"
"If you feel that way, then why are you even here?" Harry struggled to breathe out those words without his voice shaking, though he didn't know quite why.
"Don't be absurd. I for one know the elementaries of reading and writing."
"That's not what I mean."
At this point the Slytherin had managed to turn around so quickly that Harry could have been fooled that perhaps they had been facing each other the whole time. He gulped, noticing that the face before him was stark white and scrunched in disgust.
"Then what exactly do you mean?" Malfoy spat.
"I know better than anyone out there that you can't stand to be near me, and its not like it isn't that obvious either. You tried to kill me!" Harry clenched his fists together, his knuckles turning as pale as Malfoy's face.
"I recall specifically trying to not kill you." Malfoy's face was still twisted, but he let his voice drop a notch back from disgust to contempt.
"Then why do you hate me so much?" Harry relaxed his hands and the colour slowly began to seep back into them. He didn't know why, but this subject was far less touchy to him than what seemed the trivialities of blood status or his past forays into dark magic. Harry just wanted to know the answer, and he didn't think he'd care what it was.
Malfoy's face dropped, his expression smooth, almost sagging, but he still retained control over the inflections in his voice. "I don't hate you, you stupid git. Don't you see that by now?"
"What?" Harry stood there as if he'd been jinxed; the other wizard rolled his eyes.
"If I hated you, I'd have attacked you by now. Remember last time we were on that train alone, Potter? I recall thoroughly kicking in your nose." Despite what he was saying now, Malfoy seemed to linger on that thought. If the light had been better Harry could have sworn that the other man licked his lips, as if the thought itself were too delicious to keep to himself.
"So..?" Harry was still petrified, it seemed. Another eye roll followed.
"I'm trying to reconcile."
"Reconcile?"
"Yes, make up for the bad blood between us."
"But… why?" Harry was so sure that Malfoy was just trying to scheme against him, just as he had been so sure before that he wasn't. It was all too confusing.
Malfoy looked a little disgusted at himself. "You're not going to make me say this, are you, Potter?"
"Say what?"
The blonde man responded by tapping his foot quickly on the stone floor, as if trying to gather up his composure. Harry wasn't helping, it looked, as he gawked awkwardly around the room. Malfoy sighed.
"Everything that's happened is because of you, you know that Potter?" he said eventually.
"What?" It was as though Harry couldn't make out words of more than one syllable.
"This! Everything! If it weren't for you, we'd all be dead, or slaves, or hiding for our lives." Malfoy paused, but Harry waited for him to continue, so he reluctantly carried on. "I can see that, and… well… I'm glad that you killed the Dark Lord."
"I didn't kill him!" Harry defended.
"Oh, so it was a Cornish pixie, then?" An incredulous glare swept towards Harry.
"His curse backfired!"
"Regardless, he died by your hand, because of your actions- it doesn't matter, Potter!" he cut himself short to keep control as Harry tried to open his mouth in protest once more. "I'm saying that I don't care! I'm happy, even! I didn't want to be a part of all of this nonsense to begin with." It was his turn now to receive a look of disbelief. It must have made him uncomfortable, because the next words dropped to barely more than a whisper. "Not really, anyway."
Harry looked to his feet and thought about that for a moment. "Yeah, I can see how you were roped into this whole holier-than-thou act by your father," he said after a short time had passed. "But that still doesn't explain why you want to have anything to do with me. Don't tell me you're trying to grovel at my feet like the rest of the wizarding community." He shuddered at the thought, which was truly disgusting.
"Like I'd ever consider stooping so low. Grovelling, really." Malfoy spat once more.
"Why, then?"
"I said this before, Potter. I wish you'd listen, perhaps then you'd have some real reason to be so famous in this school other than your ridiculous Gryffindor tendencies." Another roll of the eyes; the room must have been spinning for him at that point. "The unfortunate series of events guided our rapport to be something less than positive. I don't know what would have happened had you taken my hand on the Express in our first year, and it doesn't matter to linger on the past as such. Anyhow, I feel that there is something to be desired in how you display your wandwork, and as I explained earlier, learning some new tricks that others don't know about would only be beneficial on my part. That is why I proposed this reconciliation. A truce, even."
Harry stood in his place, as he had for the entire conversation, and tried to size up exactly what Malfoy had been saying. He wasn't sure if he had actually confessed that Harry was the better wizard, but he had said that Harry was better with some of his magic, and that was certainly not something to laugh at. Malfoy was, after all, a very proud pure-blood with a keen distaste for anything Muggle related, and for him to admit that Harry, with a Muggle mother and upbringing, was superior…
"It doesn't matter though, if you can't figure out a way for us to converse without drawing suspicion." Malfoy stated rather matter-of-factly and without any emotion at all. "It would hardly be practical to keep meeting here. Someone is bound to want a cauldron at some point, and I can't talk to you in public."
"Why not?" Harry interjected.
"You don't expect me to flat out admit to the entire school that Harry Potter was right and I was wrong? What would happen to my image? Those people who didn't hate me would start to feel sorry for me."
"Sorry I asked," Harry muttered.
"I don't need that from you either. I guess I'll just start acting like that… Granger girl," Malfoy seemed to stop himself just in time, "and spend my evenings lurking the restricted section in the library."
"Malfoy, you can't! There's dark magic in there! Its illegal!"
"That's their own fault then for putting such tempting texts in a school full of children."
"But you don't need dark magic!"
"There's nothing else-"
"I killed Voldemort with a disarming spell." Harry took a step forward, as though closing the gap between them showed how deeply he felt about the subject. "Its how you use the magic that counts."
"Shame how I'll never know," he yawned.
Harry took another step forward and grasped hold of Malfoy's elbow as he turned away again. Inspiration had hit.
"Malfoy! How you use it!" he spluttered.
The blonde man stared down at his elbow and then back up at Harry, unsure of what was happening.
"What are you-"
"I know how to do this. I can show you that you don't need to practise the Dark Arts ever again!"
Harry let his eyes sweep over Malfoy's physique in what could only be described by the other man's face as uncomfortable, but he didn't care. The moment his eyes set on what was needed, Harry let a cunning smile glide across his face.
"That ring!" he exclaimed. On Malfoy's right hand a thick silver and green band shone brightly as the light from Harry's wand touched it.
"What about my ring?" Malfoy looked up suspiciously.
"Its past midnight, and no one is around to care what you're dressed like." Harry let his eyes glance over Malfoy again to reinforce his point. "Your robes are creased and your hair hasn't been brushed in hours, but you're still wearing your ring."
At this point Malfoy tugged himself free of Harry's grip and turned, his eyes still full of suspicion. "Of course, Potter. You may know nothing of pride over your heritage, but I never allow myself to be without this ring. It shows how privileged I am to be a part of everything that has come to pass… with some slight exceptions."
"That's exactly my point."
Malfoy eyed Harry carefully. "Go on."
"The whole idea about using the fake Galleon was to have something to communicate with that no one would ever suspect. And who would suspect your ring to contain some secret code within it? No one!"
"Are you saying you plan to defile my ring with your low-level magic, Potter?" Malfoy glowered at the thought.
Harry countered by folding his arms. "Weren't you just saying before about how I have a way with my wandwork?"
He watched Malfoy ponder the idea, and it seemed as though thoughts were racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. Eventually he seemed to come back up for air. "I thought you needed a fake item to communicate with," Malfoy questioned.
"Well, Hermione only used all fakes, because she didn't want to risk losing a real Galleon amongst others, or accidentally spending it. But… I think that if I can make a copy of your ring, it will still work."
"And you expect me to trust you with bewitching my Slytherin ring?"
At this point, Harry let his smile furrow deeper into the sides of his face, and revealed a toothy grin. "You could do it, if you like. But I don't think you know the proper technique."
He had anticipated Malfoy's reaction perfectly, and felt positively gleeful at the horrendous look that was sharply focused at him. Who cares? Harry knew something that Malfoy didn't, and it wasn't something as simple as duelling, either. He didn't hide for a moment how he was feeling as he watched the Slytherin squirm ever so slightly.
"Fine, do it," came a long awaited sigh, and Harry let his face settle again as he began to concentrate, his hand held out. "But if you so much as scratch it I'll-"
"I know, I know," Harry interjected. "You'll tell your father and I'll be in serious trouble."
"Screw my father! I'm Head Boy! You'll have detention writing lines for a month!" Malfoy reluctantly plied the ring off of his finger and dropped it into Harry's hand, his head turned away as though he couldn't bear to see what he was doing. Harry respected that; it must have taken a lot of nerve to deliver something so important into the awaiting hands of the enemy. There must have been a great deal of trust. Odd, that Malfoy could ever trust Harry, though he had never done anything to reinforce that idea. That's just how it was between those two – a constant struggle for power at the clash of ideals.
Harry looked down at the ring in his hand. Despite its small size, it was rather heavy, as though its weight made it more significant. The silver ring glistened from daily polishing and bore a snake on the top in the shape of an 'S' in a simple monogram. The eye of the snake shone green, and Harry recognised it to be an emerald, most likely cut in some ridiculously expensive shape that would catch all angles of light and blah blah blah, but it was too small to do such a thing as it were. The band was thick and large enough to conceal engraved writing, which made it the perfect guise.
He readied his wand, trying his hardest to duplicate Hermione's movements and inflections as he cast, "Geminio."
There was a small popping sound, which was unlike what he had seen in the carriage earlier that night, and terror filled Malfoy's face. Harry, too, thought that he had made a mistake, but surely enough an exact copy of the ring seemed to slide out of the original, shining as brightly as its real counterpart. He let out a proud smile, but knew he wasn't finished yet. Pointing the wand again, he muttered "Proteus." Both rings glowed faintly and he felt the familiar warmth wash over his hand before it subsided quickly.
"Done," he beamed up at Malfoy, who was still bracing himself for something bad to happen. Nothing did, though.
Harry held his hand out to Malfoy to inspect the rings, to which he was met with an incoherent mutter of praise. Harry had to pull it back when Malfoy tried to claim the original ring.
"I'll need the real one," Harry said, to which he was shot the most horrible look yet.
"Are you kidding? Isn't it enough for me to let you practise charms on my most prized possession, and now you want to keep it?" Malfoy scowled.
"Borrowing. You'll get it back."
"You shouldn't have it for a second longer than you have already!"
"Then you can forget about anything happening in the future." Harry was still calm, and had been bracing for this part of discussion.
"I never would have picked you for the selfish type, Potter."
"You're the one being selfish, Malfoy."
"How exactly, am I being selfish for trying to claim what is rightfully mine?"
"The spell doesn't work that way. The message is communicated to the fake object through the one that it spawned from. Meaning that for me to send you any messages, I need to cast them on the real ring."
Malfoy's mouth dropped open ever so slightly, and he looked quite similar to a deer in headlights. It seemed that he hadn't even thought about that part of the spell.
"Then why can't I just send you messages?" he muttered.
"And have you demand me to wait on you hand and foot? Not likely." Harry's voice was surprisingly stern. "I'm the one giving up my time here, so I get to decide the whens and wheres."
"But I can't just let you take my ring and cast spells in it whenever you like!"
Harry let out a sigh of exasperation. "I'll give it back."
"What makes me so sure to trust you?"
To that Harry shot a hard glare at Malfoy and let it sit for a while. If anything, it was Harry who should be questioning the motives of Malfoy, not the other way around. After all, he had gone behind everyone's backs and done some horrible, nasty things in the previous few years. Yet, Harry still felt as though he was making the correct decision. Eventually he dropped his stare and made a simple statement that Malfoy couldn't object to.
"I gave your wand back, didn't I?"
With that, the blonde man took a step back, clearly defeated. If he wanted to work with Harry, he'd have to trust him, and that meant more than handing over his ring and then snatching it back up like a greedy child. He did actually snatch the ring away at that moment, but Harry was relieved to see that it was the copy that he had made, the original silver ring still sitting in the palm of his hand.
"Don't go wearing it, or anything like that," he muttered.
Harry hadn't planned to. Instead he slipped it into his front trouser pocket. "If I were to do that, I'd get some pretty funny looks."
"Well don't go losing it. It might not seem valuable to you, but it holds more than merely a strong sentiment to my family. And to me." Malfoy still managed to sneak a grumpy glare, this time resembling a small child considering throwing a temper tantrum.
"I won't lose it, and no one will find it. I promise."
One more glare, and then Malfoy's face relaxed to something Harry was more familiar with, though it wasn't anything welcoming. "If there is nothing more for us to say, I should like to get back to bed now. I have classes in the morning, and unlike you, I plan to pass my N.E.W.T.s this year."
Harry took that as an attempt to be civil, but still let himself scoff a retort. "I hope they aren't as bad as you make them seem, considering you are repeating the year."
He thought he noticed some anguish register in Malfoy's eyes, but his head had turned before Harry could tell. After Malfoy had taken down the charms and left the room Harry followed him out. Within seconds, Harry was alone once again in the dark and narrow hall leading to the dungeons. He turned about face and pulled his cloak over himself once again as he prepared for the long ascent up the steep and winding staircase.
"I do wish you would pay attention, Mr. Potter. Really, we've barely begun and you're already falling behind!" Professor Flitwick gave Harry a look of sympathy, as though his inability to make the apple in front of him spin perfect circles in the air had something to do with the lightning scar on his forehead.
That wasn't the case at all. In truth, Harry hadn't found his way back to the common room until nearly two o'clock that morning, and when he did walk through the door behind the portrait of the Fat Lady a couple of bright-eyed first years discussing the day ahead jumped at the chance to pester him with questions. Indulging in their requests so they would leave him quicker, Harry gave a few monosyllabic answers and then drooped off to bed. As if that wasn't enough, it turned out that Professor Rosewood wasn't kidding about being keen on discussing timetables in the morning, and she had set off the dorms to chime a shrill alarm at the stroke of six. And now here he was, barely conscious, in his first class of the day, trying to will the clock to spin faster and let them out so that he could have a break – and probably a nap. If only he knew wandless magic.
Harry sighed as his eyes struggled to focus on his apple making nauseous loops, instead of spinning like a top just as Hermione demonstrated. As hard as he tried to concentrate, he ended up making it flip violently and rocket across the room, exploding on the far wall. Flitwick glanced anxiously towards Harry, but quickly turned to assist another student. At least there was some benefit to being the world's saviour, and Harry hoped he'd get some leniency on his off days.
"First class, first day," Ron piped up next to him encouragingly. "It's been two years since we've had to deal with this. I can't help but feel that I've lost the touch myself."
"Sure, Ron," Harry sighed, but he knew that these were only empty sympathies. Ron was doing almost as well as Hermione, and grinning at the fact quite openly.
In fact, Harry seemed to be the only person who was having any kind of difficulty with the magic, which was relatively low-levelled compared to what he would need to know by the time exams rolled around. Heck, even Malfoy, who was sitting in the back corner with some other Slytherins, was performing admirably. Harry shot him an eyeful of resentment, or at least he would have had the other wizard been looking in his direction, which he wasn't. Malfoy hadn't so much as walked past him, let alone glanced his way all morning, and was putting on quite a farce for his peers. If Harry hadn't been so completely exhausted from staying up so late, he could have even convinced himself that everything had been a dream. At least he wouldn't have to worry his own friends about this new agreement between the two. Just what would they have said, anyway?
As the rest of the day carried on, Harry was pleased to find that he had a two-hour break before his next class after Charms, though he was unable to sneak in some shut-eye. Instead, he remembered having vague conversations with other Gryffindors, including some of the other seventh years from the younger class that he didn't really know. They were all quite excited to be finally in classes with the 'Great Harry Potter' and all pledged to do their best to make him proud, or something along those lines. Like he needed that pressure.
Before lunch he had Transfiguration, which, to his relief, was still being taught by McGonagall due to a lack of suitable teaching staff available. She said that once a replacement came along she would take her leave, but hadn't specified a time, and Harry hoped that she was never replaced. He somehow managed to successfully transfigure a rose into a framed picture of the flower; although he didn't know exactly what it was he did that granted him success. Regardless, it was a small victory that he was willing to take.
Lunch was another question-and-answer session, this time with Harry being shot questions whilst trying to down a sandwich at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. By this point he was feeling truly sleep deprived and at some point in the mass of voices he forgot to breathe whist eating and ended up wheezing to the point that he coughed up his mouthful back onto the plate. The younger girls squealed, and some ran away. Harry suspected he heard laughter coming in the direction of the Slytherin table, and after he managed to catch his breath to a normal rhythm again he was being ushered by Hermione to see the nurse.
"I'm fine," he tried to reason with her, but Hermione wouldn't take no for an answer. Apparently he had looked off colour all morning, and because Harry couldn't (or wouldn't) explain why she suspected that he was coming down with something.
By the time lunch had ended, Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he stay in the Hospital wing and rest, much to his protest. Eventually she gave in and allowed Harry to leave, but under the condition that he not attend his final two classes for the day and try to avoid the excitement of the limelight for the rest of the day. Easier said than done, Harry thought, but he agreed and made his way back to his dorm in Gryffindor Tower. Luckily most students were in classes, and he was able to slip to bed for the rest of the afternoon, drifting off effortlessly into a peaceful sleep before he was woken by the violent nudges of his friend.
"Harry," Ron whispered. "Are you awake?"
"I am now," he groaned.
"Sorry. You missed dinner, so I brought you some. You don't have to eat it though, if you're not feeling right." Ron looked a little worried.
"Yeah, thanks."
The redhead stared at the food in his hands until Harry sat up and took it, and once Harry started eating he cast a nervous question. "It's not Ginny, is it?"
"What's not Ginny?" Harry replied, his mouth half full with meat from a chicken drumstick.
"The reason why you're off today."
To be perfectly honest, Harry had more pressing matters on his mind than worrying about his girlfriend. That is, if she still was his girlfriend – the answer to that, he didn't know. Either way, it hadn't even registered that she had sat in the same classes as the two that he attended that morning. Besides, he knew that he was so off colour because of sodding Malfoy, but he couldn't tell Ron that. Instead he decided to settle with a half-truth.
"I couldn't get to sleep last night, and when I went to go get some air I was jumped by a couple of first years."
Ron let his brows drop. "Sorry mate."
"What are you sorry for?" Harry took another mouthful and swallowed the food before continuing. "Its not your fault."
"I know, but it must be tough having to deal with this kind of stuff when you just want to be left alone."
"Now you get it. And it only took a few long months," Harry laughed.
Ron glanced back sheepishly. The two sat together and talked in the dim moonlight cast through the windows, Harry feeling slightly more rejuvenated and able to take part in the conversation. By the time Harry finished eating he was exhausted again, and Ron let him go back to sleep. It was just about time for curfew anyway.
Now protected once more by the covers of his bed, Harry let his mind wander as he felt himself drifting towards sleep. As the past few years' events had been because of him, this past day had been the fault of one Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, that prat, he thought, because of this, I'm going to make you wait long and hard before I even consider using this ring.