Author's note: okay, so this is my favorite part. If you know me, then you can probably guess why. Anyway, hope you like it! Reviews are our friends, and, of course, we own nothing. -sigh-
--kyra
Harry knew that something was wrong the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. It wasn't any different from usual, yet there was a tinge of unease resonating through it. He knew instinctively that it came from Slytherin. It usually did. He slipped into his seat between Ron and Hermione, and concentrated on buttering his roll, determined not to look over to see what was happening. Hermione seemed to share his unquiet. Ron, being Ron, didn't notice anything at all, and Harry allowed himself to be drawn into Ron's monologue, which covered everything from Quidditch to Hogsmeade. Mostly Quidditch. As he listened, he tried to pinpoint the uneasiness. Over the past few weeks, he and Draco had become good friends, and Harry was amazed at how much they had in common. He was almost certain that Draco was in trouble now, and the thought perturbed him immensely.
Finally, even Ron couldn't ignore Harry and Hermione's silence, and he looked at both of them. "What's wrong with you two?" he demanded. "You haven't said a word all morning."
Harry shrugged and continued to spread the butter over his roll, though it was thoroughly coated and had been for the last five minutes. Hermione sighed and said, "I don't know, Ron. There's just something that's not right here."
Ron frowned, then did what Harry didn't dare do, and glanced over at the Slytherin table. "Hey!" he said suddenly. "Malfoy's not there!"
Harry gave up on his roll and finally looked across the Great Hall. True enough, Draco was conspicuously absent from the table. The other Slytherins were talking in low voices, and all of them looked worried. One of them, Blaise Zabini, Harry thought, caught his eye and glared ferociously. Harry looked back down.
"I wonder what's happened," Hermione said speculatively.
Ron shrugged. "Why do you care, Hermione? Maybe he's been expelled and we'll be spared his presence for the next year and a half."
Harry concentrated very hard on not wincing. Hermione seemed to catch his mood, because she reached down under the table and squeezed his hand. "It's probably nothing," she said. "Maybe he's just doing homework. There's no reason why it should have anything to do with You-Know-Who."
Ron nodded enthusiastically. "He's probably terrorizing some innocent first years and can't be bothered to come down for breakfast."
"What about the others, though?" Harry asked, nodding discreetly at the other table. "Something's up."
Hermione took one look at his face and frowned. "Harry, don't! You can't sneak into the Slytherin common room again! You'll be caught for sure!"
Ron looked at him in disbelief. "You're not thinking of actually going in there again are you mate? That's suicide, that is!"
Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I need to think for a bit." He looked down at his over-buttered roll, which he hadn't even tasted, and gave up on it. "I'll see you guys later," he told Ron and Hermione, getting up from the table. He didn't need the map to know that they would follow him soon.
As soon as he'd left the Great Hall, he broke into a sprint. He dashed through the corridors to Gryffindor tower, hoping desperately that he wouldn't run into any Professors. Thankfully, luck was on his side for once, and he didn't meet anyone at all. He burst through the portrait, leaving a rather annoyed Fat Lady in his wake, and pounded up the stairs to the dormitory. There, he grabbed the Marauder's Map, recently returned to him, from its place on the top of his bed-side table and opened it, gasping the passwords. The map of Hogwarts spread out before him, and his eyes went directly to the Slytherin common room. At first, he didn't see the name he desperately sought, but… there! The tiny dot labeled Draco Malfoy was motionless in what he was told was a private study. His path there was blocked by hordes of Slytherins. They packed the common room, and he knew without a doubt that he'd never get through even with an invisibility cloak. Thankfully, this was Hogwarts, and there was almost always another way. He scanned the map closely, his eyes searching for any secret passages that he didn't know about. Fred and George had said that there were only seven, but even they didn't know all the secrets of the school. Neither had the Marauders, of course, but it was worth a try. Unfortunately, his search proved to be fruitless. No secret passages could be found leading from anywhere to Draco's private study. He groaned in frustration, wondering just how he was going to do this. It never occurred to him not to go to Draco. Harry Potter kept his friends close, and once someone had been admitted into that small circle, he would do anything in his power to save them, whether they needed it or not.
At that moment, Ron came burst into the dormitory. He took one look at Harry with the map, and groaned. "She was right," he said, dropping down to sit next to Harry. "She said that you'd try something like this."
Harry was about to rise in his own defense, but Ron surprised him. "When do we get started?"
"We?"
"You don't honestly believe that I'd let you do this on your own, do you? Hermione should be here in a few minutes. She just had a few things to clear up." Ron's grimace made it quite clear where Hermione was.
"No." Harry said firmly. "I can't let you do this, Ron. It'll be really dangerous."
Ron snorted. "All the more reason why you shouldn't do it alone. You'll need someone to watch your back."
Harry sighed, realizing that it was probably fruitless to argue. Instead, he handed the map to Ron. "I can't see a way in, can you?"
Ron looked the map over quickly, then looked back up at Harry. "First of all, where exactly do you want to go?" he asked.
"Malfoy's room," Harry answered. He pointed to it with his wand. Then, he leaned forward, fascinated. The map had cleared itself of all but the study, and instructions written in a precise hand that Harry recognized as being Lupin's had appeared.
To enter study number four undetected, go out through the Gryffindor common room and follow the corridor left until you get to the big suit of armor with the rusty axe. Watch out for Peeves. Pull the axe down and go through the resulting tunnel (not pictured). Turn at the second right and descend the stairs. The door is unlocked with a standard unlocking charm.
Harry and Ron looked at each other in amazement. "Did you know it could do that?" Ron asked finally.
Harry shook his head. He stared once again at the map. He was only just beginning to realize how much work his father and his friends had put into its making. They must have spent years exploring the castle more thoroughly than even Fred and George to have accumulated such knowledge. They couldn't have made the actual map until they were in their sixth year, at least. It was almost as though they'd known that he'd need it someday. Then he told himself firmly to snap out of it. Did it matter what their reasons had been? Here was information that he could use, and he wasn't about to question gifts at this moment.
He was about to start formulating a real plan when the door burst open again and a disheveled Hermione came in. Harry looked up, then stood. "Hermione, what is it?" he asked, striding towards her and making her sit in the spot he'd just vacated.
She took a shuddering breath, then looked at both boys. "Malfoy's mother is in Azkaban."
Harry drew in his breath sharply. Ron looked piercingly over at her. "How do you know that?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "Never mind," she said shortly. "But she was convicted as a Death Eater."
"What about Malfoy?" Harry asked. "Now both of his parents are there."
"Who cares?" Ron demanded. "Maybe they'll get him next."
Harry didn't answer, keeping his attention fixedly on not showing any of his distress. Thankfully, Hermione was, as always, the coolest head of the group. "If Malfoy is a Death Eater, Ron, then it's in our best interest to find out as much as we can. You-Know-Who's getting stronger, and if he has supporters inside Hogwarts, we should know."
"Supporters other than Snape, you mean?" Ron asked.
Hermione winced. "Snape's not a Death Eater," she said.
"And the Dark Mark on his arm is just a stylish tattoo?" Ron snapped.
"He's a double agent for us," Hermione hissed.
"So they say," Ron muttered darkly.
Hermione looked about to answer with something else equally unpleasant, but Harry held up a hand. "Look Hermione, Ron. This isn't about Snape. Right now, I want to know about Malfoy. I bet not even Dumbledore can make excuses for him this time!"
Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Good point! So when do we start?"
Harry sighed. "Look, Ron," he said. "I really think it should just be me. That way there's less chance of being caught."
Ron looked at him steadily. "We're going, Harry. That's final."
Harry took one look at Ron's face and knew that it would be useless to argue. He would either have to do it with them, or sneak out that night. His mind leaned towards that night, but his heart wanted to find out what was wrong as soon as possible. As usual, his heart won out, and he nodded his consent. "We'll wait until he's gone," Harry said. "Then we can have a look around without anyone noticing."
Both Ron and Hermione nodded, though Hermione looked a little reluctant. Harry looked back at the map, and tapped it experimentally with his wand again. The instructions vanished, replaced with the usual map. Draco was still in his room, but he was moving about. They waited for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, Draco left the room and headed down the stairs. Harry nodded to the others. "Let's go!" he said.
Huddled under the invisibility cloak, they made their way down the corridor. When they reached the suit of armor, Harry took a quick look around, then reached up and pulled the axe down. The suit of armor moved aside, and a perfectly visible door was revealed. The stepped through, hearing the suit of armor grind to its place as they pulled the door shut. They pulled off the invisibility cloak, and set off down the dusty hallway. They didn't talk, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, they reached the second door on the right. Harry was about to pull it open when Hermione stopped him. "Wait!" she hissed. "There might be wards on it. Let me!" Harry stepped back, and Hermione moved forward to examine the door. After a moment, she stood back. "It's clear," she told them. Harry yanked open the door. It groaned horribly as it opened, leading Harry to believe that no one had used it in a very long time. They slipped through, leaving the door open. In front of them were stairs. Way too many stairs. Ron groaned softly.
"I hate stairs," he said to no one in particular. Neither of the other two said anything. They began to descend. After the first twenty stairs, Harry's legs ached, but he kept going. After far too long, they reached the bottom. Harry looked back at the stairs with distaste. Then he turned his attention back to Hermione.
"Can you get through?" he asked.
She stepped up to the door, and examined it closely. She pulled out her wand and began to mutter charms and incantations under her breath. After a few moments, she nodded to the boys. "I'm in," she whispered, pushing the door open cautiously. She stepped into the room, closely followed by the other two. Harry blinked at what he saw. Draco's study was more like a private room. A four-poster bed was pushed into a corner, made up with rich green bedding. In fact, everything in the room was either green or silver. There was an armchair by the fireplace, with a small table in front of it. The fireplace held an assortment of objects and photographs, all magical. Harry glanced at these, noting that there were no pictures of Draco's father. There were plenty of Draco himself, as well as ones with his mother, but Lucius Malfoy was conspicuously absent. The three spread out through the room, examining it in mute surprise. Hermione gave a small gasp of pleasure when she saw Draco's bookshelf, just as lush and all encompassing as her own. She scanned the titles carefully, silently mouthing some of the more interesting ones. Ron was looking at everything in stunned amazement. Harry was sure he'd expected a room full of dark objects and items of torture. As for himself, he wasn't sure what he's expected. He wandered towards the table, and then saw the letter lying on it. He bent forwards to read it, frowning as he did so.
"Dear Mr/Mrs/Miss Draco Malfoy,
It is my duty to inform you that your mother has been apprehended and sent to Azkaban prison for a sentence lasting five to seven years, for the crime of supporting the Dark Arts and approving of and/or participating in no fewer than five muggle attacks. A ministry official will be sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to explain the future to you. You will be sent to live with relatives until such time as you are of age.
Hoping this finds you well,
Malfada Hopkirk"
Harry reread the letter again, then called Ron and Hermione over. They both read it silently, then looked at Harry. "You think this is what was wrong this morning?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded. "Makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, now he'll basically be forced to join the Death Eaters, won't he? His only living relative is Bellatrix Lestrange, isn't it?"
Hermione frowned. "But why would they send him to live with a Death Eater?"
Ron shrugged. "The Ministry is so open to the idea of Death Eaters, aren't they? They'll probably just think that Bellatrix will reform when given custody of Malfoy."
Harry snorted. "That's likely," he said to no one in particular. Both of the others nodded.
"We should go," Hermione said. "He might come back."
Ron nodded. Harry nodded as well, but a beat later. Hermione noticed and frowned, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she led the way out the door. Ron followed her, leaving Harry alone in Draco's room. He thought for a few seconds, then pulled out his quill and scrawled, "Talk to me" on the letter. Draco was smart enough to figure out what he meant. Then, he backed out onto the landing and allowed Hermione to put all the wards back on.
Herbology that day seemed to drag on. Harry hardly listened to what Professor Sprout was saying, and it was only Hermione who kept him from almost cutting off far too much of the fanged plant that they were supposed to be pruning. When the hour finally came to an end, Harry had to force himself not to run to McGonagall's classroom. He managed to slow himself to a fast walk, and those he passed didn't look at him that oddly. He finally arrived in the Transfiguration classroom, only to find that Draco wasn't there yet. Harry dropped his books down on the chair, and began pacing back and forth. At long last, Draco arrived. He sneered. "Practicing for the next Quidditch match, Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't need to practice, Malfoy. You're so easy to beat that I could do it with my eyes closed."
The customary hostilities preformed, Harry sat down in his seat. He pulled out his potions essay and began to write. After a while, Harry realized that Draco was being uncommonly silent. He looked over at Draco. The other boy wasn't talking, wasn't moving. He was only staring dully at the front of the room. Harry was starting to get worried. There hadn't even been an outburst about Harry being in Draco's room, which wasn't like the fiercely territorial sixteen-year-old that he'd come to know. The news about his mother seemed to have affected Draco greatly, and Harry wondered how long he'd be able even to pretend to function normally. Harry knew that Draco was trusting him immensely by letting his mask drop in front of him. But it wasn't enough. Harry knew grief, had known grief as intense and more than what Draco was going through, and knew the stages. Draco had to let it out, but in a place where he felt safe. If not, he would just keep shoving it back until he lost control and it overwhelmed him completely. At the rate Draco was going, Harry suspected that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Harry put his essay away, wondering what he was going to do.
Suddenly, Harry heard the sound of muffled sobs. Draco was still looking straight ahead, but his too-thin body shook with heavy sobs. Harry made a split second decision and moved up to sit next Draco. They'd never actually touched, other than that brief handshake, but Harry put a tentative arm around Draco's shoulder. When the other boy didn't shrug away from the contact, Harry moved closer and put both arms around him. Draco cried into Harry's shoulder, and Harry began to stroke Draco's back with one hand, still clinging tightly with the other. Slowly, Draco's frantic sobs began to abate, and he finally took a long, shuddering gasp. He looked up at Harry.
"Do you want me to let go?" Harry whispered. Draco shook his head and buried his face into Harry's shoulder again. "Can you talk about it?" Harry asked quietly. "If you can, it'll help."
There was a long silence, then Draco began to speak, so quietly that Harry hardly heard him at first. "I've never liked my father. He was always hovering over me, looking as though I didn't please him at all. He would ask me questions that I couldn't answer and then jeer at me when I got the answers wrong. It was always my mother who comforted me. She was the one who would kiss me goodnight and tell me bedtime stories. She was the one that I could go to when I had a problem, and I tried as best I could to protect her from my father. When the Dark Lord came back, it was to me that she came with her fears, not to my father. My mother isn't a Death Eater, Harry. My father is. Both of us were afraid of him, and both of us knew that if he had his way, I would become one as well. When he was sent away, my mother and I talked to each other about it, and neither of us said a word to anyone else. She was afraid, but for me. She wasn't at all afraid for herself. She said that she'd be willing to go to death and beyond to keep me safe. I thought that she was just over exaggerating. She must have known that something like this would happen, because she made me promise to stay out of any trouble this year. She said that I would be suspected because of my father, and that I couldn't give anyone any reason to suspect me. And now this. My Mother's not a Death Eater, Harry, believe me. She's been sent to that… that place because of my father, not because of any actual evidence. And now they'll come here, after me. They hate us, Harry. Everyone hates us. Even the others in Slytherin hate me. They're afraid of me, and they hate me. And… and I'm afraid, Harry. I'm afraid of being taken away like she was. I couldn't do it, Harry. I couldn't survive Azkaban. I'm not strong like you. I can't make a Patronus, and I can't close my mind. I'm scared."
He broke off, the tears coming back down his cheeks. Harry didn't know what to say. It occurred to him that this was the most private thing anyone had ever actually told him. Coming as it did from a boy who only weeks before had been one of his most hated enemies, it was even more precious. He continued to hold Draco tightly, allowing the other boy to cry himself out. As he did so, he felt an unexpected warmth, as though he'd suddenly walked closer to a fire. It was as though he was meant to hold Draco like this, as though it had always been meant to be. He didn't dare shift away, though the feeling made him as uncomfortable as it made him delighted, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing. He opened them again to find Draco still shaking slightly. Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Draco's thin form, trying to take the trembling into his own body. Finally the shaking stopped, and Draco's tears slowed to a gradual halt. He looked up again and gray eyes met green. "Thank you," Draco whispered.
Harry didn't say anything, only hugged Draco a little tighter still, then moved to let go. To his surprise, Draco shook his head. "Not yet, please. I… I need your strength." Harry nodded, and they sat in silence for a while, the black haired boy holding the blond haired one, both at peace with each other, if not with the rest of the world.
Minerva McGonagall had seen many things in her life. She thought that she'd given up being surprised by the actions of her students, but something always happened to dispel her of that notion. The scene she was witnessing proved that. She'd known, as all the staff had, about Mr. Malfoy's mother, and she'd wondered how he would react. She supposed that Severus had talked with the boy, but she and Severus had not been on speaking terms ever since the end of last term. She didn't usually make it a practice to spy on her students, but today she'd given in to her curiosity. She justified herself by saying that she was doing it for Remus, but she knew it was a feeble excuse: she wanted to know as much for herself as she did for him. She realized very quickly what her punishment was going to be. It had started out normally enough. Mr. Malfoy had greeted Mr. Potter viciously, and Mr. Potter had retaliated. Minerva had hoped that the viciousness was just for show. If not, then her entire exercise was being waited. And then, Mr. Potter had moved to sit in his seat and Mr. Malfoy had gone to his. And then things had started going wrong. Minerva had expected them to talk, or at least to communicate, but they had simply sat there. She saw Mr. Potter reach into his bag and pull out a scroll of parchment, on which he began to scribble. Mr. Malfoy just sat, not moving, not speaking, just sitting. Minerva saw that Mr. Potter noticed as well, because he put the parchment back into his bag and began to watch Mr. Malfoy.
And then Mr. Malfoy began to cry. That was the first time that Minerva had been truly shocked. She knew that Mr. Malfoy was an immensely private person: it was very hard to miss the way he always walked into class alone and didn't talk to anyone, and to see him break down in front of Mr. Potter was the first sign of just how badly his mother's arrest had shaken him. Minerva had to admit that she'd expected Mr. Potter just to ignore Mr. Malfoy's pain and go back to his scribbling, but now it was Mr. Potter's turn to shock her. He got up and went to sit next to Mr. Malfoy. Then, he reached over and put his arm around the other boy and held him tightly, stroking him as though he were the most precious thing in the world. Minerva was shocked beyond anything, but there was more to come. Mr. Potter held Mr. Malfoy until the sobs slowed, then whispered something. Minerva had very good hearing, and she could make out exactly what was being said. She heard Mr. Malfoy's confession with surprise, but it was Mr. Potter's reaction that interested her more. He seemed to understand, which struck her as odd. She'd never pictured Mr. Potter as being terribly good at giving comfort, but he was reacting in the same way that Poppy would: letting Mr. Malfoy talk and not offering an opinion. Poppy had once told Minerva, "They don't want a judge, they want a friend." Mr. Potter was obviously following that advice.
When Mr. Malfoy finished, the two of them sat for a while in silence while Mr. Malfoy's tears expended themselves once again. They sat together, holding each other, and Minerva suddenly had the feeling of intruding in something highly intimate, even more so than Mr. Malfoy's breakdown. She ended the spell with a quiet word of command, and looked at the familiar surroundings of her own office with a trembling bewilderment. While she wasn't opposed to homosexuality in general, it was always different when it was between people she knew. She hoped that the two boys would go their separate ways without her having to intervene. She could just see that it was going to be a bad combination, and that it could never work out. No matter what Mr. Malfoy said, Minerva still wasn't convinced of Narcissa's innocence, and she suspected very strongly that the Ministry would pursue young Draco in his turn. It wouldn't be good at all for Mr. Potter to be seen associating with a Death Eater, much less… well, doing the kinds of things that Minerva had just witnessed. And then, she knew that she couldn't do anything on her own. Slowly, she got up from her desk and took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the fire. Then, she spoke her destination in a firm voice and stepped through.
Albus Dumbledore seemed surprised to see her. "Minerva," he said, standing. "What may I do for you?"
For answer, Minerva put her wand to her head and withdrew the silvery strand that was her memory of the event that she'd just witnessed. She placed it into Albus' pensive and said, "You should see this, Albus."
Albus looked at the memory, then lifted his face to Minerva. His usually smiling eyes were serious. "Matters have progressed much farther between them than either of us could have dreamed."
Minerva nodded. "I never intended for anything like this to happen," she told Albus. "I was just so tired of their constant vendetta that I felt the need for drastic action."
"Apparently your drastic action worked," Albus commented mildly, looking into the pensieve.
"What are we going to do?" Minerva asked. "We can't just allow this to continue."
"I do not see what your problem is, Minerva," Albus said. "As far as I can tell, both parties are perfectly content with the arrangement."
"For now, Albus. They're sixteen, for Merlin's sake!" Minerva rarely swore, but now she felt the need for strong language. "And the Ministry will come after Malfoy, you know they will. Potter has a hard enough time with them as it is without having to deal with this additional complication."
Albus surveyed Minerva steadily. "You believe that Narcissa Malfoy is guilty, then?" he asked. "Even after the testimony from her son that both of us have witnessed."
"I don't know what I believe, Albus," Minerva snapped. She was in no mood for his gentle rebukes. If he was angry with her, then he could bloody well say so outright!
"Then perhaps you should decide, before you start making accusations."
"That's all very well, Albus, but what are you going to do about it?"
"Do? I am not going to do anything, Minerva. Both of them need the comfort that the other can offer, and if Harry can get Draco to come over to our side once and for all, then I see absolutely no harm in it."
"But…" Minerva began, but Albus stopped her.
"You are not to do anything to drive them apart, Minerva. Yes, I do know your feelings on the matter, and believe me when I say that I will take them into consideration, but for now, matters must be allowed to progress normally. Do you understand me, Minerva?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Minerva said stiffly.
She turned to go, and Albus asked, "Don't you want to reclaim your memory, Minerva?"
"Quite frankly, Headmaster, I'd rather not," she said, then threw more floo power into his fireplace and stepped through into her own office.
Gradually, the tide of raw emotions receded, and I looked up at Harry again. I wondered what I was going to say now. I'd just confessed my soul to him, and now I had no idea what to do. Apparently, he was as confused as I was, because he shifted until he could look into my eyes. I must admit I searched them for any hint of love, but all I saw was sympathy and understanding. At least it wasn't hatred. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but somehow it felt necessary.
"Don't be," Harry said. "You needed to. Now it'll be easier to bear."
I wanted to burst into fresh tears at his tone, but I'd cried too much already. Instead, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When I was finally done, the overwhelming desire to weep had subsided, and I could talk normally. "I found your note," I told him.
He grinned. "Do you mind my being in your room?"
I shrugged. "Don't do it all the time," I said. "And don't bring Weasley and Ganger in."
He nodded, though he wouldn't meet my eyes. I chose not to comment. We sat in silence for a while longer, then I pulled my wand out. I dug the crumpled letter out of my pocket and threw it high in the air. A shouted spell later, it was drifting down slowly, reduced to smithereens. Harry looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged, and put my wand away. The overwhelming grief was receding, and in its place, anger was growing. I was angry at the Ministry for being stupid, angry at myself for being weak, angry at my mother for letting herself be taken. Just as quickly as it had come, the anger left and was replaced by a deep despair. I know that Harry sensed it, because his grip on me tightened, and he made me look at him. "Draco," he said urgently. "Draco, talk to me. Don't let it overwhelm you."
I didn't want to talk. I didn't want any company, even his. I just wanted to be alone with my despair and my grief and my anger, but the look in his eyes was so pleading that I didn't move away. I didn't talk, either, though, and finally, he dropped his gaze. I sat there, alone with my thoughts, though he was right next to me, and wondered what to do next. I wanted to do something, to keep my mind busy. I didn't need a professional to tell me that if I didn't get my mind off what was happening, I would go totally and completely insane. And then, the answer came to me. It wasn't ideal but it was better than nothing. "Harry?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Yes?"
"Teach me how to conjure a patronus."
I could tell that I'd surprised him. He blinked once, then twice, then suddenly grinned. "It'll be hard," he warned me.
I shrugged. "Good." I needed something hard to take my mind off everything. "How's it done?"
"Well it's better with a Dementor," he said, "but as we don't have any, then I suppose we'll just have to make do without."
He let go of me and stood in one fluid motion. I followed suit. We took off our outer robes and held up our wands. "A patronus is basically the embodiment of your happiest memory," Harry told me. "The hardest thing is to concentrate only on that memory. If you let anything else in, then your patronus will fail." I nodded. "Try," he said.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of my happiest memory. Finally, I chose the day before my eleventh birthday. My father had been away on business, and I'd been alone with my mother. She'd been the happiest I'd ever seen her, and that had made me happy. It was one of the few times that I can ever remember her laughing out loud. I brought forth her image: radiant in her happiness, mouth open in mirth, gray eyes sparkling with delight. I raised my wand. "Expecto Patronum," I said. Nothing happened.
"Try again," Harry urged. "It took me forever to get it right."
I concentrated as hard as I could on the image, but there was something in the background that I couldn't identify. I tried to ignore it as I focused on my mother, but it wouldn't go away. Even as I said the spell, I knew that nothing would happen.
We practiced for the rest of our time together. I hadn't gotten anywhere by the time we had to go, and I was getting more and more angry with myself. Finally, he stopped me. "Draco, stop. You're not going to get anywhere today. You're exhausted, and you can't focus anymore. Go back to your room, eat something, order a hot drink and go to bed. We'll try again tomorrow."
I wondered if he knew that I hadn't eaten all day. Looking at him, I suspected that he did. As he gathered his things together, I said, "Harry? Tomorrow, would you show me yours? Just so I can see what I'm aiming to get?"
He looked at me and nodded. "Sure. Tomorrow." He left the classroom, leaving me alone to gather my own things and make my solitary way back up to my room. I wondered how he'd gotten into my room undetected, and if I could ask him about it, because by now, the news about my mother had gotten around, and everyone was staring at me. I refused to talk to anyone, and walked as fast as I could to my study. When I'd finally made it in, I shut the door and doubled the wards on it. I'd have to tone them down again, but for tonight, I didn't want anyone coming to see me. I yanked on the bell rope, and my house elf appeared. I told it to get me some dinner and a cup of coffee, school rules be damned. I'd gotten addicted to coffee over the summer, and now I was attempting to get off it, but just now, I needed coffee. The house elf popped in a moment later with the tray, and I sent it back with a curt word of thanks. The food in front of me looked delicious, but the coffee was even more tempting. I picked up the cup and just held it for a moment, inhaling the strong fumes and allowing the burning liquid to warm me. I hadn't realized just how cold I was. I lifted the cup to my lips and drank, savoring the bitterness of the liquid. I drained the cup and poured another one from the stoneware pot that the house elf had provided for me. I drained that one as well, then began to eat. I concentrated on cutting the meat into perfectly equal cubes, and alternating with bites of vegetables so that I finished both at the same time. Then I did the same thing with the desert: some kind of pie that I don't remember. Then I drank another cup of coffee. I tried not to think about anything at all, and I finally succeeded in dropping off into a fitful sleep in the armchair by the fire. I dreamed of dementors and screams. I don't know whose screams they were, but they left me terrified and I woke up sweating around three in the morning. I did not go back to sleep.
The next day passed in a sort of blurry haze. I was exhausted from my overindulgence of coffee and lack of sleep the night before, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Practice with Harry was the same as the day before. He showed me his stag patronus, and I tried desperately to produce one of my own, but no luck. By the time we were finished, Harry was trying to hide his worried expression. I hated it. I hated myself for being weak and not being able to do even this. I didn't talk to him on my way out, and I wouldn't meet anyone's gaze on my way up to my room. That night, the nightmares came back. I woke up at two in the morning and didn't go back to sleep.
Pansy Parkinson was not used to being worried about other people. She was quite used to being worried about herself, and knew the feeling well. This was different. She hadn't paid much attention to Draco Malfoy for the last five years, apart from a burst of fruitless attempts at seduction last year, but she was noticing him now. Actually, it was Blaise who'd noticed first. He'd caught up with her one day after Herbology, when they both had a free period, and asked, "Pansy, what's going on with Draco?"
Pansy blinked. "What do you mean, what's going on with Draco? Is there something wrong with him?"
Blaise sighed in exasperation. "Pansy, you are the most self-absorbed person I've ever met. If there wasn't something wrong with Draco, I wouldn't have asked you what was wrong."
Pansy shook her head. "I have no idea, Blaise," she said. "I've never had much time for Draco."
"Never had any time after he refused you last year, you mean?"
Pansy blushed and didn't answer. That in itself was answer enough. "Can you keep an eye on him, please?" Blaise asked. "He doesn't trust either of us at all, but if we both try and look out for him, we might learn something useful."
Pansy shrugged. "All right," she said. Blaise grinned and rewarded her with a slight kiss on the tip of her nose. Pansy caught him and moved her mouth up to his, deepening the kiss. Then she let go and grinned at him. She left, making sure to accentuate the sway of her hips as she walked.
And so, she'd started to take an interest in Draco. And the more she watched him, the more she wanted to. She wasn't physically attracted to him, nor had she ever really been, but there was something in his face, especially lately, that made her want to take care of him. She'd never seen herself as a particularly caring person, but now she found that she wanted to take care of Draco properly. She shared these feelings with Blaise, who sighed. "Yes, he does look rather like a lost child these days, doesn't he?"
After three days of careful scrutiny, Pansy had decided that it was all Potter's fault. She didn't know what the Gryffindor was doing to Draco, but whatever it was, it wasn't anything good. Both of them would come out of their detentions every day, with Potter walking determinedly ahead and Draco trailing miserably. Pansy began to hate Potter on more than just general principle. This was getting personal!
"You can't prove that Potter's doing anything to Draco," Blaise told her when she told him her suspicions.
"I know," she said with a sigh. "But I'm sure that he is, Blaise. You don't watch them walk away like I do. Draco's got this wounded look about him that makes you want to cry. It's got to be Potter!"
"Well, as I suppose asking Potter is out of the question," Blaise said with only the slightest hint of a sarcastic smile. "Then you'll just have to get Draco to talk."
"I'll have to get Draco to talk?!" Pansy demanded, indignant. "What about you, Blaise? This was your idea in the first place!"
Blaise sighed. "All right," he agreed wearily. "We'll get Draco to talk. But don't expect it to be easy. As far as I can tell, he hates both of us."
"I can't imagine why," Pansy said, perfectly sincere.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "I can," he muttered under his breath. Pansy pretended not to have heard him.
Saying that they were going to get Draco to talk was much easier than actually doing it. The blond boy was even more reclusive than usual, not putting himself forward in any way, always staying at the back in class, going directly up to his room the moment he got out of detention with Potter. The only chance to talk to him alone was when he was in his room, and he'd strengthened the wards on the door beyond anything Pansy could unravel. Blaise was adamant that they not disturb Draco's privacy. "He has to talk to us of his own free will," Blaise explained. "If not, then he'll think we're intruding, and he'll get defensive and not tell us anything at all." Pansy agreed, a little reluctantly, and they both continued to search for a way to get Draco to talk.
Of course, they should have realized that Draco would catch on. It only took him a week to figure it all out. He cornered Pansy, trying to conceal herself behind a large tapestry, as he was leaving detention. "Why are you following me?" he asked bluntly. "If you're trying to get me to go out with you, save your time."
"I'm not," she said before she could think about it.
"Then what are you doing? You and Blaise both. Why don't you just leave me alone?"
Pansy considered her options. Her very vocal instinct of self-preservation was telling her to run for it, but she fought it valiantly. "We're worried about you, Draco. We don't like the way Potter's treating you, and we're trying to help you."
His eyes dropped for an instant, and she thought that he was going to tell her everything. But then gray eyes met blue and Pansy would have taken a step back if she weren't already against the wall at the hard anger in Draco's eyes. "For the last time, Parkinson," he said quietly. Somehow, this quiet tone was more frightening than all the times various people had shouted at her. She shrank back against the wall. "Leave me alone. There is nothing wrong between me and Potter, and you will keep your fat face out of my affairs, do you understand? If you follow me around any longer, I will hex you to pieces." His eyes bored holes into hers, and she nodded in a frightened way.
"I understand."
"Good."
The sixteen-year-old boy strode away, leaving Pansy still standing there, half concealed behind the tapestry. After a few shocked moments, she began to cry.
Blaise found her there a few minutes later. "Pansy?" he asked worriedly. "Pansy, what is it? What happened?"
She took a deep breath and then recounted her encounter with Draco. "It was the anger in his eyes, mostly," she said, thinking out loud. "It was as though he had to be angry to stop from being afraid. But the depth of that anger…" she shivered. "I've never seen anything like that," she whispered.
Blaise frowned. Then he said, "Pansy, we can't do this alone. We need to talk with Professor Snape."
Pansy nodded. She respected Professor Snape as a teacher and the head of her house, and she knew as well as Blaise did that matters had progressed far beyond them.
"And just why did you take this… challenge upon yourselves, instead of contacting myself or Professor Dumbledore?" Professor Snape asked acidly.
Pansy and Blaise looked at each other. "It was my idea, sir," Blaise said bravely. "I was worried, and I thought that Draco might respond better to someone of his own age. Apparently I was wrong."
"Obviously," Professor Snape agreed. "And you, Miss Parkinson?"
"I wanted to help him, Professor," Pansy said bravely.
He sniffed. "Well, as I am sure you are aware, your meddling has not done anyone any good. The two of you will stop immediately, do you understand?" Both nodded. "I will speak to the Headmaster about what you have told me. Return to your common room, and I sincerely hope that I need not tell you not to say any of this to anyone."
Pansy and Blaise nodded again, and left the office together. Both of them knew without having to say it that they would continue to watch Draco. It had become like a mission to both of them, and they were determined to get to the bottom of it. By common consent, they went to Blaise's room. He was more powerful than Pansy, and the wards on his room were stronger. Once he'd activated them, he looked at Pansy. "Now what?" he asked. "How do we keep going?"
"I don't know," Pansy answered. "He's suspicious of both of us now, and I am quite willing to believe that he will make good on his threat to hex us to pieces. We'll have to be really careful."
Blaise nodded. "You do realize that if Professor Snape catches us we're dead."
Pansy shrugged. "And if Draco catches us we're dead as well. What's the fun of life without a little risk?"
Blaise looked at her seriously for a moment, then grinned. "Good point," he said. "So do you have a plan?"
"No," Pansy told him. "But I might have an idea." She outlined it to Blaise, who nodded slowly.
"You know, that just might work," he said, and she blushed slightly at the admiration in his eyes.
In the end, it was Millicent Bulstrode, of all people, who figured it out. She and Pansy were the only girls of their year, but that didn't mean that they were friends. Actually, they'd hardly exchanged more than a few words over the entire six years of their school career. So, Pansy was astonished when Millicent actually sought her out. It was at the end of dinner, which Draco had not attended, and Pansy was getting ready to go back to the common room and talk with Blaise when Millicent intercepted her. "I need to talk to you as soon as possible, Parkinson," the bigger girl hissed.
Pansy looked at her in surprise. "Umm… Do you want to come to my study with me?"
Millicent shrugged and followed Pansy out of the Great Hall. Blaise looked at them curiously, and Pansy shrugged. She didn't know what it was that Millicent wanted.
They reached Pansy's study, and she spoke the password under her breath. The door clicked open, and she gestured for Millicent to go in. Pansy followed, redoing the wards and adding a silencing charm as she did so. Then she lowered herself carefully into one of the plush green armchairs, nodding for Millicent to do the same. They sat in silence for a moment, until Pansy finally said, "You wanted to talk to me, Bulstrode?" Somehow, no one ever used first names with Millicent. Maybe it was that she never used them, or maybe because she looked like she could do rather a lot of harm to delicate parts of your anatomy without breaking into a sweat. But now, she looked almost nervous.
"You and Zabini are interested in Malfoy, aren't you?" she asked bluntly.
Pansy shrugged carefully. "We're worried about him, yes," she said, wondering what the other girl was getting at. Had Snape sent her to spy on them?
"I think he's in love with Potter," Millicent said flatly.
Pansy started. Whatever she'd been expecting, and she'd be the first to admit that she had had no idea what to expect, it hadn't been that. "What?" she managed.
"Are you deaf, Parkinson?" Millicent said impatiently. "I said I think Malfoy's got it bad for Potter."
"How do you know?"
Millicent shrugged. "The way Malfoy looks at him, mostly. He doesn't think anyone notices, and I doubt that anyone else has, but I'm… let's say… naturally observant."
Pansy looked at Millicent curiously. Before she could think of anything to say, Millicent stood up to go. Pansy stood as well. "Do you mind if I tell Blaise that you told me this?"
Millicent shrugged. "You can tell whoever you want, as long as you keep my name out of it." Pansy nodded, and Millicent walked over to the door. She turned back. "Are you going to unward the door to let me out, or am I going to get to stay here forever?" Pansy blushed and murmured the password. The door clicked, and Millicent left without a backwards glance. Pansy stood for a moment, then left as well.
Harry didn't know what to do. Draco was obviously not doing well at all, but he would never say a word. He always insisted that he was fine, and that Harry didn't have to worry. Harry knew better. Draco had shadows under his eyes as deep as Hermione's the week before an exam. His eyes were haunted with that look that Harry knew only too well, the look of absolute misery that came only from having lost someone near and dear to the heart. But he respected Draco's wishes and didn't push him. He only did what he could, and slipped Draco answers to their homework and tried to teach him to conjure a patronus. That wasn't going well either. Harry had managed to produce at least a wisp of smoke by the end of the third day, and he'd been practicing against an imitation dementor. Draco couldn't do even that at the end of a week of intensive practicing in a brightly lit classroom. Harry suspected that Draco might be trying way too hard, but he knew that anything he said could be taken as criticism, and he was perceptive enough to realize that criticism was the last thing Draco needed. And so he did Draco's homework for him while the other boy tried desperately to summon a silvery animal.
There was no one he could go to for help, though. He was on his own for this, he knew. All of his friends would think him crazy for caring, and they would be more likely to turn him over to Madam Pomfrey than to actually help him. So he continued to go to detention and watch Draco suffer. He didn't know how much more he could take, but he knew that he had to be strong. Draco needed him to be strong, and Harry hated letting his friends down.
Though he hadn't said anything to any of his friends, he should have realized that they would figure it out eventually. They'd spent far too long in his company not to see what Harry saw, and if Draco was as good at hiding his thoughts as Harry, his friends had enough practice to be able to see through anyone's mask if they only let themselves admit that there was anything to see.
"Harry," Hermione demanded, stopping him on the way back from detention. Draco had gone on ahead, and he knew that she'd seen the look in his eyes.
"What?" Harry asked.
"What's wrong with Malfoy?"
Harry sighed. He'd been expecting it, but it was still hard. "Not here. Come with me to the dormitory, will you?"
She nodded, and they walked towards Gryffindor Tower. "Virtus," Hermione said. The Fat Lady nodded, and the portrait swung open. Harry and Hermione stepped through, and walked through the common room towards the dormitory. Harry dropped his books onto his bed, and the two of them sat down. Harry thought, not for the first time, that it was highly unfair that only the Slytherin students who got private studies.
"So?" Hermione demanded, after making sure that they were alone.
"So?" Harry repeated, wondering why he was stalling. He'd have to tell her eventually, after all.
She looked at him in irritation. "What's going on with Malfoy?"
"His mother's in Azkaban, Hermione. Isn't that enough?"
She looked at him closely, as though trying to detect what he wasn't telling her. "Harry, are you telling me that he cares about his parents enough to be this devastated that she's in prison?"
Harry had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth together. He knew that this was what most of the school thought of Draco, knew that he himself had thought the same only weeks before, but it still got on his nerves. "Yes, Hermione, I am. He's just as human as you are, you know. How would you feel if your mother was sent to Azkaban for something she didn't do?"
"How do you know she didn't do it?"
Harry winced. He hadn't meant to say that. He knew that it was vital that he and Draco kept their friendship a secret, for both of their sakes. Even so, it was hard. "I don't know, Hermione," he said carefully. "But I don't think that she's brave enough to go to Voldemort."
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I've only met her once," he admitted. "But she didn't seem at all like the kind of person who cared about anything more than the next diamond. Why would she go to Voldemort? You've seen what pledging his allegiance to Voldemort did to Malfoy's father. Do you think she'd have risked the same?"
"It happened anyway," Hermione reminded him.
Harry sighed. "Yes," he said in a voice that sounded flat. "It happened anyway."
Fred and George's flyers came during this time. Harry didn't really want to have anything to do with jokes, but he felt a need to do what he'd promised to do. He was amazed that, once he'd put the things up, he actually felt better. Every time he passed one of the flyers, he had to smile. They were constant reminders that life wasn't all death and tragedy. No matter what else happened in their world, humor would remain, and wherever humor was, Fred and George would follow. It was nice to have that small thing to remind him that life was not constant darkness and evil.
Pansy was getting more and more desperate. Soon, she thought she might be ready to physically kidnap Draco and tie him to a wall and demand that he talk to her. Soon. Millicent's news had been startling, but not actually very useful, except to explain Draco's reaction to her attack on Potter. Apart from that, she and Blaise were still reduced to asking others if they thought anything was wrong. Sooner or later, Draco would find out, and Pansy suspected that there would be hell to pay, but she found that she didn't care. She thought of Draco as a friend, she realized, though the other boy had barely said anything to her at all. A week and a half of trailing him and asking nosy questions about him had brought more into the open than she'd ever realized. It hit her for the first time that Draco had no actual friends. Most Slytherins didn't, of course, but Draco didn't really even have any temporary allies. True, there had been Crabbe and Goyle, but they were stupid lumps and they didn't count. Draco deserved someone better.
She'd taken to reading in the armchair closest to his room, and she knew that he'd noticed. He didn't threaten her any more, though, and for a reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on, that disturbed her even more. She checked the wards on his door every night before she went into her own room, as a sort of ritual. They were always set, always exactly the same. She didn't know whether she found this reassuring or not, but at least it was consistent. And then one night, the wards weren't put up. Pansy suspected that this was a bad sign, and she waited until everyone else had vacated the common room before getting up and knocking timidly on Draco's door. There was no answer, so she grabbed hold of her courage with both hands and pushed the door open. He was there, sitting by the fire, not actually doing anything. Without turning, he said, "Get out, Parkinson."
"No," she said firmly, taking charge of herself for once. "Draco, we need to talk."
"No we don't," he said, still not moving.
"Yes we do. If you don't talk to me, I'll… I'll drag you off to see Madam Pomfrey and make you take potions."
He finally turned to look at her, and she had to forcibly stop herself from taking a step back at the look in his eyes. It wasn't so much that they were angry; it was more the complete absence of anything. "Sit, then, if you're so determined," he said. Pansy sat. They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, it was Draco who broke eye contact. "What do you want, Pansy?"
Taking courage from the renewed use of her first name, she said, "I want to know if you're all right. I want to know the truth."
She thought that he was about to refuse, but instead he let out a short laugh. It was a hollow sound, one that chilled Pansy to the bone. "Am I all right? No, Pansy, I'm not all right. My parents are both is Azkaban for crimes that are the worst imaginable in this present age, I'm being taunted by everyone I meet, you and Blaise are stalking me… To sum it up, no. I'm not at all 'all right'."
She blinked at this blunt appraisal and answer of her question. "What can I do to help you?"
"Leave me the hell alone."
Normally, she would have left. But there was something in his tone, almost as though he was daring her not to, and she was determined not to let him make a fool out of her. "That is not a possibility, Draco. What else?"
"Why do you even care if I live or die, Pansy? If I left, then Blaise would be the king of the house and you'd be his queen. Isn't that what you want?"
"No, it's not what I want. Not anymore. I'm happy with Blaise, Draco. I don't want to be the queen of Slytherin anymore. I want to help you. I want to be your friend. I care about you, Draco. I care about you and I'm worried about you."
"Why now, all of a sudden? You haven't given a second thought to me, except to try and get my money, since you met me. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"
She sighed. She supposed that she owed him an honest answer, and he would expect one. "It was Blaise's idea, really. I don't know what got him interested, but he convinced me to keep an eye on you. What I saw interested me, and I want to get to know you as a person, not as an heir."
He snorted. "You expect me to believe that, Pansy?"
"It's the truth."
"And how far are you willing to go in your quest to save me from myself?"
"As far as I have to."
He laughed bitterly. "Brave words. Let's see how you hold up, shall we." He stood, and nodded towards the door. "Now leave. Immediately."
Pansy moved towards the door, knowing that she'd exhausted her welcome. She stopped on the threshold. "If you need to talk, Draco, you can come to me. I'll listen, no matter what it is."
Draco snorted and shut the door behind her. At least he hadn't refused.
Hermione knew quite well that Malfoy was fighting and losing a battle against serious depression. At her elementary school, there had been numerous talks about the symptoms and treatments for the condition, and she wondered if she should talk to Madam Pomfrey. Malfoy obviously didn't want anyone to know, though, and she suspected that he would do rather nasty things to her if she told anyone. Even depressed, she respected his skill. It was hard, though. She instinctively wanted to help him, the same way she wanted to help anyone she saw as being helpless. It was only with a great deal of effort that she told herself that Draco Malfoy was far from helpless.
Ron, being Ron, was totally oblivious to anything around him. Hermione suspected that Harry knew more than he was letting on, and he'd even told her that he did, but he refused to reveal any specifics. Hermione wondered, as she had so many times since their conversation, just what Harry's relationship with Malfoy was. They obviously didn't hate each other anymore, or Harry wouldn't have cared. Or maybe she was doing him a disservice. She knew that Harry had what she'd called at the end of last year a "saving people thing." He thought it his duty to rescue people in distress, whether they wanted rescuing or not. It had caused far too many problems last year, and she wondered if it would do the same this year. Surely Harry was the last person Malfoy wanted worrying about him!
The irony of the situation didn't escape her either. Only last summer, it was Harry who was insisting that Malfoy was guilty and she who was begging him to give her a chance. Obviously he'd taken her advice to heart. Her opinion on that, if not on Malfoy's reception to the help and concern, was shared by at least one of the other girls in Gryffindor. Knowing what she did about the politics of her House, she suspected that both Parvati, who'd actually talked to her, and Lavender thought the same way, and Parvati was the only one who was brave enough to actually come out and ask.
Parvati accosted Hermione in the dormitory one day when Lavender was in class. "Hermione, what do you know about Harry?"
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean, Parvati? I know lots of things about Harry."
Parvati sighed, and dropped gracefully onto her bed. Hermione sat down on her own, and waited for Parvati to continue. When the other girl didn't say anything right away, Hermione asked, "What do you want to know, Parvati?"
"Who does he like?"
Hermione stared. Was the Indian witch going blind? "He likes Ginny, Parvati. Surely you've realized that."
"I know that he's Ginny's boyfriend, yes. But does he really like her?"
"Of course he likes her. Why would he go out with her if he didn't like her?"
Parvati rolled her eyes. "She likes him, Hermione. He could just be going out with her because he feels sorry for her."
Hermione frowned. "Harry wouldn't do that, Parvati. Why are you asking, anyway?"
Parvati bit her lip, and looked around the room, as though making sure that they really were alone. "I think that Harry likes Malfoy."
"What?!" Hermione spluttered. That was Not Possible, she told herself firmly, trying to calm her racing pulse.
"I said, I think that Harry likes Malfoy."
"That's not possible, Parvati. Harry hates Malfoy."
"The two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, Hermione."
Hermione looked at Parvati in disgust. The thought of loving and hating someone at the same time was almost repulsive. "That's not happening, Parvati."
Parvati sighed. "Look, Hermione. Don't blow up at me. I know for a fact that Malfoy's got it bad for Harry. I think that Harry might like him back."
Hermione blinked, trying to process what Parvati was telling her. Malfoy liked Harry? Was it possible? She thought back to all of the times the two had met, and she could see nothing that indicated anything other than abject hatred on both sides. She said as much to Parvati.
"That's what Malfoy would want, isn't it? After all, the only heir to the Malfoy family can't be seen in love with another boy, much less a Gryffindor, can he?"
"I suppose not," Hermione conceded. "But what makes you think that Harry likes him back?"
"I'm guessing," Parvati admitted. "But my guesses are usually right."
"So what makes you guess?"
Parvati shrugged. "Oh, lots of little things. Like the way he wouldn't look over at the Slytherin table when the letter came saying that Malfoy's mother want sent to Azkaban. Or how he always looks sad when the detentions are over."
Hermione was impressed by Parvati's powers of observation. She was inexplicably reminded of a television show she'd watched as a child. 'Use your powers of observation, Arnold,' she told herself, smiling a little grimly.
Parvati raised her eyebrows in question, but Hermione shook her head. She didn't think that she could explain.
"How do you know that they're not just friends?" she asked.
Parvati shrugged. "They could be," she admitted. "But friendship can lead to love. After all, do you really think that Malfoy will let Harry just be friends, now that they're on speaking terms?"
"And how do you know that Malfoy's in love with Harry?"
Parvati looked at her witheringly. "Hermione, it's one of the most obvious crushes in the school, if you know what to look for. It's not quite as obvious as Denis Creevy's passion for Luna Lovegood, but then, neither of the Creevys know the meaning of the word 'discreet'."
"And Malfoy does?"
"Of course he does! How do you think that so few people know?"
Hermione frowned. "You just said that it was obvious."
"Oh, it is, but only if you know what to look for. Matchmaking is a talent, you know. It's something that you're born with. When you have it, then you can tell all of the really extreme cases, and most of the silly ones. Trust me, this is extreme."
"So why can't you tell about Harry?"
"Obviously he isn't nearly as crazy about Malfoy as Malfoy is about him," Parvati said flatly. "And I figured I might as well ask you first. There's times when you can look too hard."
Hermione sighed. This sounded far too much like Divinations for her comfort. "I don't trust things like that," she said suspiciously. "I mean, how can you be sure?"
Parvati looked at her in exasperation. "I am," she told Hermione firmly. "Look, will you just let me know if you find out anything?" She made the motions of getting up, her black eyes not leaving Hermione's brown ones.
Hermione frowned. "Harry's my best friend, Parvati. I'm not going to spy on him."
Parvati looked a little disappointed, but she recovered quickly. "If you change your mind," she said, smoothing her robes back into immaculate perfection.
Hermione snorted. "That's not likely to happen," she observed.
Parvati shrugged, but didn't answer. She flicked her wand lazily, and the stray hairs sprang back into her glossy ponytail. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror, then waved slightly at Hermione and left the room.
Hermione was highly unsettled by the encounter. She told herself that Parvati was just a romantic, and that she was bored, but she found herself watching Harry and Malfoy closely over the next few days. There didn't seem to be anything different in the way they treated each other, but there was no denying that Malfoy sometimes did go out of his way to insult Harry. A week ago, Hermione would have attributed that to loathing, but with Parvati's prodding, she thought that it might very possibly be something else. Not that she thought Parvati was right about Harry, of course. Maybe, just maybe, he'd learned how to talk civilly with Malfoy, but he was most certainly not in love with him. She ignored the voice in her head, the one that sounded like Parvati, which would always add, 'Not yet.' It would not happen, and that was final. Even so, there were days when she couldn't help wondering…
I think it was Pansy who saved me in the end. It wasn't anything that she did, or really what she said. It was her unspoken promise to accept whatever I could throw at her. That first night, after she left, I returned to my seat by the fire. The coffee pot was long since empty, and I didn't have the energy to call for another one. Instead, I stared moodily into the fire and tried not to think of anything at all. The thoughts that tended to run through my head were rather unpleasant, and I spent a lot of my time not thinking about them. That, of course, made them come at me with a vengeance. As usual, I drifted off in the chair. The nightmare came back, as I'd known it would. Over time, it had become more defined. I now recognized the screams as being my mother's. I was standing on a cliff, and she was at the bottom of it. The dementors were coming after her, and she was plastered against the cliff. She was screaming to me, begging me to drive them away. I was paralyzed with fear, and I knew that I couldn't summon a patronus. There was nothing I could do. I would wake up just as the biggest of all the dementors, which always seemed to be wearing my father's face, came swooping down for the kill. That first night, I found my voice. Nothing happened as I pointed my wand desperately at the dementors, but at least I'd been able to shout the incantation. I don't know what time I woke up: I'd disconnected the clock for that very reason, but I still didn't go back to sleep that night.
The next morning, she was there. She didn't say anything to me, but she didn't leave either. She sat between Blaise and me at breakfast, and though she laughed and chatted with Blaise without saying a word to me, I still felt comforted by her presence. The only time she wasn't there was during detention. I know that Harry was worried about me too and I loved him even more for his own mute acceptance, for his lack of criticism as I failed to make any progress whatsoever on the patronus, and for his willingness to help me with my homework. I hardly heard what happened in class anymore, and his notes in the margins of my papers, always carefully erased once I'd read them, were the only things that made me smile. But I still wondered if he was getting tired of me, wondered if he looked down on me for being weak. I was weak, and I knew it. I wasn't worthy of being a Malfoy, and I certainly wasn't worthy of Harry's love. I wondered if I would be allowed even his friendship for much longer. I dared not hope too hard. Most of the things that I've ever really hoped for have been taken away from me.
That night, I still had my voice.
In the morning, she was waiting again, and she smiled shyly when she saw me. I smiled slightly back, which surprised me as much as it did her. We walked in silence until the Great Hall. And so we continued for the next few days. After a little while, I began to talk to her, and I realized that she was much more intelligent than she seemed. She could carry on a decent conversation, which was more than I'd expected, and she understood all but the most obscure of my references. Blaise too chipped in a little, but he interested me much less. Most of the time, though he understood what I was talking about, he couldn't come up with anything to say back, which is rather boring, in my opinion.
The best thing about Pansy at that point was probably that she never asked about Harry. After I'd threatened her in the hallway that one time, she was careful never even to mention him in my hearing, much less make a derogatory remark. She couldn't hide the hatred when she saw him, but I could pretend not to see that. It was refreshing not to have to think up insults that wouldn't actually hurt Harry himself (though I could care less about hurting Weasley and Granger) yet make them seem valid. With Pansy, I didn't have to. She was also trying not to give away all the details of her personal life, but Pansy Parkinson views the world as her personal confessor, and by the end of a few days, I knew rather more about her and Blaise than I wanted to. She'd always shut up when I asked, but I had to ask. At her nagging, I began to eat again, and when she found out the amount of coffee that I'd been consuming, she actually found my house elf and forbade it to give me any more. The next day, I refused even to notice her.
But, despite my annoyance with what I termed her meddling, I knew in the back of my brain that she was doing me a favor. She was forcing me to come back to the real world, and, though it was painful at times, it was probably the right thing to do.
I suppose that, with time and effort on her part, and a little cooperation on mine, I would have returned for what passed as normal in a few weeks. But what was holding me back was, of course, my failure to conjure a patronus. I'd begun to realize that it was a useless exercise, but I refused to give Harry any more opportunity to think me weak. It was that dejection that hindered my return to normality, and Pansy was sharp enough to notice. Actually, I'm sure she thought that Harry was abusing me, but as I've said, she was careful not to say anything bad about him in my hearing. Instead, she started waiting for me at the outside of the Transfiguration Classroom, a silent presence that lifted my spirits slightly. It was better than nothing.
And then, there was the day when she wasn't there. I hadn't realize how much I'd come to depend on her, and her absence left a hole in my daily ritual. I was still too proud to ask Blaise what had happened, and he obviously was just as proud as I was, and wouldn't tell me unless I asked. I got the feeling that Blaise still disliked me about as much as I disliked him, and my increasing monopolization of Pansy wasn't helping. That day, I paid less attention in class than I had in days, and the teachers noticed. None of them actually talked privately with me, but I could see their worried looks. When I went to detention with Harry, he took over my homework again without asking. I wondered what he'd write in the margins this time, and realized that, for once, I didn't really care. I hated myself for how much I'd come to depend on Pansy, and I was determined to become independent again. I hate depending on people, because every single person I've ever leaned on has left. I valued Pansy's friendship too much to force her to leave. I tried to focus on producing a patronus, but I failed just as much as I had every other day. Finally, half way through the hour, Harry stopped me.
"Draco, wait."
I lowered my wand, and looked over at him. He'd stood up, and he was walking towards me. "What?" I demanded.
He sighed, stopping a few feet away from me. "I think you should take a break." I opened my mouth to argue, but he stopped me. "Draco, you're capable of doing this, I know you are. But you're trying too hard. You can't focus on it anymore, and it's only hurting you."
"Then what do you suggest, that I stop and just let the dementors take me away too?" I was slightly shocked to hear the words come out of my lips. I hadn't intended to say them, and the look on his face told me that they were the wrong words. But I couldn't bring myself to take them back. I had meant them.
He looked down. "No," he said quietly. "No, I don't want that. If you need it, you'll be able to do it. But please, Draco. Talk to me again! I miss talking with you, and I'm going insane here with nothing to do but homework."
It was my turn to sigh. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll do my own homework, if you want."
He shook his head in slight annoyance. "I'll do your homework, Draco. I just want you to talk to me while I do it."
I sat down at the table, and he drew me into one of our long rambling conversations. I tried, I really did, but I could tell that he was disappointed. He tried not to show it, though, and when it was time to go, he grinned at me as he left.
Pansy was still gone when I left detention, and I walked to lunch in a preoccupied mood. The conversation with Harry had lifted my spirits slightly and, though I refused to admit it, it was a relief not to have to watch his expression turn more and more worried as I failed to produce any kind of patronus. Blaise finally informed me that Pansy was sick, and was enjoying a day's bed rest at Madam Pomfrey's orders, and I nodded gratefully to him. We didn't talk more, though, and when lunch finally ended, I left as quickly as I could.
Pansy was back on her feet by the time I'd gotten back to the Slytherin common room that night, and she was eager for as much gossip as I could feed her. I didn't have much to tell her, but she seemed to enjoy the story of how Flitwick had been so irritated by Hannah Abbot's failure to change her white rabbit plaid, that he'd demonstrated it incorrectly and turned his own hair a magnificent red and green plaid pattern.
"And you?" she asked quietly.
I shrugged. "I'll do," I said dismissively, knowing that she wouldn't believe me. It was true, though: I felt better than I had for a long time. I didn't know if that was because of my talk with Harry, or if I was just finally starting to move on, but it felt amazingly good.
She frowned at me, but didn't comment. We talked for a few more minutes, but I left as soon as she started to look tired. I wanted her back the next day, and I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. It was selfish of me, I know, but I disguised the selfishness by telling myself firmly that it benefited her as well. It didn't work too well, but I am quite capable of lying to myself, and I have no qualms whatsoever about doing so.
I was slightly afraid to go to sleep that night. It had been a good day, comparatively, and I was scared of the dream that would come back and ruin it all. I knew that it would come back. It always did, and it was always the same. Why should it be any different this time?
It started out the same as always. The dementors swooped towards her, and she screamed. She begged me to help her, and I desperately pointed my wand and shouted the incantation. Nothing happened. Just as the dementor with my father's face came towards me, I heard Harry's voice in my head. "You're capable of doing this, I know you are."
I frowned, trying to remember the way he'd looked at me. There was faith in his eyes, I realized. It wasn't disappointment, it was faith. He knew that I could do it. Almost without thinking, I pointed my wand at the dementor and shouted, "EXPECTO PATROMUM!" To my shock, a silvery form erupted out of my wand and sprinted towards the dementor. It turned to look at me in surprise, then opened its mouth in a silent shriek of horror as my patronus reached it and snarled. The other dementors shied away, and when my patronus began to advance on the head dementor, all of them turned and floated away as quickly as they could. The one with my father's face turned to look hard at me before it fled, but I didn't look at it; I was too busy studying my patronus. At first glance, it was a lioness, but I refused to believe that I'd conjured up a lion. That would be the ultimate betrayal to my house, after all. It turned to face me, and I saw a slight hint of spots. A panther, then. Possibly even a black panther. I had to grin slightly. Whoever gave out patronuses obviously didn't realize what they were doing. There was no way I deserved a panther. It was a nice gesture, though, and one that I thought Harry would appreciate.
