AN: Some of the first part is taken directly from OotP. It's lazy, I know, but I've changed the scene up enough to include it. Those words are JKR's; I make no claim to them whatsoever.
ALSO, just so you're all aware (and I have added this to the first chapter too, I just figure a lot of you might not see it if I don't also mention it here) the in-story time between the events of chapter one and the prologue is about two years. The prologue is waaaay off in the future (although trust me, Harry's been Dark for a while at that point, so while it's a ways off, it won't all be about his journey to get there).
Memento Vivere
Chapter VI / The Legacy of Malfoys
In twos and threes, the group around them took their leave. Harry watched them go with a burning feeling of satisfaction. Far more people had arrived in the Hog's Head than he could have ever anticipated, and while he was sure more than a few of them still did not believe his story (or did not want to, which he now felt was more likely), they had all signed Hermione's parchment and they had all agreed to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts from him. As nervous as he was, he was greatly looking forward to teaching them all right under Umbridge's nose.
But even though he was suddenly filled with a restless energy, and the other students were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he hung back a bit under the pretext of watching everyone leave. The reason why was sitting in the most shadowed corner of the pub and had been since before he, Ron, and Hermione had all walked in an hour earlier.
Sanguini had said he would find a way to get a vampire presence in Hogsmeade that weekend, and he had succeeded in one Christopher Arkwright. Harry had recognized the man as soon as he stepped inside and looked around the pub; his long platinum blond plait and deep blue eyes were unmistakable...and unmistakably Malfoy. Along with his cool demeanour and the distain he had shown toward Harry's room during his brief visit in the summer, Harry had no trouble believing he was related to them.
He was uncertain about whether he particularly liked him yet—his younger brother Michael had been far more congenial—but he did appreciate what the man was doing to get information on Voldemort, and the mirror had been an awfully nice gift.
He was not sure he appreciated his following Sanguini's orders this time though; Christopher might be able to pretend exceptionally well that he was a wizard, having been one once upon a time, but he would still not be able to easily leave the pub and there was still a possibility of someone recognizing what he was. Harry thought he might have seen Ron look warily in his direction once or twice. Harry really did not want him to get in trouble because of him.
"Harry? Are you coming?"
Harry blinked and looked around. Ron was already at the doorway, but Hermione had stopped when she'd realized Harry wasn't with them, and she was the one looking back at him now. Harry thought he saw her glance over his shoulder at where Christopher was sitting, but it could have easily been a trick of the light.
"Oh, right. Sorry, I'll be right there." He grabbed his bottle of butterbeer and hurried to catch up with them. He did glance back once as they were leaving; Christopher had stood and pulled a heavy hood over his head to shadow his face.
"Well, I think that went quite well," Hermione said as they walked out into the bright sunlight.
"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," Ron muttered. He was glaring off up the street where they could still just see the figure of the blond Hufflepuff.
"I don't like him much either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me when I was talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—"
Ron gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front. Harry, who had been looking behind them again, hardly even noticed what Hermione had been saying in the first place.
"He's WHAT?!" said Ron, outraged, and he must have gone on to exclaim something else about how his kid sister shouldn't be dating and Michael Corner was obviously bad news, but Harry was no longer listening.
Christopher had stepped out of the pub behind them and was following them up the street. Well, following was perhaps too strong a word; he did not seem to actually be following them but rather just walking in the same direction they were. The shadow of his hood kept his face entirely out of the sunshine and every other bit of him was covered in dark robes or boots or gloves, so he seemed to be okay out in the bright daylight, even if he did look a bit suspicious.
Harry barely noticed when they first stopped in front of and then entered the quill shop, and he only stopped checking behind them when he heard his name.
"But," Ron was saying, sounding completely flabbergasted, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"
Hermione looked at him pityingly and shook her head.
"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry while she examined a handsome black-and-gold quill.
Harry, who really could not care less about this conversation and only wanted to know what it was Christopher might be up to, was about to just wave that off, except that it did make sense of something he had not really registered until now.
"Is that why she talks now?" he asked Hermione. "She never used to talk in front of me."
"Exactly." Hermione spent another moment examining the quill. "Yes, I think I'll have this one..."
Hermione walked up to the counter to hand over the money for the quill, Ron still breathing down her neck. Satisfied with the answer to his question, Harry looked back toward the door just in time to see Christopher walk right on past it and on down the street.
Now Harry was immensely curious as to what he was doing here. He had only assumed Christopher had come because Sanguini had asked him to, probably to watch over him or to discreetly deliver a message, but if that were the case, wouldn't he stick around wherever Harry happened to be? Or maybe he had initially come because of him, but now had something else he wanted or needed to do.
Harry knew he should probably leave the vampire to go about his business in peace, but he knew he'd never stop wondering until he found out. So when Hermione finally began to lead the way out of the shop, Harry scrambled for an excuse to run off on his own.
"Hey, er, I've just remembered, I was going to, er..." Harry trailed off, scrabbling for any sort of inspiration he could find for an excuse. His mind wandered back to the most recent conversational topic and he was struck with inspiration. "I was, er, going to see if I couldn't catch up with Cho and...you know..."
He shrugged, trying to look as awkward as possible. It wasn't difficult. His stomach still did flip-flops whenever he thought about Cho, and the idea of actually trying to find her and ask her to hang out made him as nervous now as it had the previous year. Maybe even more so; she had no reason to like him after what had happened in June, but somehow she did.
Hermione smiled slyly; of course, she would have figured it out immediately. Ron, however, distracted as he was by his muttered tirade about Ginny and Michael Corner, only looked confused by why this seemed to mean Harry wanted to go off on his own.
"We'll come with you, then," he said, moving to follow Harry. "I like her. She can hang out with us if she wants."
Hermione sent him a scathing look. "Ron, I really think Harry wants to go find Cho on his own."
"Huh? You don't think she might still be mad about the Quidditch thing? That was ages ago..."
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave Harry an exasperated smile. "Go on. I'll take care of Ron."
"Thanks," Harry said. He waved to both of them and dashed off down the street in the direction he though Christopher must have gone.
He did not have to look for very long. As soon as he reached Honeydukes, Christopher walked out of the store right in front of him, accompanied by Draco Malfoy.
Alarmed, Harry quickly ducked inside. He could watch their progress through the front windows where they probably wouldn't see him. He did not really care if Christopher saw him, or even if he tried to come up to him as long as it was under the pretext that they were strangers. Malfoy, on the other hand, was not someone he was in the mood to deal with today.
Luckily, Christopher and Malfoy were far too deep in conversation for either one of them to have noticed him. Harry watched them make their way up the street in the direction of Hogwarts. Whatever Christopher was saying seemed to be extremely interesting to Malfoy, who was listening to him with a look on his face that was normally reserved solely for Professor Snape.
He kept watching until they were far enough away that it wouldn't look like he was following them if they happened to glance back down the street. Then he stepped out of the shop and started walking after them.
To his surprise, the two of them turned into the Three Broomsticks. Apparently, this had been an arranged meeting. Harry hurried to catch up with them.
The Three Broomsticks was bright and busy with students and residents like it always was, a far cry from the dreary scene of the Hog's Head. Harry wondered for a brief moment if maybe they should have actually held their meeting here, since even though it was packed, they would have blended in much better—but it was also very true that it would have been much easier to be overheard in here. In fact, now he was counting on it.
Harry quickly ordered another butterbeer and a sandwich from the bar so he would have some excuse of being here. While he waited, he looked around for the two Malfoys. They had found themselves a nice, shadowy corner as far from the windows as possible, although Chistopher had only pushed his hood back enough to expose his face and not taken it off completely. When Harry got his food, he made his way through the crowd of students and found a seat close enough that he could listen in but not be noticed right away.
"—dreadful woman, really, I wouldn't mind being rid of her," Malfoy was saying. "And of course, we aren't learning anything. 'The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack'..." He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "It's always been a waste of time, that class, but at least the other teachers let us use magic."
Harry tried very hard not to stare. He definitely had not thought that even Malfoy might hate Umbridge. He certainly hadn't seemed to back at school.
On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was very well respected in the Ministry (even though Fudge had been told he was a Death Eater, Harry thought angrily) and neither he nor Draco probably wanted to bring attention to themselves right now, not with Voldemort lying low and gathering his forces in secret. It was probably wiser for him to act as though he actually enjoyed having Umbridge as their teacher.
"Then again, she does seem to have some sort of vendetta against Potter," Malfoy went on gleefully, and Harry looked away quickly before his own sneer could become too obvious. "So she's not all bad."
"A teacher who won't allow you to do magic," Christopher murmured. He sounded awed and a bit disgusted. Harry wondered suddenly if he had ever gone to Hogwarts. "Whatever for? That can't possibly be allowed."
"Father reckons it's because the Minister is afraid of Dumbledore, that he thinks Dumbledore turning us into a private army," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.
"Well, the Minister has always been rather daft. And paranoid," Christopher added, wrinkling his own nose. "But of course, Dumbledore must know she is not allowing you to learn magic in her class."
There was a certain distain in the way he say the word "she" that almost made listening to Malfoy sneer at Dumbeldore worth it.
"Dumbledore's probably got other things on his mind."
"Harry!"
Harry jumped and looked around. Thankfully the urgent whisper hadn't been loud enough to alert anyone else.
Hermione and Ron rushed over and slid into the open seats at Harry's table. Harry gestured quickly for them to keep their voices down before either of them could open their mouths.
"Harry, I thought you were going to meet Cho," Hermione hissed, leaning across the table.
"Plans change," Harry murmured. He pointed over to the nearby table where Malfoy and Christopher sat. Hermione looked a bit startled when she looked over; Ron, however, just looked grim.
"I told Hermione I thought I saw you running in here after Malfoy," Ron said, frowning at them.
"Isn't that the vampire who was in the Hog's Head?" Hermione asked. Now she was frowning too, although she was spending equal time glancing between the two Malfoy and Harry. "What's he doing with Malfoy?"
"Dunno," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's gaze. He knew there might be some awkward questions in his future, and he was going to put them off as long as possible. "They've mostly talked about classes so far."
"Classes?" Hermione said, bewildered.
"He doesn't like Umbridge much either," Harry said.
They all exchanged looks of amazement and disbelief.
"I suppose that's why that vampire's so friendly with him, then," Hermione said. She glanced at Harry. "She hasn't exactly been on good terms with them, has she?"
"I don't like it," Ron said, frowning over at Christopher. "That can't be all he's interested in. You don't reckon he knows Malfoy's father's close mates with You-Know-Who?"
"Vampires weren't interested in helping Voldemort last time, Ron," Hermione said disapprovingly.
"Most vampires weren't," Ron muttered. "Trust me, I've heard plenty of stories about the ones who did. Maybe he's one of them."
"I seriously doubt that a vampire interested in helping Voldemort would have to go through Malfoy of all people," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
Harry tuned out of what was shaping up to be yet another round of bickering and focused on Christopher and Malfoy again. They had moved on to another topic of conversation and which involved Christopher doing most of the talking again. Harry made out the words "Michael" and "Thomas" and judging by the smirk on Malfoy's face, it probably had something to do with one brother's antics against the other.
Of course, he knew exactly why Christopher was reaching out to Malfoy instead of going directly to Voldemort or going through, say, Lucius Malfoy instead (although Harry was sure he was on equally cordial terms with the elder Malfoy). And after watching the two of them interact, he was somewhat glad that he was doing so.
Christopher and his family had been miserable the first time Harry had seen them, although they had done their best not to seem that way. Looking at him now, Harry was sure that they had really only been looking for a good excuse to get back into contact with their wizard relatives, that this had been something they had desired for years. Harry did wish it didn't have to come with the cost of pretending to help Voldemort, and that the wizarding relatives were not the Malfoys, but if they were happy then it couldn't be all bad.
"Do you know why that vampire was with Malfoy?" Hermione asked him privately later that day. The way she frowned at him made Harry sure she suspected something, but as honest as he had been with her so far, that was the most honest he would allow himself to be.
He did think he might be able to hint at things and let Hermione come to her own conclusions, though. He shrugged and answered, "No idea. They kind of looked alike though, didn't they?"
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "You don't think they could be related?"
"I don't see why not. There's vampires who used to be wizards." Harry grinned a little and added, "Bet Malfoy wouldn't admit it though. They're not exactly purebloods, are they?"
"It would explain why he'd be talking to Malfoy instead of his father, I suppose. I mean, if he really is interested in joining Voldemort...Although he probably would be talking to his father too..."
Harry shrugged. "I dunno, they weren't exactly interested last time. I've found that much out." He hadn't had a lot of time to go through the books Hermione had put him on to yet, but that was one thing had had happened to come across already.
This had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say, because Hermione's eyes widened for a second and then narrowed at him again. "You wouldn't happen to know why he was watching us in the Hog's Head either, would you?"
Harry shook his head. He hated lying to his friends, but he really didn't think they needed to know about this. "No idea. Really, Hermione, I've never seen him before. The vampire who showed up in my neighbourhood definitely didn't look like Malfoy; I remember that much about him."
When Hermione kept on frowning about this, Harry added, "He can't have been there because of me, though, or he would have been waiting in the Three Broomsticks, right? He couldn't have known we were going somewhere else today. He probably just went there to get a drink before meeting Malfoy; I mean, he didn't exactly stick out there."
And while Hermione did not look like she entirely believed this, she at least looked like she might let it pass without asking any more questions.
"Hmm, I suppose so..." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I wonder why they're so interested in you all of a sudden."
Harry shrugged and grinned back at her. "Hazard of being me, I guess. Can't just live a quiet life."
To Harry's dismay, Malfoy was soon proved correct—Umbridge did indeed seem to have some sort of vendetta against him. On Monday morning, he and Ron descended the stairs to the Gryffindor common room to find that a new Educational Decree had been posted over night—one that banned all student groups, teams, and organizations that had not received Umbridge's permission to exist. This not only included their secret Defence group, but also, as Angelina pointed out soon after, the House Quidditch teams.
Harry determinedly held his temper around Umbridge, even though he had to see her in Potions as well as in her own class, but by the end of the day, Angelina had not yet received permission to reform the team.
It was clear that Umbridge knew all about their Defence group and it was also clear how she had found out. There had been people other people in the pub other than their group of students and Christopher (although Ron had, of course, immediately blamed Christopher and Malfoy, since even if Malfoy really didn't like Umbridge much, he'd love to get one over on Harry. Harry, who thought it rather unlikely that Christopher would have mentioned it to him in the first place, quietly disagreed.) a fact which was then confirmed that night when Sirius fire-called them.
It did not particularly matter to Harry that Umbridge knew about it, except that they would have to be considerably more careful when they went on to gather together anyway, and also that it had gotten their Quidditch team briefly disbanded (Angelina quickly appealed to Professor McGonagall, and then Dumbledore through her, who then got Umbridge to allow them to reform). In fact, there was a part of him that was glad she did know; she would now be constantly worried, deep down, that what the Ministry feared would be coming true, and as long as they were careful, she had no way to stop them.
And they soon had the most perfect location they could have ever asked for. It was a challenge, trying to come up with a secret place for twenty-eight people to gather and practise hexes and jinxes, but Dobby had miraculously provided the solution: a room on the seventh floor that changed according to the users' whims called the Room of Requirement. The room that appeared when they called on it for their Defence group had everything they could have ever hoped for, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what else might be able to do.
Memories of their first meeting and anticipation for their second buoyed him throughout the week and the weekend and his still increasing load of homework and Quidditch practices. When Monday came again, he even managed to keep himself from sinking into the bad mood he had slowly come to expect from Mondays.
Dinner came, and it was fairly uneventful. Over the weekend, Harry had finally taken to copying Hermione by bringing a book to read to the table with him, because he was finding it more and more difficult to find enough free time to go to the library to research. Ron grumbled about this a bit, but when Harry reminded him of just how much homework he had to do, he quickly shut up about it. And besides, Harry was happy to engage in light conversation while he read; he didn't completely shut out the world like Hermione usually did.
But as they were leaving dinner, they had the unfortunate timing of heading out the great doors just after Draco Malfoy and a small group of his Slytherin friends. The three of them stepped out just in time to catch the end of what Malfoy had been saying.
"—been wondering if it's even safe having him in the same school. With brains as addled as his, who knows when he might just turn on us all because he got a bad grade on something? We don't know what happened in that maze; my bet is, he had something to do with Diggory's death—"
Harry saw red. His wand was in his hand before he realized he was even reaching for it and Malfoy's name ripped itself from his throat. Malfoy turned around, staring at him in shock. He raised his wand.
"Harry, no!" Hermione shrieked. Ron grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.
"It's not worth it, mate," Ron hissed in his ear, though he sounded just as murderous as Harry felt. "He's trying to rile you up. He'll take points."
Logically, Harry knew this was true. Malfoy was only being his usual horrible self, and he had not even known Harry had been behind him.
But Harry was no longer thinking logically. Malfoy had insulted Cedric's memory far more than anyone else thus far. He knew perfectly well how Cedric had been killed, and he had the audacity to try to spread such awful lies about it just to get to Harry.
Well, it had gotten to him. And now he was going to hex Malfoy to oblivion.
Malfoy seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. As soon as he got over his shock, a nasty smirk curled his lips and his eyes lit up maliciously.
"Go on, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, pulling out his own wand. "Going to curse me like you did your pal Diggory?"
"Get a life, Malfoy," Ron growled. His grip on Harry tightened, though it was probably because of his own anger as it was anything else. Harry did not care. He could still move his wrist.
"Furnunculus!" Harry hissed, just as Malfoy raised his wand and said, "Tarantallegra!"
The two spells collided in midair and ricocheted off each other, sending them both flying off in random directions. Hermione hastily called up a shield charm to block the one that went flying in their direction, but Harry was already moving his wand for another spell.
"Densuageo!" he exclaimed, but Malfoy dodged out of the way and it collided harmlessly with the stone behind him.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Protego!" Hermione exclaimed again, this time blocking Malfoy's spell before it could go anywhere.
But Harry's wand was moving again. His scar suddenly seared painfully, but an odd calm had come over him and his mouth opened to hiss out another spell.
"Protego!" Hermione said for a third time, sounding a little panicked as she blocked Harry's spell. Harry awkwardly ducked out of the way of the rebounding jet of light, managing to knock himself free of Ron's grip.
Then before either of them could open their mouths again, Hermione silenced both of them with two well placed spells. Harry turned on her, angry and betrayed, but he could not even yell at her in this state. Malfoy, however, had frozen and was looking at him oddly; he did not even seem to notice that he had been silenced.
"That's enough, both of you!" she exclaimed. She looked more furious than Harry had seen her in months. Harry was reminded painfully of Mrs. Weasley when she ended up in a towering temper. "Harry, you're playing right into his hands! Malfoy, you ought to know better, you're a prefect for Merlin's—"
"What is going on out here?"
All of them turned around in alarm. Professor McGonagall had just stepped out of the Great Hall and she was now surveying them with narrowed eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly the way they only did when she was truly furious.
Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief. There were far worse people who could have walked through that door. At least he knew that Professor McGonagall, while she might be furious with them, would be fair and would not allow Malfoy to walk away scot free when he had been waving his wand about as much as he had. Of course, this did not help the sinking feeling he felt in his stomach when her gaze lingered on him just a little too long.
"I'm sorry, Professor, we tried to stop them—"
"Thank you, Miss Granger, that will do," said Professor McGonagall. She had not stopped looking between the two of them, her expression growing colder by the second. "Potter, Malfoy, to my office.Now."
She strode between them and headed straight for the stairs, not giving either of them a second glance. Harry looked back at his friends before he moved to follow; both of them were looking at him oddly, although Hermione was also looking considerably more worried than Ron. Malfoy did not begin to move until he did, but he was still wearing the same odd look that was reflected in his friends' faces.
As Harry climbed the stairs, he thought back to what had happened, in case there might be a clue there as to why everyone was now staring at him like he'd grown an extra head. He did not remember much about what had happened right before Hermione had silenced them; he thought he had thrown another spell—no, he must have, because he'd had to duck out of the way when Hermione had blocked it—but he could not remember what it was.
He reached up to rub at his scar. It was aching slightly, but he could not remember when it had started to hurt. Perhaps it was when he had cast the spell he also did not remember?
Malfoy glanced at him again as they stepped into Professor McGonagall's office, but he still only seemed curious. Any bit of malicious intent he might have had earlier was gone now.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk and waved her wand toward the door. It swung shut and locked itself.
"Sit," she said, jabbing his wand toward the two chairs sitting in front of her desk.
Harry finally felt the full awful realization of what had happened swell over him as slowly sat in the chair on the left. Malfoy sat next to him, looking considerably less concerned. At least he had finally stopped staring.
Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, flicking it once toward each of them. Harry could only assume this was to remove the Silencing Spells, as she then set her wand on her desk and looked at each off them as she said, "Dueling in the Entrance Hall! With absolutely no regard for your fellow students and their safety! Explain yourselves."
Malfoy, for once, did not immediately speak up to twist the facts and lay the blame on Harry. Perhaps he thought he could not get away with it now as he might have with Professor Snape.
Harry also did not speak up right away. He was trying to find a way to put this that did not sound as stupid as it did in his head and also did not accuse Malfoy's father of being a Death Eater, because while everyone in the room knew the truth of that, he did not think any of them would actually admit it for various reasons.
"He was having a go at Cedric," Harry finally muttered, forcing himself not to glare at Malfoy as he said it. It still sounded stupid, and he knew Professor McGonagall would wonder why that meant he'd felt he had to resort to hexes.
"I was not having a go at him—"
"You said there was a good chance I was the one who killed him," Harry snarled, cutting him off. "You know as well as I do what happened to him."
Malfoy sneered at him. "I haven't any idea what happened to him, and I'm not nutty enough to believe you."
"That is enough," interrupted Professor McGonagall, looking disgusted with both of them. "Mr. Potter, sit down. Do not make this worse on yourself."
Harry reluctantly sat down again. He was not about to hex Malfoy—or do anything else to him—right in front of Professor McGonagall, but it was very difficult to just sit still while Malfoy insulted him and people he cared about.
"Now," McGonagall said, obviously trying to rein in her own temper, "I do not care if Malfoy insulted every friend you have and every relative you have ever known, Potter. There is no excuse for your behaviour tonight. I have warned you about losing your temper in the past, regarding this very matter. I expected you to take what I said to heart.
"And as for you, Malfoy," she went on, turning her gaze on Malfoy, who very quickly lost the look of glee that had been forming on his face, "you are a prefect. If I were your Head of House, I would relieve you of your badge and give it to someone who can behave himself. And," she added, looking deeply disgusted, "your accusations, weak as they may be, are despicable and disrespectful. Cedric Diggory is no longer with us. You would do well to remember that."
Malfoy looked back at her stonily, but at least he didn't sneer and Harry thought it was more in response to being told he did not deserve to be a prefect than to being chastised for disrespecting Cedric.
Professor McGonagall took in a deep breath through her nose and Harry wondered just how much effort it was taking her not to yell at them. He thought he found her to be scarier this way. He had somewhat come to expect the yelling.
"I am giving you both detention and I will be taking fifty points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Do not look at me that way, Malfoy, you're lucky it's only one detention. You will both meet me in the Entrance Hall at nine o'clock Saturday morning. I will give you the details of your detention then."
Harry gaped at her. Ignoring that it sounded as though she intended them to do the detention together—which was a monumentally stupid idea, they'd end up killing each other for sure—Quidditch season was fast approaching and Angelina was sure to expect them to be able to practise on Saturday. Malfoy seemed to have noticed this too; he was almost out of his chair in disbelief.
"Professor, we've got Quidditch practise Saturday—"
"Which you will both be missing out on," Professor McGonagall said coldly. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Harry in disappointment. Harry looked away. He had already missed an awful lot of Quidditch practices because of detentions this year and he knew McGonagall was not happy he would be missing another one, even if it was she who was handing out the detention. It only showed just how disappointed with him she was this time.
"As for tonight," Professor McGonagall went on before Malfoy could protest again, "you will both head straight to your dormitories and you will stay there until breakfast tomorrow morning, or it will mean more points and another detention."
She waved her wand and Harry heard a small click from behind them. He turned around in his seat; the door had unlocked and swung open.
"Nine o'clock, Saturday morning," she repeated with an air of finality.
Malfoy pushed himself to his feet and strode out the door almost before she had finished speaking. Harry followed with considerably less enthusiasm. He was not looking forward to what was sure to follow when he reached the Gryffindor common room.
"And Potter," McGonagall said just as he reached the door. Harry paused and looked back around; her voice was no longer icy and held a somewhat concerned quality he had heard only once or twice before.
"Do keep in mind that you do not have to cope with this loss all alone," she said, looking slightly confused as to why she felt she needed to say it at all, but at least it was out there.
Harry nodded stiffly and closed the door as he left. He knew no one would understand why Cedric's death had and still affected him so much, and he was not going to explain it either. He would just have to watch his temper even more carefully from now on.
But as he turned to head down the hall that would take him upstairs, he found his way blocked by none other than Malfoy, who stood just outside the door with his arms crossed. The Slytherin had not stomped off to the dungeons after leaving McGonagall's office as Harry had thought he would but had, instead, waited for him to emerge from the office as well to confront him.
"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry snarled, intending to just step around him. He was not going to get into another fight just after they'd received detention for the first one, especially when they were still right outside McGonagall's office.
But Malfoy moved with him, so he was still in Harry's way.
"What are you playing at?" he demanded in a low voice.
Harry just stared at him. "What are you on about? I got a detention, same as you."
"Oh, don't make like you're stupid, Potter, you know what I'm talking about," Malfoy sneered.
But Harry continued to stare at him. Racking his brain for anything that might have gotten Malfoy so riled up, the only thing he could think of was the spell he had cast that he did not remember. And while that unnerved him, too, he had no idea what it could have been to make Malfoy want to confront him like this.
"Sorry to disappoint you, then," Harry said, sneering back at him. Even if he had known what Malfoy was talking about, he wouldn't have said anything about it to him anyway. "Now get out of the way."
Malfoy did not move, but he did not try to stop Harry again when Harry shoved past him. Harry glanced back once when he reached the end of the hall; Malfoy was still standing there in front of McGonagall's office, watching him leave. As soon as he noticed Harry looking back at him, he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the stairs to the ground floor in the other direction. Harry frowned at him for a moment before he continued on own long trek up to Gryffindor Tower.
He did not know quite what to expect when he stepped through the portrait hole, but he was very glad to find that Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in their favourite chairs by the fire. He was not quite as thrilled to see that neither of them smiled at him as he walked over and in fact both were looking rather grim in their own ways.
"How'd it go?" Ron asked once Harry was close enough that they could speak without too much risk of being overheard.
"Detention," Harry said as he dropped his bag and sank into a chair. "Both of us, at nine on Saturday morning. And we both got about a hundred points docked."
Ron whistled softly. "Blimey, Angelina'll go round the twist when she hears you're missing another practice."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said; that was definitely not a conversation he was looking forward to. "But she can't say much; McGonagall's the one who set the detention."
He started pulling out his books and parchment so he could get started on his homework.
"You really shouldn't have done it, Harry," Hermione said softly. She was looking at him oddly, like she had back in the Entrance Hall.
Harry just grunted and opened his Potions book. He agreed with her, of course—he really shouldn't have lost his temper so badly—but he was still feeling rather like she shouldn't have gotten in the middle of their duel like she had.
"Yeah, what set you off like that in the first place?" Ron asked after a moment.
Harry did not look at him. He was sure he would end up glaring if he did. "You heard what he said about Cedric."
"Yeah, but you know it's just Malfoy being Malfoy," Ron said, sounding bewildered. "He's always been a little snot."
"And he's not exactly going to admit he knows the truth, is he?" Hermione chimed in quietly. "Not when his father stands so much to gain while everyone thinks you're mad for saying Voldemort's returned. Oh, get a hold of yourself, Ron."
"Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, all right?" Harry muttered, turning a page hard enough to tear it half out of the book. "It was stupid, and we were lucky it was McGonagall who caught us, and duelling Malfoy won't convince anyone Cedric was murdered by a madman. Well, other then them thinking that madman was me after all," he added bitterly. He was sure the story of what had happened would spread like wildfire, and he was also sure most of the school would end up hearing an expanded, elaborate version that would not show him in a good light. "I've already heard enough from McGonagall tonight, so leave it alone, would you?"
Hermione made a quiet sound and bit her lip. Harry glared at her, although he immediately felt sorry about it.
"What?" he asked, careful to keep his voice even this time.
"Well, it's just that...Ron and I, we were wondering..."
Harry suddenly had a bad feeling about where this was going, but he tried to remain civil anyway. "What?"
"Well, it's sounded like..." Hermione frowned and leaned in close so she could speak as quietly as possible, so as not to be overheard. "It sounded like that last spell you used might have been in Parseltongue."
Harry's mouth went dry, and he felt like he was doing an awful lot of staring tonight. "What?" he said for a third time.
This was obviously not the reaction the two of them had been expecting. They glanced at each other and then back at Harry. Hermione's frown had deepened, as though she thought he was pretending not to know what she was talking about, and Ron looked a little disconcerted.
"You know, Parseltongue? Snake language?" he said quietly.
"I know what it is, Ron, I've only known I can speak it for three years now," Harry said irritably. "What d'you mean it sounded like Parseltongue?"
"Don't you remember?" Hermione asked. She and Ron glanced at each other again.
Harry paused, but there was really no other way to go about this. He needed to know what had happened. "Let's say I don't," he said slowly.
"Well, you got this look on your face like...like you might really murder Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, looking a bit disconcerted now herself. "You were really calm all of a sudden...and then you opened your mouth and—"
"It sounded awful," Ron interjected. "Like you were having a fit or something. And then the spell came out...Lucky Hermione was able to stop it in time. Who knows what it might've done..."
Harry let his head fall into his hands. His scar was aching again. He wished it would stop.
"You really don't remember any of this?" Ron asked warily.
He had a very good reason to be nervous. The last time there had been a student who didn't remember short periods of time, she had been Ron's sister, and she had been possessed by a teenage Voldemort and forced to sic a basilisk on Muggleborns. He felt fairly confident that was not the case this time, if only because it had been for such a short period of time and he had not touched anything that might have once belonged to Voldemort, but the steady ache in his scar did not reassure him.
"We thought maybe you'd found a book in the library that had spells in Parseltongue," Hermione said, although she did not sound like she really believed this. Harry couldn't blame her. Could Parseltongue even be written down?
"I don't remember firing that spell," Harry admitted at last. "Everything right before and after is there, but that part is a little fuzzy..."
Hermione and Ron exchanged worried looks again. Harry wished they would stop doing that.
"You don't think it's him?" Ron said.
"It can't be," Harry said, but he did not feel as confident as he tried to sound. "He's got his own body now, and I haven't seen anything of his lying around lately, have you?"
"It does seem unlikely," said Hermione, but she also did not sound very sure of herself. "Are you sure you've never seen spells meant for Parselmouths before, Harry? You've been doing plenty of research lately..."
Harry gave her a sharp look, but thankfully it seemed that was all she was going to say on the subject. "I didn't even know you could use magic in Parseltongue before now," he said quietly.
"Neither did I. I suppose it wouldn't be in any books outside the Restricted Section, though, would it? Parseltongue isn't a very highly thought of ability..."
"Gee, I wonder why," Harry muttered.
Hermione frowned at him. "It's a perfectly fine ability on it's own, Harry, it's just been given a bad reputation. There's nothing inherently Dark about being able to talk to snakes."
"Yeah, but everyone's going to think I'm the next Voldemort or something. They already all think I'm barking, so how's it going to sound when they hear I attacked Malfoy with a spell in Parseltongue?" Something about the events of earlier in the evening finally clicked as he said this, and he groaned, burying his face further into his hands. "That's what he was on about."
"Who?" Ron asked. He had been mercifully quiet for most of this exchange, but Harry thought it likely he was really just too nervous to say anything. He was one of those who felt that Parseltongue had rightly earned its less than stellar reputation, after all.
"Malfoy. He cornered me after we left McGonagall's office. He didn't do anything!" Harry said quickly when both Ron and Hermione had shifted in alarm. "He wanted to know 'what I was playing at.' He must've recognized the Parseltongue...he's heard it before..."
"Most of us have," Ron pointed out. "And if Malfoy and his friends recognized it, it's sure to be all over the school by morning."
Harry groaned, his hands curling painfully in his hair. He had realized that too.
"Harry," Hermione said cautiously, and Harry looked up at her through his fingers. "I think you ought to tell Dumbledore about this."
Even though he knew she was probably right, and Dumbledore really should know if Harry was casting spells without remembering he'd done it, Harry thought back to how Dumbledore had consistently ignored him and warned others not to get him too much information, and he scowled at the suggestion of trying to share anything with him.
"Maybe I came across it last year when we were looking in all those obscure books to help with the tasks and I just didn't remember until now," Harry said, trying pretend he hadn't heard her at all, but this excuse sounded weak even to his ears.
Now Ron was frowning at him too. "I reckon Hermione's right. If You-Know-Who's found some way to, I dunno, possess you or something—"
"I'm not possessed!"
He did not realize he had shouted this until he noticed heads turning in their direction from around the room. He scowled and set his book down on the table as he got to his feet.
"I'm going to bed."
"Harry—"
"I'm not telling Dumbledore. Or Snuffles," he said as Hermione's mouth opened. She promptly shut it again, frowning at him. "You can tell them if you want to, I don't care. I'm going to bed."
He grabbed his bag and made his way through the common room to the stairs up to the boy's dormitory, resolutely ignoring the stares that followed him as he went. He was sure that if rumours about what had happened down in the Entrance Hall had not already started, they certainly would now. He found he did not care. If the rest of the school wanted to be so stupid as to believe he was being possessed, then so be it. Maybe then they would at least believe Voldemort had returned.
When he reached the dormitory, he strode across to his bed, dropped his bag beside his trunk, and hastily pulled out his pyjamas so he could get dressed for bed. Then he grabbed the bottle of ink and quill that were now permanently on his night-stand, climbed into bed, and pulled the hangings firmly shut.
He might not want to tell Dumbledore about what had happened, but he did have someone in whom he could confide.
He had taken to keeping the journal under his pillow in the last week or so, and it was this that he pulled out and laid open on his covers. Sanguini had not written anything new since the last time they had spoken, but as that had only been an couple days ago, Harry wasn't terribly surprised.
Harry grabbed his quill, dipped it in the ink, and began writing.
He kept his account short and to the point, primarily drawing attention to the Parseltongue spell he did not remember casting and whether Sanguini had ever heard of magic that could be cast in snake language. He did not even bother to mention that he had gotten detention; it wasn't nearly as important. He did make sure to mention his loss of a few seconds memory and the burning in his scar—which was still hurting even now. He had not really mentioned anything about his scar to Sanguini until now, but he felt it was an important part of what had happened and so he couldn't put it off any longer.
Then once he was done, he set everything aside and crawled under the covers. He had no illusions about falling asleep any time soon, so he resigned himself to staring up at the ceiling as he got his thoughts in order.
Was he being possessed? He didn't think so—he couldn't see how it could have happened—but he couldn't seem get the thought out of his mind. He had no idea where he could have picked up a spell in Parseltongue, and his scar still ached from when it had burned fiercely earlier in the evening. He knew very well by now that he was able to pick up on Voldemort's emotions when he was feeling something particularly strongly, and if there was anyone who might know magic that could only be preformed by a Parselmouth, it was Voldemort.
But he could not imagine how—or why—Voldemort could possibly be possessing him from so far away and for such a sort period of time. Still, the thought lingered and Harry had to force himself to think of something else or he thought he might start feeling sick.
So he thought about what was sure to happen the next day and on until something new caught the other students' fancy. Malfoy had almost certainly recognized that Harry had been speaking Parseltongue, and he had no reason to think that the spell had been anything but Dark and dangerous (nor did Harry, which only made him feel more ill). He had happily embraced the Prophet's narrative of Harry already being dangerous and their duel would fit in with that narrative spectacularly well. And even if Malfoy didn't try to make it out to be more than it was, those Slytherins who had witnessed it were sure to.
If no one accused him of being the next Dark Lord by lunch the next day, he thought might die of shock. The rest of the school had been all too happy to accuse him of that other times in years past.
Then he wondered if Malfoy would even still have detention by the time Saturday came around. He would undoubtedly appeal to Snape, and Snape was sure to try to override Professor McGonagall and issue a punishment of his own—if he issued one at all. The last time he and Malfoy had started duelling in a corridor, Snape had looked the other way completely.
And what about Umbridge? Maybe Malfoy really didn't like her much, but she definitely did not seem to dislike him, and she enjoyed tormenting Harry just as much as he did (which, Harry thought bitterly, was probably why Umbridge liked him). If Malfoy appealed to her, she would surely come up with a way to not only get him out of detention, but to make Harry's life even more miserable at the same time. Perhaps she would ban him from practising magic at all. Or maybe she would give him a few more detentions of her own and make him write with his other hand, so she could force him to carve a second message in his skin.
He lay there long enough that he heard when Ron finally came up to go to bed himself. He listened as Ron crossed to his bed, shuffled around for a moment, and then paused next to the hangings around his own.
"Harry?" he said quietly. There was still a wary quality to his voice that both made Harry seethe and doubled his own anxiety at once.
Harry did not answer. He did not want to talk about this until he'd had a chance to sleep on it. He forced his breathing to remain soft and even so Ron would think he had already fallen asleep.
Ron waited for a good long minute outside his hangings, but eventually Harry heard him shuffle away to his own bed.
Harry turned onto his side and stared past the journal sitting beside his head, not really looking at anything at all. He wished for a moment that he was back in his room at Privet Drive, so he could just call Sanguini to him and they could talk until Harry fell asleep.
He sighed and closed his eyes, but he secretly hoped he would not fall asleep any time soon. The sooner he slept, the sooner he would have to deal with the fallout in the morning.
When they entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, however, there was nothing particularly unusual about anyone's behaviour. No one stared at him more than usual, no one started whispering when he passed any more than they had in the past two months, no one shot out of their seat and demanded to know why he hadn't yet been rounded up and sent to Azkaban. Perhaps the Gryffindors shot him a few more furtive glances than usual and the Slytherins around Malfoy began whispering a bit more when they noticed them, but it could have been any other morning for all that happened.
Harry glanced up at the Head table as he sat down. Umbridge and Snape were both watching him, and neither was trying to hide it. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was engaged in conversation with Professor McGonagall, and while she had looked up when they walked in, he had not.
Harry tried to ignore the fierce aggravation he felt as he sat down between Ron and Hermione. He did, however, feel that he had made the right decision in wanting not to tell him.
The rest of the day passed without much incident.
As he had expected, Angelina cornered him during the break to let him know just how much she did not appreciate him landing himself in detention, again, particularly this close to the start of the Quidditch season.
"And I'll have you know that you're lucky we don't have a reserve Seeker, or I'd be seriously thinking of replacing you!" Angelina declared as she walked away.
"Go talk to McGonagall, then! She set the detention!" Harry called back, but he knew it was a hollow threat anyway. Angelina no more desired to replace him than she did any other member of the team, no matter how many detentions he ended up in.
Care of Magical Creatures passed without any sort of confrontation with the Slytherins. Harry had been feeling some trepidation about this class since breakfast, as it would be his first class with Malfoy since their impromptu duel. He felt that, if Malfoy had not made a scene during breakfast or lunch, he was surely saving it for this class.
However, other than a couple snide looks in his direction, the Slytherins kept to themselves the entire class. Harry found he was not able to concentrate much on what Professor Grubbly-Plank was saying anyway, as he was too distracted by his wondering about when Malfoy would finally snap, but at the end of class, the three of them were making their way across the grounds to the greenhouses without having said a word to the Slytherins.
"What d'you think is up with Malfoy?" Ron wondered aloud.
"Dunno. He was acting weird last night, too," Harry said, shrugging. "I thought he'd be over it by today, though..."
The three of them glanced back to where they could see the Slytherins making their way back up to the castle. They could not tell what they might be talking about, but Harry thought he saw Malfoy look back at them.
"I thought for sure he'd say something," Ron said, frowning at them.
"Well, maybe he's finally grown up," Hermione said, although she rolled her eyes like she believed it about as much as they did, which was not at all.
But they could not spend much time contemplating this mystery, as they had just arrived at the greenhouses and Harry did not want to talk about this particular subject in the queue when Zacharias Smith was already staring at him oddly.
It was not until after dinner that Ginny finally approached him. She sought him out in what was becoming his usual corner of the library and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.
"Hermione says you've been avoiding talking to her and Ron all day," Ginny said.
"I haven't been—"
"And that you won't go to Dumbledore," Ginny went on, her frown growing more pronounced.
Harry frowned right back at her. While he had not thought it would remain a secret that he was suddenly casting spells he had no memory of, not when he had shouted it in the common room the night before, it was still annoying to hear that Ron and Hermione had been talking behind his back about it.
"Been talking about me amongst yourselves, have you?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't act like everyone's out to get you. We're worried about you, Harry."
"I'm fine," he said shortly, looking back down at his book.
Ginny slammed a hand down on the pages a moment later. "Harry, if you think You-Know-Who's been possessing you, you need to tell someone!"
Harry looked up at her again. She did not look angry, but rather extremely worried and urgent. Harry immediately felt guilty about being short with her; of course she would be worried, as she had experienced it herself and this would not be bringing back any pleasant memories. However, he was glad that she he kept her voice down; that particular bit of knowledge had not spread outside Gryffindor, as far as he could tell, and it really did not need to.
"He hasn't been," Harry said quietly. He wondered how many times he would have to say it to even convince himself of that.
"Are you sure?" Ginny said. This did not seem to reassure her; instead, she looked even more worried. "Hermione said you didn't remember—"
"Ginny, when he was possessing you," Harry said carefully, "was it ever for about five seconds at a time?"
Ginny's expression had gone stony, and Harry regretted bringing it up at all. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet and thoughtful. "No, it wasn't."
Harry thought that rather settled it. Ginny, obviously, did not, because she went on hurriedly, "But Harry, you're still doing things without remembering you've done them. You should really tell Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall, at least," she added when she saw Harry's expression.
"I'm not telling anyone until I've got a better idea what's going on," Harry said. He closed his book. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get anything done here anymore. He really did need to get back to the common room and start on his homework, in any case.
"And how are we supposed to know that's not his idea too?" Ginny said angrily as he started packing his things away. "If you don't tell someone, I will."
"Fine," Harry said. He stood up. "You do that."
Ginny glared at him for a good long moment. Then she huffed and turned on her heel, her long curtain of hair whirling about her as she stalked out of the library.
When Harry finally turned in for the night—not long after midnight, as he'd had a fair amount of homework to catch up on—he checked his journal to see if Sanguini had written anything, and he was not disappointed. Harry quickly drew his hangings and settled down to read and then probably think about what he'd just read.
Magic may be cast in any number of languages. Did you really think Latin would be the only one? Not even all wizards in the Western World use Latin as their primary magical base, though it has become far more common than any other language in the last few centuries.
I have never heard of magic to be performed in Parseltongue; however, that does not mean it does not exist. Parseltongue has always been a rare gift, so it would not surprise me to learn that very little has even been written about it, and I would also not doubt that much of what there may have been on the subject has been lost or hidden throughout the years.
I will, however, admit that I have done little research into wizard magicks, having never been one myself. Byron and Christopher might have a better idea, if you would like me to ask them.
Are you sure it was not simply the shock of what was happening that caused you to forget a few moments? It is odd that it would occur at that particular moment, but it is not impossible that things were simply happening too quickly to process.
I'm not sure what to tell you about your scar, except that I think you might have been remiss in mentioning it up until now.
I do think, Harry, that you should not worry about whether this means you're becoming the next Voldemort. You are a good person with very good intentions. I could see that the very first time I met you. I think sometimes you might make a bad decision, out of temper or lack of knowledge, but your intentions remain pure and that is what matters.
Harry sat there in his private space lit only by his wand and stared at these words for a very long time.
He had known Sanguini might not know anything about Parseltongue, and he thought it might be interesting to see what the Arkwrights had to say on the matter, as long as they weren't told too much about what had happened.
He had also thought Sanguini might wonder about his scar and why it would be important, and he thought he might tell him the absolute basics of the situation—that when Voldemort was near or feelings something particularly strongly, he could feel it, and it hurt. There was no need to mention any more than that, and he was sure he was going mad for thinking of telling him about it at all, but Harry couldn't shake the idea that it was important in this instance.
It was the last paragraph Sanguini had written that he spent his time staring at. He had not thought Sanguini to be the type who would issue out such words of praise, especially not to someone he had known less than half a year. He had not even commended Cedric quite so much when he had received his OWL results.
Harry had not realized how much he had needed those words, either. He had felt so angry lately, and producing spells without remembering he'd done so was never a good sign. To hear that someone who was not one of his closest friends did not think this meant he was turning into a Dark Lord made him feel happier than he had in weeks.
He finally pulled out his quill and began writing, telling Sanguini that he could ask Byron and Christopher about magic associated with Parselmouths but to please not tell them why he, Harry, was asking, and then telling him about his scar, though not about the visions he'd had in the past. It was no more than had been reported in the Prophet last year, though he was sure Sanguini had not taken that seriously, as it had been Rita Skeeter writing about it.
He hesitated as he finished writing, unsure of whether he should remark on Sanguini positive sentiments. In the end, however, he quickly dashed off two words before he set everything aside and crawled into bed.
Thank you.
