Chapter 10

On Monday at breakfast Harry finally got an owl from Lawyer Gordon Greengrass.

Dear Mr Potter,

From our mutual acquaintance Neville Longbottom, I have received news that you require the services of a law wizard in your case against The Daily Prophet.

I have acquainted myself with the details of your former dealings with The Daily Prophet by now and would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss our course of actions. If you are so inclined, I would offer to rent a private room at the Three Broomsticks this Friday at five o'clock for our meeting. Please owl a reply, confirming time and place, or include alternative suggestions.

Looking forward to meet your acquaintance,

Sincerely,

Lawyer Gordon Greengrass

Simple and to the point, without unnecessary flattery. Lawyer Greengrass appeared to be a man of Harry's heart. He offered the owl some of his bacon, told it to wait and quickly penned a reply.

Dear Lawyer Greengrass,

Time and place suit me fine. I'm looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He attached the message to the large eagle owl and watched it take of a moment later.

In the afternoon Harry once again hid in the dullest corner of the library, starting on his essay for Snape's class, which was due in three weeks. The difference between light and dark spells. Elaborate.

The topic turned out to be rather difficult, as he had yet to find an easy or even persistent distinction. Obviously, there were a lot of spells that were unquestionably dark. Lots of other spells, that were labelled dark however had a light equivalent that caused just about as much damage.

So was it a matter of power that needed to be put into the spell? Somehow that did not make sense. Harry had always considered the Dark Arts evil. Was this just another notion he had to overcome? Was the only thing distinguishing light spells from dark spells arbitrary ministry laws?

Harry did not dare reading the books on Dark Arts he had bought in Knockturn Alley in the library. While he could not quote them for school work, they might give him a hint in the right direction though. By now he had become extremely personally intrigued by the distinction, as well.

On the whole, Snape's classes had actually turned out to be very interesting, if one was prepared to listen with an unbiased ear, concentrating on what he said, instead of how he said it.

He really knew hardly anything about Snape, only that he had a Mastery in Potions, had a more or less obsessed interest in the Dark Arts and had greatly disliked his father and the other Marauders. Otherwise, Harry knew nothing about this controversial character that was spying for at least one side of this war.

Harry could perfectly describe any and every oneof his facial expressions; his sneers, snarls, his smirks, the silkiness of his voice when talking about Potions or the Dark Arts. He could masterfully describe the mask. In all those years of loathing his teacher, he had never actually learnt anything about him but what his mask looked like. Other than telling him that the man behind the mask was a cunning individual, its study had not given him a tool to figure him out.

Harry decided to add some research about Snape's background to his schedule. Who were his parents? Did he have siblings, any living relatives? Who did he associate with? Who had he hung out with at school?

Frustrated with his findings on the Dark Arts so far, Harry resolved to go over his unofficial, and probably even illegal, sources in Slytherin's study as soon as possible and snapped his books shut.

Malfoy had stood behind him for awhile, unnoticed till he leaned over Harry's shoulder. He looked over the titles of several of the books and gave Harry an amused smirk.

"Potter."

Harry guessed that Malfoy probably knew the answers to their homework much better than himself. After all, his family had been knee to neck deep in the Dark Arts for generations. He had probably already cast his fair share of dark spells himself as well. It was only to be expected. Probably, he had been trained in them since he could hold a wand. Harry refrained from asking Malfoy for help though, as this was bound to be a touchy subject.

"Malfoy," Harry nodded at him, "Feel free to have a seat."

Malfoy slid in a chair across from Harry, who moved his books to the side. They locked eyes for a few long moments, till Malfoy suddenly blurted out:

"What happened at the ministry?"

Harry contemplated how to answer him. While he felt Malfoy had the right to know how his father came to be imprisoned at least, he could not risk to reveal the contents of the prophecy to him, or even let him know he knew it. Telling him what Voldemort himself already knew however could not harm anyone.

"All through the school year Voldemort-" Draco flinched at the sound of the name and then scowled sullenly at Harry.

"How can you of all people say his name?"

"You should as well. At one point he only was an abused child, growing up in a muggle orphanage."

"A muggle orphanage?" Malfoy said incredulously, "Him?"

Harry nodded, "It makes sense, doesn't it? He is a halfblood. His mother was Merope Gaunt. She dosed his handsome muggle father with a love potion. She got pregnant. The muggle left her though when she stopped using the potion. She was ugly to the point of being almost disfigured, and magically weak. She died in childbirth and left him to grow up at the orphanage."

Malfoy stared dumbly at him.

Harry went on. "He had sent me visions of a corridor of what I later learnt to be the Department of Mysteries. Again, only later did I learn that this was where a prophecy of Voldemort and presumably me was kept."

Malfoy shuddered again."A prophecy about you and the Dark Lord?" Draco then exclaimed wide eyed. "What did it say?"

"It was destroyed." Harry said flatly, thinking back to the events of that night.

"So you have no idea what it says?"

Harry thought how to mislead him best. While he could not effort to actually give away that he knew it, he could still use the prophecy to his advantage now.

"Well, it's not that difficult to guess, isn't it?" Harry shrugged, "Something along the lines of him or me?" Personally, he didn't consider the prophecy that important, anyway. The main problem was that Voldemort believed in it. The prophecy itself had only caused its partial fulfilment after all. Had it not been overheard, Voldemort probably would have never marked him as his equal.

"All year, he attempted to lure me there to trick me into retrieving the prophecy for him, as only he and I could touch it. Then he made me believe that my godfather had been kidnapped and was tortured at the ministry."

"Who is your godfather?" Draco asked curiously.

"Sirius Black," Harry said.

Again Malfoy stared dumbly at him, "How could Sirius Black have been your godfather?"

"He was my father's best friend. He'd offered for me to permanently stay with him."

"Bellatrix Lestrange killed him though," Harry added with barely restrained despair and hate, "Her own cousin!"

Malfoy looked sick. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Harry nodded, restraining himself from further commenting on that, well aware that she actually was his mother's sister.

"Sincere condolences," Malfoy muttered formally. It was more than an empty phrase though, as Malfoy's shocked expression clearly showed, bringing the point across far better than the stereotyped reply.

"Thanks," Harry said equally sincerely.

They said in silence for a while, staring numbly at each other. Despite having lost family on different sides of the same battle, their losses had brought on a connection, however short lived it might be.

Harry smiled thinly. Malfoy had sunken into himself, looking so utterly exhausted and lost, much like Harry felt.

"How can you be so kind to me, how can you even stand being near me at all?" Malfoy whispered dejectedly.

"While you bear a great outward resemblance with your father, you are not him."

Malfoy drew in a breath, "Will you tell me? What did he do? Please, I need to know!" His lips quivered and his eyes watered.

Harry nodded slowly and following the sudden urge to comfort the guy, who had lost his father on the opposing side of the same battle that had lost him Sirius, he cautiously moved to the chair closest to Malfoy and put a hand on his shoulder. While Malfoy did not outwardly acknowledge the contact in any way, he did not move away either.

"He led the attack," Harry said dully, "He actually restrained Bellatrix Lestrange from torturing us before he had the prophecy. Basically, I used the record of the prophecy as a shield for all of us. We smashed shelves with other records and used the confusion of the moment to make a run for it. We didn't get far though and got seperated, spread around across many different rooms. We barely managed to stall them long enough for help to arrive."

Malfoy uttered a strangled sob. Whether it was because he had finally learnt how his father had ended up in prison or the fact that his father had attacked his school mates, Harry did not know, but it probably was a bit of both.

He had actually tried to say something remotely positive about Lucius Malfoy, while still sticking to the undeniably ugly facts. Molly- coddling Draco by deluding him into believing his father's actions had been somehow redeemable, or even that his father had been an innocent bystander or any such drivel was out of the question though. He would not lie to Draco. The sooner he accepted the cold truth, the better it was.

Again, Harry felt the strange urge to console him. Under the circumstances it seemed unlikely that Malfoy would accept comfort from him of all people though. Tentatively, he squeezed Malfoy's shoulder and moved in a little closer. To his great surprise he found himself with an armful of Malfoy moments later.

The long awaited break down seemed to have finally come. Malfoy's shoulders shook uncontrollably. He never uttered a sound as he sniffed into Harry's collar bone. He must have been extremely worn out for him to latch onto Harry like that.

Gone was the proud Pureblood and only the mere teenager beneath was left behind, lost without a sense of direction, the ideals he grew of his upbringing the only shaky crutches to help along the way, frightened and utterly alone.

Unsure of what to do now, as he had never gained much experience with consoling or even receiving that sort of comfort, Harry ligtly caressed his back. Malfoy's grip tigthtened, he seemed to hold on for dear life. Harry returned the hug and oddly enough it felt good to hug somebody he rationally knew he could not trust.

He had received so few hugs in his life. Harry hugged him closer, as he once again thought of Sirius, how his actions had contributed to Sirius death, how again he was all alone. His sight went blurry.

This was a sort of comfort that Hermione's consoling hugs could not provide, because Hermione did not understand, not really. With absolute certainty he knew though that Malfoy did, even if his sympathy might not hold on once he got a grip on himself. Malfoy understood. They clung to each other in the grip of pure desperation.

The breath on his neck, the shaking body slummed against his chest, the beat of a heart under his hand mixed the despair with a fierce joy of being alive, so very alive. His heart sped up, as they pressed even closer against each other.

"Potter," Malfoy murmured.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy looked up to him, puffy eyes burtsting with the same despair and sense of aliveness that Harry felt. They stared at each other. Harry quirked the corners of his lips in a sorry attempt of a smile. Then he felt Malfoy's lips on his. Once again he found himself in a lip lock and could not tell how this had come about.

Malfoy's watery kiss was so full of inhibited need, which Harry felt himself respond just as hungrily. The absurdity of kissing Malfoy of all people in the school library and after having discussed the events at the Department of Mysteries at that, made the whole thing seem even more intriguing. Making out now had the refreshing feel of "not the thing to do" to it, which was all the more reason to do just that.

Malfoy was nibbling his lower lip, then thrusting his tongue into Harry's mouth. His lips were rough, bearing marks of worrying his teeth too often. By now he was ackwardly sprawled over Harry's legs, his hands around Harry's neck pressing them even closer into together.

It was a sloppy kiss with lots of teeth and tongue and. There was only need; only sucking and biting lips, fisting of hair, probbing tongues and eventually fumbling hands, seeking to drone out the numbness, the despair rolling along with the tears streaking their faces.

Harry's mouth wandered along Malfoy's jaw to his neck, where his bite left a mark. Malfoy straddled his legs, grabbed his hair and once again their lips locked. Malfoy's teeth drew blood on Harry's lips. Harry groaned and kneaded Malfoy's ass and pushed them closer together. Malfoy pushed Harry's robe aside to nibble on Harry's collar bone, breathing heavily against his neck and digging his nails into his shoulders.

Then Malfoy wrenched himself free. He looked panicked, scared to death actually. Harry put a hand on his shoulder, which Malfoy shook of.

"Just stay away from me!" Malfoy panted, retangling himself from Harry and the chair. Then he ran off.

Harry stared at the point where Malfoy had stood only moments before. What had that been all about? The situation had just become even weirder. He had just snogged Draco Malfoy, who had then run off. He shook his head. He had just shared the most intense and intimate moment ever up to that point with Malfoy. There had been nothing of the calm tenderness he had shared with Joe, only shared need.

Never before had he pondered whether he found Malfoy attractive. It hadn't been about looks or even liking the other though, only the shared urge to feel. Everything between them had always been intense, were they hexing and beating the shit out of each other, or snogging each other senseless as they had just now.

What was it with crying people kissing him anyway? Nothing of this kiss even remotely resembled Cho's though, luckily. Cho had smelled sweetly of soaps and perfume, while Malfoy had a nice distinctly male smell to him. Where Cho had been soft and undemanding, Malfoy could not get enough – until he had run off.

That Malfoy was good looking was a fact commonly acknowledged. His almost white blond hair, pale skin and aristocratic features could only be described as handsome, even if most also added cold to the discription. The bloke he had gotten to know these past weeks was anything but cold. Was it his mask slipping under the strain? Recently his face looked gaunt and he had become far too skinny. While the bags under his eyes made him seem more human, they did nothing for his complexion. Harry shook his head. They might have just been caught up in the moment. Harry certainly had no romantic feelings for Malfoy.

Why had Malfoy run off like that? Had he realized just then that he had snogged The Chosen One, Harry Potter, that he liked men and could not cope with that concept? Malfoy obviously had a lot of issues these days, breaking down in front of Harry like that. He hardly seemed to eat anymore, judging by the bony feel to him.