Disclaimer: see chapter 1

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Chapter 14: Malfoy Muttering

Draco took the story of his ride a lot better than Harry had hoped. Mind you, Harry thought, Draco didn't have his wand any more. So no-one was turned into a toad. Draco did go a little pale the moment it sunk in just how Simon had leaped from stair to stair like he thought he was Pegasus.

"But he figured out the stairs…" Draco muttered at last. "Is that normal behaviour for a horse?"

Harry, who was putting the rug on Simon and trying to stop the horse stealing all the apples out of the bag of brushes at the same time, sighed and gave up pushing Simon's nose out of the bag with his foot. He pulled the leadrope and tied Simon to the fence on a short enough rope to stop the horse from reaching the bag.

"What, can you tell me, is normal about this horse?"

Draco laughed softly in the gathering dusk. "You tell me. Simon's the first one I've met. Maybe all horses can gallop up staircases and predict the movement of magical architecture."

"Yeah, why not?" Harry grinned as he slipped behind the horse to do up the straps around the back legs. There was a crunching sound from the other end. Harry did up the second clip and straightened, leaning on the horse's backside. Simon's nose was in the bag as he chomped on one of the apples. The rope trailed along the ground. "Hey… did you undo the leadrope?"

Draco frowned. "No."

"Greedy-guts. Simon – not you, Malfoy." Harry sighed again and retied the horse using the special quick-release knot Luna had taught him. Maybe the knot had slipped. Oh well, Simon had only eaten one of the apples… Maybe –

Simon lipped at the end of the rope and, taking it carefully in his long, yellowing incisors, tugged.

The rope came free and the horse dropped his head to snuffle in the bag.

Harry laughed as he pulled the bag away and then had to shove Simon's head back as the horse tried to butt him out of the way. "Hey – cut it out, greedy!"

"What? What did he do?" Draco demanded. He sounded imperious, but Harry had grown used to him now and knew when he was being bossy and when, like now, he was simply impatient or nervous at not being totally informed about what was going on around him. Maybe Harry would write a Malfoy Mutterer book.

"Simon can undo the knot."

"Huh. So horses aren't too stupid after all."

"Oh, come on. You never thought he was!" Harry laughed.

Draco shrugged. "Muggles… Muggle animals… they're all meant to be inferior."

Harry sobered. "And do you really believe that?"

Draco's face was as closed off as Harry had seen it in days. "Does it matter what I think?"

"Depends what you want to do with what you think," Harry said eventually. He tugged on the rug, pulling it towards the tail just enough to make sure that the hair underneath was lying flat and wouldn't irritate Simon. "The last time someone made a comment about your life ambitions, Ron got stuck in a bubble of silence."

Draco smirked reminiscently. "Ah, Trudi. She's got some surprises up her sleeves."

"I'll say." Harry grinned. "She's a neat kid."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really? She's a Slytherin. You're not meant to say things like that."

Harry rolled his eyes, then remembered that Draco couldn't see. "I've had people telling me all my life what I should and shouldn't do. Anyway, are you allowed to like non-Slytherins?"

"Anyone in particular I'm not meant to like?"

"A Ravenclaw whose father owns a paper that has spoken out against Voldemort, maybe?"

"I like Luna if that's what you're getting at, yes."

Harry tensed. He wasn't sure if this was a good topic to get into with Malfoy. Sure, he was blind and that gave Harry a huge advantage in a fight, but it wasn't one he could use. Because he wouldn't use it. But there were things which needed to be settled between the two of them – things above and beyond Voldemort. "You 'like' Luna? Or you 'like' Luna?"

"I like her. Not romantically, though, so you can calm down, Potter," Draco drawled with more than a touch of acid. "She's always going on about her blasted uncle. I'd feel like she was always expecting me to live up to his example."

That was a bit rich after Draco's continuous invocation of his father. Come to think of it, when was the last time he'd heard Draco threaten anyone with My father… "Oh."

Draco continued, oblivious. "She's someone I like to spend time with, but not someone who would make me a good wife. Or I a good husband for her, for that matter."

Harry was astonished. "I never said you had to marry her…"

Draco sneered. "Always thinking short term. How typically Gryffindor. No," he added when Harry didn't rise to the bait, "even if I'm blind for the rest of my life I've got to consider what's best for the interests of my family name."

"That's – you, I mean, you really believe that?" Harry was aware that some of the older families had an almost feudal attitude towards their lineages, but this was the first time he'd ever been confronted with it as a stone-cold fact. It was like finding someone who truly believed that Stonehenge was the ultimate modern device for projecting the movement of the stars.

"Some things shouldn't be subject to fashion," Draco replied haughtily as if he'd read Harry's thoughts. "And even if it's not something you can understand, it's something I base my life around." When the horse nudged at his hip he turned away to pat Simon's nose, as if reluctant to let Harry see his expression when he didn't have that ability himself.

"So… you'll devote your life to promoting your family line?" Harry asked. "It's – well, it's not something I'd ever considered." He thought for a minute. "But then you don't have my family – the living members, anyway. The Dursleys are living examples of the reason wizards hate Muggles. Maybe if my parents had lived – well, Dad, anyway – I'd understand."

Draco shrugged as if not caring what Harry understood or didn't understand, but Harry read it for what it was. Draco had made himself vulnerable and Harry hadn't attacked him for it.

Thank you, Robert Python. Harry hadn't considered that studying body language would give him such an advantage with his fellow humans. It seemed that there was some cross-over between horses and humans after all… just like Mr Python had said in The Horse Mutterer.

"That's really something, thinking long-term like that. I've not thought beyond the next school dance – or beyond hoping we never have one – let alone into marriage…"

Draco smirked in a superior way. Harry grinned to himself, relieved that Draco wasn't going to explode in a fit of paranoia. Manipulative Slytherins were nothing compared to a Gryffindor who'd read The Horse Mutterer.

It was interesting what he learned about the Wizarding world from the Slytherin. Certainly different from what he learned in Gryffindor – much less Politically Correct for one thing, which had irritated Harry at first, but not after he'd read in the Horse Mutterer book that it wasn't important to believe what others believed, simply respect the fact that they did so. Harry drew the line at respecting the Death Eaters' philosophy of 'kill everyone different from us,' but, ironically enough, that Death Eater philosophy was in direct contravention of the respect advocated by Robert Python. You could respect the fact of something existing but you didn't need to agree with it, or put up with it for that matter. That was something else Mr Python had said: You respected a horse's fear or anger, but you didn't have to put up with it or make yourself a target for it. But if you didn't respect it you could easily underestimate the force of its power and find yourself in a very nasty situation indeed. Harry was learning to respect Draco's nerves, for example, and found that if he didn't make Draco feel vulnerable things went a lot smoother. Luna had said much the same thing about Simon: if he was comfortable and trusted you he wouldn't –

That was the key. Trust.

Draco could trust Harry. Well, while he was blind and not part of Voldemort's schemes, anyway.

But how far could Harry trust Draco?

About as far as he could throw Simon.

"So how far do you think long-term?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Several generations. You?"

Harry blinked. Draco had said that as if he was perfectly serious and couldn't imagine it being otherwise.

"I don't, really. I can't see beyond Voldemort."

Draco's face darkened. "Yes. I can understand that."

Harry, forgetting everything about trust and calm relationships, stiffened. "Why? Do you know something I don't?"

Draco laughed, but it was bitter laughter. "Quite a bit, no doubt. But… I expect you don't need me to tell you anything about the D– about You-Know-Who. So tell me, Potter, because you've met him, what do you think of him?"

"The only human feature he's got left to him is that he's a raving psychopath."

Draco didn't get angry. Harry had been expecting him to. Instead, he nodded. "I gathered that much from Father. And Professor Snape."

"Did you know about Snape?"

"That he was a spy? No. Not until… after. Father sent me a letter. It wasn't detailed, but…" Draco sighed shakily and ran his fingers through his hair. Simon, who had been dozing, woke up and blew softly in Draco's face. Draco leaned forward and rested his forehead against the horse's cheek, the words spilling out of him low and rapidly. "Before I found out Snape was a spy I thought there was something wrong with me. I didn't understand what my father was on about – well, yes I understood it; but I couldn't quite see the logic behind it. It seemed a bit, I don't know… like a way of creating solidarity and mustering power through fear. It didn't have any proper methodology behind it beyond 'They're Them and We're Us,' which seemed to me to be just a way for the Dark Lord to bring people under his control.

"I wonder if he even believes what he says… I think Father does, but I don't understand why. I asked him once, and he said that if I didn't understand it was because I was a fool. But Snape didn't understand, and he wasn't a fool. Or maybe he did understand and he understood too well and saw that there was something fundamentally wrong with the Dark Lord's philosophies or methods. Both, probably." Draco ran a hand down the long nose of the horse. "He'd kill Simon, you know," he said conversationally, chilling Harry with a matter-of-factness that went beyond argument. "Father would. Because he's a Muggle animal. A dumb Muggle animal and it doesn't matter if it feels pain or happiness, only that it isn't a useful magical animal.

"Being blind has its good sides, you know," he continued after a weighted pause. "I don't have to be a Death Eater now. The Dark Lord won't want someone like me – I'm a liability to him. If Father had other children he'd disown me in favour of the next one. Oh, he'll still want to tell me how to live my life – both of them will – but at least now I've got some sort of freedom. No Dark Mark. No grovelling at the feet of a madman. No –" His head jerked up, his face pale with flushed spots high on his cheeks, frightened and – wand or no wand – dangerous. "Potter," he hissed, "you will never tell anyone what I have just said."

Harry shook his head. "No. I give you my word… unless you give me permission to do otherwise." He felt a tingle of magic: he'd just given his word as a wizard. Whatever that might lead to. "But I'm glad you won't. I – I have dreams sometimes. He's in a bad mood and he takes it out on people. I don't care because they're Death Eaters and probably were involved in the death of my parents, but still… Even if it wasn't their fault that something went wrong, he takes it out on them. Cruciatus isn't the half of it."

Draco nodded absently. "Sometimes last summer Father would come home… he wouldn't talk about what was wrong."

Harry thought back about what he'd said about Death Eaters virtually deserving what they got, and was glad Draco didn't take exception over his father. Then again, Draco knew how Harry felt about Lucius Malfoy. He probably knew it wasn't worth getting into a fight over.

"Who would have thought I'd be grateful to an acromantula?" Draco said, scratching Simon behind the ear. The horse leaned into his hand then decided Draco could do better, and butted his head up and down the boy's chest, knocking Draco back against the fence.

It broke a nasty tension Harry hadn't been aware of until it snapped.

"Simon!" Draco laughed. "Cut it out, stupid horse."

Simon finished with the itch behind his ear by working it out on Draco's shoulder and shook himself all over like a dog, his canvas cover making a muffled rattle.

"Do you think you can find the apple in the bag?" Harry asked.

"Should do – apples are one of the few Muggle crossovers which are based in magic," Draco said confidently. "Make sure Mr Itchy here doesn't knock me over, will you?"

"Sure." Harry grabbed the leadrope. "I think you've given Malfoy enough trouble today," he scolded gently as Simon tried to push past Draco to get into the bag. When Draco had taken off his gloves after finding the apple (horse spit was extra sticky after apples had been eaten) Harry slipped off the headcollar and took out the pocket knife Sirius had given him for his last birthday and cut the apple into rough quarters. Draco fed Simon two quarters, and Harry fed the remaining two to the greedy horse, who left sugar-sticky slobber on their hands in his search for more.

Outside the paddock, Harry and Draco wiped their hands clean on the grass then remembered about the tap Dumbledore had magic'd on the other side of the fence from the trough and used that to better effect.

"What did you mean by Muggle crossovers?" Harry asked as Draco refastened his Mendeleev gloves.

"Oh, only that there are some objects traditionally seen as 'Muggle' which can take on magical aspects if they're in the right environment. Apples are classical examples. Edge-magic, it's called."

"Anything else?"

"Animals, like ravens – owls, of course – toads and cats. Granger's cat is half-Kneazle, I always thought. But a plain Muggle cat can be used for magic. Bats, too."

"What about horses?"

"I don't know."

"Hermione said something the other day about horses – well, she started to say something, then we were talking about something else."

"Hmm. I don't know. I'll ask Madam Pince to help me find some books. Might as well do something useful instead of sit in the middle of a paddock all day. Especially as it's meant to rain tomorrow."

"Colin can help."

Draco's mouth thinned with malice. "That little b–"

"– boy can do something useful to make up for what he did today. It might be useful for you to have someone to fetch and carry for you for a few days."

"Huh. Weeks, at least."

"We'll see if he can fit you in around his other detentions," Harry grinned.

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The next day Harry thought it politic to apologise to Professor Flitwick. Of course, this gave him a good opportunity to sit down and talk with the tiny professor about some of the myths and legends of Hogwarts. But when he asked about a legend of a golden sickle, Flitwick threw up his hands.

"Ah," he fluted. "A myth among myths. Like the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and the Hourglass of Rowena Ravenclaw, not something we lesser mortals expect to see." His eyes twinkled.

Harry, who had used the Sword of Gryffindor to kill a basilisk, wasn't quite so dismissive. "Do you know anything about its properties?"

"Professor Sprout would be the one to ask. But I seem to recall the myth said something about harvesting mistletoe."

Harry's senses sharpened. He stilled his face, not wanting to give away his excitement.

"Why do you want to know, young Mr Potter?"

"Hermione's doing a project on the history of Hogwarts. She's interested in the Founders. The myths they left behind, anyway." It wasn't quite a lie. Hermione was very interested in them, particularly anything connected with mistletoe. She and Draco (and Trudi and Draco's gloves) had researched barrier spells and confirmed that Luna's hypothesis had some solid factual basis. Murgatroyd the Elder had written three books on the properties of mistletoe, and Hermione was currently wading through them.

Just another excuse for Harry to be out of the Tower and talking to Flitwick.

Flitwick beamed. "Excellent. I'm glad she's found something positive to go on with in these troubled times. Truly an excellent girl, that Miss Granger."

Harry shrugged and grinned. He couldn't argue that.

"Let me see… Oh yes. 'Fruit of the Moon, Cut by the Sun's Halo.' Or something like that. I believe the good Helga Hufflepuff was a keen advocate of some of the ancient Celtic uses of mistletoe. It was used in protective magic, you see. And it's hypothesised to have the ability to disrupt spells if collected correctly. It protects trees it grows on from spells used against them. Plant magic. Not human. Or often used by humans. Unfortunately no-one has ever been able to work out how to utilise it. Murgatroyd the Elder has written an excellent series on it, but all purely hypothetical, alas. And subsequently disproved by Murgatroyd the Younger." He sighed. "Possibly for the good. All the charms it could counteract if its power was understood and harnessed might even have the ability to loosen the magic which is the mortar of Hogwarts. Some say that this is why Helga Hufflepuff, in her wisdom, destroyed the Golden Sickle before her death so that no-one could harvest mistletoe with it."

"Oh." It sounded like Flitwick wouldn't want Harry to find the Sickle even if he knew it existed. Harry could understand that. What professor would want something found which could destroy Hogwarts itself?

Harry couldn't ask for any help; not without arousing suspicion. And having some serious restrictions put on him.

He knew that he would never use it to harm Hogwarts, but what about other people? What if he found it and then lost it to, say Voldemort?

That was a cheerful thought.

Maybe some things shouldn't be found.

That was an even less cheerful thought. He'd see what options he could find that didn't involve looking for an artefact with the potential to pull the castle down around his ears.

"I don't suppose Slytherin left anything?"

Flitwick leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "A quill, I believe." His eyes twinkled again. "As Gryffindor had a sword, Slytherin had to go one better. The pen is, after all, mightier than the sword."

Harry chuckled as he left.

That sounded like Slytherins through the ages, all right. Subtle one-upmanship.

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