Chapter 28

Hermione came late for breakfast the next morning. He and Ron had almost finished and Harry was mostly just pushing scrambled eggs around on his plate when she sat down next to him.

"'Morning," she said, reaching for the tea.

"Did you sleep in?"

"Yes, I was up late reading."

Ron passed her a piece of toast.

"Yeah? And how did it go with studying?" he asked her.

"Well, it actually wasn't all that terrible," she said. "I found some interesting books. I haven't found anything really useful yet, but I'm sure I will, I just need a bit more time."

"I was thinking more about the company," said Ron.

"I know. It wasn't terrible."

"That's good," said Harry.

She shot him a look and he knew he had sounded too relieved.

"At least he's trying," she said dryly. "When are you going to start teaching him?"

"Tonight," he said.

His stomach tightened into a knot just thinking about it. Ron was grinning at him.

"I feel sorry for you, mate. Glad it's not me who's going to be locked up with the stupid git until he figures out how to cast a patronus."

"At least Parkinson refused the offer."

"Shit, that would have been a fucking nightmare."

"Maybe we shouldn't be talking about that here?" said Hermione.

"No one's listening."

She shrugged.

"Still."

"Sure. Pass me the orange juice?"

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Harry made his way to the secret room that evening, following the route that Ginny had said would be the least used at the time. Ron had been poking fun at him all day and Harry had pretended to be bothered, but really he was quite happy about it. It meant that Ron at least wasn't too angry about the whole idea of involving the Slytherins, the way he was pretty sure Hermione still was. Besides, he didn't really mind spending time with Malfoy.

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When he reached the room, Malfoy was already there. He was standing by the the sofa next to a mountain of books that had been arranged into a couple of neat stacks on the low table. He had his back to the door and was in the middle of reading something on a piece of parchment.

"Hi," said Harry.

Malfoy turned around.

"Hi."

"What's that?"

Malfoy glanced down at the parchment.

"Granger's notes," he said. "We decided to leave the books here so we would both have access to all of them, but apparently she has also taken it upon herself to give me directions… Or assign homework. I'm not sure, she's very brief."

Harry grinned.

"Can I see?"

Malfoy passed him the notes. Hermione had put his name at the top and below was a list of chapters and sections in different books. There was nothing else.

"She's not exactly friendly," said Malfoy, taking it back as Harry handed it to him.

"No, I can see that. But she's working with you. That's actually a big improvement from before the holidays."

Malfoy scoffed.

"I know. She threatened to curse me if I didn't stay away from you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well just so you know, if she ever says something like that to me, I will do as she says. I've seen her cursework."

Malfoy laughed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll remember that. So are you going to show me your patronus? I heard it's pretty good. Earned you an "outstanding" for your O.W.L's and everything."

"Right," he said, caught off guard for a moment.

He hadn't thought Malfoy would ask him to cast a patronus – it wasn't like he needed proof that Harry could do it or anything. Of course seeing it might make it easier to learn, but he supposed he hadn't thought Malfoy would be interested. Not that it was a problem, it just wasn't always easy to be mentally prepared for Malfoy. He oscillated between brooding bitterness and aloof indifference, and then suddenly this nice, normal bloke would emerge and make jokes and drawl sarcastic compliments, that were still compliments. It was confusing to say the least.

Harry pulled out his wand, hesitating for a moment.

"Sorry, I just need to- I hadn't actually planned on demonstrating."

"Take your time," said Malfoy, settling down on the couch and smirking at him.

Harry turned away so he wasn't looking at him. He raised his wand.

"Expecto patronum!"

The silver stag erupted from his wand, filling the room with light. It looked much bigger when it was cast indoors like this, more impressive. He couldn't help imagining what it would look like to Malfoy.

The stag turned its head to look at them – there was nothing for it to protect them from, so it just stood there, emanating soft light and gentle warmth and a calm sense of rightness and safety and happiness.

Harry lowered his wand and allowed it to fade away. Then he heard scuffling behind him. Malfoy had stood up and he had his wand out.

"Okay," he said, and maybe he did sound slightly impressed. "Teach me how to do that."

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Harry explained the incantation, the wand-movement, the feeling you had to summon. Malfoy had been attentive and focused for the first part, not seeming to mind that he had to do as Harry told him. He didn't protest at all until Harry began explaining how to use the memory.

"Really?" he said sceptically. "You cast that sort of spell just by thinking happy thoughts?"

"Yeah, but it can't just be anything, it has to be a powerful memory," Harry said, hearing Lupin's voice echoing in his own, hearing himself during fifth when he taught the others.

"Memories aren't powerful," said Malfoy.

"I just cast a patronus, didn't I?"

"So what, when you're attacked by dementors you can't defend yourself until you've had time to forget the horrifying thing in front of you and really focus on thinking nice thoughts to yourself? That doesn't seem very effective. And I don't believe for a second that you had that much mental discipline at 13."

Harry hesitated. He had thought that was what he was doing, but now that Malfoy pointed it out, it was true that he didn't need much mental preparation to cast his patronus. That time he saved Dudley from the dementors, he hadn't been thinking at all.

"I don't really have to conjure the memory," he said slowly. "Not anymore, I think. I can just sort of… feel it. I know what my patronus is supposed to feel like, and it's the feeling of the memory I use, but I don't actually have to remember it."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Okay," he said. "Powerful memories. Fine."

He was frowning when he raised his wand. He had a look of intense concentration on his face. Harry watched him shift the grip on his wand. His lips were moving a bit, but he wasn't saying anything. Then he took a deep breath.

"Expecto patronum!" he cried.

And nothing happened. Not even a wisp of silver.

"Well, that's disappointing," said Malfoy.

"Try it again. Maybe with a different memory."

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They kept at it for over an hour. Malfoy picked new memories, Harry corrected his stand and his grip on the wand. They took a break, then tried again. Finally, he managed to produce a thin, silvery mist. They stopped after that.

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"It's a difficult spell. It takes time…"

Malfoy shrugged.

"That's what I expected," he said, but he still looked disappointed.

"Do you want to meet again tomorrow?"

"Can't, I have to study. We have a test coming up in Charms."

"So Monday, then?"

"Monday is good."

Harry waited by the door while Malfoy picked up the bag he had left on the couch and started emptying it of books, that he placed in stacks next to Hermione's on the table.

"Do you know why it's a stag?" asked Malfoy without looking up.

"What?"

"Your patronus. Do you know why it looks like that?"

"Because of my dad, I think. He was an animagus, could take the form of a stag."

Malfoy nodded.

"Okay. Let's go," he said.

Harry went through the door first and Malfoy followed after.

"See you Monday, Potter," he said.

He was already about to turn down the hall when Harry spoke.

"You know, you should probably start calling me Harry," he said, blurting it out before he could stop himself.

Malfoy stopped. He looked back at him with a bemused expression.

"Why?"

A shrug.

"It's a bit dumb with the last names. Now that we know each other."

Malfoy scoffed.

"Sure," he said. "I'll start calling you Harry as soon as you start calling me Draco. See you Monday, Potter."

He said the last part in a condescending drawl that in an instant turned him back into the unbearable prick he used to be. But he had a smirk on his face that might have meant it was intentional. That it was a joke.

He turned around and left while Harry stood there for a moment, looking after him. He watched him go and felt at the same time immensely frustrated and also inexplicably disappointed.

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They met again on Monday, and Draco supposed one could say that it went better. He succeeded in creating the misty shield almost every time, and it did become thicker and more solid. He could sustain it for longer too, but it still did not become corporeal. So they met again later in the week. And again in the weekend, but he seemed to have stagnated.

When he wasn't meeting with Potter, he found time to read through the books he and Granger had found in the library. She would leave notes for him and he soon started leaving them for her too. That was an aggravating process as well – there was very little information on dementors, it was all very superficial and very brief. There was hardly anything on Azkaban. He began going to the library again, but he didn't find anything new.

It was rare that all of them gathered at once, but a steady stream of information passed between them. They all filtered in and out of the secret room at different times. For all of them it had once been routine practice to keep most of their activities secret, to stay under the radar of teachers and remain inconspicuous to other students. It was easy to fall back into old habits. Once he came up there and found a stack of old newspaper articles that had appeared next to his and Granger's books and notes, and Pansy hadn't even mentioned it to him.

Sometimes Granger would be there and they would work on the research together, but since neither of them were getting anywhere, they mostly sat in silence.

One day a third person's handwriting began appearing on their notes, making strange connections from the contradicting information from different sources. He mentioned it to Pansy, and she said she had seen Lovegood up there once or twice, messing with their notes. After that, he mostly just ignored the additions.

While he and Granger were mostly looking into the dementors, looking for some way of eradicating them, he knew the others were trying to figure out the practical logistics of their mission – how to get there and how to get away unnoticed. What to do about the aurors. He came up there once, expecting to find the room empty, and instead Lovegood, Neville and Weasley were there, sitting on the floor with a map of Great Britain and several of the newspapers spread out between them. He stopped in the doorway and they all looked up at him.

"Hello, Malfoy," Weasley said.

"Sorry for intruding," he mumbled. "I just needed to pick up a book."

"Go ahead."

"Do you think you could… pass it to me?" he asked, not wanting to risk stepping on their work and messing it up. "It's the black one, there."

Longbottom handed it to him and he left.

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Two weeks passed like that and he started seeing his own frustration mirrored on the faces of the others as well. There was very little progress on any fronts.

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The first breakthrough was his patronus. It came during another one of his evening practices with Potter. They had turned into a pretty pleasant way of spending time together, despite his continuous failure to grasp the spell. They would take breaks and just talk for a bit about different things that were mostly unrelated to the mission and the war, and it was nice. Potter became better at picking up on his sarcasm. Draco became better at not overthinking everything, at allowing his guard down. He supposed it was a good thing. And anyway, he could tell it bothered Potter when he tried to keep him at arms distance.

This evening, his failure had continued as usual at first, and he had cast the useless, silvery shield twice more. But when he tried the spell a third time, it felt different. He knew it even before he spoke the words, that he would succeed.

It was a serpent. He had not been certain that it would be. He thought perhaps he had changed too much, but as soon as he saw it, he knew that it was right. He was a Malfoy, he was a Slytherin: of course it was a serpent.

The silvery light illuminated both of them and Draco could feel the protection of the spell as a physical touch of warmth. He looked at Potter, smiling so much it hurt, and Potter was grinning back at him. It felt like doing magic for the first time.

Draco had grown up with magic, had always had magic. He did not notice it the way someone who had grown up in the muggle world would. The everyday wonder of Hogwarts; the changing stairs, the hidden rooms, the food that appeared out of thin air at every meal, it meant nothing to him, he did not see it. He had noticed magic only when it became so dark and twisted that it seemed an open wound in the world, and he had forgotten that it could also be exceptional in this way. That it could be light.

He let his hand fall and the patronus faded.

Potter reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Congratulations," he said.

It was worth every single moment of failure. He raised his wand and cast the spell again. The snake reappeared and this time he sustained it for a while. They watched the beautiful creature twisting its body in the air, the powerful muscles moving under the shimmering scales.