A/N: Three reviews on the last chapter! Thank you so much to Louise Spinster Black, Dar Sel'La, and BrightWatcher for reviewing. Prepare for plot in this one.
Chapter Seven: An Investigation of Suspicious Circumstances
The celebrations for the Quidditch victory — Gryffindor's first over Slytherin since Charlie Weasley left — lasted well into the night, and it was only the next morning that Harry was able to properly examine his broom to see why it had acted up so badly. Ron had told him that his Nimbus had stopped bucking about after it threw Harry off, and the crazy broom had remained hanging still in the air until Harry went to retrieve it after the match.
"I don't understand it," Harry said in dismay as he carried his broom to the common room. It was nine o' clock on a Sunday morning, so of course no one was awake yet. "This is supposed to be the best broomstick on the market — it shouldn't malfunction like that."
Ron, who had loyally agreed to help Harry inspect his broom despite his normal habit of sleeping in on Sundays, rubbed bleary eyes and suggested in a sleepy voice, "Maybe you got a dud."
"I checked it when I got it," said Harry. "It was perfectly fine."
Ron yawned. "Well, let's hurry up and check it again. I want to go down to breakfast."
The two boys spent fifteen minutes carefully looking over every twig in the Nimbus 2000, but as Harry said, it was perfect.
"I don't get it." Ron was more awake now, so his voice was more puzzled than drowsy. "Your broom's fine."
"That's because it is fine," said Hermione as she came down the stairs from the girls' dormitories. Both Harry and Ron looked at her agape.
"Did you just wake up?" Ron asked, in awe that someone as studious and hardworking as Hermione would sleep in no matter what day it was.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. I woke up two hours ago — I didn't fancy going down to breakfast by myself, so I was reading in my dorm until everyone else woke up. It took them ages — honestly, it's nine-thirty."
"It's Sunday," Ron pointed out. "Normal people sleep in."
"Hermione, what d'you mean, my broom's fine?" asked Harry.
Hermione checked to make sure they were really alone in the common room before leaning closer to respond in a low voice, "There's nothing wrong with your broom, Harry. Snape was jinxing it to throw you off yesterday."
"What?" exclaimed Ron in shock. "Snape was —"
A sharp glare from Hermione silenced him.
"Keep your voice down, Ron — do you really think it's a good idea to go around shouting about that?"
Harry, however, was frowning and shaking his head. "I think you must be mistaken, Hermione."
"I saw him yesterday, Harry," Hermione insisted. "He was staring very hard at your broom, muttering under his breath…I know all about these jinxes, you've got to keep eye contact — and Snape wasn't blinking at all. He only stopped muttering when you started falling."
"Blimey!" commented Ron. "That's mental, that is."
"There must be some other explanation," Harry persisted. "Snape wouldn't try to kill me."
"Why not?" asked Ron. A few of the upper years had appeared in the common room by now, so he lowered his voice to speak. "He hates you, Harry — it's obvious. And Dad says he was a follower of You-Know-Who way back when. Maybe he's decided to take revenge."
"I know he hates me, but that doesn't automatically mean he'd try and kill me. He hates Neville, too — and you don't see Snape trying to murder him, do you?"
"I wouldn't put it past him," Ron said darkly. "Snape's done some pretty nasty stuff in the past…not many people believe he's really reformed. Apparently there was a big fuss when Dumbledore hired Snape to teach Potions — everyone thought he was being too forgiving."
Hermione chose that moment to chime in again. "I know what I saw, Harry. You've got to take this seriously…you got really lucky yesterday, but what if something like that happens again?"
Harry groaned. There was no way he was going to be able to convince the two that Snape wasn't trying to murder him without telling them that the man (as far as Harry could tell) didn't actually hate him. But on the other hand, neither could he allow them to pursue this theory — for one thing, Hermione was smart enough to sabotage Snape if she thought he was a real danger to Harry, and for another, if the two of them kept insisting on this they would keep trying to get Harry to take preemptive action.
"Let's go eat first," he suggested. Stalling was his best option right now, he reflected. "We can talk about this later."
It started in the summer of 1989, when Harry realised that although most people were trying to wear as little clothing as possible to relieve the heat, Lucius and Severus still wore long sleeves.
"How can they stand it?" he wondered out loud to Draco as he fanned himself with a large piece of parchment.
It was yet another sweltering day in a series of long, sweltering days. The season was particularly hot this year, with the sun beating down in a merciless blaze everyday. Harry and Draco had stripped down to shorts and singlets and discarded their robes altogether — even their lightest robe would suffocate them today. Narcissa herself was wearing her thinnest robe — but unlike the boys, she appeared to be otherwise unflustered by the heat. Downstairs in the study, however, Lucius and Severus were both wearing their usual long sleeves; Harry and Draco had felt warm after a mere glimpse of their restricting attire through the doorway.
"I've no idea," said Draco. He was sweating, but not as much as Harry. "I suppose they're used to it — they always wear long sleeves."
Harry made a face. "Don't even say the words," he begged. "It makes me feel hotter." He mopped his brow and flopped down on the wooden floor (carpet would be unendurable today), trying to find the coolest spot. "What I wouldn't give for electricity right now!"
Draco scoffed. "What on earth d'you want that Muggle rubbish for?"
"Don't knock it," advised Harry. "That 'Muggle rubbish' includes air conditioning."
"What's that?" inquired Draco, curious despite himself.
"It's a machine that makes the room cold even though it's hot outside. Aunt Petunia always had it on during summer, because she didn't want 'darling Duddikins getting heat stroke'." Harry snorted.
"I'm sure there's a spell to do that same thing," said Draco. "A cooling charm, or something."
"Yeah, but we can't use it even if we knew it, could we?" Harry pointed out. "We don't get our wands till next year."
"That is unfortunate," Draco conceded.
There was a lull in the conversation as each boy gave their very best effort to lie still and do nothing at all. Unfortunately, even the floor will become warm if one lies on it for an extended length of time, and soon there were no spaces cool enough to satisfy them.
"There has to be something we can do to take our minds off this heat," Harry groaned.
"No, thank you," said Draco with a shudder. "It's too hot to move, let alone do anything."
"Lazy sod," teased Harry.
"Hyperactive moron," Draco retorted.
"At least I don't have to dress up tonight," Harry said smugly.
Draco bolted upright. "You do so!"
"It's not my birthday."
"You still have to dress up! Mother would have your head if you didn't!"
"Yeah, but I don't have to wear my best robes, do I?"
Draco groaned. Their best robes had been purchased by Narcissa last year, and she made them wear them on special occasions. Even Harry — who hated to dress up — had to admit they were nice enough, but the problem was they were long, rather restrictive, and not conducive to air flow in the slightest. The boys had no qualms about wearing them in the cooler seasons — as they did look rather splendid in them — but wearing them in summer was torture. And unluckily for Draco, Narcissa would undoubtedly make him wear the robes for his own birthday dinner, whereas Harry could probably get away with wearing his second- or third-best set — which were not nearly as stuffy.
"I hate you," Draco said sullenly.
"Love you too," Harry said cheekily.
Harry successfully prevented Ron and Hermione from speaking any more about Snape's intent to murder him by chatting inanely about Quidditch and homework all the way down to the breakfast table. After that, Ron was sufficiently distracted by his food, and Harry diverted their attention further by offering Ron a ride on his Nimbus (as he predicted, Ron was ecstatic) and telling Hermione of a book in the library he knew she'd go crazy over (Notable Magical Names of Our Time, which Lucius had forced him to read when he was eight years old). His tactic was a categorical success on Ron's part, but less so on Hermione's — her face brightened with delight upon learning of the book, but the shrewd glance she threw Harry told him she still wanted to talk to him about Snape. She was, however, willing to let it slide for a while — so the trio enjoyed the rest of their morning Snape-free.
Upon Hermione's insistence, they spent the morning doing their homework, and only made their way to the Quidditch pitch after lunch. Harry graciously gave Ron a free rein over his Nimbus on the condition that he not wreck it, and Ron had an exhilarating time flying on the superb broom while Hermione eagerly perused a copy of Notable Magical Names of Our Time she'd retrieved from the Hogwarts library. Harry, meanwhile, thought long and hard about how to redirect his friends' suspicions from Snape to Quirrell, who according to Draco was attempting to steal whatever the three-headed dog was guarding. Knowing that, it wasn't an implausible jump to the idea that it had been Quirrell who was trying to kill him.
It would make sense, Harry mused. Quirrell was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; he probably knew all sorts of curses and jinxes and could have easily sabotaged Harry's broom. Harry was also aware that Snape was equally — and possibly even more — well-versed in the Dark Arts than Quirrell, and it was very likely that he'd been casting the counter-curse when Hermione saw him staring and muttering at the broom.
The question was, how was he to explain this to Ron and Hermione?
At about four o'clock it started getting quite cold, even with Hermione's bluebell flames giving them some warmth, and the three friends decided to head back inside. It was then that they encountered none other than Snape himself, who was still limping from his dog bite. The trio quickly moved to hide Hermione's flames, but it was too late; Snape had seen them.
"What have you got there, Potter?" he demanded, stalking towards them.
Harry held up Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he'd offered to carry the thick book for Hermione so she could handle her bluebell flames.
"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape snapped. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."
"Why, that evil bat!" Ron exploded as soon as Snape was out of earshot. "He just made that rule up, I'm sure of it!"
Hermione was less concerned about the loss of her library book and more interested in Snape himself. "Did you notice he was limping?" she asked.
"He's been limping for over a week," Harry pointed out.
"Yes, since Halloween," agreed Hermione. She was indeed observant. "I wonder why."
Her eyes were thoughtful, and Harry felt exasperated. For his own peace of mind, if nothing else, he had to find a way to turn her suspicions to Quirrell.
Draco's birthday dinner was sumptuous, as always — the Malfoy house elves adored their 'Little Master' (a nickname Draco absolutely refused to allow anyone else to utter) and always threw their wholehearted effort into preparing it. Draco sat in his usual seat next to Harry, dressed to the nines (why his mother insisted on his best robes for a dinner that didn't extend past his immediate family and his godfather was beyond his comprehension), and Harry was wearing his second-best set of robes. Lucius and Narcissa were their usual elegant selves, but Severus had taken the trouble to spruce up a little bit — just a little, but noticeable.
Harry leaned over and whispered to Draco, "You know he likes you if he bothers to comb his hair nicely."
"Shut up," Draco hissed. He got along with his godfather very well; Harry and Severus's relationship, on the other hand, was fairly amicable, but not particularly warm.
"Harry, pass the pepper, please," Lucius requested.
Harry obligingly picked up the pepper shaker from beside his plate and reached over to give it to Lucius, who was sitting at the head of the table on Draco's other side. Lucius lifted his left hand to take the shaker, and it was then that Harry saw it. The sleeve of Lucius's silver-embroidered robe shifted up, revealing a narrow sliver of dull black on Lucius's pale skin.
"Lucius," Severus said sharply; his hawk-like eyes were trained on what Lucius had inadvertently unveiled. Lucius's eyes dropped at once to his sleeve, upon which he immediately withdrew his arm, hiding the black imprint away once more.
Apart from Severus's warning and Lucius's subsequent swift reaction, the two men acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Narcissa's brow was creased and her posture had gained a slight tension, but Harry knew better than to ask what he had seen.
Draco, however, knew exactly what was on his father's arm. Positioned as he was between Harry and Lucius, he had been well placed to glimpse the tattoo — and his keen eyes had made out the clear shape of a snake's head.
Ron was still fuming about Snape confiscating the library book as they trooped back into the castle. He couldn't understand why Hermione wasn't more upset.
"Oh, honestly, Ronald, he'll put it back in the library eventually — I'll just borrow it again," said Hermione in exasperation. "I do wish I'd been able to finish reading about Bathilda Bagshot, though — it's amazing how she was able to do so much research into Hogwarts' founders…"
"I could go ask for it back," Harry offered.
"Are you mental?" exclaimed Ron.
"Oh, no, Harry, that's all right…" said Hermione.
"No, it's okay," said Harry. "I bet he can't say anything if there are other teachers watching — I'll ask him in the staffroom."
"What if Snape's not in the staffroom?" asked Ron.
"He probably will be. He always spends a portion of his afternoon there."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And you know this how?"
Harry shrugged. "I overheard a Slytherin student telling someone about it."
"Still," interjected Ron, "you'd willingly go to Snape and give him even more reason to dislike you? Over a library book?" He sounded as though he couldn't decide if Harry was incredibly brave or unbelievably dimwitted.
Harry winked.
The quick glimpse he'd gotten of Lucius's dark tattoo was intriguing, but to Harry it held no particular significance. Obviously it was something the Malfoy patriarch did not want to talk about, and Harry could respect that (mainly because he could see no valid reason to pursue it).
Draco, however, was far more troubled.
Lucius took the education of his only son very seriously, and was not one to sugarcoat or mince words, so Draco had heard the stories of the terror and darkness of Voldemort's rise to power and his brief reign as Britain's greatest Dark wizard. He knew, also, of the Malfoy Family's traditional association with Dark magic, and of their affiliation with the Dark Lord. Until today, though, he'd never suspected that his parents had ever been initiated Death Eaters.
The idea of Voldemort's mark emblazoned on his father's arm disturbed Draco. Lucius was always speaking of how careful they had to be about hiding Harry's presence in their home in case the Dark Lord rose again, but Draco had to wonder how they could ever hope to hide such a fact if Lucius himself bore the Dark Mark. He knew his father well enough to understand that no matter how devoted he'd been to Voldemort before, he was no longer loyal to him — but if the stories were true, the Dark Mark tied the Death Eaters closely to Voldemort and allowed Voldemort unique access to his followers.
You're overreacting, Draco told himself firmly as he struggled to go to sleep. He had only seen a snake's head, after all — Lucius's tattoo could easily be merely a symbol of the Malfoys' proud Slytherin heritage.
But if the tattoo was innocent, why would both Lucius and Severus beware of letting Harry and Draco see it? To go so far as to perpetually wear long sleeves in unbearably hot weather spoke of something to hide — if indeed that was the purpose for the men's choice in clothing.
Draco sighed. Father, I'm sorry.
He slipped out of bed and padded downstairs in his bedroom slippers. He would get no sleep tonight.
Harry was fairly certain that Snape had only taken the book and deducted points based on a made-up rule to reinforce the idea that he had some sort of vendetta against him, so he felt quite sure that if he could come up with a plausible reason why an unreasonable Snape would give the book back to him, Snape would do so. Accordingly, he made his way to the staffroom, fully prepared to politely ask for the book back, and maybe have a civil conversation with his foster brother's godfather if no one else was there.
Harry was about to knock on the door to the staffroom when he heard angry voices from within that made his fist pause.
"S-S-Severus, I d-don't kn-know what you w-w-w-want," said a scared, trembling voice Harry recognised as Professor Quirrell's — the stutter was a dead giveaway. He was apparently in a confrontation of sorts with Snape.
Sure enough, the answering words were in the low, silkily dangerous tone of the Potions Master. "I want you to tell me what you've been doing, Quirinus. How much progress have you made?"
Quirrell mumbled something that Harry couldn't hear, but it seemed to make Snape angry.
"What are you doing, Quirrell?" he demanded. "Are you trying to get the students killed? That stunt with the troll was foolish in the extreme."
"I-I didn't…"
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape said threateningly. "If you continue with your plan, I will put a stop to it."
It took several seconds for Harry to realise that Snape had finished speaking and was on his way out of the staffroom. By that time it was already too late — Snape had flung open the door and seen him standing there.
The Potions Master glared at him. "Potter! What are you doing here?"
"I was just…" Harry fumbled as Professor Quirrell came to the door, looking pale and sweaty.
"P-P-Potter!" squeaked the turbaned professor. "What are you d-d-doing here?"
"I was just asking him that exact question, Quirrell," Snape said smoothly and professionally, with no trace of his animosity in their previous conversation.
Harry quickly recovered his wits. Although he managed to get along with the man well enough, Severus was still scary when he was angry.
"I was just coming to ask if I could have the library book back," he said respectfully. "You see, it's Hermione's, and I was just carrying it for her, and she'd really like to read more of it — you know how she loves learning — we didn't know about the rule about not taking library books out of school, honest."
To his utmost surprise, it was Quirrell who spoke up. "I w-wasn't aware there was such a r-rule."
Snape scowled. "Isn't there?" he asked dangerously. Quirrell gulped and looked as though he regretted speaking. Harry was starting to regret it, too.
"W-w-well, I'm sure I d-don't know all the r-rules," stammered Quirrell.
"Obviously," drawled Snape.
Harry was just wondering if he ought to excuse himself and disappear when Snape stalked back into the staffroom and came out holding Notable Magical Names of Our Time.
"Take it and go away, Potter," he ordered. "And don't let me catch you breaking the rules again."
There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Snape meant that in more than one way.
Draco wasn't sure what he was looking for in Lucius's study, but he certainly didn't expect to see Harry snooping around when he got there.
"What are you doing here?"
Harry jumped and swivelled around, exhaling in relief when he saw who it was.
"What are you doing here?" he shot back.
Draco crossed his arms and looked very hard at Harry. "I asked you first."
Harry considered not answering, but Draco had always been better at staring contests, and Harry found himself succumbing to the force of Draco's steel grey gaze.
"I couldn't stop thinking about why your dad and Snape didn't want us to see his tattoo. I thought I might find some clues here," he admitted sheepishly.
Draco resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Trust Harry to sneak around at night just to satisfy his curiosity.
"What about you?" Harry asked.
"Um…" Draco hedged.
"You had the same idea, didn't you?" Harry accused.
Draco sighed. "Yes — but not for the reasons you think. I actually managed to see the tattoo."
"You did?" Harry exclaimed. "What was it?"
Draco fidgeted, uncomfortable. "Of course, I might be wrong — I didn't see the whole thing, you know, just a bit of it — and it was so quick I could have seen wrong…but if I'm right — though I don't really want to be…"
"Draco." Harry had caught on to the fact that Lucius's tattoo was no joking matter, given how bizarrely upset Draco seemed to be about it. "What's wrong?"
Draco hesitated before replying. "Harry…I think it was the Dark Mark."
Harry all but flew back to the Gryffindor common room, rapidly fitting together the pieces of his tale as he climbed up the seven flights of stairs.
"Pig snout," he gasped to the Fat Lady.
The minute he passed through the portrait hole he made a beeline straight for Ron and Hermione, who were in one corner of the noisy room playing wizard chess.
"Harry!" Hermione said brightly as he approached, glad for an excuse to look up from the game she was losing miserably. Her face lit up even more when she saw the large tome in his hands. "Ooh, you got the book back!" she exclaimed happily.
Harry was only too glad to hand it over to her, still trying to catch his breath from his speedy trek up the stairs. The heavy book had not been of any help during his mad dash to the common room.
"Blimey, mate, breathe," said Ron. "What, did Snape chase you all the way from the staffroom?"
"It's — not — Snape," Harry managed between pants.
"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione in bewilderment. "Did someone really chase you?"
"No — I mean — it's not Snape who's trying to kill me."
"Who's Snape killing?" Fred asked curiously, appearing suddenly with George. His twin looked equally interested in the latest crime against the students by the Bat of the Dungeons.
"Oi!" said Ron in annoyance. "Do you mind? Private conversation here."
"Gossip is never private," Fred said sagely.
"And you know we always keep an ear out for a piece of news that we could use to get the Bat in trouble," George added.
"Me," Harry said quickly. "Snape's going to kill me if I don't finish my essay on sleeping draughts by tonight."
"Yes," said Hermione, "and if you don't mind, I need to help Harry so he doesn't get detention, so could you leave us alone for a while?"
The Weasley twins almost looked disappointed that their juicy gossip turned out to be something so mundane, but they obligingly retreated back to where Lee Jordan was sitting.
"Let's go somewhere private to talk," Harry suggested.
"What's the Dark Mark?" asked Harry.
"It was his Mark — the Dark Lord's," Draco clarified. "All his most loyal followers had it branded on their arms."
"You mean the Dead Munchers?"
"Death Eaters," Draco corrected.
Harry frowned. "And you think your dad has the Dark Mark? But that would make him…"
"Yes," Draco confessed.
"How can you be sure? You said you only saw a bit of it."
"I saw a snake's head," said Draco. "The Dark Mark is a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. And you saw how Severus reacted when Father's sleeve slipped — they don't want us to know about it. I bet that's why they wear long sleeves — to hide the Dark Mark."
"Hold on — are you trying to say that Snape has the Dark Mark too?" Harry said incredulously.
"Father and Severus have been close since they were at Hogwarts together," Draco pointed out. "It stands to reason that they were also Death Eaters together, otherwise I doubt they'd be as friendly now."
"But that doesn't make sense!" exclaimed Harry. "If they're Dead Munchers — er, Death Eaters — why did they rescue me from the Dursleys? Why's your dad taking care of me? He should hate me for defeating Voldemort — Snape, too."
"I don't know," Draco said hesitantly. "I think — I want to believe — that they're no longer loyal to the Dark Lord, but I can't be certain. I really hope they're not planning to offer you to the Dark Lord the minute he rises again."
"Don't think that, Draco," said Harry. "They're your father and godfather."
"That doesn't mean they're not Dark," Draco said glumly. "My family has a history of studying Dark magic."
"Dark magic isn't necessarily bad, remember?" Harry reminded him. "We could find out whether Lucius and Snape were ever Death Eaters, though."
"How?"
"We just need to confirm that your dad's tattoo really is the Dark Mark."
"How are we going to do that?" asked Draco. "Father will never let us see it."
"I'm sure we can think of something," Harry said confidently. "What do you say?"
Draco bit his lip. "I don't know…"
"Don't you want to find out for sure?"
"I don't know," Draco repeated. "I mean — okay, if we find out that it isn't the Dark Mark, then that's great, and I'm worrying about nothing. But what if it is, Harry? What does that mean? If we discover that Father and Severus really are Death Eaters…" He exhaled. "I don't want to know if they — whether they — you know…did stuff."
Harry's expression was sympathetic. "I understand that," he agreed. "I don't want to think about it either — I'm really grateful to both your dad and Snape for getting me out of Privet Drive. But, Draco — I think it's better to be certain, and clear up any misunderstandings. It's not like we'll be able to forget our suspicions and pretend everything is normal…I know I prefer to know, rather than wonder. Don't you?"
Draco sighed, giving in to Harry's argument. "Okay," he acquiesced. "Let's investigate, then."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione ended up in the Great Hall, which was open to students and staff at all hours. When it wasn't mealtimes or the enforced weekly prep time, it tended to be mostly empty except for students who wanted to spend time with friends from different Houses. The only people who were in the Hall when the trio arrived were Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot (Neville was helping Hannah with Herbology), Parvati and Padma Patil, and a large cluster of upper years from all Houses who were holding a study session at the Ravenclaw table.
The three Gryffindors took their usual seats at their House table, which was conveniently located far enough away from anyone else that nobody would be able to hear what they were talking about.
"It's Quirrell," Harry told the other two. "He's the one who tried to kill me at the Quidditch match, and he's the one who's trying to steal the thing from Gringotts."
"Quirrell?" said Ron incredulously. Belatedly, he added, in a confused tone, "Gringotts?"
"Harry, what are you talking about?" questioned Hermione. "Why do you think it's Quirrell, of all people, and what does the broom incident have to do with the break-in at Gringotts?"
"Do you guys know what's behind the door on the third-floor corridor?" asked Harry. "The one Dumbledore said was forbidden?"
"Of course not," said Hermione at once. "It's forbidden."
"Don't tell me you went in there?" Ron said in disbelief.
"I kind of stumbled into it when I was running from Filch," Harry admitted. "I was breaking curfew, and I didn't want to get expelled, so I ran in there to hide."
Hermione looked extremely disapproving. "How did you even get in there? Wouldn't the teachers have made sure it was locked?"
"Well, apparently it wasn't locked very well, if Alohomora can work on it."
"Are you serious?" demanded Ron. "The door to this super dangerous corridor, with the potential to give people a 'slow and painful death', can be opened with Alohomora?!"
"What was in there, Harry?" asked Hermione.
Harry told them.
"A three-headed dog?!" exclaimed Ron. "Bloody hell! How did you get out of there alive?"
"Ron!" Hermione admonished.
"What? Three-headed dogs are really dangerous."
"And very rare," Hermione added, looking back at Harry. "Don't they usually live only in Greece? What's one doing in Hogwarts?"
"It's guarding whatever was in that Gringotts vault that was broken into," answered Harry. "The dog was standing on a trap door, which must lead to it."
"When did you do all this?" Ron wanted to know. "And why didn't you ever mention to me that you ran into the forbidden corridor and a three-headed dog?"
"I didn't exactly want to say that Filch almost caught me and got me expelled."
"But a three-headed dog, Harry!"
"Ron, enough about the dog," snapped Hermione. "What we need to know is what Quirrell has to do with all this. Harry, how do you know he's trying to steal what the dog's guarding?"
"Just now, when I went to the staffroom, I overheard Snape and Quirrell arguing. Snape wanted to know what Quirrell was playing at — he wanted to know whether Quirrell was trying to get students killed, and he all but confirmed that Quirrell was the one who let the troll in on Halloween."
"Quirrell let the troll in?" Ron repeated in amazement. "Why?"
"It was a distraction — while everyone else was busy chasing the troll, Quirrell went straight to the third floor."
"But Quirrell fainted," said Ron. "Right here. We all saw it…" His eyes widened as he realised what Harry was getting at. "Oh. He was pretending — so that he wouldn't have to go with the rest of the teachers to fight the troll, and once everyone had left it was easy for him to get to the third floor without anyone noticing."
"Exactly," said Harry.
Hermione was frowning and thinking very hard. "Wait…but hang on — Snape is limping."
"Yeah, so?" queried Ron.
"After we fought the troll, and the teachers came — Snape was one of them, do you remember?"
"Yeah," said Ron again. "So?"
"So, Snape was bleeding," Hermione stressed. "What if he's working with Quirrell? What if they both went to the third floor on Halloween and Snape got bitten by the dog?"
"No, no, no," Harry said, exasperated that Hermione was still sticking to her Snape-is-evil theory. "Snape tried to stop Quirrell."
"How do you know?" Hermione challenged.
"He said so himself, in the staffroom — he told Quirrell that if he continued with his plan, he would stop him. He said Quirrell wouldn't want him as an enemy. An enemy, Hermione," Harry emphasised. "How can they be working together?"
"All right, maybe they're not working together," Hermione conceded. "But that doesn't prove that it wasn't Snape who jinxed your broom. How do you know it was Quirrell?"
"What are the odds that two of Hogwarts' professors working under Dumbledore could both have nefarious intentions?"
"Well, why not?" Hermione wanted to know.
"It is a bit of a stretch," Ron pointed out. "I mean, one bad wizard might slip past Dumbledore, but two, both actively up to no good? He's not that oblivious." He paused, an odd look on his face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but from what Harry's said, it looks as though Quirrell's the bad egg here."
"So you believe Snape had nothing to do with Harry's broom?" Hermione inquired disbelievingly.
Ron shrugged helplessly. "I'm not saying Snape's not a git, but if we're assuming that only one professor is doing stuff, my money's on Quirrell."
"Snape wasn't blinking yesterday," Hermione insisted stubbornly.
Harry opened his mouth to retort about counter-curses, but surprisingly Ron beat him to it.
"Come off it, Hermione — you have to keep eye contact for counter-curses too. I know the jinx you're thinking about — Harry shouldn't have been able to stay on his broom as long as he did, so someone must have been helping him out. Maybe — maybe —" Ron was clearly dubious. "— it was Snape."
Hermione pursed her lips, considering that.
"All right," she gave in finally. "I have to admit we have more reason to suspect Quirrell. I didn't see him eyeing Harry's broom, but then again I wasn't looking at him. But I still think we should keep an eye on Snape, anyway," she maintained.
"Agreed," Ron concurred. "He might not be trying to kill Harry, but he's still a slimy git — and it's obvious he doesn't like Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes, but decided that this was the best he was going to get.
Harry and Draco were both clever and creative in their own ways, so it didn't take them long to come up with a way to confirm what Lucius's tattoo was without actually removing his sleeve to see (which was both impossible and tantamount to near-suicide). It was Harry's idea to ask Dobby.
"He's been working for your family for ages — he must know if Lucius was a Death Eater," the brunet reasoned. "And he'd probably know if Snape was one too."
Draco was rather sceptical. "What if he's been ordered not to tell us? I can't override my father's authority over the house elves."
"Would your dad really have thought to specifically order Dobby not to say anything?" asked Harry. "No offence, but Lucius doesn't really pay much attention to the house elves, though he treats them well enough."
Draco shrugged. "I guess it's worth a try. Dobby!"
The house elf appeared in front of the boys with a pop. "Good afternoon, masters Draco and Harry," Dobby squeaked. "How may Dobby be serving you today?"
"Dobby, we have a question," began Harry. "We're hoping you can answer it."
Dobby's large, bat-like ears perked up. "Dobby is doing his best to answer Harry Potter, sir. What is the question being?"
"Dobby," said Draco, "was my father a Death Eater?"
There was a beat of bated silence as Dobby's glassy eyes grew shifty. "Dobby is sorry, little master, but Dobby is not wanting to answer that."
Draco gave Harry an 'I-told-you-so' look, but Harry questioned, "Why not, Dobby? Did Lucius tell you not to?"
The house elf twisted his hands nervously in his pillowcase garment. "No, master Harry, Master did not say that, not exactly."
"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" Draco asked with a frown.
"Master did not give specific instructions to Dobby, but Dobby knows Master is not wanting Dobby to talk about it."
"But are you able to answer the question?" Harry pressed.
Dobby hunched his shoulders, but nodded reluctantly.
Harry exchanged a glance with Draco. "Draco…"
"Dobby," the blond spoke up, "as your Master's son, I'm ordering you to tell me whether my father has the Dark Mark."
Dobby sighed sadly. "Master is having it, sir. Master was being a Death Eater serving He Who Must Not Be Named before He Who Must Not Be Named fell to master Harry Potter."
Draco sucked in a sharp breath.
"What about Snape?" asked Harry. "Was he a Death Eater too?"
Dobby squirmed, but a glance at Draco confirmed that his little master required an answer, so he replied, "Yes, Master's friend was also being a Death Eater."
Draco had gone paler than normal; Harry shot him a sharp glance.
"Thank you, Dobby," he said. "You can go back to work now. And, uh, you don't have to mention any of this to Lucius."
"No, sir, Dobby is not wanting to tell Master that Dobby has revealed Master's secret," Dobby agreed with a shudder. He disappeared.
Harry turned to Draco. "You all right?"
"No," said Draco in a muffled voice. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on a spot very far away. "They were Death Eaters, Harry. My father and my godfather…they served him." There was a fair amount of horror in Draco's voice as he imagined the atrocities Lucius and Severus would have committed as followers of Voldemort.
"You need to talk to your father about this," Harry said quietly. Draco stared at him.
"What are you, crazy?" he demanded. "I can't talk to Father about this! I'm not even supposed to know about it!"
"No," Harry agreed, "but you do know now, and it's going to put a strain on your relationship with him unless you talk it out."
"How is talking this out going to help?"
"Look, Draco," said Harry, "Voldemort's gone, remember? And your dad took me in — me, the 'Boy Who Lived'. Maybe he realised it was a mistake to follow Voldemort, and he decided to stop being a Death Eater. Snape, too."
"You don't stop being a Death Eater," Draco said in exasperation. "You're branded forever."
"People can change," Harry insisted. "Whether or not they have the Dark Mark, it doesn't make them Death Eaters now. Maybe they were back then, but from what I've seen since I've been here, your dad doesn't believe in Voldemort's ideas anymore. And I don't think Snape does either, or he wouldn't be getting along so well with your dad."
Draco groaned. "How am I supposed to ask about something like this?"
"Be honest," Harry suggested. "Say you didn't want to pry, but you couldn't rest not knowing, and you're uncomfortable with the idea that he served Voldemort."
Draco made a face. "Do you have any idea how sappy that sounds?"
Harry sighed. "I know you like to be all cool and composed, like a Slytherin would be — but, Draco, sometimes a little bit of bravery and honesty is the better way to go."
Draco was sitting at a table in once corner of the Slytherin common room, running his art quills over his parchment with precise movements of his wrist. He had completed his homework and was now pursuing one of his oldest hobbies: sketching.
Draco loved drawing — he had seen his mother working with her paints and canvas in the drawing room when he was three years old, and he'd been fascinated by the pictures taking shape under her skilled fingers. Narcissa happily let her son try with small amounts of paint on scrap parchment, but it soon became apparent that Draco's aptitude was not for colours. He still wanted to 'make pictures', though, so Narcissa gave him an art quill to see if he had any talent for drawing.
The rest was history. Draco started seizing every bit of scrap parchment he could find and doodling all over them with charcoals and art quills. Over the years, he'd honed his skill with quills until he was now quite an excellent artist.
The common room was unusually quiet for a Sunday evening, as most of the upper years had gone out to Hogsmeade; thus, Draco felt relatively comfortable pulling out the sketchbook his mother had given him for his eleventh birthday. Draco, for all his assertiveness, was a rather private person by nature, and he preferred not to reveal things about himself to mere acquaintances — and as he still, sadly, didn't know the vast majority of his Housemates well, he had not yet chosen to tell anyone of his secret hobby.
Draco was in the process of shading a shape within his work when he heard someone cursing from the coffee table closest to the fireplace. Looking up, he saw Adrian Pucey scowling ferociously as he pored over a large star chart.
Draco considered going back to his drawing, but then he sighed and flipped his sketchbook shut. Pucey was a third-year, and thus eligible to go to Hogsmeade — if he had chosen to remain behind to complete homework, it must really be urgent. Though normally third-year work would be difficult for him to handle, Draco was a clever student — his marks were second only to Hermione Granger in their year — and Potions and Astronomy were his best subjects.
Also, perhaps he could take this opportunity to make a friend. He hadn't yet warmed up to any of his year-mates. Crabbe and Goyle did not count as friends; Zabini seemed all right, but remained quite aloof and arrogant; Parkinson was intolerable; Bulstrode was brutish; Nott didn't speak much; and Greengrass and Davis seemed to want to keep their distance from him.
As he approached Pucey, Draco saw quite clearly why the star chart was giving him so much trouble — the older boy had mislabelled several major constellations and was therefore unable to properly work out the positions of the others.
"What're you working on over there, Pucey?" Draco asked casually.
Pucey gave him a brief, irritated glance. "I'm busy, Malfoy, what do you want?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're never going to get that star chart right if you insist that Betelgeuse is Polaris."
Pucey frowned at him suspiciously. "What do you know about it? You're just a first-year."
"A first-year who's named after a constellation, who has various family members also named after stars, and who's studied astronomy since he was old enough to walk," Draco pointed out. "You obviously need help if you gave up Hogsmeade to finish this — question is, do you want the help or not?"
Pucey sighed. It went against his pride to admit that a first-year could possibly teach him Astronomy, but Draco was right — he was in desperate need of aid.
"All right," he acquiesced, shifting to allow Draco space. "Professor Sinistra says I'll flunk out of this year if I fail Astronomy, so I guess I really do need help."
"Don't be so dramatic," said Draco. "Failing one subject won't make you flunk the whole year."
"I'm barely scraping through my other lessons. Astronomy's my worst — if I completely flunk it this year, it'll bring my grade average down enough that I'll have to repeat third year," Pucey admitted with a shudder.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "How are you still on the Quidditch team if your grades are so bad?"
Pucey suddenly grinned. "I'm a really, really good Chaser."
Draco had to admit that was true. "You played excellently yesterday."
Pucey grunted. "Didn't count for much, did it? Higgs is a hopeless Seeker, but Flint has to keep him on the team because we haven't got anyone better. Thank Merlin he's graduating next year — we might actually get someone who can catch the Snitch then."
"Bit harsh on Higgs, aren't you?" Draco remarked.
"He's a decent enough bloke — but honestly, I could catch the Snitch better than he can."
"Hold on," said Draco. "Higgs has been on the team for three years. If he's really that bad, how on earth did you lot manage to keep the Quidditch Cup?"
Pucey snorted. "Luck," he said simply. "There were at least two games where we managed to run up the score enough that it didn't matter who caught the Snitch, and a few other times the rest of the team would help distract the other Seeker while Higgs went after the Snitch. It couldn't have gone on forever, and Potter was too good for us yesterday," he admitted grudgingly.
Draco hid a smile.
"Are we going to do this or what?" Pucey waved at his star chart. "I think Sinistra honestly might kill me if I turn it in wrong again."
Draco blinked. "How many times have you passed it up and gotten it back?"
"I lost count. Sinistra is getting really pissed."
"Sinistra? Pissed?" Draco said in some surprise.
Pucey rolled his eyes. "Don't be fooled. Sinistra's fanatic about stars. When you're good and doing everything right, you get showered with praise. When you're flunking out…" He drew a line across his throat.
Draco laughed. "Well, we'd better get to work, then," he said. "Wouldn't want Professor Sinistra being charged with your murder."
A/N: Let's try for four reviews on this chapter ;) If you haven't left a review before, now's your chance! I would love to hear how and why you are following this story, and if it's meeting your expectations.
See you all for Chapter Eight next week!