Part 2
The Sunday following the article's release dawned grey and overcast, rain spitting gently against the castle walls. Harry peered out of one of the tower windows, looking into the gloom with exhausted eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, the whispers that followed him around the castle had all but chased him into hiding. He ghosted the corridors on Thursday and Friday, appearing for classes at the last second before vanishing once more, and Saturday was spent outdoors, walking, thinking – away from prying eyes. He had eaten breakfast early and was served dinner by a very kind Dobby in the kitchens.
Ron and Hermione were very obliging in allowing Harry to continue his disappearing act, refusing to speak to anyone of his whereabouts when questioned. According to Ron, Hermione had even brushed off one of the teachers, and while Harry wasn't sure about the validity of this story, he was immensely grateful for their help; it was all just getting to be too much. Every year this seemed to happen with one thing or another. Isolation seemed the best choice, but at least, unlike the Triwizard Tournament disaster, he had both of his best friends on side this time.
In a follow-up blow to the initial news drop last Wednesday, Dumbledore's return two days later had heralded the announcement of a private investigation into the Dursleys and their status as fit guardians. As horrified as he had been, Harry had been forced to acknowledge the sense in the headmaster managing this. The alternative was the ministry getting involved and there was no doubt that they would use that power to their full advantage. But, even as listened to this reasoning from Dumbledore himself, alongside promises of absolute discretion, Harry could feel his blood boiling under his skin. It was only tempered by the rather unmistakable sadness and tiredness in the elderly wizard's face as he spoke. It was unsettling to see such a powerful man look utterly defeated and Harry's own confusion about how much he had known all these years only grew. He hadn't the strength to ask questions on the subject, subconsciously preferring ignorance, whilst brushing away questions after his health, muttering that he was fine. He had left Dumbledore's office that day with very mixed emotions, falling between anger, anxiety and a dull mental nausea. Dumbledore looked as if he wished to continue their conversation, but allowed Harry to leave, asking that he visit him Sunday evening.
Catching sight of his reflection in the window, Harry pulled his focus to himself and away from the grey grounds. Now he could understand why Hermione kept shooting him worried glances. He looked awful. He was gaunt, with heavy bags weighing down his expression – sleep hadn't come easy the last few days. Rolling his eyes, he stepped away and began to dress, hoping to get down to breakfast before the majority. Ron was still snoring in his bed, limbs splayed at all angles and Harry's lips quirked a little as he glanced over at him.
x
x
The walk down to the Great Hall was quiet. Few students were willing to get up before seven on a Sunday. Even the teachers were scarce. A few portraits offered a cheerful 'good morning', but Harry wasn't inclined to answer, merely nodding in response.
He had just sat down at the deserted Gryffindor table, pointedly ignoring the curious looks he was receiving from three Ravenclaws seated across the way, when the doors he himself had come through moments ago creaked open and a face Harry did not want to see came into view and immediately soured what little optimism he had left for the day ahead.
Malfoy was impeccably dressed, despite the early hour. He was alone, something which might have been unusual in other years, but Harry had observed that the blonde was spending the vast majority of his time alone this term. As if he sensed his stare, grey eyes soon found the watchful green. A scowl was aimed at Harry and he knew that Malfoy's mind was still set on what had happened between them in class a few days ago. Looking away and back down at his toast, the dark-haired boy attempted to ignore the other's presence. He would just eat and leave, avoiding all contact with the Slytherin. And if classes on Thursday and Friday were any inclination, Malfoy wouldn't be coming up to him. The blonde was clearly still embarrassed about being thrown to the floor. Harry hadn't meant it to happen, not really. But the second the cupboard was mentioned, he lost it. Why did they have to find out about that? It just sounded so pathetic. Either people were laughing at his misfortune, or worse, they were sending tragic looks of pity his way. Even Neville looked sad for him. It was excruciating.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, Harry didn't immediately catch the clack of Malfoy's shoes on the stone floor, however his instincts kicked in just in time, turning wildly in his seat as the other came to stand behind him.
The expression on Malfoy's face was stony and Harry grit his teeth at the sight.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" he bit out, hand unconsciously reaching for his wand. The grey eyes in front of him didn't miss the movement and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Don't be so dramatic, Potter," he drawled, the tone oddly lacking its usual smug coating. "I just came over here to ask you a question."
Harry's glare deepened. "Save it. I don't want to hear it. I'm sure you've prepared an entire list of questions, but despite what newspapers like to think, it's none of your damn business."
He expected a sarcastic retort or an infuriating grin, but Malfoy's eyes narrowed, looking exactly like he had when Harry spotted him just after reading the article – curious. It was a look that didn't suit the blonde and Harry's hair prickled at the back of his neck.
"I doubt there's anything left to tell at this point, Potter. The Prophet were pretty thorough, weren't they?"
The teasing had Harry out of his seat, but he went no further as Malfoy immediately followed up with a striking, oddly placed question and a serious tone that left Harry reeling for a moment.
"Why don't you hate muggles?"
There were several beats of silence.
Harry stared at him. "Why don- wait, what? What does that bloody question have to do with anything?"
Malfoy was unperturbed, folding his arms and standing his ground. He rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious. Your family are muggles and they're vile."
Harry was looking at Malfoy with bewilderment when he noticed, out of the corner of eye, Snape and Trelawney enter the hall. In any other circumstances it might have been amusing, as Snape looked deeply affronted at walking in at the same time as the eccentric professor. It was clearly completely unintentional. He was scowling at the back of her head rather distastefully as she glided ahead of him, as if her mass of hair and jangling beads personally insulted him. But his dark eyes were characteristically alert and quickly found the little scene that was unfolding at the Gryffindor table.
Harry instantly felt trapped between the two Slytherins. He focused his full attention on the blonde, expression hardening.
"Don't be an idiot, Malfoy. Yeah, they're not the greatest people, but them being muggles has nothing to do with any of it."
Angry that he had even deigned to respond, Harry stepped around the blonde, intent upon leaving.
"They're all worthless, and you know it. You're willingly blind, Potter."
Harry didn't bother to turn around, but he did throw a last comment over his shoulder, desperate to leave, but unwilling to let Malfoy's message stand.
"And you're a well-trained puppet, Malfoy. Go parrot your dad's ideals somewhere else. Look how far that pureblood drivel has gotten him."
The blonde's face was white with fury, but Harry was already walking away.
Did Malfoy really think that Harry would suddenly see things his way, just because of his relatives? Did Malfoy senior ask his son to test the waters with him on the subject? Because that interaction didn't sit right with Harry, it felt odd.
But a new worry blossomed in his chest as he left. He suddenly understood how fantastic a story this was for anyone with anti-muggle sympathies. Those sharing the Malfoys' beliefs would certainly be able to use it to their advantage. And what about Voldemort? Harry hadn't spared a thought for him in this whole thing. But, if he wished, the dark wizard could likely spin something about the story to his advantage. Harry felt ill at the thought of his home life being used as anti-muggle propaganda. He walked quickly, side-stepping the two professors, feeling dark eyes boring into the back of his head, but unwilling to look around. He finally slowed when he reached the foyer, looking up at the mass of staircases with disinterest, thoughts jumbled and stressed. What he wouldn't give for one normal day. Just one.
x
x
"Alright mate?"
Harry looked up from '30 Historic Quidditch Manoeuvres From the 19th Century' to see Ron standing over him, a parcel in his hand. How the redhead had found him buried this far back in the Herbology section of the library was anyone's guess, but even more alarming was the fact that he had apparently managed to smuggle an entire box of mini treacle tarts past Madam Pince. Harry raised his eyebrows as the lid was opened and Ron grinned down at him, the scent of sugar and caramelised stickiness radiating from each perfectly formed treat.
"Mum sent them," Ron said, not bothering to whisper. There wasn't anyone in the immediate vicinity – exactly why Harry had brought his book to this spot.
He knew why Mrs Weasley had sent them, of course. But that didn't mean Harry was any less grateful. He picked one from the box, as did Ron, who then sat it down and collapsed in the chair next to him.
"Madam Pince would have a fit if she knew," Harry said. "We better make sure we don't leave-"
He trailed off as he watched Ron take a healthy bite, the pastry base breaking up and sending sweet crumbs everywhere.
"-crumbs," he finished, unable to hide his grin. He took a bite himself, albeit a more manageable one, revelling in the deliciousness for a moment.
"So, where's Hermione?"
Ron looked around almost nervously. "Gone off to find some book on runes. Merlin knows why. For the best anyway, she'd have a fit at us eating in here."
They polished off half the box in one sitting, Harry content to enjoy himself, all thoughts of Malfoy and pureblood supremacy far away.
"Did you finish that essay for Potions?" Harry suddenly asked.
Judging by Ron's pale face, he had forgotten all about it. "Ugh, no. No way am I giving up my Sunday for that. Do you think Hermione would lend us hers?"
"I did it yesterday, actually. You can have mine if you want?"
Ron looked a little surprised, but then he perked up. "You're the best, Harry."
"Nah, your mum's the best. Her treacle tart is even better than the one served at the feast."
Ron looked rather proud as Harry said this, glancing over to the box with newfound appreciation.
x
x
"Ron, you cannot possibly manage the entire essay in one hour!"
Hermione's voice carried across the Gryffindor table, drawing any interested looks away from Harry – who had finally agreed to have dinner in the Great Hall that evening, despite his trepidation. Harry grinned at Ron, who was busy scribbling on parchment, Harry's essay concealed in his lap under the table, the other hand holding a spoon full of smooth mashed potato. He waved the spoon in Hermione's direction, almost threateningly. She eyed it with irritation, wary of the creamy mixture flying off the end and hitting her.
"Watch me, Hermione," Ron said, writing faster and popping his spoon into his mouth, thankfully swallowing before speaking again. "I intend to play chess after dinner, not get bogged down in Slughorn's fascination with the after-effects of pepper-up potions, or whatever it is."
"That's not exactly- oh, never mind," Hermione muttered, before returning to her dinner, shooting a look at Harry's amused face, but then crackling a smile of her own, seeing him perk up for the first time in what seemed like forever.
Miraculously, or perhaps not considering the fact he had a completed essay to copy from, Ron finished up his own essay within the hour, sliding Harry's back to him discreetly, wary of Hermione's watchful eyes. The two boys had a few games of chess with Hermione sitting nearby in an armchair, reading. Harry got crushed, as usual, but it was a nice way to pass the evening. It was only when he lost his fifth game that Harry checked the time, dread pooling in his stomach as he realized his meeting with Professor Dumbledore was scheduled for seven minutes from now. Getting to his feet, he reminded his two friends where he was off two, before hurrying out of the common room and into the darkening corridors.
x
x
It took him almost ten minutes to reach the familiar gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office and he huffed out the password – the same as it had been on Friday – stepping onto the stair and taking a moment to catch his breath. The delayed anxiety was forming a tight ball in his stomach, but he hoped to get this over quickly. Knocking, he entered hastily, stepping into the trinket-filled space and immediately catching sight of the headmaster, seated at his desk, his half-moon spectacles gleaming as he looked up and gave Harry a small smile.
"Come in, Harry," he said, folding some parchment and vanishing it with his wand.
Harry awkwardly stepped inside, closing the door behind him, unable to shake the feeling that he was locking himself into something he'd rather escape from.
He politely refused the offer of a sweet and sat down, unable to look the older man in the eye. Dumbledore noticed this immediately and he sighed softly, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.
"I can't possibly offer any apology that would suffice, Harry. I'm afraid, in my determination to protect you from outside forces, I neglected to protect you from those within your own home."
Harry started at these words, not expecting them. He suddenly found himself desirous to tell the headmaster it was all right, but he couldn't quite get the words out, his hidden anger preventing his tongue from forming anything kind. He took a few moments, before letting out a soft sigh himself, finally looking directly at the other. Despite the resentment that had threatened to build in him, Harry didn't want this, whatever this was, to become the norm. He just wished for things to return to how they were a week ago.
"Sir, it really doesn't matter."
"Oh, but it does. Very much. I failed you in almost every way, Harry. You arrived here, perhaps less cared for, less loved than I would have wished. But you were safe and, on the whole, healthy. I underestimated the importance of anything outside of those simple facts and that was a mistake. I overestimated your aunt's nature, hoped that she would, in time, leave her ill feelings for your parents behind. Alas…"
They both sat in silence for a moment, each contemplating the situation.
Harry finally spoke.
"What about the, eh, investigation, sir?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Ah," Dumbledore sighed. "Already underway. I am seeing to it personally, to alleviate any outside interference."
For that, at least, Harry was grateful.
"I visited your relatives yesterday evening. That was why I scheduled to see you today. I must tell you, your cousin seemed wholly confused as to why he even spoke to anyone in the first place, let alone divulged so many secrets his family would have wished to hide. It highly suggests magical interference, something I am taking very seriously."
Harry raised his eyebrows in wonder, his disappointment in Dudley alleviating slightly. "You mean, someone confounded him or something?"
Dumbledore made a small noise of agreement. "That, or veritaserum, I suspect. In any case, illegal action. I will direct this to the journalist in question and see if her response merits any follow-up. Miranda Chesire is relatively new to the Prophet. I know little of her, her methods or allegiances."
The situation suddenly seemed more complicated than before and Harry's head ached.
"Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly, making the boy look up. "I take full responsibility for the unhappiness you endured. After all, I placed you there, knowing that it wasn't an ideal home. My hopes may have blinded me, but that does not excuse my actions."
Harry slumped slightly in his seat, not quite sure what to make of that. It was a while before he spoke.
"So, you didn't know exactly how they felt about me? Or everything that went on?"
There it was. A direct question. One he had told himself he wouldn't ask, in fear of ruining Dumbledore in his eyes forever. Harry held his breath as he waited for the answer.
The headmaster seemed to wilt slightly, and he removed his glasses to pinch the bridge between his nose before speaking.
"No. I understood that they were unpleasant. I knew they might never love you as they could their own son, but I didn't expect such neglect or cruelty. I thought Petunia might see some of her sister in you. A fool's hope and a wise man's mistake."
Harry let out the breath he had been holding, letting the sincerity of the words wash over him. He couldn't bring himself to offer either a harsh reprimand or words of comfort, so he simply nodded his head.
"Alright," Harry said, making Dumbledore place his glasses back on his nose and fix him with a look he couldn't decipher.
x
x
Harry had stayed for another half an hour, going over the details of Dumbledore's visit to Number Four, Privet Drive. In one respect, Harry would have loved to have seen Uncle Vernon's face, but on the other, he was glad to be removed from the situation. Which is why, when asked if he wished to sit in on the next meeting between the headmaster and the Dursleys, he refused. Dumbledore didn't press the issue, arranging to speak to Harry in two days' time.
Lost in thought, he rounded a corridor on his way back to Gryffindor Tower when he suddenly stopped dead. Malfoy was leaning against the wall a little way down, casually examining his cuticles in a falsely nonchalant manner. Harry's eyes narrowed, but inwardly he sighed, unwilling to engage with the Slytherin for the second time that day.
Noting that the blonde didn't have his wand in hand, he resisted drawing his own in an attempt to keeps things casual and just leave. But he left his right arm hovering over the pocket his wand was hidden away in, just in case.
"I'm really not in the mood for whatever it is, Malfoy," he said, voice echoing along the empty stone passage. There weren't even any portraits on this particular corridor to break up the tense silence.
"That's too bad, Potter. Do you honestly think I'd let you insult my father like that?"
Harry's mind reeled back to breakfast and he mentally sighed. He should have known the blonde would be particularly sensitive to that comment, especially considering that Mr Malfoy had fallen far out of favour after last year's Department of Mysteries fiasco. But Harry found it impossible to feel sorry for a man who had watched him be tortured in the graveyard and then attempted to murder him and his friends a year later. The elder Malfoy deserved everything he got.
"I was willing to let the Defense Against the Dark Arts thing slide, but no one insults the Malfoy family like that, not even you."
The blonde's words were hard, laced with the same anger that had him stamping on Harry's face on the Hogwarts Express. The conversational curiosity of this morning had gone. Had something happened, beyond Harry's taunt? In fact, looking closely, Malfoy's hair was out of place and his face appeared slightly sweaty. Frowning, he tried to make sense of it, falling short.
Despite his uncharacteristic untidiness, the Slytherin's words were clear and even and he stepped away from the wall, casual pretense evaporating.
"You weren't quite this rattled this morning, Malfoy. What happened? Voldemort's plans not going too well?"
Harry meant to taunt, but he realised that his words hit far closer to home than he ever could have expected, as the blonde froze, looking at him with wide eyes.
"That's it, isn't it? Something is going on. I knew-"
Harry suddenly ducked as a beam of red light shot towards him, hand darting into his robes to draw his own, casting a shield just in time for a second spell to smash against it. His reflexes were superior to Malfoy's casting abilities and they both knew it.
Raising his arm to cast Expelliarmus, Harry was horrified when a large, fat hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked it back, stopping his spell mid-casting. He turned his head to find himself face-to-face with Goyle's unpleasant smile, his monstrous grip intact on Harry's arm. He elbowed him in the stomach, but the bigger boy barely let go for a moment, before the boy-who-lived found himself pushed up against the wall, with Goyle's forearm crushing into his neck. Malfoy's follow-up spell sent his wand flying, leaving him utterly defenseless. He choked slightly when Goyle applied pressure, his round face sadistically bent down to watch the green eyes hungrily. So much for Malfoy spending most of his time alone this term.
"Goyle," Malfoy warned, walking up to the pair. The larger boy let out a disappointed huff and loosened his hold slightly. Harry pulled at the overweight, muscled arm trapping him, to no avail.
"Incarcerous," Malfoy muttered, pointing at Harry's straining hands, which were pulled behind him and bound immediately. Harry stopped struggling for a moment, realising the energy he was wasting. Luckily, not that it made much of a difference at the moment, Malfoy's other goon was nowhere to be seen. Dealing with Goyle would be difficult enough, never mind competing with Crabbe too.
"Let me go," Harry bit out, directing this to the blonde, rather than the boy actually holding him down. He knew who was in charge here.
"No," Malfoy said, simply.
"What do you want?" Harry snapped, patience deserting him, his wrists twisting in their bonds behind him.
"You have no respect for real wizards, Potter."
"And by 'real wizards', you mean you, your family and Voldemort, right?"
Malfoy's face was sour. "I think that because you were raised by filth, you never learnt the respect and fear that our world shows to my family and our… associates. And that is a mistake. Perhaps not even your own fault, given what I read in the newspaper. They treated you like a common servant. But I'd advise you to learn quickly, Potter. He's going to win. And then you'll know what it's like to show my father some respect."
Harry all but laughed in Malfoy's face. "You're blaming my lack of respect for Voldemort and his supporters on the fact that I was raised by muggles? Do you suddenly think everything about me has to do with my upbringing, Malfoy? I told you, just because you learnt something about my home life, it doesn't change me or who I have been ever since you met me. I don't respect him because he murdered my parents and countless others! And I don't respect your family because they bow down to the orders of a madman who kills without remorse and allows people like Bellatrix and Fenrir Greyback to do as they please."
Malfoy's teeth were bared slightly and Harry knew that this was not the fearful response the blonde had hoped for.
"My father has chosen the winning side!" he grit out.
Harry stared the other down, willing the seriousness of his next words to somehow break through the Slytherin's closed mind.
"Your father chose the side that he thinks has the most power. He's vile and cruel, and no matter how powerful you believe him to be, he'll always be kissing the robes of Voldemort. You're all indebted to him and you know it."
It was the truth, plain and simple, but perhaps that is what caused Malfoy to get so angry. The truth unveiled in one direct, hard-hitting line.
Gesturing for Goyle to move aside, Malfoy stepped up to Harry, digging his wand into the boy's ribs viciously. Harry winced, before aiming a well-placed kick to Malfoy's shins. He let out a quiet yelp, glaring down at the Gryffindor.
"You're going to be-"
Malfoy's threat was cut short at the sound of voices echoing from down the corridor, clearly coming toward the little party. The blonde's head snapped to the side, listening with strained ears, mouth tightening at the thought of an interruption, his wand pushing farther into Harry's side in frustration.
When he could no longer deny that the voices were coming closer, Malfoy let out a disgruntled sigh, turning to face Harry, leaning right in.
"You got lucky this time, Potter. Come on Goyle, quickly."
The two Slytherins disappeared down the corridor, leaving Harry breathing heavily against the wall, his arms still bound. Glaring in the direction they had gone, he stepped away from the stone and tried to locate his wand in the dim, catching sight of it a few metres away. Awkwardly maneuvering his bound wrists to the ground, he managed to get it in hand and undid the binding spell, just as Peeves came whizzing around the corner.
Harry could have laughed. Peeves was clearly the 'voices' they had heard, his sarcastic, nonsensical tones sounding like several people as they echoed along the corridors.
"Well, if it isn't wee little Potty!" Peeves sneered, and suddenly Harry was a little less glad to see him. However, he realised what a close call it had been, so in a move that completely threw the poltergeist, he looked up at him, his expression sincere.
"Thanks Peeves."
With that, he took off down the corridor, unwilling to wait and see the reaction. He doubted it would be well received once the ghostly troublemaker got over his initial confusion. Rubbing his sore wrists, Harry debated on the wisdom of traversing the corridors by himself. He hadn't seen Malfoy so cold and angry in a long time, and it was clear that his threat was very real. Regardless, it wasn't a pleasant experience finding yourself in a chokehold in a darkened corridor, at the mercy of the sons of two Death Eaters.
Examining his left wrist in the faint light of a passing window, Harry cursed at the raw lines visible there.
"Watch your language, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor."
Oh, of all the luck. Harry almost groaned aloud at Snape's voice, turning to see the man sweeping toward him, his mouth set in a firm line. Dark eyes immediately fell on the wrist Harry had been peering at.
For one terrible moment Snape's gaze widened and Harry looked at him, confusion written in his features, before looking down at the wrist and making the connection. The raw marks resembled rather purposeful cuts in the dim light.
"It's not- I didn't, uh, someone was playing a joke and bound my wrists together," Harry said, rather quickly, willing Snape not to ask further questions. It was too embarrassing a story, never mind admitting that Malfoy got the best of him.
Snape seem to simmer back down to his bored self, eyes focused on Harry's own for a moment, reading the half-truth in them.
"A joke? I see. How hilarious."
Internally sighing, Harry willed Snape to just go away, but luck had clearly abandoned him the moment he left Dumbledore's office that evening, for Snape made no move to leave. Instead, Harry made to step around him, walking quickly, with purpose.
"Potter," Snape's voice followed him, echoing from the same spot the man had stood moments ago. "It would be all too Gryffindor to take certain threats lightly and allow yourself to be distracted by press clippings and dramatics. Don't be a fool."
And with those words, he was gone. Harry knew Snape was not given the chance to perform legilimency properly, but he had still somehow known something was going on. Frowning at the man's back, he turned and hurried away, deciding there and then not to tell Ron or Hermione about any of this. They worried about him enough, but perhaps he'd venture out alone less often. Snape was a git, but there was something chilling in his final words, something that held back the anger he should have felt at the 'press clippings' taunt. Harry shivered, feeling, rather than knowing, that the Prophet had unknowingly started something far more sinister than an embarrassing inside look at his life. Everything was all out of sorts. Harry himself, Malfoy's behavior, Snape's words and Dumbledore's quiet disappointment in himself. Returning to the warmth of the common room and the familiarity of Ron and Hermione's chatter did little to shift the unease Harry felt, unable to match up the day's events in his head. He stole another glance at his marked wrists, willing the red lines to disappear along with this entire mess.