A/N: I had to up the rating for this chapter... Ron and Malfoy say some pretty potent things when they're pissed off. You get a pretty hefty taste about part of the scandal in this part. Just part, mind you, not the whole thing. Don't forget to review... oh, and, it's not going to seem important now, but just a guide for later -
'san' - normal politeness
'kun' - your junior
'senpai' - somebody you look up to, like a teacher.
# # #
The sun rose like a soap bubble up on the horizon, swelling large and bloody orange. Ribbons of red glistened over the newfallen snow, and streamed feebly through uncurtained windows, though not yet potent enough to rouse sleeping bodies.
One particular beam of light found its way into Privet Drive, house number four, streaming through the blinds of an occupant's window, where it shot off of a quickly flashing needle.
Using only the slotted light that coursed through his open blinds, Harry Potter raised a pair of black pants up and squinted at his handiwork. He had been up with the sun, carefully putting the finishing touches on his makeshift tuxedo outfit.
It turned out that sewing clothing was quite a bit different than darning socks. The stitching on the dress pants was amateurish at the best, and pathetic at the worst. But at least the pants resembled pants now, not shredded scraps of black cloth. He at least had had the sense to turn the pants inside out before sewing, so most of the glaring mistakes had been hidden anyway.
"Damn," he said, realizing that the legs were uneven. He shrugged and turned the pants right side out anyhow.
They were slightly puckered in the inner thigh area, though he didn't think anybody would notice much if he didn't go around with his legs spread wide open. Along with the sewing of the pants he had also taken them up an inch or two, as well as hemmed the bottom of the stained white shirt so it didn't look atrociously huge.
His father's tuxedo jacket, however, he left in its rightful glory, not caring if the arms were a little too large. Sighing, he pulled on the mended pants and shirt, and then carefully slid into the well-tailored jacket. Over which he knotted one of Vernon's best ties - which was grudgingly lent, but Harry had stated that the least Vernon could give him was a nice tie, and threatening to mail Sirius - which was in a deep shade of aloe green.
Proud of himself, he walked down the stairs with all of the dignity he could muster, it being so early.
# # #
The sun was now buttery-yellow and high in the cobalt sky. Harry slumped in his seat in the Honda, trying to shield his eyes from the assortment of the sun.
"Mu-um," Dudley wailed, "Harry's takin' up my roo-oom."
Petunia whirled around, dull green-gold eyes blazing. "Move it, Harry!" she commanded.
Harry grunted and squished himself closer to the car door. Everybody was in a foul mood, being on their way to a city two hours away to eat raw fish. Vernon blared his horn out at a motorcycle who passed him, and the motorcyclist responded with an irate gesture that made Vernon sputter and go purple with rage.
Harry kept himself occupied by blocking out his relatives and sorting through all of the Quidditch teams and members that he could think of. Once he had become frustrated enough with trying to remember the Liverpool Swindler's third string set of Beaters, his attention refocused on the picture he had found in the attic yesterday.
You're being stupid. 'N' was probably just a close family friend who passed away or some rot, the sensible, Hermione side of his mind argued, trying to install logic. You have no proof whatsoever of anything else.
Yeah? shot back the fiery, more whimsical Ron side of him, Then why did she have her own trunk in the Dursley's attic, Know-It-All?
The Hermione side of him ignored the Ron side of him. Harry sighed and tuned the friend-ghost-voices of him down. He idly searched for the Harry side of him, only to find nothing.
The car jerked to a halt. Harry's head snapped up. The car had parked in a strip-mall parking lot, made of beige bricks with several different stores.
There was a bagel shop, a shoe store, a grocery store, and a discount lady's apparel store. Between the bagel shop and the grocery store, there was a little outlet that said 'Tei Ciou: House of Sushi' in large, red light-up letters. Below the English sign there was a generous sprinkling of Japanese symbols, significance he could only guess.
"Get out," Vernon snapped, face still fading a purplish hue. He smoothed his mustache out and shut his eyes, breathing deeply. "Everybody on their best behavior, got it?"
There was a mumbling of yeses, and the thoroughly miserable group tromped over the blacktopped parking lot to the sushi restaurant, with Dudley whimpering quietly about missing a television program.
Harry held the glass door open for the Dursleys, and carefully established himself out of sight behind the family. After hanging their coats, the group headed inside.
Everything was a light shade of shined, glossy pinewood. The wainscoting was unfinished pine with an ink black runner of wood separating the wainscoting from the high walls. Potted plants let loose green tendrils to drape over the large window, and there was a bar in the corner, where a man robed in dark blue waved a cleaver at them and called out a greeting in a friendly manner. The Dursleys shrank against the wall.
"Dursley, yes?" Harry looked to his left, where a tiny, petite woman with hair as black as his own stood politely, not meeting their eyes and holding an armful of menus. Her skin was the color of deep brown honey, and her hair had been pulled back into a bun, with what appeared to be colored chopsticks neatly pushed in the soft roll of hair.
"Yes," Harry said softly, as none of the Dursleys seemed inclined to speak. The woman nodded.
"Follow," she said, in heavily accented English. Harry trotted behind, and after some hesitation, he heard the Dursleys follow quietly to a corner of the restaurant.
The table had been set with nothing at all, aside from napkins. Seated in the chairs were two more people, both wearing gold-rimmed glasses, both sipping from brown, handle-less mugs. They smiled at the Dursleys, and the serving girl slipped away as quietly as she came.
The two people stood up, and Harry noted that one was female, despite wearing a deep blue suit like her partner. The man bowed slightly.
"Mr. Yamphiski and Ms. Hobitio, if you please," he said, without the slightest hint of accent. The girl bowed also, and, feeling awkward about it, the Dursleys and Harry bowed also.
"I'm Vernon Dursley, and this is my wife and child, Petunia and Dudley," Vernon said gruffly, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Yamphiski's face. He jerked his round head towards Harry. "That's Harry. Harry Potter."
"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Ms. Hobitio said, her voice soft. "Please, let us sit."
After a few moments of fidgeting, it became clear that Mr. Yamphiski and Ms. Hobitio were not going to sit until Harry and the Dursleys did. So, Harry did the only sensible thing to do, and sat, quickly sliding into a slick wooden seat. Vernon and Dursley did the same, as did Dudley, after he grabbed another chair (one chair wasn't simply enough for his girth).
The serving girl returned again, and as discreetly as possible, slid brown, handle-less mugs in front of Harry and the Dursleys. She left and returned a moment later with a teapot, and she poured a green substance into the mugs, before slipping away again.
"Green tea," Ms. Hobitio said, taking a tiny sip. "It's actually quite mild." She placed her mug down, and a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence reigned.
"So, Vernon-san," Mr. Yamphiski said, folding his hands on the table. "You are a representative from Grunnings, I hear." The serving girl returned to fill his mug. "I also hear that they're in quite a bit of financial trouble as of late."
Harry tuned them out. Vernon's drill business had no concern to him. He finally dragged up his courage and took a sip of the green liquid in his mug. He was actually rather disappointed. It didn't have much flavor.
The waitress returned and said something in quick Japanese. Ms. Hobitio quietly whispered something to her, and the waitress nodded and skittered off once again.
"So, Petunia-san," Ms. Hobitio said conversationally, "do you work?"
"Homemaker," Petunia replied shortly, twisting the straps of her purse into a tight little rope.
"And how are you doing in school, Dudley-kun?" Mrs. Hobitio went on, relentlessly polite. Dudley turned a rather sick shade of green and didn't respond.
Harry closed his eyes and made himself calm his raging stomach for shame. He couldn't believe that the Dursleys could be so impolite. He snagged himself to attention at the last moment when he heard Ms. Hobitio say:
"--Harry-senpai?"
Harry was getting quite annoyed with all of the titles that Mr. Yamphiski and Ms. Hobitio were tagging onto their names. What was a 'senpai', anyhow? How did it differ from a 'san' or a 'kun'?
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, "I didn't hear what you said."
Ms. Hobitio shook her head, smiling, making her golden earrings jingle. "Never mind it then. I was just asking where you got that tuxedo jacket at - it looks so very familiar."
Harry shot a quick look down at his father's jacket and pulled the folds instinctively closer. "I found it in a trunk," he said truthfully.
Further conversation was cut off when the waitress came back and placed small, rectangular dishes in front of everybody. Harry looked at it curiously. On top of cubed rice there were several unrecognizable pieces of fish, next to which were small cylinders that looked remarkably like tires. There was a pile of green paste next to the tires, as well as thinly sliced pink layers of something. The waitress came back with little shallow bowls the size of sardine tins, and a jar of soy sauce.
Still chatting conversationally, Mr. Yamphiski casually poured himself a small amount of soy sauce into his bowl, while Ms. Hobitio carefully spread the tiniest amount of green paste onto her fish.
"So, Harry-senpai," Mr. Yamphiski said calmly, spreading a napkin in his lap, "I haven't heard much out of you yet. How was your school year?"
Harry mimicked the napkin action. "Always interesting," he replied, carefully choosing his words. His eyes flickered over to Vernon Dursley, who had turned a contained scarlet. Shaking his head, Harry picked up the chopsticks, trying to remember when Hermione had schooled him in using the utensils. It took a few awkward tries, but he finally managed to latch the wooden sticks around the fish. Now what?
He watched as Ms. Hobitio carefully lowered her tire-roll into the soy sauce, quickly spread green paste on it, and popped it whole into her mouth.
"Have you considered Plan B?" asked Vernon Dursley, who was attempting to stay casual, though his clumsy, large hands handled the small chopsticks humorously.
Mr. Yamphiski was about to answer, when an ear-splitting howl echoed throughout the restaurant. Harry dropped one of his pieces of fish on the table whirling around.
Dudley had leapt up from his two chairs and was wailing, running around as fast as he could go (which wasn't very fast); his eyes watering like mad. Petunia had jumped up right after and was skittering after her child, screeching about a lawsuit and trying to soothe Dudley at the same time.
"Oh dear," said Mr. Yamphiski, who - Harry thought - was trying very hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. "He put too much wasabi on his fish, didn't he?"
Harry looked down at the innocent lump of green paste on his plate, and back at the screaming Dudley, who was surrounded by waiters and waitresses, who were forcefully pouring water down his throat. He smiled.
And then he was dripping wet. Harry lunged back from the table, shocked. Mr. Yamphiski stood up immediately, looking extremely apologetic and grabbing Harry's arm. Looking around, Harry saw his glass of green tea had been upset.
"Terribly sorry!" Mr. Yamphiski cried, hauling Harry off to the bathroom. "I am so very sorry, Harry-senpai, it was an unforgivable accident..." The look on his face told Harry that he may as well go and jump off a bridge, he looked so sorry.
"It was only an accident," Harry said belatedly as Mr. Yamphiski opened the door to the men's room and shut it behind them.
To Harry's slight surprise, the next thing Mr. Yamphiski did was whip out a wand and lock the door. Next he muttered something and pointed the wand at Harry's clothes, where the wet tea stain evaporated instantly.
"Somehow, I don't feel that astonished," Harry said dryly, looking at the wand. Mr. Yamphiski smiled and pocketed the wand, after bowing.
"Forgive me. I just heard that you were under the supervision of... those people?" he asked, jabbing his thumb back out the door, where Dudley was still whimpering loudly and Petunia was still screaming about law suits.
"Unfortunately," Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head.
Mr. Yamphiski shrugged. "I can't begin to tell you - no doubt you've heard this - how sorry I am. Your parents were wonderful people."
Harry had tuned out the pity part of the speech - he had heard it all too much. He snapped back to attention at the last part, however. "You knew my parents?"
"I was in the same house as your mother," Mr. Yamphiski said, walking over to wash his hands. "Ravenclaw."
Harry scratched the back of his head. "She was a Ravenclaw?" He had always assumed Lily Potter was a Gryffindor.
"But of course... Ms. White was a very intelligent lady." He turned to punch the silver button for the hand dryer.
White. My mother's maiden name was White. "Did she have any siblings?" Harry asked over the roar of rushing hot air. Mr. Yamphiski raised an eyebrow and nodded out the door.
"Surely you knew about Mrs. Dursley out there. And then there was... well, not really, I suppose I should say."
"Should say what?" Harry hinted at, feeling very stupid. The hand dryer puttered to a silence.
Mr. Yamphiski shook his head. "Never mind. I was just talking about an old friend of hers. They looked shockingly similar, though Lily's hair was redder." The yelling outside had died down. "Shall we finish our meal?"
Harry's questions suddenly didn't seem that important any more. He nodded and walked out of the bathroom with Mr. Yamphiski. Only when he had gotten back in the Dursley's car and started driving home did he realize that he was suffering the after effects of the memory stall charm. Feeling angry and nauseated, he quickly fell asleep, despite his cousin's whimpering and his aunt's screaming about foreign foods.
# # #
"Harry!" was the first thing he heard as he stepped out of the Hogwarts Express the next day, and he caught a mouthful of bushy brown hair as Hermione launched herself at him, squeezing his neck so that his head felt like a boil about to burst. Ron tromped up behind, holding brightly-papered packages of Christmas presents, as well as letters. Hedwig was even there, hooting moodily about being left in the company of Pig, and Pig himself was darting around happily as usual. Hedwig swooped down to land on his shoulder, and nibbled on his hair.
"Hell-wo," Harry said, voice muffled by the mouthful of Hermione's hair. Hermione stepped back and giggled. Small flakes of snow began to fall, making them all chill, and it wasn't long at all before they decided it would be best to go inside for something warm to drink. Ron was nattering excitedly about the Quidditch game that was to take place three days from now, between the Chudley Cannons and the Huntington Highriders. Hermione was talking about how stupid Ron had been the time Harry had been gone.
Harry was so, so glad to be back.
Of course, there was the little nagging problem of the picture tugging at the back of his nerves, but he tried the best to shove it away for the time being. They stepped into the hallway, where Harry was mobbed again by the rest of the Gryffindors, but primarily the Quidditch team, and before he knew it Harry was being dragged back outside again to practice double-side bludger twists for the beginning of the season. Which, as Alicia Spinnet was too glad to remind him, was starting exactly two months, five days, seventy-five minutes, and twenty-three... twenty-two... twenty-one seconds from now.
So Harry told Ron to hold his presents, he asked Hermione to take his trunks, and he grabbed his Firebolt, ready for a free day of flying.
# # #
It wasn't until nearly a week later that he told Hermione and Ron about the picture, and that was only because he grudgingly needed Hermione's help with the charms to smooth it out.
Of course, they were livid about this. "Why didn't you tell us when you came back from the Dursleys?" Hermione asked furiously, rifling through her bookbag for her Advanced Charms textbook.
"Well," Harry said dryly, "first there was Quidditch practice, and then there was detention from Snape because I didn't finish his assigned homework, and then there was the detention from Filch because I was in the restricted part of the library..."
"No doubt looking for this," Ron snapped, flipping deftly through Hermione's textbook. "Harry, why must you be such a git? You knew we would have helped you out with this..."
Anger bubbled up to Harry's tongue, and later, Harry would have been the first to admit it was because his friends were right. So he kept his lips tightly sealed and his words inside.
"Let me see the picture." Hermione stuck an insistent hand out, and Harry lunged off his pillows to give it to her. They were all in the boy's dormitory, sitting on Ron's unmade bed. The lights from the tips of three wands was sufficient to light the place, which had the curtains closed, in case any of the boys needed to dress while Hermione was in there.
"Page three hundred and four - picture spells," Ron said, running his finger down the yellowed sheet.
"So you found this in a trunk?" Hermione mused. "We need a de-creasing charm," she added to Ron. Looking over at Harry, she sniffed the air. "Why does it smell strangely like Lavender Brown's perfume in here?"
Harry's green eyes glistened with something like malice, glad to change the subject. "Dean and Lavender..."
Hermione stuck up a hand. "Enough!" she said dramatically, flopping back onto the feather mattress. "My virgin ears!"
"Your virgin nothing," Ron muttered. "Hermione, I can't read this. Is it in Latin?"
Hermione grabbed her wand and slapped Ron across the back for his earlier comment. "Pot, kettle, Ronnie-kins," she said evilly, snatching the book. "And no it's not in Latin, just ornate script."
"Pot, kettle?" asked Ron incredulously. "Yeah, Harry, tell her of all the nights of hot, wild snogging have been going on in here."
"Ron!" Hermione protested.
"You're the one that brought up the subject of virginity."
"If we could get our heads out from between our legs?" asked Harry patiently, plucking the picture from the folds of the comforter.
"Two things," Hermione said leisurely, leaning back against the headboard. She put two fingers in the air. "One-" she brought a finger down "-I wasn't talking about that kind of virginity, and two-" now she held a fist in the air "-do you want color, or just for the creases to be gone?"
"Both would be best," Harry said, kneading the crimson blanket.
"Incardriem Monodrum," Hermione said. "While holding the picture from its lower left corner and pressing the wand in the upper right." She snapped the book shut, the resulting wind pushing her hair off her shoulders. "Got it?"
"Yeah." Harry pinched the picture between his thumb and forefinger and tapped the upper right corner with his wand. "Incardriem Monodrum," he incanted. Gold veins flew out of his wand and over the picture.
The thin piece of muggle plastic started to vibrate, and Harry dropped it out of surprise. Hermione grabbed her wand and pointed to the ceiling. "Lumos indracule." A large, bright ball of flame leapt out of the end and stationed itself at the left bedpost, shining bright light into the dimly lit tent of blankets.
The picture vibrated for a few more moments, before there was a crinkling sound and the smallest of the creases disappeared. Then it started cracking loudly, as the larger creases snapped back to the original position. The golden veins of magic sunk into the waxy film, and, very subtle at first, color started wiping its way back onto the picture.
"That was interesting," Ron commented as Harry picked up the picture.
He knew for a fact that the oldest-looking person in the picture was his Aunt Petunia - she had the same frizzy blondy-brown hair, and her eyes were the same snapping dull gold-green.
From the information he had gathered from his photo album, the youngest person in the photo was Lily, his mother. She had red hair and a bright blue bathing suit on, flashing white teeth, dark green eyes. Harry smiled.
"If you want the picture to move," Hermione said, reading ahead in her textbook, "you have to brew a potion."
Harry didn't hear her. He was squinting at the last person in the photo. She was wearing a green bikini, and seemed to be paying the most attention to the camera. She had pale, pale platinum hair, which may have been dyed. But she had shockingly green eyes, greener than even his own, so green as to be almost black. Squinting at it closer, he thought that he may have misjudged her age - she looked to be older than Petunia when she was in color.
"So, you think she may have been related to your mum?" asked Ron. Harry turned around and bounced skulls with Hermione. He hadn't noticed that they were peering over his shoulder.
"May have," Harry echoed. "I saw a trunk with a 'N' on it in the attic. And-" he flipped the picture over "-that girl's name starts with an 'n'."
"Well," Hermione said after a pause, "we can't jump to conclusions. The trunk in your attic may belong to a deceased family member, and the girl in this picture may be a family friend."
"Her eyes look like yours," Ron commented, before leaning back on his pillows. "I don't think she is related to you, though. She'd have to be a stodgy old thing to leave you on your own for nearly sixteen years and never even drop a post."
"That's right," Hermione said, looking at him in earnest when Harry remained silent. "Maybe she doesn't want to be found, if she's alive and related to you."
Harry's brows creased in frustration. He knew that both Ron and Hermione were right, their observations were too sensible to be dismissed. Though the thoughts weren't too palatable for Harry's liking.
"I need to go back and study for the Potions test tomorrow," Hermione announced, uncomfortable with the silence. "Harry?"
Harry poked his head outside the curtains, to check for partially undressed boys. The dormitory was empty. "Clear."
Hermione gathered her belongings and pointed her wand at the bright fireball that gleamed brightly at Ron's bedpost. "Nox."
The ball of light snapped out, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Hermione bid the boys a good night, before walking out.
Ron stretched out leisurely, like a cat, and the resemblance was so uncanny that Harry partway expected him to start purring. "I'm ready to cop out."
"Cop out?" asked Harry.
Ron grinned. "Heard the twins saying it... they got it out of an Orson Scott Card book... never though they'd be one for reading, would you?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Ron's smile melted away.
"You're thinking too much about this," he said, sitting up and cracking his neck to the side. "Besides, how do you ever expect to find her? For all you know, she may be a muggle, and you've got about as good a chance of finding a needle in a haystack finding her anyway."
Harry slumped up on the wall; the weight of what Ron said pressing against him uncomfortably. "I know," he sighed. Ron wouldn't understand - how could he? He already had a family - more family than he needed, in fact. While Ron and Hermione and anybody else could be supportive and kind about it, he could never expect anybody to understand.
"I need to go to sleep," Harry announced, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "See you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early." Ron drew the curtains around his bed, and Harry saw the gleam of Ron's wand from the slit between the curtains - he was studying for tomorrow's Potion test.
Harry didn't find the need to study, since Snape would probably find some excuse to flunk him anyhow. He slid into his bed and drew the curtains around.
The contents of his bookbag were thrown ill-temperedly over the scarlet coverlet - his bookbag had split earlier that day.
"Lumos," he muttered, looking at the tear. It was down the seam - not hard to fix.
He kept matches in his nightstand, mostly a matchbox from last Christmas, when the Dursleys had thoughtfully given him a present that apparently hadn't cost them anything at all. Using an incredibly easy transfiguration method he had learned in first year, he quickly changed one of them into a needle. He didn't have any thread, but he did have dental floss, which was stronger than thread anyhow.
Wetting the floss, he poked it through the eye of the needle and started sewing up his bag. As he stitched, he thought.
The girl's name started with 'N'. How many female names started with 'N'? Nicole? No, that was too short. Natasha? No, there was no T in the name. Natoya? Nastiea? Nadia?
The bag didn't take long to sew. After snapping the floss with his teeth, he carefully started loading his books back into his bag.
Until he was bitten. "Ow!" he cried, watching a drop of blood roll down his finger.
"Harry?" Ron asked sleepily.
"I'm fine," Harry said, picking up his Intermediate Charms book, which was the one that bit him.
His Hungarian Horntail replica from fourth year was curled up on it, thin wisps of smoke seeping from its nostrils.
Seeing it sparked something inside of him. The spark grew, as well as his rapidly rising fear. Dragons.
Harry slid the small replica down from the book onto his tissue box. The dragon snorted angrily at being awoken from its nap, but curled back up onto the soft sheets of Kleenex and fell back asleep. Carefully, Harry placed the box on his nightstand, threw his books in his repaired bag, and flopped on his bed, lying there wide-eyed until sleep overwhelmed him.
# # #
"I hate Snape!" Ron yelled, on occasion of leaving the Potion room. "I hate Malfoy too! I hope they both rot in the seventh circle!"
"Ron!" Hermione said severely.
"I mess up on my potion because Malfoy puts salt in it, and I get blamed! Malfoy passes with one hundred, and I get a twenty three!" Ron panted, struggling to form the words. "I hate them both!"
"Shut up, Tybalt," Hermione harrumphed, calling him by the name she used for Ron when he was at his most contrary.
"I am not Tybalt!" Ron screamed, stamping his foot on the floor. Several passing students stared at him. "If anybody, Malfoy is Tybalt, the slimy, no-good, cheating, stuck up, little son of a fucking bastard..."
Harry had stayed silent through this exchange, milling over his plan, trying to see if it would work at all.. "I forgot something in Potions," he told Ron and Hermione as an excuse as he turned back down the hall he came. "I'm afraid to leave it there - Snape'd probably burn it in a voodoo ceremony."
Hermione rolled her eyes in the back of her head while Ron grunted. "We'll tell Sprout where you are," Ron called, breaking from his tantrum for a second.
Harry nodded and casually walked behind a turn in the bend, the way most of the Slytherins left the Potions room. After doing a little research, Harry found that the Slytherins had Transfiguration the next hour, and this was the most economic way to go. Harry just had to hope that Malfoy would take this path.
He did get some strange stares of mixed dislike and curiosity from the Slytherins he walked along their numbers, but Harry diplomatically ignored them and kept a sharp eye out for the silver-blonde head that was Malfoy.
"What are you doing, Potter?" sneered an anonymous voice.
"Last time I checked," Harry responded to the hostile voice, "it was none of your business."
Harry had just about given up on the ideal, when he saw Malfoy rounding the corner to the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway. Harry quickened his pace.
Malfoy was walking between his two goons, talking to neither, and not noticing him. With a wave of despair, he realized his problem. How was he going to get Malfoy to give him the time of day? Moreover, how was he going to get Malfoy to take him seriously?
This hallway was made of light paneled wood, and the doors were nearly the same color. Harry counted them off, watching, as nearly all of them were open.
The one at the end of the hallway is empty, he thought as he rattled through his knowledge of the Hogwarts layout.
Harry edged closer and closer to the threesome as the empty classroom loomed closer. When they were nearly upon it, Harry dropped his bookbag.
Malfoy's head shot around in time to see Harry lunge at him like a deranged rugby player, knocking him hard in the gut.
"Oomph!" he cried in surprise as he lost his wind. Harry drove sideways and up, spinning the pair - as Goyle stood stupidly and Crabbe made a miscalculated lunge - into the open classroom.
Harry kicked the door shut and heard the lock throw itself. Spinning around, he pushed the struggling Malfoy roughly up against the wall, one hand restraining Malfoy's limbs, the other clamped firmly over his mouth.
What the hell did I just do? "If you're going to yell, Malfoy, I'm not taking my hand away."
Malfoy was shaking in rage, and his gray eyes were shooting curses, but he stopped struggling. Harry eased his hand away, ready to cover if necessary. They stared at each other for a moment, before Malfoy spat hatefully in Harry's face.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded angrily as Harry wiped his saliva out of his eyes, releasing him. "I didn't even do anything to you and you suddenly get a wild hair up your ass!"
Harry raised his eyebrows, somewhat shocked at Malfoy's use of language. In all the times they had verbally sparred, Malfoy had never said anything that potent. "Actually, I did that so I may have a chance at a civil conversation."
"So you do it by knocking the shit out of me?!"
"No need to swear."
"Like hell there isn't!"
Crabbe and Goyle were beating up against the door with their gigantic fists, and a few Slytherins were trying alohomora, but classroom doors were spelled against simple unlocking charms.
Sighing, Harry tossed his wand to Malfoy, who stared at it. Harry remembered that Remus Lupin had done that to him in his third year to make him more prone to talk. "You're armed, I'm not. Now can I talk to you?"
Malfoy balanced the wand on his forefinger before snapping it around in the air. "Walamish!" he growled, pointing it at Harry.
It was as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Ah," Harry moaned as he felt the wind getting knocked out of him. He sat hard on the cream-tiled floor. Malfoy tossed the wand back at him. It fell to the floor with a clatter.
"You deserved it," Malfoy said calmly, dragging over a desk and sitting on it. Harry gasped for breath and took his wand back. "Now, what is so important that it required blindsiding me?"
Harry, who was still panting, glared at the boy who was sitting placidly on the desk. "It's not about you," he gasped, "it's about your mother."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I think that your mudblood friends have driven you up the wall."
"Go to hell."
"I am in hell, sitting here talking to you."
"First, however, answer my damn question."
Malfoy folded his hands in his lap and waited with mocking patience. Harry dragged himself off the floor and stood over Malfoy. "What was your mother's maiden name?"
"You know, if this is an attempt to probe into the horrors of my past," Malfoy said dryly, after a pause, "you're going about it the wrong way."
Harry sighed. "Just answer the question."
"Not until you give me a good reason why." Malfoy's words hung tauntingly in the air, and Harry had to resist the sudden impulse to punch him in the nose.
"Is everything with you pulling teeth?"
Malfoy opened his mouth and snapped his teeth at Harry. "Haven't had any pulled yet."
"I hate you." Harry said it almost conversationally, as he sorted though his robes, pulled out the picture, and tossed it to Malfoy. "Tell me who's in that picture."
Malfoy looked coolly unimpressed, at the photograph. "I see a badly taken muggle picture of three girls." He looked at Harry. "Look, Potter, it's been fun, it really has, but I've really got to get to class..."
Harry slammed his palm up against the desk, making the other boy jump. "Not until you tell me what your mother's god-cursed name is!"
"Narcissa Marie Malfoy," Malfoy replied, eyes wide. "I don't know her maiden name. Are you happy now? Now that I've paid my debts to the Shrine of Potter, I'd like to leave, if it's all the same to you."
Narcissa, Harry thought. The bottom fell off his world. For a moment he forgot that Malfoy was even there, before he felt a hard shove at his shoulder.
"Potter? You still in there?" he sneered.
Harry snapped. "I hate you," he hissed, sounding serpentine. "I hate your guts, and for my friends I hate you too. I could fill an entire dictionary of the things I would like to do to you if I had the chance, and Malfoy, right now you're this close to me wiping the floor with your intestines." He leaned over the other boy, who had his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Don't you dare threaten me," Malfoy spat, gray eyes flashing. "Unless you want to be slandered in the night, and your little mudblood friends hanging by their toes in the hallways."
Harry's eyes burned black. His body took over his mind, and his next action was to punch Malfoy hard across the right side of his jawbone. Malfoy let out a faint cry of surprise, and fell off the desk, striking his head against the corner of the next table and falling to the ground with a dull thud. Blood dripped out from his nose, smearing over the gray tiles.
"Oh damn!" Harry growled, dropping to his knees and hauling the dazed boy to a sitting position. "Malfoy? Are you all right?"
Malfoy's head bobbed unpleasantly on his neck. Harry grimaced and pinched the other boy's nose to stop the bleeding. Malfoy jerked once, twice, and for a moment, Harry thought he was having a seizure, before Malfoy's hands jerked up and snatched Harry's hands away from his nose.
Harry backed away as Malfoy righted himself, Malfoy's pupils fuzzy and dilated as he stared inscrutably at Harry, lurching to his feet.
"Bastard!" Malfoy cried, swinging forward with all the accuracy of a drunken man, missing Harry's head by three feet and falling forward with the momentum. Harry grabbed him from under the shoulders before he fell again.
"Malfoy, give it up," Harry groaned, forcing the other boy into a seat. When Malfoy tried to lunge forward at him again, Harry incanted for cords to bind Malfoy into the chair. "At least wait until you can see straight before you try and kill me."
Malfoy tugged against his bindings for a few more seconds before looking down, turning a sallow pink color. "What the hell do you want from me?!" Malfoy roared, landing a hefty blow on Harry's left shin with his untied feet. "Untie me!"
Harry howled and hopped around on his right foot, resisting all urges to curse Malfoy while he was tied into the chair. "I want to know if you're my cousin, or not, damnit!"
There was silence after that, besides Harry's contained grunts of pain. Malfoy's eyes were no longer dilated and fuzzy, but sharp and clear again. And his voice was clear, also.
"WHAT?" he yelled, straining at his bonds. "You had better stop the practical joke right now, because that is NOT FUNNY!"
"OF COURSE IT'S NOT FUNNY!" Harry thundered. "WHY THE HELL WOULD I EVEN JOKE ABOUT THIS?!"
Even Malfoy had no answer to that. "Where's the proof?" he demanded.
Harry shoved the now re-folded picture in front of his nose. "This. That one in the red hair is my mother. The one in the blonde hair is your mother, if I remember correctly from last year's Quidditch cup. There's a trunk in my aunt's closet with the letter 'N' on it."
"That means nothing," Malfoy seethed, still pulling at the ropes that were chafing his skin. "It could all be a coincidence."
"One hell of a coincidence," Harry snapped. He leaned forward towards Malfoy, so close that their noses almost touched. "I would give my sanity to hear that this isn't true. But, it could be, and you know it." And, just to see the reaction, he added, "Cousin."
Malfoy winced, like Harry had slapped him. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, giving up trying to pull at the ropes. "At least one of us could have kept our sanity."
Harry's lips curled into a sadistic grin. "Oh no. If I have to hit rock bottom, I'm dragging you down with me. In case you haven't noticed, I hate you just as much as you hate me." The sadistic grin widened. "You know what this means?"
"What now?"
"That you're related to a family of muggles."
"AM NOT!" Malfoy yelled, straining at his ropes again. "You have no proof," he said, breathing raggedly. "Just a lot of coincidence."
Harry turned around and came forward with a knife that was part of the supply closet. Malfoy instinctively flinched away.
"Calm down," Harry said, sliding the blade under a rope.
"Oh, please," Malfoy sneered, watching as the rope snapped. When Harry was done, he flexed his arms and legs, and snatched his satchel from the floor. Harry watched him warily as Malfoy opened the door, watching for a counterattack.
"Are you coming, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. Harry walked outside the classroom.
It was devoid of people, as class had started nearly ten minutes ago. Harry went to pick up his bag, which was dripping ink, as the Slytherins had pulverized it. Harry sighed and held it at arm length. Malfoy stood over him, waiting until Harry had finished gathering his ink-stained belongings.
"I'll ask my mother what her maiden name is," Malfoy said, gray eyes scanning. "That'll show you and your stupid picture. I'd as soon be related to a goat than to you."
"The feeling's mutual," Harry assured him, gathering his things and walking quickly in the opposite direction from Malfoy.
# # #
"Where were you?" demanded Hermione. "You're nearly a half hour late!"
Harry had a raging headache, and he massaged his throbbing temples. "I was detained by Snape."
"Figures," Ron said, adding soil to a Shimmerbush.
Harry started to prune a Flutterby bush, thinking. Petunia, Lily, Narcissa. What a lovely flower garden. I hate my existence at times.
As if the Flutterby bush agreed, it shook violently as Harry gently teased away a brightly striped leaf.
# # #