CHAPTER 15: CONFRONTATION
Harry sighed and threw his Potions homework aside; although he knew he should be concentrating on it, his mind was elsewhere. Besides, he thought grimly, what use will Potions do for me when Voldemort comes? He pushed that thought aside angrily, but not without some humor. None of his friends would appreciate the dry humor in that thought.
As if in mirror image with Harry, Ron threw down his quill and sighed. "I just don't understand why she's making us do these star charts again! We did them last year, isn't that enough for the old bat?" He was of course, complaining about Trelawney and her large work load.
The day after the Ball was not a very active one. Harry had gotten up just in time for lunch, and he had not seen Arlé up and about yet. He didn't suppose that she was still asleep, but that she was wandering around the school, as seemed her style, sorting things out in her mind. And she had a lot more to sort out than Harry: a whole book more, in fact. He'd even seen Ginny, who had told them both that she was going to the Herbology Greenhouse to help Professor Sprout with some of her plants.
"Why did she assign it for tomorrow?" Ron continued, groaning as he stretched his back muscles, They had been sitting at the table in the Common Room since they had come back from lunch, struggling through their work.
Harry glanced out the window wistfully; a sunny day gone to waste with work that would not be finished until tomorrow... Why not spend the day with something--or more correctly, someone--more worth his time?
"I'm done," Harry announced. At Ron's unbelieving look, he amended, "Done for right now, that is. I'll see you later."
"All right. While you're out there, could you think up some more violent deaths for me? I'm running out of ideas... I've already consulted last year's charts." He grimaced as he held up the old parchment. "But she was right about one thing: this sky chart did come in handy."
Harry smiled and told Ron that he would think of some.
He left his books in an untidy pile on the table and before he knew it he was out beside the lake, enjoying quite possibly the last summery day before the onset of autumn and colder temperatures. The trees around Hogwarts were slowly changing colors, brilliant reds and yellow peeking out from behind varying shades of green. The lake reflected the brilliance of the sky and the colorful foliage on the other side, soft ripples flowing over the surface but not marring the overall beauty of the scene.
By this time next year, would the trees be gone, the lake dried out, and the halls of the school vacant of students? Would the school itself meet a horrible fate that would forever mar its beauty and mystery?
And where would he and his friends be?
Better not to think of that; but the little that he did think about had sobered his mind and calmed his rioting thoughts. Thoughts that still dwelled on memories of the past night and its many mysteries...
A breeze picked up, catching his hair and blowing it askew even further than it already was. His thoughts ventured back to Sirius, the gaunt face he had emblazoned in his mind stark and death-like still. He liked to imagine that he had gotten a bit more food than in Azkaban, the infamous Wizard Prison, but he could never picture his godfather with rosy full cheeks, nor without the slight edge in his eyes that made him appear like an escaped criminal.
He stood after a few minutes contemplation, not exactly sure where to go from here, but knowing for certain that he didn't want to go back to the Common Room and slave over the books until he grew cross-eyed. He still had another day in which to do the work...
He found his feet tracing his path towards Dumbledore's office before he knew where exactly he was headed. He gave the gargoyle the password and stepped cautiously up the stairs.
Voices echoed down to him before he reached the top, and he stood absolutely still, straining to hear.
"I'll ask you again: are you sure she can handle this? It sounds like quite a heady concept..."
"Severus, I know she can. The mark on her arm holds quite a different meaning from the one on ours. I... suppose I have wished this one upon myself, but she was born into hers."
"And yet she can control it?"
"Yes, although she would benefit from a teacher like Adalf. My feeble skills in that area have reached the limits."
"But her father is not around to give her direction, Summer. You are the only one who understands fully what she must do."
"Not even I understand completely. She will fill her own path..."
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, having just entered the office from a further room.
Harry quickly realized that Arlé was not in the office, and he retreated down the stairs and fled to the safety of the hallway just beyond the gargoyle.
He was confused... Snape and Bailey had obviously been speaking of Arlé, but what had Bailey meant; "The mark on her arm holds quite a different meaning from the one on ours..." How was it different?
And her father's name was Adalf? He committed that name to memory, determined to search for it when he had the chance.
Harry heard her voice long before he saw her, but that did not phase him in the least. She sounded frustrated, however, making him pause for a moment before turning toward the sound.
He followed it to the Infirmary, and peeked in to see her back to him. Her hair was still curly as it was last night, and waving in the breeze wafting through the Hospital Wing. She was shaking her head angrily, glaring at... who was that? He looked slightly familiar, with his greying brown hair and tall lean body...
"I'm taking my son home, Madame Pomphrey," he cut through Arlé's words, ignoring her entirely as he focused most of his attention on the third occupant of the room. The nurse shook her head as well, but her denial was not as severe as Arlé's.
"I cannot allow you to do this," she responded, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the older man.
"I will take my son home with me right now. I know what is wrong, and I am confidant that between myself and my servants, we will be able to correct it. Besides, I don't want him here with all these MudBloods," he spat, directing his sharp grey eyes at Arlé, who glared back.
Now Harry knew who this man was. He had greyed a lot, almost as if his Voldemort's rising again had brought back some old worry...
"I am just as Pure of blood as you are, Malfoy," she said, and continued, "and what's more, I think your son has a bit of MudBlood within him... something about a ferret comes to mind." Her fingers were clenched tightly around her wand
The elder Malfoy stared at her for a moment, hatred brewing in his eyes, and with one smooth movement, had caught her across the face with a swift backhand. Madame Pomphrey let out a cry and pulled on Malfoy's arm to forestall another attack.
Arlé tumbled to the floor without a sound, but caught herself before her face could hit the tile of the Hospital Wing. She put a hand up and touched the blood oozing from her split lip, and glared up at him. Her eyes radiated only cold fury, and shone bright with the red light that had so often made Harry wonder.
Understanding lit Malfoy's eyes with a keen light of their own, and he pulled his arm from the nurse's. "Perhaps you are," he mused. Pomphrey ushered Malfoy into her office with reassurances.
Harry didn't wait for Pomphrey to come back out; he dashed forward and sank to his knees beside Arlé. She collapsed with a sob into his arms, and he hardly had time to utter startled reassurances to her before she looked up into his green eyes with her own emerald-and-rubies and whispered, "Let's get out of here."
They left swiftly, but not before Harry had grabbed some tissues to stop the bleeding. "What was that about?"
"Malfoy was taking Draco back." She sniffed and accepted one of his tissues, wincing as she applied pressure to her lip. But she said nothing further until he had led her out to the front steps, and sank down upon the cold stone.
"Why were you in there?" He asked softly.
"I..." she narrowed her eyes as her brain sifted through her confused thoughts. "I guess I felt that I had a connection to Draco, maybe he's part of that prophesy... I don't want to think about what that man could do to his own son for his Master."
Harry nodded; it seemed a reasonable request for the father to wish to take his son home--except for the fact that he was a Death Eater, a fact that many had swept under the rug for lack of evidence.
"I wonder which he loves more," Arlé said, her eyes still full of tears. She turned onto what seemed to Harry an entirely different path of thought. "What does he have against MudBloods?"
"It's because of his 'Master.' He's determined to 'purge the world of half breeds.'" Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his tousled black hair, closing his eyes as a beam of sunlight shot out from behind a white cloud, filling him with its light. He opened them and looked at Arlé; she was staring up at the sun as if accusing it of something, her now completely emerald eyes narrowed.
"But I'm not a half breed!" She protested after a time of silence, bringing Harry's mind back to the present.
"He just does it to everybody. Don't worry about it," Harry offered, knowing that his advice would be rejected.
"But I do worry... about everything." She pulled the tissue away from her lip, eyeing the blood with disgust before reapplying it to her mouth.
Harry's scar blazed to life, a painful reminder that Voldemort was still out there. She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he squinted at her through the sudden pain, at her sweet yet sad smile that reminded him eerily of pictures of his mother.
He put his head in his hands, waiting for release. She curled one arm around his shoulders protectively, giving him a solid rock to concentrate on as the world hazed a little. Footsteps could be heard, and Harry could feel Arlé tense up. Despite the pain in his forehead, he looked up at her face and watched as the look of panic subsided.
"It was Summer... She's not coming out here though. Are you okay? Do you want to get up?"
"In a minute," Harry grunted, wondering what this meant... Was Voldemort pleased with stealing Malfoy back, or was it something else entirely?
She leaned her head against his own for a long while as the pain receded from his mind, and then murmured, "What does it feel like?"
Harry didn't realize that she was speaking to him until she looked him in the eye, angling her head so she could do so properly. "It's a fire and a storm, all in the same moment. It feels like ice, numbing your brain, and fire, setting your thoughts ablaze..." She shuddered at the word "fire" and he chose to ignore it instead asking about something else. "When are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" She asked softly, moving into a more comfortable position in the crook of his shoulder. They both sat back against the unyielding stone, and Harry took her warm reassuring weight on his arm as a token of good will.
"Tell me about all these secrets in your life." She tensed up on his arm, and he quickly assured, "Fine if you don't want to, no pressure."
She looked up at him, her eyes daring him to deny what she was about to say. "How can you put up with me? How could you even want to talk to me, after all this that I put you through?"
"Because you're my friend," he insisted, and drew her into an awkward hug. She grasped him around the neck in a death-hold, and he tilted her head up to look into her eyes. He tried to radiate all the kindness he could and was rewarded with a smile as she pulled closer.
He closed his eyes, bending his head to hers...
"What are you doing?" A cold male voice demanded from behind them. Harry's eyes snapped open, adrenaline rushing through his veins, hand firmly grasped around his wand before he realized it. He released the well worn wood and it clattered to the steps guiltily.
The intruder grasped one shoulder of each person and hauled back, pulling her out of his arms. "Spare me your excuses," Snape snarled mercilessly as Harry opened his mouth to explain, "I don't want to hear them." Harry staggered to his feet, fire lighting his eyes with a dangerously hard glint. Snape glared back, his eyes boring into Harry's. "Get back inside before I give you detention."
Harry bent down and scooped up the wand, and they walked into the school. When they were a good thirty meters away from the steps he looked back and paused; the silhouette slumped from its proud, straight stance into some stance Harry had never seen Snape wear.
As he watched, Bailey appeared seemingly out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around his bony shoulders, her face inches from his.
Arlé could just barely hold in a chuckle, her eyes sparkling at the sight. She pulled on his arm as he continued to stare, and they walked away from the teachers.
Harry thought about pulling her to him again, but realized that their moment was shattered. Snape always seemed to get in the way...
What did he have against them being a couple anyway?
He shot a glance at her face and noticed that she was tight again, her eyebrows knit in thought.
"What?"
"I think I left that book in the Hospital Wing; Dumbledore had let me take it from his office because Summer and Snape needed to talk to him..." She shook her head and stopped walking. "Do you think
Malfoy...?"
Harry spun about and raced to the Hospital Wing.
* * *
She followed, dabbing her lip doggedly as they ran. So close, she thought, so close to revealing it all, so close to getting this weight off my shoulders...
She looked over at him, wondering what she had ever done to deserve him. After all of this, it appeared that he loved her with intensity, but every touch, every kiss, was a silent agony. She knew that You-Know-Who was after Harry, and because of circumstances beyond her control, she, too, was hunted. However, she had the upper hand at the moment; You-Know-Who did not know her name, but knew of her nature.
Malfoy knew her now, knew her secret because of her lack of self control. Or, if he didn't know, he had guessed. Malfoy was not a stupid man. The intelligence gleamed in his eyes when she looked at him. If he knew her by sight, he would know her alibi, for Draco knew it. And now, if Malfoy had seen the book, and made another connection... Her hand plunged into her pocket, nervousness prompting her to reach for the reassuring touch of wood.
Her hand came out empty, and she barely had time to register this when they entered the Medical Wing.
The door to the office was firmly closed, but she could hear voices inside as apparently Malfoy and Pomphrey were still arguing over whether she could release Draco into his father's care.
The book lay where it had been deserted, and Erif breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. She skimmed through it quickly making sure no pages were missing, and then said to Harry, "I should return this to Dumbledore."
He hastily agreed, rather hurried to get out of the Wing before Malfoy came out and found them there. As they left, he said, "I want to tell him about this anyway."
"Someone's probably already told him."
"I want to make sure he knows, because if you think he's important for the prophesy..." He trailed off. "You think he's the 'Ice' person the book speaks of," he accused.
"I said nothing of the sort," she denied, "But I'm open to any options we can get. Harry, if the 'Ice' person isn't found, this book is useless."
"But Malfoy?" He shook his head as if not believing that she could even think something that vile.
After a moment of purposeful walking, he gasped and held his hand open. He looked down at the wand and exclaimed, "This isn't my wand!"
"It's mine," she said, recognizing instantly the distinctive burn marks accumulated on that fateful night... In a particularly deep gouge, she could see a bit of the phoenix feather that made up the core.
However, the wand did not function better or worse than it had before the scoring, so she would not have it replaced. "But how did you get it?"
"You must have put it down on the steps," he assumed.
She shrugged, and then they were at the gargoyle statue. Harry gave the password and they rose steadily to Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk with a slightly familiar bowl of some silver substance before him. She couldn't place exactly where she had seen it before, but she knew she had. As they watched, a miniature Summer rose out of the silvery stuff, shaking her head. "She needs more than I can give. Even though I can control what little bit I have, she has so much more of it. She needs a teacher more attuned to its... pull."
"Professor?" He looked up from his bowl and his blue eyes gazed unwaveringly at them. "Was she talking about me?"
He merely smiled and from the set look he had on his face, she knew he would reveal nothing. With a click, she realized that the bowl was a Pensieve; her father had often used one when some unknown stress pressed him, or when he had too many thoughts to count.
"Professor, did you know that Lucius Malfoy has come to reclaim his son?" Dumbledore sighed and the wizened warrior facade faded into a bone-weary traveler.
"Yet another problem that has fallen out of my hands. I can do nothing to stop Lucius from taking him back," he opened his hands, palm up. "Thus Voldemort has a way to listen in on Hogwarts, and all that happens within these walls."
"There must be something we can do."
He shook his head. "I don't think you can do anything about this. It would be harsh indeed if I ever asked you to do something."
"What exactly is wrong with Malfoy? Can't you do something about it?" Harry asked, leaning forward intently. Erif wondered how much of Harry's eagerness was directed toward the fact that if they find out what is wrong with Malfoy, they could help Sirius as well.
"You must never discuss this again, not even in the sanctuary of this office." The agreed, but Erif couldn't help but wonder how large of a schism this would cause between Harry and the already suspicious Ron.
Dumbledore sank back into his chair and continued, "Draco and Black exhibited the same signs: growling, biting, general animalistic reactions. Professor Bailey has decided--and I concur--that this is the effect of the dementor's greatest weapon: the dementor's kiss."
Harry let out a long breath and said in a tight voice, "So he really is gone."
She could vaguely remember something about the dementors, the guardians of Azkaban, but not enough to understand what they were speaking of. "What is the dementor's kiss?"
"You know that dementors are creatures that feed off the happiness of others?" When she nodded, he continued, "They suck souls from people... turning them into little less that shells of what they used to be..."
Dumbledore picked up where Harry left off. "They have reverted back to their animal instincts, as only mindless creatures do. These victims will not listen to reason, choosing instead to go with the decision that will effect them now. They live only for the moment."
She shook her head angrily at that thought. "And we let these dementors into our prison? Can they be trusted, if they will perform this thing on anyone?"
"Fudge believes that they can, but I believe that they are on the side of Voldemort, and that it may only be a matter of time before they switch sides and release all of the accused Death Eaters back into Voldemort's service."
"And the Minister of Magic does not even believe you?"
"Fudge thinks I've gone crazy: 'With all those weird turns last year, I wonder if he should be trusted,'" Harry said in a fair imitation of Fudge's voice.
She sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "Is there any way to reverse it?"
"Who would want to?" Dumbledore asked wryly. "The only recipients until now have been criminals."
She looked from Dumbledore to Harry and was torn by the lost look on his face, but she couldn't bring herself to comfort him, realizing how her own tears threatened to flow.
Standing, she realized that Dumbledore had been watching her intently as if he were expecting something from her. With a realization that slapped her across the face, she realized what he wanted from her. Her return look told him, "You think I'm ready?" in no uncertain terms.
"I will support you."
Harry looked from one to the other, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "What are you doing?" He demanded suspiciously.
She shook her head, and he sighed, threw an insulted glare at her, and walked out of the office. She watched after his retreating back for a moment, wondering if it were time to tell him the truth...
Erif made to follow him, but Dumbledore moved around the table and caught her arm. "Let him be."
She shook her head, anger rising. Fawkes fluttered over to her shoulder and perched sleepily on it. Erif reached up absently with a hand to run her fingers through his feathers and was startled at the amount that fell into her hand. She looked up at the phoenix and realized how old and frail he looked, well past his prime.
As if sensing where her thoughts were going, Dumbledore stated, "He'll have his Burning Day soon."
She shuddered and looked away from Fawkes, all too aware of the proximity of death by fire... He sang a set of notes though, and to her surprise she understood what he was singing.
"Your time will come, child, and I will be there to meet you..."
Okay, I'm sorry about what I did to Snuffles (and maybe a teensy bit sorry about Malfoy...) Please tell me what you think! The next chapter will be a bit shorter than the others, and not as much action, but i needed to fill some things in. But the chapter after that shows promise... Please please please review!!!! :)
Harry sighed and threw his Potions homework aside; although he knew he should be concentrating on it, his mind was elsewhere. Besides, he thought grimly, what use will Potions do for me when Voldemort comes? He pushed that thought aside angrily, but not without some humor. None of his friends would appreciate the dry humor in that thought.
As if in mirror image with Harry, Ron threw down his quill and sighed. "I just don't understand why she's making us do these star charts again! We did them last year, isn't that enough for the old bat?" He was of course, complaining about Trelawney and her large work load.
The day after the Ball was not a very active one. Harry had gotten up just in time for lunch, and he had not seen Arlé up and about yet. He didn't suppose that she was still asleep, but that she was wandering around the school, as seemed her style, sorting things out in her mind. And she had a lot more to sort out than Harry: a whole book more, in fact. He'd even seen Ginny, who had told them both that she was going to the Herbology Greenhouse to help Professor Sprout with some of her plants.
"Why did she assign it for tomorrow?" Ron continued, groaning as he stretched his back muscles, They had been sitting at the table in the Common Room since they had come back from lunch, struggling through their work.
Harry glanced out the window wistfully; a sunny day gone to waste with work that would not be finished until tomorrow... Why not spend the day with something--or more correctly, someone--more worth his time?
"I'm done," Harry announced. At Ron's unbelieving look, he amended, "Done for right now, that is. I'll see you later."
"All right. While you're out there, could you think up some more violent deaths for me? I'm running out of ideas... I've already consulted last year's charts." He grimaced as he held up the old parchment. "But she was right about one thing: this sky chart did come in handy."
Harry smiled and told Ron that he would think of some.
He left his books in an untidy pile on the table and before he knew it he was out beside the lake, enjoying quite possibly the last summery day before the onset of autumn and colder temperatures. The trees around Hogwarts were slowly changing colors, brilliant reds and yellow peeking out from behind varying shades of green. The lake reflected the brilliance of the sky and the colorful foliage on the other side, soft ripples flowing over the surface but not marring the overall beauty of the scene.
By this time next year, would the trees be gone, the lake dried out, and the halls of the school vacant of students? Would the school itself meet a horrible fate that would forever mar its beauty and mystery?
And where would he and his friends be?
Better not to think of that; but the little that he did think about had sobered his mind and calmed his rioting thoughts. Thoughts that still dwelled on memories of the past night and its many mysteries...
A breeze picked up, catching his hair and blowing it askew even further than it already was. His thoughts ventured back to Sirius, the gaunt face he had emblazoned in his mind stark and death-like still. He liked to imagine that he had gotten a bit more food than in Azkaban, the infamous Wizard Prison, but he could never picture his godfather with rosy full cheeks, nor without the slight edge in his eyes that made him appear like an escaped criminal.
He stood after a few minutes contemplation, not exactly sure where to go from here, but knowing for certain that he didn't want to go back to the Common Room and slave over the books until he grew cross-eyed. He still had another day in which to do the work...
He found his feet tracing his path towards Dumbledore's office before he knew where exactly he was headed. He gave the gargoyle the password and stepped cautiously up the stairs.
Voices echoed down to him before he reached the top, and he stood absolutely still, straining to hear.
"I'll ask you again: are you sure she can handle this? It sounds like quite a heady concept..."
"Severus, I know she can. The mark on her arm holds quite a different meaning from the one on ours. I... suppose I have wished this one upon myself, but she was born into hers."
"And yet she can control it?"
"Yes, although she would benefit from a teacher like Adalf. My feeble skills in that area have reached the limits."
"But her father is not around to give her direction, Summer. You are the only one who understands fully what she must do."
"Not even I understand completely. She will fill her own path..."
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, having just entered the office from a further room.
Harry quickly realized that Arlé was not in the office, and he retreated down the stairs and fled to the safety of the hallway just beyond the gargoyle.
He was confused... Snape and Bailey had obviously been speaking of Arlé, but what had Bailey meant; "The mark on her arm holds quite a different meaning from the one on ours..." How was it different?
And her father's name was Adalf? He committed that name to memory, determined to search for it when he had the chance.
Harry heard her voice long before he saw her, but that did not phase him in the least. She sounded frustrated, however, making him pause for a moment before turning toward the sound.
He followed it to the Infirmary, and peeked in to see her back to him. Her hair was still curly as it was last night, and waving in the breeze wafting through the Hospital Wing. She was shaking her head angrily, glaring at... who was that? He looked slightly familiar, with his greying brown hair and tall lean body...
"I'm taking my son home, Madame Pomphrey," he cut through Arlé's words, ignoring her entirely as he focused most of his attention on the third occupant of the room. The nurse shook her head as well, but her denial was not as severe as Arlé's.
"I cannot allow you to do this," she responded, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the older man.
"I will take my son home with me right now. I know what is wrong, and I am confidant that between myself and my servants, we will be able to correct it. Besides, I don't want him here with all these MudBloods," he spat, directing his sharp grey eyes at Arlé, who glared back.
Now Harry knew who this man was. He had greyed a lot, almost as if his Voldemort's rising again had brought back some old worry...
"I am just as Pure of blood as you are, Malfoy," she said, and continued, "and what's more, I think your son has a bit of MudBlood within him... something about a ferret comes to mind." Her fingers were clenched tightly around her wand
The elder Malfoy stared at her for a moment, hatred brewing in his eyes, and with one smooth movement, had caught her across the face with a swift backhand. Madame Pomphrey let out a cry and pulled on Malfoy's arm to forestall another attack.
Arlé tumbled to the floor without a sound, but caught herself before her face could hit the tile of the Hospital Wing. She put a hand up and touched the blood oozing from her split lip, and glared up at him. Her eyes radiated only cold fury, and shone bright with the red light that had so often made Harry wonder.
Understanding lit Malfoy's eyes with a keen light of their own, and he pulled his arm from the nurse's. "Perhaps you are," he mused. Pomphrey ushered Malfoy into her office with reassurances.
Harry didn't wait for Pomphrey to come back out; he dashed forward and sank to his knees beside Arlé. She collapsed with a sob into his arms, and he hardly had time to utter startled reassurances to her before she looked up into his green eyes with her own emerald-and-rubies and whispered, "Let's get out of here."
They left swiftly, but not before Harry had grabbed some tissues to stop the bleeding. "What was that about?"
"Malfoy was taking Draco back." She sniffed and accepted one of his tissues, wincing as she applied pressure to her lip. But she said nothing further until he had led her out to the front steps, and sank down upon the cold stone.
"Why were you in there?" He asked softly.
"I..." she narrowed her eyes as her brain sifted through her confused thoughts. "I guess I felt that I had a connection to Draco, maybe he's part of that prophesy... I don't want to think about what that man could do to his own son for his Master."
Harry nodded; it seemed a reasonable request for the father to wish to take his son home--except for the fact that he was a Death Eater, a fact that many had swept under the rug for lack of evidence.
"I wonder which he loves more," Arlé said, her eyes still full of tears. She turned onto what seemed to Harry an entirely different path of thought. "What does he have against MudBloods?"
"It's because of his 'Master.' He's determined to 'purge the world of half breeds.'" Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his tousled black hair, closing his eyes as a beam of sunlight shot out from behind a white cloud, filling him with its light. He opened them and looked at Arlé; she was staring up at the sun as if accusing it of something, her now completely emerald eyes narrowed.
"But I'm not a half breed!" She protested after a time of silence, bringing Harry's mind back to the present.
"He just does it to everybody. Don't worry about it," Harry offered, knowing that his advice would be rejected.
"But I do worry... about everything." She pulled the tissue away from her lip, eyeing the blood with disgust before reapplying it to her mouth.
Harry's scar blazed to life, a painful reminder that Voldemort was still out there. She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he squinted at her through the sudden pain, at her sweet yet sad smile that reminded him eerily of pictures of his mother.
He put his head in his hands, waiting for release. She curled one arm around his shoulders protectively, giving him a solid rock to concentrate on as the world hazed a little. Footsteps could be heard, and Harry could feel Arlé tense up. Despite the pain in his forehead, he looked up at her face and watched as the look of panic subsided.
"It was Summer... She's not coming out here though. Are you okay? Do you want to get up?"
"In a minute," Harry grunted, wondering what this meant... Was Voldemort pleased with stealing Malfoy back, or was it something else entirely?
She leaned her head against his own for a long while as the pain receded from his mind, and then murmured, "What does it feel like?"
Harry didn't realize that she was speaking to him until she looked him in the eye, angling her head so she could do so properly. "It's a fire and a storm, all in the same moment. It feels like ice, numbing your brain, and fire, setting your thoughts ablaze..." She shuddered at the word "fire" and he chose to ignore it instead asking about something else. "When are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" She asked softly, moving into a more comfortable position in the crook of his shoulder. They both sat back against the unyielding stone, and Harry took her warm reassuring weight on his arm as a token of good will.
"Tell me about all these secrets in your life." She tensed up on his arm, and he quickly assured, "Fine if you don't want to, no pressure."
She looked up at him, her eyes daring him to deny what she was about to say. "How can you put up with me? How could you even want to talk to me, after all this that I put you through?"
"Because you're my friend," he insisted, and drew her into an awkward hug. She grasped him around the neck in a death-hold, and he tilted her head up to look into her eyes. He tried to radiate all the kindness he could and was rewarded with a smile as she pulled closer.
He closed his eyes, bending his head to hers...
"What are you doing?" A cold male voice demanded from behind them. Harry's eyes snapped open, adrenaline rushing through his veins, hand firmly grasped around his wand before he realized it. He released the well worn wood and it clattered to the steps guiltily.
The intruder grasped one shoulder of each person and hauled back, pulling her out of his arms. "Spare me your excuses," Snape snarled mercilessly as Harry opened his mouth to explain, "I don't want to hear them." Harry staggered to his feet, fire lighting his eyes with a dangerously hard glint. Snape glared back, his eyes boring into Harry's. "Get back inside before I give you detention."
Harry bent down and scooped up the wand, and they walked into the school. When they were a good thirty meters away from the steps he looked back and paused; the silhouette slumped from its proud, straight stance into some stance Harry had never seen Snape wear.
As he watched, Bailey appeared seemingly out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around his bony shoulders, her face inches from his.
Arlé could just barely hold in a chuckle, her eyes sparkling at the sight. She pulled on his arm as he continued to stare, and they walked away from the teachers.
Harry thought about pulling her to him again, but realized that their moment was shattered. Snape always seemed to get in the way...
What did he have against them being a couple anyway?
He shot a glance at her face and noticed that she was tight again, her eyebrows knit in thought.
"What?"
"I think I left that book in the Hospital Wing; Dumbledore had let me take it from his office because Summer and Snape needed to talk to him..." She shook her head and stopped walking. "Do you think
Malfoy...?"
Harry spun about and raced to the Hospital Wing.
* * *
She followed, dabbing her lip doggedly as they ran. So close, she thought, so close to revealing it all, so close to getting this weight off my shoulders...
She looked over at him, wondering what she had ever done to deserve him. After all of this, it appeared that he loved her with intensity, but every touch, every kiss, was a silent agony. She knew that You-Know-Who was after Harry, and because of circumstances beyond her control, she, too, was hunted. However, she had the upper hand at the moment; You-Know-Who did not know her name, but knew of her nature.
Malfoy knew her now, knew her secret because of her lack of self control. Or, if he didn't know, he had guessed. Malfoy was not a stupid man. The intelligence gleamed in his eyes when she looked at him. If he knew her by sight, he would know her alibi, for Draco knew it. And now, if Malfoy had seen the book, and made another connection... Her hand plunged into her pocket, nervousness prompting her to reach for the reassuring touch of wood.
Her hand came out empty, and she barely had time to register this when they entered the Medical Wing.
The door to the office was firmly closed, but she could hear voices inside as apparently Malfoy and Pomphrey were still arguing over whether she could release Draco into his father's care.
The book lay where it had been deserted, and Erif breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. She skimmed through it quickly making sure no pages were missing, and then said to Harry, "I should return this to Dumbledore."
He hastily agreed, rather hurried to get out of the Wing before Malfoy came out and found them there. As they left, he said, "I want to tell him about this anyway."
"Someone's probably already told him."
"I want to make sure he knows, because if you think he's important for the prophesy..." He trailed off. "You think he's the 'Ice' person the book speaks of," he accused.
"I said nothing of the sort," she denied, "But I'm open to any options we can get. Harry, if the 'Ice' person isn't found, this book is useless."
"But Malfoy?" He shook his head as if not believing that she could even think something that vile.
After a moment of purposeful walking, he gasped and held his hand open. He looked down at the wand and exclaimed, "This isn't my wand!"
"It's mine," she said, recognizing instantly the distinctive burn marks accumulated on that fateful night... In a particularly deep gouge, she could see a bit of the phoenix feather that made up the core.
However, the wand did not function better or worse than it had before the scoring, so she would not have it replaced. "But how did you get it?"
"You must have put it down on the steps," he assumed.
She shrugged, and then they were at the gargoyle statue. Harry gave the password and they rose steadily to Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk with a slightly familiar bowl of some silver substance before him. She couldn't place exactly where she had seen it before, but she knew she had. As they watched, a miniature Summer rose out of the silvery stuff, shaking her head. "She needs more than I can give. Even though I can control what little bit I have, she has so much more of it. She needs a teacher more attuned to its... pull."
"Professor?" He looked up from his bowl and his blue eyes gazed unwaveringly at them. "Was she talking about me?"
He merely smiled and from the set look he had on his face, she knew he would reveal nothing. With a click, she realized that the bowl was a Pensieve; her father had often used one when some unknown stress pressed him, or when he had too many thoughts to count.
"Professor, did you know that Lucius Malfoy has come to reclaim his son?" Dumbledore sighed and the wizened warrior facade faded into a bone-weary traveler.
"Yet another problem that has fallen out of my hands. I can do nothing to stop Lucius from taking him back," he opened his hands, palm up. "Thus Voldemort has a way to listen in on Hogwarts, and all that happens within these walls."
"There must be something we can do."
He shook his head. "I don't think you can do anything about this. It would be harsh indeed if I ever asked you to do something."
"What exactly is wrong with Malfoy? Can't you do something about it?" Harry asked, leaning forward intently. Erif wondered how much of Harry's eagerness was directed toward the fact that if they find out what is wrong with Malfoy, they could help Sirius as well.
"You must never discuss this again, not even in the sanctuary of this office." The agreed, but Erif couldn't help but wonder how large of a schism this would cause between Harry and the already suspicious Ron.
Dumbledore sank back into his chair and continued, "Draco and Black exhibited the same signs: growling, biting, general animalistic reactions. Professor Bailey has decided--and I concur--that this is the effect of the dementor's greatest weapon: the dementor's kiss."
Harry let out a long breath and said in a tight voice, "So he really is gone."
She could vaguely remember something about the dementors, the guardians of Azkaban, but not enough to understand what they were speaking of. "What is the dementor's kiss?"
"You know that dementors are creatures that feed off the happiness of others?" When she nodded, he continued, "They suck souls from people... turning them into little less that shells of what they used to be..."
Dumbledore picked up where Harry left off. "They have reverted back to their animal instincts, as only mindless creatures do. These victims will not listen to reason, choosing instead to go with the decision that will effect them now. They live only for the moment."
She shook her head angrily at that thought. "And we let these dementors into our prison? Can they be trusted, if they will perform this thing on anyone?"
"Fudge believes that they can, but I believe that they are on the side of Voldemort, and that it may only be a matter of time before they switch sides and release all of the accused Death Eaters back into Voldemort's service."
"And the Minister of Magic does not even believe you?"
"Fudge thinks I've gone crazy: 'With all those weird turns last year, I wonder if he should be trusted,'" Harry said in a fair imitation of Fudge's voice.
She sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "Is there any way to reverse it?"
"Who would want to?" Dumbledore asked wryly. "The only recipients until now have been criminals."
She looked from Dumbledore to Harry and was torn by the lost look on his face, but she couldn't bring herself to comfort him, realizing how her own tears threatened to flow.
Standing, she realized that Dumbledore had been watching her intently as if he were expecting something from her. With a realization that slapped her across the face, she realized what he wanted from her. Her return look told him, "You think I'm ready?" in no uncertain terms.
"I will support you."
Harry looked from one to the other, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "What are you doing?" He demanded suspiciously.
She shook her head, and he sighed, threw an insulted glare at her, and walked out of the office. She watched after his retreating back for a moment, wondering if it were time to tell him the truth...
Erif made to follow him, but Dumbledore moved around the table and caught her arm. "Let him be."
She shook her head, anger rising. Fawkes fluttered over to her shoulder and perched sleepily on it. Erif reached up absently with a hand to run her fingers through his feathers and was startled at the amount that fell into her hand. She looked up at the phoenix and realized how old and frail he looked, well past his prime.
As if sensing where her thoughts were going, Dumbledore stated, "He'll have his Burning Day soon."
She shuddered and looked away from Fawkes, all too aware of the proximity of death by fire... He sang a set of notes though, and to her surprise she understood what he was singing.
"Your time will come, child, and I will be there to meet you..."
Okay, I'm sorry about what I did to Snuffles (and maybe a teensy bit sorry about Malfoy...) Please tell me what you think! The next chapter will be a bit shorter than the others, and not as much action, but i needed to fill some things in. But the chapter after that shows promise... Please please please review!!!! :)