Sorry for the LONG wait...all right, as I said before, the computer at my
house does not have the internet. I've found a nice little internet café
where I can upload, and I can spend my time after school and on weekends
writing, so expect updates between one-three weeks. I've also got a new non-
slash story going on as well. You can read the prologue now.
I'll be back in the US in under two months, and then you'll see some
massive work - I hope. I really wouldn't know what my time schedule would
be in the US, as I haven't been there for over eight months.
So basically, bladidah, this is SLASH (though not much in this chapter). If you DON'T LIKE SLASH, DON'T FLAME ME for slash. I see those reviews bashing slash, and all I do is laugh and keep writing. If there's something other than slash that you find incorrect about my story, it's ok to let me know. But if you have a problem with a male-male couple, then I'm not going out of my way to make you happy. If you want non-slash, read my new story. And that's that.
Lastly, I am not a published author. Even if I was allowed to make money - as exchange students are not - I would not be paid for this work. Keyword: Fanfiction.net. If you want something that may eventually make money so that you can pull out lawsuits for original authors "stealing ideas" (which they don'), go to Fictionpress.net.
~~
"Harry, you have to concentrate! You're not doing it right!" Mrs. Figg called anxiously from behind an armchair, where she'd taken refuge from the flying debris.
Harry groaned in response, letting himself fall into the lacy couch in the depths of defeat and melancholy, hands - hands burning hot like brands from holding far too much raw magic at one time - pulling at the hair sticking up all over his head as if he'd rubbed a balloon on it.
Arabella peeked out from her barricaded fort, and seeing Harry in such a position of gloom and despair, the witch sighed quietly and shook her head.
Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at various places around the room, muttering cleaning spells and the occasional, "Reparo!" Splintered shards of glass flew together to form vases while the shredded flower petals, leaves, and stems became whole again (though somewhat withered); broken porcelain became teacups and a pot; and the stuffing melted back into the severely singed cushions. Conjuring a rag from thin air, she approached the coffee table cautiously, intent on mopping up the mess from the teapot.
An apologetic Harry stood up and stopped her, taking the rag with a small, "I'll do it, it's my fault" and began to wipe the tea off the coffee table with a shaking hand, sponging the floor gently in the hope of avoiding any staining, though he knew Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover would most certainly be able to take care of something as mundane as spilled tea.
Mrs. Figg laid a hand gently over Harry's trembling one. "Just calm down, Harry. It's Ok, it really is. No harm done. Except to my flowers and cushions," she added, smiling. "But I can always get new ones, now, can't I?"
Harry let go of the rag, sinking back into the couch with the most dejected look on his face. "I'm sorry, I really am...no wonder Malfoy said I needed to learn to control this stuff...but I just can't concentrate today, not at all, even if it is at the expense of your stuff," he said unhappily.
"It's all right, dear! You can't expect to be able to do your best all the time, you know. Everyone perfect is lying, believe me, and everything easy has its cost." She spoke with such conviction and cheerfulness that it would have made a Harry-at-his-best marvel and smile.
But this was not a Harry-at-his-best moment, and she had said quite the wrong thing.
He retorted half angrily, half sulkily, "I should be perfect. Then people would have good reason to look up to me. No, Mrs. Figg. I *need* to be perfect. That's why I'm studying this. If I were perfect, then there would be no Voldemort, no war, no dying or dead. No children growing up the way I did, left on someone's doorstep."
His features contorted, and Arabella could see he was struggling, whether with rage, or what to say next, or even with tears of misery. He continued, though, before she could come up with a way to respond to his tirade. "Everyone must think it so romantic - it's so cliché, the happy story of the mighty prince left in the hands of horrible people. The stories are wrong, though," he spat. "In all the stories, the prince grows up to be handsome and wise and brave, and gets people's heads to turn wherever he goes. Then the prince saves the princess, frees the land from some terrible overlord. And then what happens?" A shadow crossed Harry's face as he asked this question. "The prince lives happily ever after, Mrs. Figg."
Mrs. Figg cast her eyes to the ground, waiting, letting Harry extract this poison from his system. He mistook her silence for uncertainty, and spoke once again in venomous bitterness.
"The stories are wrong, Mrs. Figg. It doesn't work that way. I can't save anyone, not even the stupid damsel in distress - the damn damsel doesn't want to be saved." In his mind's eye, Cedric's face melted into Draco's, and his mouth became a grim smile.
"Oh, I turn heads wherever I go, sure enough. If it's in the Muggle world, they stare at my clothes and my Sellotaped glasses. And when it's anywhere away from Muggles, they see the scar, and nothing else." Anguished and angry, he imitated the first voice that came to his mind: Hagrid's. "Oh, 'e fought You-Know-Who when he was on'y a baby, and 'e lived, so he did. Yer great, Harry Potter. It's great ter be yeh, Harry, innit? Yer gonna win, Harry!"
It happened before Harry could even blink.
Mrs. Figg slapped him across the face with amazing strength for an old woman.
Harry's head reeled, and he was lucky to already be sitting. He raised a hand slowly to the red angry welt on his face and to his watering eyes, entirely shocked out of his depression. Staring up at Mrs. Figg with his mouth wide open, he was even more bewildered by the fact that her face showed neither anger nor sadness, just a firm resolution.
"Do you know why those princes always won, Harry? There are a number of reasons. We could look at it through your eyes, for example. You say the stories are wrong? Well, that's because they are. I told you, everyone perfect is lying. Those stories were created for inspiration, to pass on the will to persevere. Those stories are supposed to make you want to succeed, nothing more.
But why did those princes succeed? How did they do all of those amazing things? It's because they were not alone. Whether there was the overlooked dopey friend standing in the background, or whether they had a very special steed or some magical sword or spear, they succeeded because there was someone there to help, someone there to encourage. And that is why the stories are true." She drew in a deep breath.
"I think we'll leave the lesson here for today, Harry. But I will say it again. You are not alone. You never have been. There are people out there who will blindly put all their faith in you because of that scar," she said, pointing at Harry's forehead, "but there are others that know that while you may have some sort of power enhancing your blood, you are still *human*. You are still a teenager, a youth. They will not let you stand alone. Your friends, Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, that mutt Black, even Severus Snape, your Potions teacher."
Harry drew in a deep shuddering breath, before the tears came in a great flood, tears that had never been fully shed since he was a child, tears that had formed the deepest of oceans in his heart.
Why had he denied Ron's wish for Harry to come to the Burrow? He could do with one of Mrs. Weasley's hugs right now...even one of Hagrid's bone- crushing embraces would be good, despite Harry's guilt at having made fun of the half-giant.
Arabella sat down on the couch next to him, stroking his hair in a comforting manner, and Harry collapsed into her, sobbing.
**
"Wanna watch a movie?"
"No...."
"Wanna play Final Fantasy X-2? Just came out, Dad ordered it for me from Japan, brand new!"
"No..."
"I know!! Wanna see the Playboy I got from Piers? Mum doesn't know about it!"
"No..."
"Wanna bug Mum for some food? Too bad Harry isn't around...I know! When Harry gets back, we can lock him in the cupboard under the stairs for fun!!"
Draco got up with an exasperated, "Do what you want, I'm going for a walk," knowing full well Dudley wouldn't follow.
Grabbing a light jacket off the coat rack, the boy slouched out of the house without the usual niceties or farewells he'd grown accustomed to, with Aunt Petunia hovering over his shoulder save for when she was..."working". In the same manner, he dragged himself up the street, wondering where to go.
He knew exactly where Harry was, even though Harry had disappeared long before Draco had come down for breakfast. However, he also knew that wherever Harry was, Draco did not want to be.
Oh, it had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg's common blood. Truth be told, Draco had overcome that particular barrier, the barrier of sitting on a couch that a Mudblood had sat on, drinking from glasses out of which a Mudblood had drank. While no one at Hogwarts ever need know *that* little bit, the Pureblood Slytherin had resigned himself to a summer of mediocrity.
No, it definitely had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg. It was most certainly Harry that Draco wanted to avoid.
The damn Gryffindor was probably boasting right now to Mrs. Figg about how he was going to use his magic to save the world, and how he would bring peace to everyone, including Draco, because it was Harry's foreordained mission to rid the world of evil and to bring everyone back to the Light.
He was probably joking with Mrs. Figg about Draco's confession...Joking about how petty the Slytherin had been with a deep-founded jealousy that had spurred him to attack and belittle Harry for as long as the boys had known each other. Joking about how they could have been friends so long ago. Laughing at Draco for having been such an insufferable git when there was really no reason for it.
Laughing at Draco for always wanting Harry's...friendship? Was friendship even the right word?
No. Draco had no friends. He had lackeys, huge boulders always ordered to stand at his back for no reason other than to add to Draco's importance. And the other Slytherins...they knew Draco was born of a family that was to be treated with the greatest of caution and respect, and so kept their distance.
Except for Pansy Parkinson, whose day wasn't fulfilled if she hadn't glomped onto Draco's arm and showered him with praise at least once. On the other hand, she was simply out for the trophy husband and the money involved when one entered the Malfoy family.
*Pansy Malfoy?* Draco allowed himself the first smirk his features had felt that day. No, Pansy was definitely not a future Malfoy. Too simpering, too delicate, too gossipy and oft-times flaky to be allowed into Malfoy Manor.
Draco's face fell. *That's if I'm ever allowed into Malfoy Manor again...*
Raising his eyes from the bumpy pavement as he continued to walk, Draco stared up over the houses on this street into the setting sun. It had always been his favorite part of the day, sunset. There was one tower at the Manor that presented a particularly fine view, where you could see the sun melting behind the mountains over a thick carpet of trees so green as to look black under the brightly-hued sun.
But he was not at the Manor. No, he was at that stupid Muggle playground now.
Kicking some of the woodchips out of the way, he sulkily walked to a swing and sat down, brooding.
**
He'd washed his face a hundred times, but his eyes were still bloodshot and red, something that the Ferret was apt to notice. Something that he was bound to taunt Harry about. Something that would cause that sneer to appear, those silvery eyes to glimmer in gleeful maliciousness.
And what was worse...they still had over a month till September, over a month till their fifth year at Hogwarts began. A month of bickering and bantering with that epitome of nonconformists - unless Harry sucked up his pride and apologized, for Malfoy most certainly wouldn't do so.
A young boy's petulant voice drifted to him from out of the past.
"I thought you were going to buy me a present."
In Harry's mind, this question was answered, this time with a voice dripping of coldness.
"I said I would buy you a racing broom."
"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor." Bitterness marred the drawling speech. "He's not even that good, it's just because he'd famous....famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead.....everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick-"
Apologize to Malfoy for something that was Malfoy's problem? Malfoy was the jealous one...and yet, Harry had spurred that jealousy on, always. Hadn't it been Harry who'd brushed aside friendship when Draco offered it? Sure, Draco had been rude at the time, and that rudeness did influence Harry's decision. Then there was the Seeker squabble, when Harry had become the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch player in a century. And why was he the youngest player in that time span? Draco. Surely that alone was enough to make Malfoy bitter.
In all their fights, except the ones where Snape had been present, Malfoy had always come off the worse. And Harry had laughed.
Harry stared into his reflection in the mirror. Pale face, green eyes rimmed with red, the tips of his jet hair dripping slightly from the water. Hadn't he been staring at his reflection just yesterday, and for nearly the same reason? That same guilt at having betrayed a friend.
Was Malfoy a friend?
*No, he's not a friend. He's my...he's the boy who sleeps in the room next to me. He's the boy who taught me about my own power. He's the boy who goes flying with me nearly every night. He's the first person I kissed. Despite the fact that he's been nothing but a....a bastard till now, he's all I've got.*
Harry turned away from the mirror and opened the door, flicking the light off wearily. In that one moment, as dazzling brightness faded into shadow, Harry looked tired. He looked old.
*He's the boy I want to...to save. Not because I love him, but because he's been through the same things I have. We were always together - we just never realized it. And I promise I will save him...And it looks like I'll be the one doing the apologizing again.*
**
But Draco didn't turn up for dinner. Aunt Petunia was chewing her lip nervously, shooting suspicious glances in her oblivious nephew's direction. To her annoyance, Harry was looking extremely preoccupied, brow furrowed as he pushed the little food he had on his plate with his fork, making little designs in the sauce.
Aunt Petunia had postponed dinner from six to six thirty, to seven, to seven fifteen...by seven thirty, Dudley and Vernon had been complaining loudly, and that was just their voices, not counting the bass drum rumblings from their prodigious stomachs. Relenting, she had then ordered Harry to man his post at the stove, while she herself set up a seat by the front door, peeking out of the mullioned side panes.
At this moment, she was pacing the kitchen, having eaten about two bites of her very well prepared chicken and salad. The television news filtered in from the living room where Uncle Vernon sat rigidly - Draco's disappearance was weighing on his mind as well, or rather, the vast amount of money that the Dursley's would lose should anything happen to the boy. At the table, Dudley was packing in as much salad as he could, salad lathered with as much bleu cheese dressing he could get out of the bottle. He was also greedily eyeing the sugar-free cake Aunt Petunia had bought, which was sitting in plain view on the counter. And Harry...
He had finally given up eating, like Aunt Petunia. With a sigh, he picked himself off his stool by the sink, and dragged himself over to Dudley, handing his cousin his still-full plate. The larger boy was slightly surprised, but quite took it for granted. Without so much as a thank-you, he swiped Harry's plate clean and went to work off his own plate.
It was as he rinsed the soap from the third dish in the sink that the front door opened, and a faint, "I'm home" echoed in. With a shriek, Aunt Petunia raced from the kitchen. Harry followed her slowly, almost reluctantly, the soapy dish still in his hand.
He entered the hallway to find Draco looking absolutely terrified, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, as Aunt Petunia hugged him. She was on the verge of tears, with little hiccupping phrases like "My sweetie could have been anywhere!" or "Thank God you're home all safe and sound!" flying from her mouth. It was only when Uncle Vernon marched in to slap Draco genially on the back, congratulating Draco for having made it back safely, that she disentangled herself.
Harry, though more than inclined to laugh at Draco's face, didn't want to risk worsening the situation between himself and the Slytherin, and so quickly turned back into the kitchen to go back to the dishes. He had barely reached the sink, however, when Aunt Petunia drifted in with a dreamy, yet resolved, expression on her face that, for Draco's sake, Harry didn't like one bit. Feeling apprehensive, he quietly asked, "Does Mal- Draco want something to eat?"
Aunt Petunia, roused from some vision, looked disgustedly at her nephew. "Of course he's hungry! And I'll take care of it. Get out of my sight while I get something ready for him, go on! Up to your room!"
Not passing up a chance to get out of washing dishes, Harry raced for his bedroom. The only problem was that the door was blocked by a tall, blonde figure leaning casually against it, eyes closed.
"Done with the dishes?" he prompted without opening his eyes.
Somewhat rebelliously, Harry muttered, "Yes. Now would you move? I don't want to take up any more of your time than I need to, Master Malfoy."
"Oh, it's Master Malfoy, now, is it? The great Harry Potter calls me 'Master'?"
It most certainly wasn't the first time over the last three weeks that Harry had called Draco 'Master', but Draco was itching for a fight. Any excuse would do, and.....
Harry's face reddened, and he said scathingly, "Well, looks like we'll have to forego apologies then! Good, at least I save face that way. Now move, Malfoy, or I'll give both you a scar of your own!"
Grey eyes snapping open, Draco moved forward from the door towards Harry, bending his head to make it eye-level with Harry's, and snapped, "Fine, we will skip the apologies! And I told you once before, I don't think getting your head cut open makes you very special at all!"
"Then why are you blocking my way, Malfoy?" Harry said in a dead whisper.
Draco paused, before the smirk appeared, and an eyebrow quirkily lifted. "Why, Potter? You intruded in my perfect life, so I'm intruding in yours. I was supposed to rule Hogwarts, and you were just supposed to be one of my loyal subjects, like the rest of those mindless sheep that Hogwarts is so good at producing. But no one can tame you, Gryffindor Lion. You denied me my power, so I'll always be there to eat away at yours. I'll always be here, Potter."
Harry's eyes were searching the floor, ears alone taking in Draco's perspective, for Harry didn't trust his eyes when it came to meeting Malfoy's. As Draco finished, Harry sighed quietly. "There's no need for promises, Malfoy." And at last he looked up.
Startled was an understatement on Draco's behalf. A fire brighter than Floo Powder burned in Harry's emerald orbs, leaping and twisting intricately. But the Slytherin only saw it for a moment, as the eyes of both teenagers flickered shut in anticipation of the thing they most desired, yet both knew was not supposed to happen, especially at this moment. And once again, their lips met as if they had meant to do it all along.
It wasn't a romantic moment, as Draco's hand tangled itself in Harry's untidy hair. There was nothing more than hunger, lust, and just the littlest bit of the steadily growing love and addiction that the boys bore for each other, something that had always existed between them. Every human desires most what they cannot have, what is refused them, and so it was with these two. Their love showed most in the climax of battle, and this moment, this heated kiss with little tastes and nips, deepening slowly as they half-forgave each other, was only different for one reason.
Aunt Petunia's scream of shock and the clatter of the tray full of food she carried as it hit the landing floor with an almighty crash would be that one reason.
Breaking apart, utterly startled, confused, and bordering on panicking, the boys stared at the distraught woman, who had her hands clapped over her mouth. Uncle Vernon's voice could be heard as he thundered into the hallway to see what was wrong.
But before Aunt Petunia stopped screaming, before Uncle Vernon could make his way upstairs, Harry's instincts kicked in. He raised a hand, shouting a single word. "Obliviate!!"
A jet of blue-green light raced from the outstretched palm, hitting Harry's aunt squarely in the chest.
The shrieks subsided, as Aunt Petunia stumbled slightly. A confused, slightly vague look crossed her face, and she gazed slightly open-mouthed for a few minutes at Draco and Harry, both of whom wore identical expressions of pure shock.
Aunt Petunia gave herself a sudden little shake, and was back to herself, though with no memory of the incident she had just witnessed. Instead, she gasped loudly as she took in the sight of the salad dressing soaking into the carpet under the weight of the dish of chicken, not to mention some fragments of chipped corning ware poking upwards off the floor. Harry forcibly willed himself to move forward and help her clean, though Draco remained rooted to the spot.
Uncle Vernon, however, was quite well aware that his wife had screamed, and was keen to find out why. Within no time at all, he had barged up the stairs, and let out a nasty curse at the sight of the broken dishes and food strewn about the landing. And he knew exactly who to blame it on.
"Boy!! What the devil did you do this time?" he shouted, his great gumdrop of a face turning an ugly shade of red.
Uncle Vernon got the surprise of his life when Draco drawlingly answered him instead. "There.....there was a huge cockroach, sir. It ran across Aunt....Aunt Petunia's path - almost ran over her foot, even - so she screamed in fright and dropped the tray." Harry nodded encouragingly, from his position on the floor next to his aunt, though his face was whiter than chalk; Aunt Petunia only bemoaned the state of her stained carpet.
Staring beadily from Harry and Petunia scrambling awkwardly on the floor to a very pale Draco, Uncle Vernon snorted once before saying, "Very well. I'll have to call the pest control office tomorrow then."
He turned to go, but paused and tilted his head towards Draco's door. "Go on, get some rest, Mr. Malfoy. You look like you're peaky - coming down with something, are you?" Draco nodded, thought whether it was agreeing with rest or with illness, Vernon didn't know and didn't ask.
Instead he headed downstairs, calling to his wife to leave the cleaning to Harry. Aunt Petunia hurried away, slightly dazed and trembling, bearing the tray laden with as much of the spilled food and broken serving ware as she could fit on it.
When her footsteps faded from the hall into the kitchen, Harry sat back on his heels, staring blankly at the stain on the floor. "What have I done...what did I do, Malfoy?.....What the bloody hell have I done? What the hell happened?"
Prying his feet from the floor where they felt like they had frozen, Draco stepped forward heavily, just as shocked as Harry. "It's...it isn't your fault, I guess. Don't kill yourself about it. Last time you broke the Restriction for Underage Wizardry in this house, you were let off, weren't you?"
Harry gazed openmouthed at Draco , a look of horror crossing his face. "The Restriction!? The Restriction for Underage Wizardry! I didn't even think about that, Malfoy!! I was just freaking about having used and Memory Charm without a wand on MY OWN AUNT, and no....I'm screwed!.....wait," he whispered, as the horror faded into confusion and the beginnings of relief, "Why didn't they pick up my ki practice at Mrs. Figg's? Maybe they won't notice this one!"
Draco's words did not alleviate his fears.
"This is a Muggle home, Potter. Figg's place is magical. Sensors are over Muggle places, Harry, so that they can fine people who've risked exposing our society in front of Muggles, and that's why they didn't pick it up at your little Mud-Muggle-born's home. You've lived with the Weasleys before, haven't you? I've heard those twins spend their holidays inventing jokes, and they've never gotten caught. Surely you noticed?" His voice was growing hysterical from the stress and shock.
Relief sank into terror, and Harry's breathing hitched as his green eyes widened to the size of saucers. On the verge of hyperventilating, Harry could only think of one thought: he was expelled for sure this time.
He started at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Lifting his eyes to meet Draco's, he mouthed wordlessly, but Draco was quite a few steps ahead of him, though still shell-shocked. "All we need, Potter, is a good excuse," he whispered cajolingly, a lot braver and calmer than he felt. "It was just a Memory Charm, not like you inflated one of them again - and if they didn't put you in Azkaban for inflating a Muggle, they won't for a Memory charm. We just need an excuse as to why you needed to do a Memory-"
But he was cut off by the doorbell. Both boys tensed, knowing full well who was down the stairs and outside the door. How had they gotten there so fast? Surely they wouldn't risk Apparition on a Muggle street?
Uncle Vernon's voice boomed out much the same as it had the day Draco had arrived. "Boy! Get the door!!"
Walking as if to his doom, Harry slowly stumbled down the steps, followed closely by Draco. Both were stiff-legged, and were trying vainly to remain calm. As they reached the bottom step, the doorbell rang once more, and Uncle Vernon's angry face peered around the living room wall. "Hurry up, boy, you're making them wait!"
He obviously had no idea whatsoever that he was about to be playing host to most likely a group of Ministry wizards - though maybe their desire to throw Harry in Azkaban might make Vernon rational.
Feelings of dread closing in around his heart, it was only when he felt Draco's hand slowly rest on his shoulder in as much a move of comfort the Malfoy boy knew how to make that Harry reached forward and turned the knob.
The door swung open, revealing an odd sight - quite odd, to a Muggle. Harry was far too used to seeing Fudge in his strange arrangement of clothing to feel that this was out of place, but just the sight of Fudge and the official behind him- he looked familiar, Peasegood, wasn't that his name? - made Harry blanch, his breath coming in great gasps. Fudge's fatherly smile was completely lost on him.
Draco's hand slid off Harry's shoulder to clench at his side as he glared with a mixture of nervousness and imperiousness at Fudge. He knew now he shouldn't have come downstairs with Harry - a Malfoy was almost as easy to distinguish as a Weasley, and Fudge was well-acquainted with at least Lucius, although Draco and Narcissa had both been introduced to the Minister before as well.
But Uncle Vernon saved him any further worry on the matter. Waddling over with a pleasant "Good evening", he stopped short as he took in the clothes that these two late-night visitors wore. Funny-colored cloaks, hats, and suits, not to mention those.....were they shoes? They may have looked impressive to a wizard, but their charm was completely lost on Mr. Dursley.
Without much ado, he hastily dropped his kindly manner and spat nastily, "You're here for the boy, are you? What did he do this time?" His tone was very clipped, and he was angry enough to have forgotten that the completely "normal" Draco was standing quite within earshot.
Fudge's smile disappeared, and his brow furrowed at being addressed so rudely by a lowly Muggle....So this was why Harry had claimed he hated Privet Drive....Shaking himself, Fudge set about to business in tones just as clipped as Vernon.
"Sorry business, my dear sir, but I just need to talk to your nephew for a few minutes about a little bit of magic detected at this house not much long ago." Fudge paused uneasily, watching as Uncle Vernon's face went through shades faster than a spinning color wheel.
Meanwhile, while Harry remained the center of attention, Draco was quietly inching backwards, getting to the stairs as fast as he could. No one, no one, no one was supposed to know that Draco was staying with the Dursleys, and Fudge was bumbling enough to blurt something out in front of said Dursleys. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the stairs and began to edge quietly upwards.
Continuing where he left off, Fudge said, "We'll need to check Mr. Potter's wand. When the magic was performed, the sensors went haywire and we weren't able to tell what spell-!!"
At the word "wand", Uncle Vernon let out a roar and practically dived at Harry with a shout of "BOY!!"
There were mixed cries of "My dear sir!!", "What do you think you're doing?", "Blast it, boy!!", and "Vernon!", loud enough so that Draco was startled and nearly slipped on a stair in his distraction. When he looked down, it was to see Fudge and Peasegood pulling Vernon off Harry, who was cowering against the wall, half-curled up in what must have been self- defense. Aunt Petunia could be heard crying from the doorway into the kitchen, and Dudley's head could be seen sticking past the living room entranceway as he goggled, eyes popping, at the scene.
Draco drew one shuddering gasp and ran up to his room, slamming the door on his way in. Only then did Uncle Vernon look up and realize that his summertime home student had seen and heard everything. Fudge, likewise, was quite alarmed, and whispered quietly, "The Malfoy boy? Here?" Fortunately Uncle Vernon was huffing, breathing deeply and heavily, and didn't hear.
Dudley was the first to break the tense silence. "Dad?"
Drawing one final deep breath in through his flared nostrils, Mr. Dursley said, "They're here to check Potter's wand. And then they're leaving." Glaring, he finished, "The boy's school things are upstairs in his room. He can show you himself. And then get out." He turned and stomped back into the living room, drawing Dudley with him and shooing the sobbing Aunt Petunia back into the kitchen.
Harry was still prone on the floor, and Fudge awkwardly pulled him to his feet. All three wizards were pale, shocked, and his Harry's case, bleeding from a cut across his cheek where Uncle Vernon's wedding ring had struck him. "Up you get, Mr. Potter, up you get. Let's see to that cut, and then we'll have to check your wand, just a Priori Incantatem, and you'll be fine. We may also have to check your friend's wand as well...."
Wiping the wound gingerly, Harry whispered hoarsely, " I'm OK. But no, he...Draco doesn't have his wand with him, Minister. It was.....you can check my wand, but it wasn't....it wasn't us....." Draco's words echoed in his mind, that he must simply find a good excuse. And then it hit Harry, and a smile almost broke out on his face for the first time that day-
"It was Dobby, a house-elf I'm friends with. He came to visit from Hogwarts, where he works, he and got a little...a little out of ha-hand," he stuttered out.
Fudge was looking distinctly disgruntled as the group slowly mounted the steps, and Rita Skeeter's articles were clearly still troubling him. Was the boy lying? Should Fudge trust him? And so he replied simply, "We'll just have to check your wand to be sure - when the sensors went haywire, we realized that it wasn't normal magic we were dealing with, so it very well may have been a house-elf. But be that as it may....."
Harry's room, being closest to the landing, was empty when they entered, even Hedwig's cage. Fudge and Peasegood looked around nervously, taking in the surroundings in which the Boy-Who-Lived spent his days. The room was rather untidy, toys and Muggle books piled around the walls closest to the door, but the far side of the room by the window had been cleared, and here Harry's school trunk was set up.
At the moment, Harry was rummaging around in it, searching for his wand. Peasegood stood tensely in the background before leaning forward slightly to whisper to Fudge, "If the Muggles didn't see him doing magic..."
But Harry had straightened up, clutching the eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather that he called a wand, and Arnie Peasegood, cut off, stepped forward to take the object of suspicion.
Placing his own wand tip-to-tip with Harry's, the Obliviator cried sharply, "Prior Incantato!"
And out of Harry's wand spouted green wisps that formed into the shape of pustules, the remnants of the Furnunculus Charm that he had used on the Slytherin Trio on the train ride home from Hogwarts three weeks ago.
Fudge clucked his tongue. "Furnunculus Charm? Well, none of the Muggles, nor young Master Malfoy-" Harry winced at the name - "were in any way harmed by that, obviously - they most certainly didn't have boils all over their faces. We'll have to do use a Time-Teller Draught, to be sure."
Peasegood nodded in agreement, and slipped a hand inside his cloak, withdrawing a small bottle of a red viscous liquid. Hand trembling as he uncorked it, he let one small drop land on the wand under investigation. It fizzed where it made contact, causing Harry to jump slighty, and he was even more surprised when the smoke rising twisted itself into numbers, 631.
"Well, that's that. It's last spell was cast on the 31st of June, no problems. We'll have to do an inquiry with the house-elf, then. Diggory would be good to..." But Mr. Peasegood stopped talking as he watched Harry's face pale at the name of 'Diggory'.
With a slightly skeptical look on his face, Fudge said, "Well, Mr. Potter, we'll have to give you a warning this time. But I assure you, any more signs of magic here - wizard or non - and we'll have to consider serious punishment. Hopefully," he added in an unsettling tone, "the treatment you receive from the Muggles will heighten your cautiousness. Wouldn't want to see Harry Potter stuck living with them forever, now would we?" He smiled, but his eyes remained cloudy.
Harry nodded solemnly as Peasegood handed back his wand. Placing it on the bed, Harry walked to the door, and the Ministry warlocks followed him down the steps and to the front door. Fudge shook Harry's hand, but his last meeting with Harry was clearly weighing on his mind, and it was rather quickly that he swept himself and Peasegood out onto the deserted street to Disapparate. With a last melancholic wave, Harry shut the door on the sound of two loud POPS!!
Uncle Vernon's mean head stuck around the living room wall, and snarled, "Up to bed! NOW!"
Harry dragged himself upstairs. He had gotten off...and Dobby was in trouble now. And he had done a real spell without a wand, and Draco....
**
Fudge wearily removed his bowler and cloak, and the standing rack in his office bent double for him to place both items on it properly before the bewitched rack straightened up again.
Sitting at his desk, he helped himself to a pile of buns resting on top of a teetering stack of parchment, but had only taken one bite when a noise at the door to his office made him start.
Lucius Malfoy was leaning nonchalantly against the door, toying with a roll of parchment in his hands. "Late night, Minister?" A smile played around his lips.
Sighing and shaking his head, the Minister for Magic said dejectedly, "Had to investigate a case of Underage Wizardry at young Harry Potter's house - the boy is getting completely out of hand, and those Muggles he lives with are even worse. Scared your son so badly that he ran up to his room and slammed the door." Lucius' eyes widened, but Fudge didn't stop. "Had to check the boy's wand - wanted to check young Master Malfoy's as well, but Mr. Potter said that your son didn't have his wand on him, Lucius. Well, we found nothing. Potter claims it was a house-elf."
Lucius' smile had turned triumphant. "Very well. I'll question my son, my Draco, about it when.....when we see him." His eyes glinted madly, though it was lost on Cornelius Fudge.
~~
Thanks for all reviews!!
Shun-chan would like to thank Portuguese Girl for some beautiful reviews. Shun-chan, who likes talking in third person, got this review during a really bad week, and that was probably the highlight of her day. Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu!!
Saa, Minna-san, Jaa ne!
So basically, bladidah, this is SLASH (though not much in this chapter). If you DON'T LIKE SLASH, DON'T FLAME ME for slash. I see those reviews bashing slash, and all I do is laugh and keep writing. If there's something other than slash that you find incorrect about my story, it's ok to let me know. But if you have a problem with a male-male couple, then I'm not going out of my way to make you happy. If you want non-slash, read my new story. And that's that.
Lastly, I am not a published author. Even if I was allowed to make money - as exchange students are not - I would not be paid for this work. Keyword: Fanfiction.net. If you want something that may eventually make money so that you can pull out lawsuits for original authors "stealing ideas" (which they don'), go to Fictionpress.net.
~~
"Harry, you have to concentrate! You're not doing it right!" Mrs. Figg called anxiously from behind an armchair, where she'd taken refuge from the flying debris.
Harry groaned in response, letting himself fall into the lacy couch in the depths of defeat and melancholy, hands - hands burning hot like brands from holding far too much raw magic at one time - pulling at the hair sticking up all over his head as if he'd rubbed a balloon on it.
Arabella peeked out from her barricaded fort, and seeing Harry in such a position of gloom and despair, the witch sighed quietly and shook her head.
Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at various places around the room, muttering cleaning spells and the occasional, "Reparo!" Splintered shards of glass flew together to form vases while the shredded flower petals, leaves, and stems became whole again (though somewhat withered); broken porcelain became teacups and a pot; and the stuffing melted back into the severely singed cushions. Conjuring a rag from thin air, she approached the coffee table cautiously, intent on mopping up the mess from the teapot.
An apologetic Harry stood up and stopped her, taking the rag with a small, "I'll do it, it's my fault" and began to wipe the tea off the coffee table with a shaking hand, sponging the floor gently in the hope of avoiding any staining, though he knew Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover would most certainly be able to take care of something as mundane as spilled tea.
Mrs. Figg laid a hand gently over Harry's trembling one. "Just calm down, Harry. It's Ok, it really is. No harm done. Except to my flowers and cushions," she added, smiling. "But I can always get new ones, now, can't I?"
Harry let go of the rag, sinking back into the couch with the most dejected look on his face. "I'm sorry, I really am...no wonder Malfoy said I needed to learn to control this stuff...but I just can't concentrate today, not at all, even if it is at the expense of your stuff," he said unhappily.
"It's all right, dear! You can't expect to be able to do your best all the time, you know. Everyone perfect is lying, believe me, and everything easy has its cost." She spoke with such conviction and cheerfulness that it would have made a Harry-at-his-best marvel and smile.
But this was not a Harry-at-his-best moment, and she had said quite the wrong thing.
He retorted half angrily, half sulkily, "I should be perfect. Then people would have good reason to look up to me. No, Mrs. Figg. I *need* to be perfect. That's why I'm studying this. If I were perfect, then there would be no Voldemort, no war, no dying or dead. No children growing up the way I did, left on someone's doorstep."
His features contorted, and Arabella could see he was struggling, whether with rage, or what to say next, or even with tears of misery. He continued, though, before she could come up with a way to respond to his tirade. "Everyone must think it so romantic - it's so cliché, the happy story of the mighty prince left in the hands of horrible people. The stories are wrong, though," he spat. "In all the stories, the prince grows up to be handsome and wise and brave, and gets people's heads to turn wherever he goes. Then the prince saves the princess, frees the land from some terrible overlord. And then what happens?" A shadow crossed Harry's face as he asked this question. "The prince lives happily ever after, Mrs. Figg."
Mrs. Figg cast her eyes to the ground, waiting, letting Harry extract this poison from his system. He mistook her silence for uncertainty, and spoke once again in venomous bitterness.
"The stories are wrong, Mrs. Figg. It doesn't work that way. I can't save anyone, not even the stupid damsel in distress - the damn damsel doesn't want to be saved." In his mind's eye, Cedric's face melted into Draco's, and his mouth became a grim smile.
"Oh, I turn heads wherever I go, sure enough. If it's in the Muggle world, they stare at my clothes and my Sellotaped glasses. And when it's anywhere away from Muggles, they see the scar, and nothing else." Anguished and angry, he imitated the first voice that came to his mind: Hagrid's. "Oh, 'e fought You-Know-Who when he was on'y a baby, and 'e lived, so he did. Yer great, Harry Potter. It's great ter be yeh, Harry, innit? Yer gonna win, Harry!"
It happened before Harry could even blink.
Mrs. Figg slapped him across the face with amazing strength for an old woman.
Harry's head reeled, and he was lucky to already be sitting. He raised a hand slowly to the red angry welt on his face and to his watering eyes, entirely shocked out of his depression. Staring up at Mrs. Figg with his mouth wide open, he was even more bewildered by the fact that her face showed neither anger nor sadness, just a firm resolution.
"Do you know why those princes always won, Harry? There are a number of reasons. We could look at it through your eyes, for example. You say the stories are wrong? Well, that's because they are. I told you, everyone perfect is lying. Those stories were created for inspiration, to pass on the will to persevere. Those stories are supposed to make you want to succeed, nothing more.
But why did those princes succeed? How did they do all of those amazing things? It's because they were not alone. Whether there was the overlooked dopey friend standing in the background, or whether they had a very special steed or some magical sword or spear, they succeeded because there was someone there to help, someone there to encourage. And that is why the stories are true." She drew in a deep breath.
"I think we'll leave the lesson here for today, Harry. But I will say it again. You are not alone. You never have been. There are people out there who will blindly put all their faith in you because of that scar," she said, pointing at Harry's forehead, "but there are others that know that while you may have some sort of power enhancing your blood, you are still *human*. You are still a teenager, a youth. They will not let you stand alone. Your friends, Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, that mutt Black, even Severus Snape, your Potions teacher."
Harry drew in a deep shuddering breath, before the tears came in a great flood, tears that had never been fully shed since he was a child, tears that had formed the deepest of oceans in his heart.
Why had he denied Ron's wish for Harry to come to the Burrow? He could do with one of Mrs. Weasley's hugs right now...even one of Hagrid's bone- crushing embraces would be good, despite Harry's guilt at having made fun of the half-giant.
Arabella sat down on the couch next to him, stroking his hair in a comforting manner, and Harry collapsed into her, sobbing.
**
"Wanna watch a movie?"
"No...."
"Wanna play Final Fantasy X-2? Just came out, Dad ordered it for me from Japan, brand new!"
"No..."
"I know!! Wanna see the Playboy I got from Piers? Mum doesn't know about it!"
"No..."
"Wanna bug Mum for some food? Too bad Harry isn't around...I know! When Harry gets back, we can lock him in the cupboard under the stairs for fun!!"
Draco got up with an exasperated, "Do what you want, I'm going for a walk," knowing full well Dudley wouldn't follow.
Grabbing a light jacket off the coat rack, the boy slouched out of the house without the usual niceties or farewells he'd grown accustomed to, with Aunt Petunia hovering over his shoulder save for when she was..."working". In the same manner, he dragged himself up the street, wondering where to go.
He knew exactly where Harry was, even though Harry had disappeared long before Draco had come down for breakfast. However, he also knew that wherever Harry was, Draco did not want to be.
Oh, it had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg's common blood. Truth be told, Draco had overcome that particular barrier, the barrier of sitting on a couch that a Mudblood had sat on, drinking from glasses out of which a Mudblood had drank. While no one at Hogwarts ever need know *that* little bit, the Pureblood Slytherin had resigned himself to a summer of mediocrity.
No, it definitely had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg. It was most certainly Harry that Draco wanted to avoid.
The damn Gryffindor was probably boasting right now to Mrs. Figg about how he was going to use his magic to save the world, and how he would bring peace to everyone, including Draco, because it was Harry's foreordained mission to rid the world of evil and to bring everyone back to the Light.
He was probably joking with Mrs. Figg about Draco's confession...Joking about how petty the Slytherin had been with a deep-founded jealousy that had spurred him to attack and belittle Harry for as long as the boys had known each other. Joking about how they could have been friends so long ago. Laughing at Draco for having been such an insufferable git when there was really no reason for it.
Laughing at Draco for always wanting Harry's...friendship? Was friendship even the right word?
No. Draco had no friends. He had lackeys, huge boulders always ordered to stand at his back for no reason other than to add to Draco's importance. And the other Slytherins...they knew Draco was born of a family that was to be treated with the greatest of caution and respect, and so kept their distance.
Except for Pansy Parkinson, whose day wasn't fulfilled if she hadn't glomped onto Draco's arm and showered him with praise at least once. On the other hand, she was simply out for the trophy husband and the money involved when one entered the Malfoy family.
*Pansy Malfoy?* Draco allowed himself the first smirk his features had felt that day. No, Pansy was definitely not a future Malfoy. Too simpering, too delicate, too gossipy and oft-times flaky to be allowed into Malfoy Manor.
Draco's face fell. *That's if I'm ever allowed into Malfoy Manor again...*
Raising his eyes from the bumpy pavement as he continued to walk, Draco stared up over the houses on this street into the setting sun. It had always been his favorite part of the day, sunset. There was one tower at the Manor that presented a particularly fine view, where you could see the sun melting behind the mountains over a thick carpet of trees so green as to look black under the brightly-hued sun.
But he was not at the Manor. No, he was at that stupid Muggle playground now.
Kicking some of the woodchips out of the way, he sulkily walked to a swing and sat down, brooding.
**
He'd washed his face a hundred times, but his eyes were still bloodshot and red, something that the Ferret was apt to notice. Something that he was bound to taunt Harry about. Something that would cause that sneer to appear, those silvery eyes to glimmer in gleeful maliciousness.
And what was worse...they still had over a month till September, over a month till their fifth year at Hogwarts began. A month of bickering and bantering with that epitome of nonconformists - unless Harry sucked up his pride and apologized, for Malfoy most certainly wouldn't do so.
A young boy's petulant voice drifted to him from out of the past.
"I thought you were going to buy me a present."
In Harry's mind, this question was answered, this time with a voice dripping of coldness.
"I said I would buy you a racing broom."
"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor." Bitterness marred the drawling speech. "He's not even that good, it's just because he'd famous....famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead.....everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick-"
Apologize to Malfoy for something that was Malfoy's problem? Malfoy was the jealous one...and yet, Harry had spurred that jealousy on, always. Hadn't it been Harry who'd brushed aside friendship when Draco offered it? Sure, Draco had been rude at the time, and that rudeness did influence Harry's decision. Then there was the Seeker squabble, when Harry had become the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch player in a century. And why was he the youngest player in that time span? Draco. Surely that alone was enough to make Malfoy bitter.
In all their fights, except the ones where Snape had been present, Malfoy had always come off the worse. And Harry had laughed.
Harry stared into his reflection in the mirror. Pale face, green eyes rimmed with red, the tips of his jet hair dripping slightly from the water. Hadn't he been staring at his reflection just yesterday, and for nearly the same reason? That same guilt at having betrayed a friend.
Was Malfoy a friend?
*No, he's not a friend. He's my...he's the boy who sleeps in the room next to me. He's the boy who taught me about my own power. He's the boy who goes flying with me nearly every night. He's the first person I kissed. Despite the fact that he's been nothing but a....a bastard till now, he's all I've got.*
Harry turned away from the mirror and opened the door, flicking the light off wearily. In that one moment, as dazzling brightness faded into shadow, Harry looked tired. He looked old.
*He's the boy I want to...to save. Not because I love him, but because he's been through the same things I have. We were always together - we just never realized it. And I promise I will save him...And it looks like I'll be the one doing the apologizing again.*
**
But Draco didn't turn up for dinner. Aunt Petunia was chewing her lip nervously, shooting suspicious glances in her oblivious nephew's direction. To her annoyance, Harry was looking extremely preoccupied, brow furrowed as he pushed the little food he had on his plate with his fork, making little designs in the sauce.
Aunt Petunia had postponed dinner from six to six thirty, to seven, to seven fifteen...by seven thirty, Dudley and Vernon had been complaining loudly, and that was just their voices, not counting the bass drum rumblings from their prodigious stomachs. Relenting, she had then ordered Harry to man his post at the stove, while she herself set up a seat by the front door, peeking out of the mullioned side panes.
At this moment, she was pacing the kitchen, having eaten about two bites of her very well prepared chicken and salad. The television news filtered in from the living room where Uncle Vernon sat rigidly - Draco's disappearance was weighing on his mind as well, or rather, the vast amount of money that the Dursley's would lose should anything happen to the boy. At the table, Dudley was packing in as much salad as he could, salad lathered with as much bleu cheese dressing he could get out of the bottle. He was also greedily eyeing the sugar-free cake Aunt Petunia had bought, which was sitting in plain view on the counter. And Harry...
He had finally given up eating, like Aunt Petunia. With a sigh, he picked himself off his stool by the sink, and dragged himself over to Dudley, handing his cousin his still-full plate. The larger boy was slightly surprised, but quite took it for granted. Without so much as a thank-you, he swiped Harry's plate clean and went to work off his own plate.
It was as he rinsed the soap from the third dish in the sink that the front door opened, and a faint, "I'm home" echoed in. With a shriek, Aunt Petunia raced from the kitchen. Harry followed her slowly, almost reluctantly, the soapy dish still in his hand.
He entered the hallway to find Draco looking absolutely terrified, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, as Aunt Petunia hugged him. She was on the verge of tears, with little hiccupping phrases like "My sweetie could have been anywhere!" or "Thank God you're home all safe and sound!" flying from her mouth. It was only when Uncle Vernon marched in to slap Draco genially on the back, congratulating Draco for having made it back safely, that she disentangled herself.
Harry, though more than inclined to laugh at Draco's face, didn't want to risk worsening the situation between himself and the Slytherin, and so quickly turned back into the kitchen to go back to the dishes. He had barely reached the sink, however, when Aunt Petunia drifted in with a dreamy, yet resolved, expression on her face that, for Draco's sake, Harry didn't like one bit. Feeling apprehensive, he quietly asked, "Does Mal- Draco want something to eat?"
Aunt Petunia, roused from some vision, looked disgustedly at her nephew. "Of course he's hungry! And I'll take care of it. Get out of my sight while I get something ready for him, go on! Up to your room!"
Not passing up a chance to get out of washing dishes, Harry raced for his bedroom. The only problem was that the door was blocked by a tall, blonde figure leaning casually against it, eyes closed.
"Done with the dishes?" he prompted without opening his eyes.
Somewhat rebelliously, Harry muttered, "Yes. Now would you move? I don't want to take up any more of your time than I need to, Master Malfoy."
"Oh, it's Master Malfoy, now, is it? The great Harry Potter calls me 'Master'?"
It most certainly wasn't the first time over the last three weeks that Harry had called Draco 'Master', but Draco was itching for a fight. Any excuse would do, and.....
Harry's face reddened, and he said scathingly, "Well, looks like we'll have to forego apologies then! Good, at least I save face that way. Now move, Malfoy, or I'll give both you a scar of your own!"
Grey eyes snapping open, Draco moved forward from the door towards Harry, bending his head to make it eye-level with Harry's, and snapped, "Fine, we will skip the apologies! And I told you once before, I don't think getting your head cut open makes you very special at all!"
"Then why are you blocking my way, Malfoy?" Harry said in a dead whisper.
Draco paused, before the smirk appeared, and an eyebrow quirkily lifted. "Why, Potter? You intruded in my perfect life, so I'm intruding in yours. I was supposed to rule Hogwarts, and you were just supposed to be one of my loyal subjects, like the rest of those mindless sheep that Hogwarts is so good at producing. But no one can tame you, Gryffindor Lion. You denied me my power, so I'll always be there to eat away at yours. I'll always be here, Potter."
Harry's eyes were searching the floor, ears alone taking in Draco's perspective, for Harry didn't trust his eyes when it came to meeting Malfoy's. As Draco finished, Harry sighed quietly. "There's no need for promises, Malfoy." And at last he looked up.
Startled was an understatement on Draco's behalf. A fire brighter than Floo Powder burned in Harry's emerald orbs, leaping and twisting intricately. But the Slytherin only saw it for a moment, as the eyes of both teenagers flickered shut in anticipation of the thing they most desired, yet both knew was not supposed to happen, especially at this moment. And once again, their lips met as if they had meant to do it all along.
It wasn't a romantic moment, as Draco's hand tangled itself in Harry's untidy hair. There was nothing more than hunger, lust, and just the littlest bit of the steadily growing love and addiction that the boys bore for each other, something that had always existed between them. Every human desires most what they cannot have, what is refused them, and so it was with these two. Their love showed most in the climax of battle, and this moment, this heated kiss with little tastes and nips, deepening slowly as they half-forgave each other, was only different for one reason.
Aunt Petunia's scream of shock and the clatter of the tray full of food she carried as it hit the landing floor with an almighty crash would be that one reason.
Breaking apart, utterly startled, confused, and bordering on panicking, the boys stared at the distraught woman, who had her hands clapped over her mouth. Uncle Vernon's voice could be heard as he thundered into the hallway to see what was wrong.
But before Aunt Petunia stopped screaming, before Uncle Vernon could make his way upstairs, Harry's instincts kicked in. He raised a hand, shouting a single word. "Obliviate!!"
A jet of blue-green light raced from the outstretched palm, hitting Harry's aunt squarely in the chest.
The shrieks subsided, as Aunt Petunia stumbled slightly. A confused, slightly vague look crossed her face, and she gazed slightly open-mouthed for a few minutes at Draco and Harry, both of whom wore identical expressions of pure shock.
Aunt Petunia gave herself a sudden little shake, and was back to herself, though with no memory of the incident she had just witnessed. Instead, she gasped loudly as she took in the sight of the salad dressing soaking into the carpet under the weight of the dish of chicken, not to mention some fragments of chipped corning ware poking upwards off the floor. Harry forcibly willed himself to move forward and help her clean, though Draco remained rooted to the spot.
Uncle Vernon, however, was quite well aware that his wife had screamed, and was keen to find out why. Within no time at all, he had barged up the stairs, and let out a nasty curse at the sight of the broken dishes and food strewn about the landing. And he knew exactly who to blame it on.
"Boy!! What the devil did you do this time?" he shouted, his great gumdrop of a face turning an ugly shade of red.
Uncle Vernon got the surprise of his life when Draco drawlingly answered him instead. "There.....there was a huge cockroach, sir. It ran across Aunt....Aunt Petunia's path - almost ran over her foot, even - so she screamed in fright and dropped the tray." Harry nodded encouragingly, from his position on the floor next to his aunt, though his face was whiter than chalk; Aunt Petunia only bemoaned the state of her stained carpet.
Staring beadily from Harry and Petunia scrambling awkwardly on the floor to a very pale Draco, Uncle Vernon snorted once before saying, "Very well. I'll have to call the pest control office tomorrow then."
He turned to go, but paused and tilted his head towards Draco's door. "Go on, get some rest, Mr. Malfoy. You look like you're peaky - coming down with something, are you?" Draco nodded, thought whether it was agreeing with rest or with illness, Vernon didn't know and didn't ask.
Instead he headed downstairs, calling to his wife to leave the cleaning to Harry. Aunt Petunia hurried away, slightly dazed and trembling, bearing the tray laden with as much of the spilled food and broken serving ware as she could fit on it.
When her footsteps faded from the hall into the kitchen, Harry sat back on his heels, staring blankly at the stain on the floor. "What have I done...what did I do, Malfoy?.....What the bloody hell have I done? What the hell happened?"
Prying his feet from the floor where they felt like they had frozen, Draco stepped forward heavily, just as shocked as Harry. "It's...it isn't your fault, I guess. Don't kill yourself about it. Last time you broke the Restriction for Underage Wizardry in this house, you were let off, weren't you?"
Harry gazed openmouthed at Draco , a look of horror crossing his face. "The Restriction!? The Restriction for Underage Wizardry! I didn't even think about that, Malfoy!! I was just freaking about having used and Memory Charm without a wand on MY OWN AUNT, and no....I'm screwed!.....wait," he whispered, as the horror faded into confusion and the beginnings of relief, "Why didn't they pick up my ki practice at Mrs. Figg's? Maybe they won't notice this one!"
Draco's words did not alleviate his fears.
"This is a Muggle home, Potter. Figg's place is magical. Sensors are over Muggle places, Harry, so that they can fine people who've risked exposing our society in front of Muggles, and that's why they didn't pick it up at your little Mud-Muggle-born's home. You've lived with the Weasleys before, haven't you? I've heard those twins spend their holidays inventing jokes, and they've never gotten caught. Surely you noticed?" His voice was growing hysterical from the stress and shock.
Relief sank into terror, and Harry's breathing hitched as his green eyes widened to the size of saucers. On the verge of hyperventilating, Harry could only think of one thought: he was expelled for sure this time.
He started at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Lifting his eyes to meet Draco's, he mouthed wordlessly, but Draco was quite a few steps ahead of him, though still shell-shocked. "All we need, Potter, is a good excuse," he whispered cajolingly, a lot braver and calmer than he felt. "It was just a Memory Charm, not like you inflated one of them again - and if they didn't put you in Azkaban for inflating a Muggle, they won't for a Memory charm. We just need an excuse as to why you needed to do a Memory-"
But he was cut off by the doorbell. Both boys tensed, knowing full well who was down the stairs and outside the door. How had they gotten there so fast? Surely they wouldn't risk Apparition on a Muggle street?
Uncle Vernon's voice boomed out much the same as it had the day Draco had arrived. "Boy! Get the door!!"
Walking as if to his doom, Harry slowly stumbled down the steps, followed closely by Draco. Both were stiff-legged, and were trying vainly to remain calm. As they reached the bottom step, the doorbell rang once more, and Uncle Vernon's angry face peered around the living room wall. "Hurry up, boy, you're making them wait!"
He obviously had no idea whatsoever that he was about to be playing host to most likely a group of Ministry wizards - though maybe their desire to throw Harry in Azkaban might make Vernon rational.
Feelings of dread closing in around his heart, it was only when he felt Draco's hand slowly rest on his shoulder in as much a move of comfort the Malfoy boy knew how to make that Harry reached forward and turned the knob.
The door swung open, revealing an odd sight - quite odd, to a Muggle. Harry was far too used to seeing Fudge in his strange arrangement of clothing to feel that this was out of place, but just the sight of Fudge and the official behind him- he looked familiar, Peasegood, wasn't that his name? - made Harry blanch, his breath coming in great gasps. Fudge's fatherly smile was completely lost on him.
Draco's hand slid off Harry's shoulder to clench at his side as he glared with a mixture of nervousness and imperiousness at Fudge. He knew now he shouldn't have come downstairs with Harry - a Malfoy was almost as easy to distinguish as a Weasley, and Fudge was well-acquainted with at least Lucius, although Draco and Narcissa had both been introduced to the Minister before as well.
But Uncle Vernon saved him any further worry on the matter. Waddling over with a pleasant "Good evening", he stopped short as he took in the clothes that these two late-night visitors wore. Funny-colored cloaks, hats, and suits, not to mention those.....were they shoes? They may have looked impressive to a wizard, but their charm was completely lost on Mr. Dursley.
Without much ado, he hastily dropped his kindly manner and spat nastily, "You're here for the boy, are you? What did he do this time?" His tone was very clipped, and he was angry enough to have forgotten that the completely "normal" Draco was standing quite within earshot.
Fudge's smile disappeared, and his brow furrowed at being addressed so rudely by a lowly Muggle....So this was why Harry had claimed he hated Privet Drive....Shaking himself, Fudge set about to business in tones just as clipped as Vernon.
"Sorry business, my dear sir, but I just need to talk to your nephew for a few minutes about a little bit of magic detected at this house not much long ago." Fudge paused uneasily, watching as Uncle Vernon's face went through shades faster than a spinning color wheel.
Meanwhile, while Harry remained the center of attention, Draco was quietly inching backwards, getting to the stairs as fast as he could. No one, no one, no one was supposed to know that Draco was staying with the Dursleys, and Fudge was bumbling enough to blurt something out in front of said Dursleys. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the stairs and began to edge quietly upwards.
Continuing where he left off, Fudge said, "We'll need to check Mr. Potter's wand. When the magic was performed, the sensors went haywire and we weren't able to tell what spell-!!"
At the word "wand", Uncle Vernon let out a roar and practically dived at Harry with a shout of "BOY!!"
There were mixed cries of "My dear sir!!", "What do you think you're doing?", "Blast it, boy!!", and "Vernon!", loud enough so that Draco was startled and nearly slipped on a stair in his distraction. When he looked down, it was to see Fudge and Peasegood pulling Vernon off Harry, who was cowering against the wall, half-curled up in what must have been self- defense. Aunt Petunia could be heard crying from the doorway into the kitchen, and Dudley's head could be seen sticking past the living room entranceway as he goggled, eyes popping, at the scene.
Draco drew one shuddering gasp and ran up to his room, slamming the door on his way in. Only then did Uncle Vernon look up and realize that his summertime home student had seen and heard everything. Fudge, likewise, was quite alarmed, and whispered quietly, "The Malfoy boy? Here?" Fortunately Uncle Vernon was huffing, breathing deeply and heavily, and didn't hear.
Dudley was the first to break the tense silence. "Dad?"
Drawing one final deep breath in through his flared nostrils, Mr. Dursley said, "They're here to check Potter's wand. And then they're leaving." Glaring, he finished, "The boy's school things are upstairs in his room. He can show you himself. And then get out." He turned and stomped back into the living room, drawing Dudley with him and shooing the sobbing Aunt Petunia back into the kitchen.
Harry was still prone on the floor, and Fudge awkwardly pulled him to his feet. All three wizards were pale, shocked, and his Harry's case, bleeding from a cut across his cheek where Uncle Vernon's wedding ring had struck him. "Up you get, Mr. Potter, up you get. Let's see to that cut, and then we'll have to check your wand, just a Priori Incantatem, and you'll be fine. We may also have to check your friend's wand as well...."
Wiping the wound gingerly, Harry whispered hoarsely, " I'm OK. But no, he...Draco doesn't have his wand with him, Minister. It was.....you can check my wand, but it wasn't....it wasn't us....." Draco's words echoed in his mind, that he must simply find a good excuse. And then it hit Harry, and a smile almost broke out on his face for the first time that day-
"It was Dobby, a house-elf I'm friends with. He came to visit from Hogwarts, where he works, he and got a little...a little out of ha-hand," he stuttered out.
Fudge was looking distinctly disgruntled as the group slowly mounted the steps, and Rita Skeeter's articles were clearly still troubling him. Was the boy lying? Should Fudge trust him? And so he replied simply, "We'll just have to check your wand to be sure - when the sensors went haywire, we realized that it wasn't normal magic we were dealing with, so it very well may have been a house-elf. But be that as it may....."
Harry's room, being closest to the landing, was empty when they entered, even Hedwig's cage. Fudge and Peasegood looked around nervously, taking in the surroundings in which the Boy-Who-Lived spent his days. The room was rather untidy, toys and Muggle books piled around the walls closest to the door, but the far side of the room by the window had been cleared, and here Harry's school trunk was set up.
At the moment, Harry was rummaging around in it, searching for his wand. Peasegood stood tensely in the background before leaning forward slightly to whisper to Fudge, "If the Muggles didn't see him doing magic..."
But Harry had straightened up, clutching the eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather that he called a wand, and Arnie Peasegood, cut off, stepped forward to take the object of suspicion.
Placing his own wand tip-to-tip with Harry's, the Obliviator cried sharply, "Prior Incantato!"
And out of Harry's wand spouted green wisps that formed into the shape of pustules, the remnants of the Furnunculus Charm that he had used on the Slytherin Trio on the train ride home from Hogwarts three weeks ago.
Fudge clucked his tongue. "Furnunculus Charm? Well, none of the Muggles, nor young Master Malfoy-" Harry winced at the name - "were in any way harmed by that, obviously - they most certainly didn't have boils all over their faces. We'll have to do use a Time-Teller Draught, to be sure."
Peasegood nodded in agreement, and slipped a hand inside his cloak, withdrawing a small bottle of a red viscous liquid. Hand trembling as he uncorked it, he let one small drop land on the wand under investigation. It fizzed where it made contact, causing Harry to jump slighty, and he was even more surprised when the smoke rising twisted itself into numbers, 631.
"Well, that's that. It's last spell was cast on the 31st of June, no problems. We'll have to do an inquiry with the house-elf, then. Diggory would be good to..." But Mr. Peasegood stopped talking as he watched Harry's face pale at the name of 'Diggory'.
With a slightly skeptical look on his face, Fudge said, "Well, Mr. Potter, we'll have to give you a warning this time. But I assure you, any more signs of magic here - wizard or non - and we'll have to consider serious punishment. Hopefully," he added in an unsettling tone, "the treatment you receive from the Muggles will heighten your cautiousness. Wouldn't want to see Harry Potter stuck living with them forever, now would we?" He smiled, but his eyes remained cloudy.
Harry nodded solemnly as Peasegood handed back his wand. Placing it on the bed, Harry walked to the door, and the Ministry warlocks followed him down the steps and to the front door. Fudge shook Harry's hand, but his last meeting with Harry was clearly weighing on his mind, and it was rather quickly that he swept himself and Peasegood out onto the deserted street to Disapparate. With a last melancholic wave, Harry shut the door on the sound of two loud POPS!!
Uncle Vernon's mean head stuck around the living room wall, and snarled, "Up to bed! NOW!"
Harry dragged himself upstairs. He had gotten off...and Dobby was in trouble now. And he had done a real spell without a wand, and Draco....
**
Fudge wearily removed his bowler and cloak, and the standing rack in his office bent double for him to place both items on it properly before the bewitched rack straightened up again.
Sitting at his desk, he helped himself to a pile of buns resting on top of a teetering stack of parchment, but had only taken one bite when a noise at the door to his office made him start.
Lucius Malfoy was leaning nonchalantly against the door, toying with a roll of parchment in his hands. "Late night, Minister?" A smile played around his lips.
Sighing and shaking his head, the Minister for Magic said dejectedly, "Had to investigate a case of Underage Wizardry at young Harry Potter's house - the boy is getting completely out of hand, and those Muggles he lives with are even worse. Scared your son so badly that he ran up to his room and slammed the door." Lucius' eyes widened, but Fudge didn't stop. "Had to check the boy's wand - wanted to check young Master Malfoy's as well, but Mr. Potter said that your son didn't have his wand on him, Lucius. Well, we found nothing. Potter claims it was a house-elf."
Lucius' smile had turned triumphant. "Very well. I'll question my son, my Draco, about it when.....when we see him." His eyes glinted madly, though it was lost on Cornelius Fudge.
~~
Thanks for all reviews!!
Shun-chan would like to thank Portuguese Girl for some beautiful reviews. Shun-chan, who likes talking in third person, got this review during a really bad week, and that was probably the highlight of her day. Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu!!
Saa, Minna-san, Jaa ne!