Harry was extremely annoyed.
Last night, he'd been bewildered and disturbed by the unexpected attack – his perturbation made worse by the fact that he'd been lured into the trap by Hannah Abbott, whom he'd actually quite liked until she tried to murder him – but he had been consoled by Malfoy's subsequent actions.
They hadn't come quite out of the blue; he'd had an idea for some time that Malfoy was wavering in his commitment to the cause. But it had still been a very pleasant surprise that he'd come far enough along to take direct action against former friends. Harry had been expecting – planning – to work on him, to struggle to change their relationship over time that they didn't have. He'd been expecting the usual: hard work. He was used to the eventual results corresponding to the amount of effort he put in, and Malfoy's about-turn had seemed like a gift from the gods.
He should have known it was too good to last.
Harry had been patient and understanding all the way to the infirmary, trying to give Malfoy the space to deal with what he'd done. He'd seemed a bit upset, and had been completely silent until Madam Pomfrey had rushed out, accusations on her lips that didn't dry up until she saw Harry standing behind him. Pomfrey had reluctantly come to accept this sort of thing from Harry, and they'd merely been told to go straight to their dormitories or to Dumbledore if it was very important.
It wasn't, and they'd parted at the corridor that led to the Tower. Harry had wanted to say something, something that would matter, that would mean something. He'd felt the occasion deserved to be marked, and needed to be, besides. Now that Malfoy had done something decent, he had to realise that it was important, that it changed things—otherwise it wouldn't change things. While he'd been trying to think of something suitably impressive, Malfoy had plunged half-way down another flight of steps.
Harry'd had to call after him, pulling him up short just before he rounded a corner. He hadn't known what to say, but he'd spoken anyway.
"Malfoy. You'll have to come to Dumbledore with me, tomorrow—"
"I'll see you then."
He had moved to leave again and Harry had snapped at him in irritation. "Malfoy!" Their eyes had met, and Harry couldn't remember what he'd intended to say, couldn't think why he'd made him stop, because there was nothing he could say. "Thanks. For—"
Malfoy had smiled at him. And when he'd hurried on, Harry hadn't called him back.
Instead, he'd wandered upwards, lost in thought, trying to find order in a sequence of events that was far more confusing than it had any right to be. He hadn't been sure what had happened, and didn't know what to do about it. Help was needed, and he'd thought it best to wait until he had it.
He had, of course, been operating under the assumption that Malfoy would co-operate. He'd been mildly worried when the other boy hadn't put in an appearance at Care of Magical Creatures, but his concern had dissipated when Malfoy had wandered into Potions shoulder to shoulder with Professor Snape. His frustration had been growing steadily since then.
He'd bumped into Malfoy in the corridors, attempted to corner him outside the Great Hall before lunch, and sent half a dozen notes whizzing his way, incurring a twenty-point deduction from Snape. All his advances had been rebuffed. Malfoy hadn't glanced at him once. It was very demoralising.
Harry was aware that he was staring at the door, garnering the occasional snicker for his pains, but he couldn't help himself. He knew, now, that Malfoy had never had any intention of coming to speak to Dumbledore with him. He'd never meant—
Harry wasn't sure why it was so disappointing. He'd have to revise his opinions, and do a little work, but he hadn't been shying away from it before last night, and couldn't see any reason why things should be different now. But he couldn't quite get to grips with it. If things weren't going to change completely, he wished they hadn't changed at all.
Malfoy was puzzling him, and that was the root of all the annoyance. Harry didn't like being puzzled; he liked the idea that Malfoy was somehow scoring off him even less.
Professor Melas was shuffling scrolls at the front of the room, glancing at the clock. The lesson was about to start. Harry stared forward determinedly.
That wasn't much use though, because looking at the Professor made his thoughts stray to her son and, consequently, back to Malfoy.
The family resemblance was pronounced. The Professor's hair was streaked with grey and her face was faintly lined, but they had the same nose, the same square jaw. The resemblance might go beyond that. He couldn't judge; he'd never paid much attention to William before yesterday. Last night William's face had been slack and empty, in contrast with his mother's awareness, the control behind her reserve.
It was a bit discomfiting, sitting and waiting for Melas to begin the class just as he always did, when he had yet to determine whether she wanted him dead.
It was perfectly possible she knew nothing about her son's activities; it wouldn't be the first time a devoted parent had been deceived and made use of by a child who had turned away from what they had been taught.
But she was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and judging by past experience, that meant that she was evil.
Either way, he wouldn't know how to behave around her until he spoke to Dumbledore. It might be difficult to change his opinions anyway: she'd always seemed so sane. Remarkably so. Perhaps that should have aroused his suspicions.
"Harry!" Hermione's whisper diverted his attention briefly from the resolutely immobile door. "What's wrong?"
She looked concerned. Ron had seemed worried earlier; now he was staring miserably at the homework at the front of the room, fully expecting to have to do his over. Hermione shifted her desk nearer and tilted her head close to Harry's.
"Nothing's wrong Hermi—"
"Harry, you've been acting really weirdly all day, you've been getting worse, you were fine yester—"
"No, I mean… Hermione. I'm all right. It's just something that happened last night. I have to talk to Dumbledore about it." Her concern was unallayed. "When I went to meet Hannah last night—"
The door whisked open and Malfoy breezed in, effectively removing all thoughts of Hermione from Harry's mind. In the next moment, Melas cleared her throat, signalling that she expected their undivided attention right now, and saving Harry from making a fool of himself by attempting to penetrate the snarling hordes of Slytherins that Malfoy had surrounded himself with.
Harry leaned back in his chair and settled in to sulk, ignoring the odd looks Hermione was throwing him.
The unpleasant business of homework return was soon over. Harry was pleased enough with his marks, but Ron was assigned an extra essay as well as having to rewrite the original one. Hermione refused to show anyone her mark, but smiled happily out at the world from behind her textbook. It was a little depressing that Hermione got better marks than Harry did even in his best subject, but there was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He was tempted to do it anyway, but Hermione always said it was his own fault, and that made him feel a bit guilty.
His eyes wandered to the side, coming to rest on Malfoy. Melas had bent over his desk, her fingers tracing over his scroll, explaining something to him. The murmur of her voice sounded pleased, and Harry wondered if Malfoy was doing better than he was too.
Melas was a sound teacher, respected and fairly popular, but she wasn't an exciting lecturer. Superficially, she had the class' attention, but several students were fidgeting, feet bouncing, quills scraping randomly across parchment. Harry's mind kept drifting, returning to the blond sitting to his left.
He needed to speak to Malfoy, but he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that Malfoy appeared reluctant; it wouldn't pose much of a problem to waylay him and drag him up to the Headmaster. But Harry was still jittery thinking about him, and his puzzlement nagged at his mind, a constant distraction. He didn't know—
"Mr Potter."
Harry hadn't realised that his eyes had followed his mind until Malfoy looked up, grey eyes meeting green.
"Mr Potter."
His head whipped around, far too late. Melas was staring down at him, and the entire class had turned to watch, amused at his lack of focus. "Yes, Professor?"
"The incantation that will quell the weakest of banshee screams, Mr Potter?"
"Um, silenci—" Giggles were muffled behind hands. "—No."
"No." The woman's dark eyes never showed emotion; now was no different. Harry wished he hadn't come to class. "Ten points from Gryffindor."
The class stirred restlessly, and Harry wondered if that loss had put Slytherin ahead.
He paid attention for the rest of the lesson, scrawling incoherent notes. When the class was dismissed, he threw his things haphazardly into his bag, whirling to follow after Malfoy.
Who was standing right in front of him. This wasn't his day.
"I believe we had an errand to run?"
"Yes. Yes, an—"
Harry wasn't sure how he managed to get out of the classroom, tagging at Draco's heels, and waving down Ron and Hermione's indignation.
He was glad that they were soon alone, even if they were walking down what appeared to be a totally random corridor. It didn't take long for him to turn them around and head them in the right direction. Malfoy didn't even argue.
The walk was interminable. Harry tried to make himself speak, even though he had nothing to say, but it was impossible. Malfoy walked stiffly, gazing straight ahead. He'd obviously never been to the Headmaster's office before, and Harry didn't blame him for being nervous. But the silence was strained, and Harry was extremely relieved when they arrived.
The password hadn't changed. Dumbledore was playing with what looked like a crystal ball when they entered the room, but he abandoned it, and smiled in welcome.
"Ah, Harry. Mr Malfoy. How nice to see you both. Have a seat, do."
Harry and Malfoy took the two chairs nearest to the desk. Harry wondered if Malfoy felt too small for his skin too. This routine hadn't changed since the first time he'd been here. Dumbledore pottered about, arranging cups in saucers and sorting sweets wrapped in coloured paper into several discrete piles.
"Tea?"
"Yes, please." Harry didn't really like tea, but he'd discovered it was best just to agree and get it over with.
"Good, good. And Mr Malfoy?"
"With just a drop of milk, thanks."
"Of course."
Harry knew that Dumbledore did this to put his guests at ease, but he was feeling rather anxious, and he wished they could have bypassed the whole routine. Maybe it would do some good for Draco, who seemed to be quite as anxious as Harry was, though certainly for different reasons. Pouring over, they were given leave to choose the colour sweet they wanted, and when everyone was nicely settled in, Dumbledore finally approached the point.
"And how is life treating you, gentlemen?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"It has it in for me. Or perhaps that's Potter."
Harry scowled at Malfoy, but didn't allow himself to be side-tracked. "Something happened last night that I think you should know about."
Dumbledore looked concerned. "Yes, Harry?"
Harry told Dumbledore what had happened, blushing a little over the meeting with Hannah, progressing through the unexpected detour to the forest, and running quickly through Draco, Melas, and Hagrid's entrances.
"And then Melas attacked me, sir. I saw it coming, and I was able to jump back in time, but he sent a curse right past my head. I knocked Hannah out, and he knocked out Hagrid, and then Draco got him."
Harry was aware that he was looking at Draco again. Gratitude sat uncomfortably, but it had been earned, and was necessary. He was surprised to find that it wasn't an altogether unwelcome feeling.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "No I didn't, Potter."
Harry blinked. And blinked again. "What?"
"I didn't knock William out. You did."
"Excuse me?"
"You sent off a flurry of ill-directed curses, and it chanced that one of them hit Melas. I never even reached for my wand, Potter. It was obvious that William would foul it up. He's embarrassingly incompetent, even compared to you. Although it was pure chance that you beat him. Perhaps I don't give the lad enough credit."
Harry could feel his temper simmering steadily higher. He couldn't hex Malfoy in front of the headmaster. Even Dumbledore would have to take points away for that. Harry knew what Malfoy was doing, knew he had looked him in the face and lied without batting an eyelash, but he had to ask anyway. He knew that Malfoy had lied, and would continue to do so, but he just had to make sure, before he totally lost it.
"Let me just get this straight, yes? You're claiming that you never made any attempt to stop Melas. You never even tried to save me?"
"Well, I wouldn't phrase it quite like that. Let's say that it did not appear that you were in need of my assistance. Naturally, I wouldn't have let him abduct you, or rape you, or kill you, or whatever pleasant little surprise he had planned. But I certainly wasn't going to jump into that fight before time. He's a prefect, you know."
Harry had known, but failed to see the significance. "What?"
"I am a prefect too, of course, but still, he's a year above. Could have made my life very difficult if I had gotten involved. So I didn't. Was that why you brought me here? I had wondered."
"You had wondered." Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to scream or cry, but either way, he wanted to thrash Malfoy. He couldn't deal with this.
"Yes. I hardly thought that Professor Dumbledore would require you to corroborate your story. Now that that's out of the way, do I have to stay? I won't tell anyone."
Harry whirled to face the professor. "Sir, that's not what happened! I know it isn't, I saw--" Harry hesitated. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't quite sure what he had seen. It took a second for events to slot into place in his memory. He hadn't seen Malfoy act, but he had seen his own curses fly wide, seen that Melas was unaffected.
Malfoy was smirking. Harry had just dropped deniability into his lap.
"Sir, obviously Potter is a little confused. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey--"
And Harry knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to fight Malfoy if he wanted to convince him to become friends, but he made Harry so angry, crawling under his skin and creating an itch that had to be scratched, and this was the only way Harry could make the irritation subside. And it was worse when he was acting like he was now, every word, every movement, every breath a declaration of superiority.
"He's lying, Sir, he knows it, he--" Harry was almost shouting, but Dumbledore's gentle cough somehow made him trail off immediately. He settled back sulkily, and reminded himself that he needed to remain calm. "He is lying, Professor Dumbledore, I know what happened, and I know that he's not telling the truth."
"Now, Harry. Things were very hectic last night and I expect it's rather hard to remember the sequence of events clearly." Harry thought about protesting, but didn't like to interrupt Dumbledore. "It would be very hard for either of you to recall the other's actions in detail, and indeed, your own. I think we must assume that you are both a little unclear about things, and move on."
A slow breath out and Harry felt his temper cool, and reason creep back in. Dumbledore would believe him, even if he didn't say so; Dumbledore would know what to do. "All right."
"Good, good. It is interesting that William Melas is involved in this sort of activity. Just after Voldemort fell, his father was investigated rather thoroughly by the Aurors. Nothing was found to connect Nicholas Melas with the Death Eaters."
"But sir—if there was a suspicion—there must have been a reason for it. And now that this has happened, it proves that the Aurors must have been wrong, doesn't it? They must have overlooked something."
"That is possible, Harry. We must certainly look into that possibility, yes." Dumbledore played with his sweet wrapper abstractedly, twirling it into a twist and releasing it, over and over again. Harry was half hypnotised by the motion when Dumbledore came back to himself with a little cough. "That is enough of this for the present. Now, since we are not quite clear on the events of last evening, I believe there is little more for us to discuss, but I feel sure we can be amicable in disagreement. Mr. Malfoy, I applaud your actions, or lack of them, as the case may be. I can only hope that this is the beginning of a more, peaceful, interaction between you both." Dumbledore rose, and the two boys rose with him, as if he had tugged on their strings. He shuffled over to them, and Harry found that they were all gradually moving towards the door. "However, even I do not know what the future will bring. Thank you for telling me about this, Harry, and you may rest assured that all efforts will be made. Yes, all efforts." They were on the steps, and Dumbledore was peering down at them benignly. "But I would, Harry, be careful about who you associate with in the future. In these dangerous times, it is a mistake to request trouble to pursue you, no matter how alluring it may be."
The door shut firmly. Harry blinked in bemusement, and turned to his companion. Malfoy just looked amused, and Harry scowled.
"I had no idea you had to put up with that sort of thing, Potter."
Harry hustled Malfoy down the stairs. "What sort of thing?"
"I always thought you were Dumbledore's golden boy. Every opportunity, every advantage—and that's true, of course, but I hadn't realised—"
"Realised what, Malfoy?"
The other boy looked at Harry for the first time since they'd left the office, and tried, not very hard, to repress a smirk at the murderous expression that was directed his way. "Oh, nothing, Potter. After all, if you haven't come to terms with it, you'll just get stroppy again, and I have better things to do today than deal with your tantrums." He turned, and began to stroll away.
"Malfoy!"
"Yes?" A polite pause, an obliging tone to his voice, and civility was not acceptable.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Missing lunch. Was there something you wanted?"
"The truth. I wanted the truth. Why did you lie?"
"Are you so sure I did?"
"Yes."
Malfoy didn't answer for a moment, but when he did, it was nothing that Harry hadn't expected to hear. "Of course you're sure. You couldn't be anything but. You couldn't possibly have been wrong. Harry Potter doesn't make mistakes, so Draco Malfoy must be lying. I'm sorry, Potter. You were right all along. Shall we go back up to Dumbledore right now?"
"Look, Malfoy, I know what you did. I don't know why you're lying about it now, but it's not going to work. And I don't know why you want it to. Just tell me, and I'll tell Dumbledore, and—"
"Potter to the rescue, as always. I don't know who you imagine I am, Potter, but trust me on this, if nothing else: you're completely delusional. I am not a damsel in distress, and your white stallion should be put out to pasture."
"I'm not trying to—"
Malfoy's face twisted, back to contempt, back to familiarity. "Invent the reality that suits you? Tell me then, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I just want you to stop pretending—"
"You don't understand, Potter. I am not pretending. Everything you see is real. Everything I do, I mean. Are you really so conceited that you just can't believe that I really do hate you just as much as I've always said? Just as much as you've always hated me? Don't I have that right?" Malfoy's voice, which had risen as he spoke, lowered. "No, I forgot. Only your feelings matter. Mine can be disregarded, because it would simplify your life." He took two steps forward, close enough to touch. "Except that you have to understand that it doesn't work that way, Potter." The gentleness of his voice disturbed Harry, made his shoulders want to twitch. "This is true. This is how things are because this is the way that I want them to be. I act the way that I do because I believe in everything that you abhor. You must accept this Potter, because I have no desire to see the light. I don't want you to save me." Malfoy stepped away. "And if you really want to help me, you'll leave me alone, because you've become tedious."
He smiled as he swung around and walked down the corridor. Harry tried to think of something to keep him there, some way of denying his words, but couldn't do anything except watch him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
