Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling is God and owner of all.
You horrible people! I feel so unloved. Why does no one review? My revenge is this: a short chapter! Mwahahaha! Oh well, I console myself by saying that I write for myself and not you. But a little give and take would sure be appreciated. Please review or else I will be depressed by the thought that no one could even be bothered to read me. = (
Chapter 4: Give and Take
"All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put baby together
again."
- Aimee Mann, Humpty Dumpty
They talked little more that night, both boys being tired and having the impression that their newly forged relationship was not in a state to withstand much stress. So talking was left for another day, Harry escorted Malfoy back to his dorm (though Dobby's drink had certainly seemed to do wonders), then both passed into deep sleep.
Harry sent message to Malfoy the next day via an unidentifiable school owl. They were to meet up on Sunday evening, after the Slytherin quidditch practice (of which Malfoy was now captain, just as Harry was the captain of the Gryffindor team) and Harry's DADA session, in the Astronomy tower. It was, admittedly, a rather tacky place to meet, but there were good reasons why so many young couples hid up there. There were a lot of rooms (with doors), very few student tended to be nosy (except on nights when the tower was actually being used for astronomical purposes), and most of the professors, either because of tradition or laziness, were disinclined to patrol there. The original thought had been to meet in Malfoy's room, as his status as head boy (mostly a consequence of having grades that trailed behind Hermoine's by only a small margin) gave him his own room. But Harry thought more neutral territory would be better, and figured that the infamous prying eyes of the Slytherin community would make sneaking in and out of their dorms difficult, even under the cover of his invisibility cloak.
Harry had a difficult time concealing his excitement from Ron and Hermione. Now that Malfoy appeared willing to help him, his hatred of the other boy had quickly disappeared. He still disliked him, just for the way he was, but his emotions regarding the Slytherin were fundamentally indifferent. He could be (and probably was) the biggest prat in the world, but the fact that he was going to help him meant that he couldn't really bring himself to care. He would cherish Malfoy for his usefulness even if he disliked him for who he was.
"You're oftly high strung today Harry," Ron noticed during Harry's extracurricular DADA class, after narrowly escaping a particularly aggressive spell from his best friend. And Merlin knows, if Ron noticed something, then it must be blatant. Hermione approached the two boys with a predatory look on her face.
"Yes, Harry. Your behavior of late has been rather. . . erratic. Any beans to spill?" Harry's eyes widened perceptively, making him look both very innocent (in an I-didn't-know-I-was-doing-anything-wrong sort of way) and very guilty (in an I-know-exactly-what-you're-talking-about way). But he refused to take crap from these two - they certainly spent a fair amount of their time holed up together doing who knows what in Hermione's own head girl room.
"Don't be so nosy. You two aren't the only ones that can have developing relationships and hide it from view." Harry laughed and a smile danced on his face as he watched Ron blush brightly. Hermione just looked at him disapprovingly, forcing him to push away a twinge of guilt. But this was one secret he had to keep. So he spoke in a light voice, as a more suitable gravity would have brought no end to Hermione's inquisition. "Oh, 'Mione, don't look at me that way, everything's fine. It's just that this is just not something that is mine to talk about."
Ron, clearly thinking he was hiding some fling, nodded vigorously, anything to get the conversation away from the undefined relationship between himself and Hermione. Hermione nodded more slowly, deliberately, willing to concede, but certainly not willing to stop observing, meditating, and deducting.
He stayed late after his fellow students left, making excuses to Hermione and Ron that he wanted to research some of the books for next week's session. Hermione offered to stay, but Ron saved Harry by begging her to spend her time helping him on a Charms essay for Monday. As soon as they were safely gone, he hid under his invisibility cloak and tore up to the Astronomy tower, despite having a good hour until Malfoy was due. But he wanted some time to himself, to get his wits together, to prepare himself (for what?), to calm his nerves, to do all that crap.
So he perched himself on the windowsill to wait, only to quickly find that when the excitement died down, all there was were morbid and depressing thoughts - about Voldemort and Sirius, about Dumbledore and Malfoy, about Ron and Hermione, and about himself. And he felt more isolated than ever.
"Merlin, I'm going to have to do this by myself," he said to no one.
But then, to his surprise (he almost fell out of the window), no one answered, in a drawling voice that sounded exactly like the youngest Malfoy. "Lonely at the top, is it Potter? Well, it's pretty lonely at the bottom too. And I'd know."
A good quarter of an hour early, Malfoy stood leaning against the stone wall, an enigmatic smirk on his face. Harry snorted. "Well, lonely or not, I'm glad you came."
Malfoy's smirk grew into a massive grin and Harry was briefly startled at how it transformed his face into one both more boyish and more becoming. "Someone should record this for posterity. The day the great Harry Potter was actually glad to see a Malfoy."
"Yeah, well, don't get too exited. It's purely a matter of expediency." Malfoy's face tightened perceptively at that and Harry thought, what's the matter, Malfoy? Can't take as good as you give?
"Story of my life," he replied sarcastically, honestly not sounding like he cared, but the tenseness in his shoulders gave him away. When had Harry become so aware of Malfoy's body language? He didn't think he was so aware of most other people, but then again, most other people said what they meant and meant what they said. Most other people didn't need to be understood from what they didn't say.
Draco prowled around the perimeter of the room, looking very much like he was inspecting the place, but also taking a moment to purge himself of emotions. He really hadn't needed a reminder of how unsavory a character he was, but he was not a quitter, and he would give Potter a real chance, not one preempted by his pride. Finally, after muttering a locking spell on the door and a muting spell on the room, he took a seat, sprawling himself out regally in the rather rickety looking chair.
"Listen, Potter," he said formally, impassively, lifelessly. "You should hurry up and ask me your questions, as I can't guarantee how long my good will will hold out."
And ask Harry did - directly, avoiding the insults and hostility that would hinder him in his mission. And Malfoy provided a cornucopia of answers, a veritable goldmine. Harry would have been wonderstruck if he hadn't been so horrified by the implications of everything Malfoy told him. The number of wizards and witches under the Imperius was astounding, and they were mostly in high places. Even Fudge had been placed under it after the battle in the Ministry, subtly undermining efforts to counter the threat; but perhaps more disturbingly, there were a number of Hogwarts students under it too. Predictably, the death eater ranks had swollen, led by one Lucius Malfoy, and this also included members at the school (Crabbe and Goyle, of course, being the two obvious examples). Furthermore, the disappearances that had been plaguing the wizarding community were actually taking place on a level far beyond what was being reported in the Daily Profit (which had been subverted in any case). The ranks of Aurors had been decimated (something the Daily Profit had failed to mention), and Voldemort had amassed a great army of death eaters, dementors, and. . . undead. There was some resistance, but not much; and the violence had spilled into the Muggle world on an unprecedented level, though it had been attributed to a drastic increase in terrorism and even resulted in a war on some country in the Middle East. The bad news just went on and on.
"Shit," Harry whispered, his face ashen. "Why hasn't he attacked yet? What's he waiting for?"
Malfoy considered him for a long moment. "Potter. . . He doesn't need to attack. Given a little more time, he will have taken over from the inside, with relatively little bloodshed. He wants power and validation, not death. As much as he hates Muggles and Muggle borns, he'd rather see them kissing the ground he walks upon then lying six feet under it. The question is why he hasn't attacked here yet. And the answer is, he's afraid, of both you and Dumbledore, and with good reason. The two have you have been the architects of his failure again and again. But it's only a matter of time really. You must understand, Potter. This is why it is so dangerous for you to know about me. A word to the wrong person, no matter how much you think you can trust them, could quickly result in my death. Even I don't know the names of everyone on his side - there are simply too many of them. So you must trust no one."
"Merlin. . . does Dumbledore know all this?"
"Some of it. The bigger trends, the one's that are hard to hide. But I've sent him some of my information and Severus doesn't have the level of access that I do. I'm favored." Draco smirked, but couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"You're on a first name basis with Snape?," Harry asked incredulously.
"Are you really that surprised? He is a fellow spy." Malfoy almost sounded tender when talking about the creepy potions professor.
"Why don't you work together with him then?" Harry almost regretted asking when he saw a melancholy look flashed across Malfoy's fine features.
But, with a shaky breath, he answered, "The things that I have to do to be favored make it. . . difficult to be close to me. Distance is his defense against his guilt at what he must consent to by permitting me, as if he could stop me, to do what I do."
"Such as killing and torturing?," Harry snapped maliciously, mostly because he needed someone to lash out at. All the bad news was threatening to bowl him over.
"No, you fuck," Malfoy hissed back, hatred and pain suddenly dripping from every word, and face flushed with anger. "You saw me on Friday. Did it look like I was the one doing the torturing?"
"I'm sorry," Harry immediately replied. And he was honestly sorry: it was becoming increasingly apparent that Malfoy's lot in life was not much better than his. Malfoy relaxed back into his chair and rubbed at his eyes. There was a long silence as Harry, stony faced and gazing out the window, tried to digest all the information. Malfoy watched him soberly. Finally, Harry turned back to him.
"Is that everything?"
Malfoy looked him the eye for a long moment. "No. He has a weapon, something that temporarily makes him stronger. But it has a cumulative effect, and the more he uses, the stronger he gets. Like I said, it's only a matter of time."
"What kind of weapon?"
Another long pause. Malfoy looked down at his hands. "They used to be called Givers, a long time ago."
"What are Givers?"
But Malfoy just shook his head. "That's one you're going to have to look up. You might be able to find something in history books, but more practical information will probably have to come from the Restricted Section."
Harry suspected Malfoy knew more on the subject than he was letting on, but he was distracted by a horrible thought. "Ron and Hermione aren't under the Imperius, are they?," he choked out.
A faint smile. "No, Potter. Your friends are still their own masters, as far as I know anyway. But that doesn't mean you can tell them anything about me or much about what I've told you."
Harry felt a rush of relief, followed by a wave of fatigue. His mind was suddenly exhausted from all the information and refused to consider it for a moment later. And yet he was curiously reluctant to leave this newly discovered Malfoy. . . to which his tire mind turned.
"So, Malfoy, if Crabbe and Goyle are death eaters, who are your real friends?"
The question provoked the strangest expression on Malfoy's face, as if he didn't know whether to take offense or not. "Are you mocking me Potter?," he asked incredulously, growing increasingly upset. "I don't have any friends. I've never had any friends. For fuck's sake, I'd never even met any one my age until I came to Hogwarts! By which time I was already playing my asshole father's sick game! He picked my so called friends before I even got here! And you don't understand. Even before Voldemort's return, he was right terror. And I could either cooperate and fight him behind his back. . . or I could be fucking killed by him."
He had jumped to his feet in the course of his tirade and his last words were ground out between clenched teeth. His hands were balled into fists and he looked almost crazed. Harry hadn't a clue what to say, his eyes wide and frozen to his seat. Then he watched the emotion drain from Malfoy's face before watching him slink to the window, where the moon played hauntingly on his ivory features. Finally, his quiet, mournful voice floated back to him.
"You drive me crazy, Potter. You piss me off so much. No one can make me lose it like you do. . . I wouldn't be alive today if they could."
Harry was almost overwhelmed with regret and pity. And even empathy. He knew how hard it was to be all alone in the world. Impulsively, he stood and came to stand next to the taller boy, staring out the window with him. "I could be your first, if you want," he said gently.
"My first what?," Malfoy asked tiredly, turning slightly to look at him.
"Your first friend, if only in the privacy of these rooms" Harry replied, also turning slightly.
Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, a strange glint in his striking eyes. In an odd, distant voice, "You refused my offer of friendship when we first met."
"That was a lifetime ago."
Malfoy nodded in agreement, then looked back out the window. He felt decades older than his true age himself.
"Is that a yes then?," Potter persisted.
Malfoy turned back to him. "Yes, Potter. I suppose it is." A faint, but genuine smile graced his pink lips, and Harry returned it.
Sticking his hand out, "Call me Harry then."
Malfoy took the proffered hand into a firm grip and shook it. "You can call me Draco if you want, but no one does."
Harry's smile grew. "Then I will. Malfoy reminds me too much of your bastard father."
Draco chuckled. "Okay then, Harry."
"Good. . . And now that that's settled: we've been up here for hours and I'm knackered. Let me escort you back to your dorms so we can go to bed. We can have more depressing conversations later."
"For once, Pot - er - Harry, I agree with you. But don't both with the invisibility cloak. There's a good reason I've never been caught sneaking around after hours. I'm probably sneakier than you are with the cloak."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Harry laughed.
You horrible people! I feel so unloved. Why does no one review? My revenge is this: a short chapter! Mwahahaha! Oh well, I console myself by saying that I write for myself and not you. But a little give and take would sure be appreciated. Please review or else I will be depressed by the thought that no one could even be bothered to read me. = (
Chapter 4: Give and Take
"All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put baby together
again."
- Aimee Mann, Humpty Dumpty
They talked little more that night, both boys being tired and having the impression that their newly forged relationship was not in a state to withstand much stress. So talking was left for another day, Harry escorted Malfoy back to his dorm (though Dobby's drink had certainly seemed to do wonders), then both passed into deep sleep.
Harry sent message to Malfoy the next day via an unidentifiable school owl. They were to meet up on Sunday evening, after the Slytherin quidditch practice (of which Malfoy was now captain, just as Harry was the captain of the Gryffindor team) and Harry's DADA session, in the Astronomy tower. It was, admittedly, a rather tacky place to meet, but there were good reasons why so many young couples hid up there. There were a lot of rooms (with doors), very few student tended to be nosy (except on nights when the tower was actually being used for astronomical purposes), and most of the professors, either because of tradition or laziness, were disinclined to patrol there. The original thought had been to meet in Malfoy's room, as his status as head boy (mostly a consequence of having grades that trailed behind Hermoine's by only a small margin) gave him his own room. But Harry thought more neutral territory would be better, and figured that the infamous prying eyes of the Slytherin community would make sneaking in and out of their dorms difficult, even under the cover of his invisibility cloak.
Harry had a difficult time concealing his excitement from Ron and Hermione. Now that Malfoy appeared willing to help him, his hatred of the other boy had quickly disappeared. He still disliked him, just for the way he was, but his emotions regarding the Slytherin were fundamentally indifferent. He could be (and probably was) the biggest prat in the world, but the fact that he was going to help him meant that he couldn't really bring himself to care. He would cherish Malfoy for his usefulness even if he disliked him for who he was.
"You're oftly high strung today Harry," Ron noticed during Harry's extracurricular DADA class, after narrowly escaping a particularly aggressive spell from his best friend. And Merlin knows, if Ron noticed something, then it must be blatant. Hermione approached the two boys with a predatory look on her face.
"Yes, Harry. Your behavior of late has been rather. . . erratic. Any beans to spill?" Harry's eyes widened perceptively, making him look both very innocent (in an I-didn't-know-I-was-doing-anything-wrong sort of way) and very guilty (in an I-know-exactly-what-you're-talking-about way). But he refused to take crap from these two - they certainly spent a fair amount of their time holed up together doing who knows what in Hermione's own head girl room.
"Don't be so nosy. You two aren't the only ones that can have developing relationships and hide it from view." Harry laughed and a smile danced on his face as he watched Ron blush brightly. Hermione just looked at him disapprovingly, forcing him to push away a twinge of guilt. But this was one secret he had to keep. So he spoke in a light voice, as a more suitable gravity would have brought no end to Hermione's inquisition. "Oh, 'Mione, don't look at me that way, everything's fine. It's just that this is just not something that is mine to talk about."
Ron, clearly thinking he was hiding some fling, nodded vigorously, anything to get the conversation away from the undefined relationship between himself and Hermione. Hermione nodded more slowly, deliberately, willing to concede, but certainly not willing to stop observing, meditating, and deducting.
He stayed late after his fellow students left, making excuses to Hermione and Ron that he wanted to research some of the books for next week's session. Hermione offered to stay, but Ron saved Harry by begging her to spend her time helping him on a Charms essay for Monday. As soon as they were safely gone, he hid under his invisibility cloak and tore up to the Astronomy tower, despite having a good hour until Malfoy was due. But he wanted some time to himself, to get his wits together, to prepare himself (for what?), to calm his nerves, to do all that crap.
So he perched himself on the windowsill to wait, only to quickly find that when the excitement died down, all there was were morbid and depressing thoughts - about Voldemort and Sirius, about Dumbledore and Malfoy, about Ron and Hermione, and about himself. And he felt more isolated than ever.
"Merlin, I'm going to have to do this by myself," he said to no one.
But then, to his surprise (he almost fell out of the window), no one answered, in a drawling voice that sounded exactly like the youngest Malfoy. "Lonely at the top, is it Potter? Well, it's pretty lonely at the bottom too. And I'd know."
A good quarter of an hour early, Malfoy stood leaning against the stone wall, an enigmatic smirk on his face. Harry snorted. "Well, lonely or not, I'm glad you came."
Malfoy's smirk grew into a massive grin and Harry was briefly startled at how it transformed his face into one both more boyish and more becoming. "Someone should record this for posterity. The day the great Harry Potter was actually glad to see a Malfoy."
"Yeah, well, don't get too exited. It's purely a matter of expediency." Malfoy's face tightened perceptively at that and Harry thought, what's the matter, Malfoy? Can't take as good as you give?
"Story of my life," he replied sarcastically, honestly not sounding like he cared, but the tenseness in his shoulders gave him away. When had Harry become so aware of Malfoy's body language? He didn't think he was so aware of most other people, but then again, most other people said what they meant and meant what they said. Most other people didn't need to be understood from what they didn't say.
Draco prowled around the perimeter of the room, looking very much like he was inspecting the place, but also taking a moment to purge himself of emotions. He really hadn't needed a reminder of how unsavory a character he was, but he was not a quitter, and he would give Potter a real chance, not one preempted by his pride. Finally, after muttering a locking spell on the door and a muting spell on the room, he took a seat, sprawling himself out regally in the rather rickety looking chair.
"Listen, Potter," he said formally, impassively, lifelessly. "You should hurry up and ask me your questions, as I can't guarantee how long my good will will hold out."
And ask Harry did - directly, avoiding the insults and hostility that would hinder him in his mission. And Malfoy provided a cornucopia of answers, a veritable goldmine. Harry would have been wonderstruck if he hadn't been so horrified by the implications of everything Malfoy told him. The number of wizards and witches under the Imperius was astounding, and they were mostly in high places. Even Fudge had been placed under it after the battle in the Ministry, subtly undermining efforts to counter the threat; but perhaps more disturbingly, there were a number of Hogwarts students under it too. Predictably, the death eater ranks had swollen, led by one Lucius Malfoy, and this also included members at the school (Crabbe and Goyle, of course, being the two obvious examples). Furthermore, the disappearances that had been plaguing the wizarding community were actually taking place on a level far beyond what was being reported in the Daily Profit (which had been subverted in any case). The ranks of Aurors had been decimated (something the Daily Profit had failed to mention), and Voldemort had amassed a great army of death eaters, dementors, and. . . undead. There was some resistance, but not much; and the violence had spilled into the Muggle world on an unprecedented level, though it had been attributed to a drastic increase in terrorism and even resulted in a war on some country in the Middle East. The bad news just went on and on.
"Shit," Harry whispered, his face ashen. "Why hasn't he attacked yet? What's he waiting for?"
Malfoy considered him for a long moment. "Potter. . . He doesn't need to attack. Given a little more time, he will have taken over from the inside, with relatively little bloodshed. He wants power and validation, not death. As much as he hates Muggles and Muggle borns, he'd rather see them kissing the ground he walks upon then lying six feet under it. The question is why he hasn't attacked here yet. And the answer is, he's afraid, of both you and Dumbledore, and with good reason. The two have you have been the architects of his failure again and again. But it's only a matter of time really. You must understand, Potter. This is why it is so dangerous for you to know about me. A word to the wrong person, no matter how much you think you can trust them, could quickly result in my death. Even I don't know the names of everyone on his side - there are simply too many of them. So you must trust no one."
"Merlin. . . does Dumbledore know all this?"
"Some of it. The bigger trends, the one's that are hard to hide. But I've sent him some of my information and Severus doesn't have the level of access that I do. I'm favored." Draco smirked, but couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"You're on a first name basis with Snape?," Harry asked incredulously.
"Are you really that surprised? He is a fellow spy." Malfoy almost sounded tender when talking about the creepy potions professor.
"Why don't you work together with him then?" Harry almost regretted asking when he saw a melancholy look flashed across Malfoy's fine features.
But, with a shaky breath, he answered, "The things that I have to do to be favored make it. . . difficult to be close to me. Distance is his defense against his guilt at what he must consent to by permitting me, as if he could stop me, to do what I do."
"Such as killing and torturing?," Harry snapped maliciously, mostly because he needed someone to lash out at. All the bad news was threatening to bowl him over.
"No, you fuck," Malfoy hissed back, hatred and pain suddenly dripping from every word, and face flushed with anger. "You saw me on Friday. Did it look like I was the one doing the torturing?"
"I'm sorry," Harry immediately replied. And he was honestly sorry: it was becoming increasingly apparent that Malfoy's lot in life was not much better than his. Malfoy relaxed back into his chair and rubbed at his eyes. There was a long silence as Harry, stony faced and gazing out the window, tried to digest all the information. Malfoy watched him soberly. Finally, Harry turned back to him.
"Is that everything?"
Malfoy looked him the eye for a long moment. "No. He has a weapon, something that temporarily makes him stronger. But it has a cumulative effect, and the more he uses, the stronger he gets. Like I said, it's only a matter of time."
"What kind of weapon?"
Another long pause. Malfoy looked down at his hands. "They used to be called Givers, a long time ago."
"What are Givers?"
But Malfoy just shook his head. "That's one you're going to have to look up. You might be able to find something in history books, but more practical information will probably have to come from the Restricted Section."
Harry suspected Malfoy knew more on the subject than he was letting on, but he was distracted by a horrible thought. "Ron and Hermione aren't under the Imperius, are they?," he choked out.
A faint smile. "No, Potter. Your friends are still their own masters, as far as I know anyway. But that doesn't mean you can tell them anything about me or much about what I've told you."
Harry felt a rush of relief, followed by a wave of fatigue. His mind was suddenly exhausted from all the information and refused to consider it for a moment later. And yet he was curiously reluctant to leave this newly discovered Malfoy. . . to which his tire mind turned.
"So, Malfoy, if Crabbe and Goyle are death eaters, who are your real friends?"
The question provoked the strangest expression on Malfoy's face, as if he didn't know whether to take offense or not. "Are you mocking me Potter?," he asked incredulously, growing increasingly upset. "I don't have any friends. I've never had any friends. For fuck's sake, I'd never even met any one my age until I came to Hogwarts! By which time I was already playing my asshole father's sick game! He picked my so called friends before I even got here! And you don't understand. Even before Voldemort's return, he was right terror. And I could either cooperate and fight him behind his back. . . or I could be fucking killed by him."
He had jumped to his feet in the course of his tirade and his last words were ground out between clenched teeth. His hands were balled into fists and he looked almost crazed. Harry hadn't a clue what to say, his eyes wide and frozen to his seat. Then he watched the emotion drain from Malfoy's face before watching him slink to the window, where the moon played hauntingly on his ivory features. Finally, his quiet, mournful voice floated back to him.
"You drive me crazy, Potter. You piss me off so much. No one can make me lose it like you do. . . I wouldn't be alive today if they could."
Harry was almost overwhelmed with regret and pity. And even empathy. He knew how hard it was to be all alone in the world. Impulsively, he stood and came to stand next to the taller boy, staring out the window with him. "I could be your first, if you want," he said gently.
"My first what?," Malfoy asked tiredly, turning slightly to look at him.
"Your first friend, if only in the privacy of these rooms" Harry replied, also turning slightly.
Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, a strange glint in his striking eyes. In an odd, distant voice, "You refused my offer of friendship when we first met."
"That was a lifetime ago."
Malfoy nodded in agreement, then looked back out the window. He felt decades older than his true age himself.
"Is that a yes then?," Potter persisted.
Malfoy turned back to him. "Yes, Potter. I suppose it is." A faint, but genuine smile graced his pink lips, and Harry returned it.
Sticking his hand out, "Call me Harry then."
Malfoy took the proffered hand into a firm grip and shook it. "You can call me Draco if you want, but no one does."
Harry's smile grew. "Then I will. Malfoy reminds me too much of your bastard father."
Draco chuckled. "Okay then, Harry."
"Good. . . And now that that's settled: we've been up here for hours and I'm knackered. Let me escort you back to your dorms so we can go to bed. We can have more depressing conversations later."
"For once, Pot - er - Harry, I agree with you. But don't both with the invisibility cloak. There's a good reason I've never been caught sneaking around after hours. I'm probably sneakier than you are with the cloak."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Harry laughed.