deadlock, 'ded-"läk. n. A state of inaction or neutralization resulting
from the opposition of equally powerful uncompromising persons or factions.
["Nothing endures but change." -Heraclitus]
[October 8]
"Azkaban got broken out of again." The voice that spoke the words was young, solemn, and obviously afraid. Parvati didn't really want to listen.
But she couldn't help but think of herself in second year, think of knowing Harry and wondering if her own parents knew about the Chamber. Parvati remembered the terror. And she listened to the girls talk.
"The dementors are all gone," a different voice replied, "what d'you expect? It's got to be easier to escape now. Especially since those Death Eaters did it already."
"Do you think it was one of them who attacked us?" There was no need to look to see the certainty, less need still to look to see the fear.
Coldly, "I bet it was one of their children."
Murmurs of agreement.
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"I'd bet you anything it was."
"But the Aurors got there right away-"
"Yeah, I heard some people died."
A barely stifled gasp. "Who? I didn't hear about that, oh, no! I hope it wasn't an Auror."
"I- don't remember. I don't think it was anyone on our side."
"Oh, okay. Hey, did you hear about what happened in McGonagall's class yesterday?"
"No!" Several voices chimed in excitedly, and the somber conversation was lost in the muddle of a twelve-year-old's day-to-day psyche, the kind of mentality that blended all events together.
Parvati watched the four younger girls chatter excitedly. "How can they be so calm about it all?" she said to no one in particular. "People died and they don't even care."
Ron Weasley looked up from his position across from her. "Why should they care?" he asked. "It's not like they were on our side. Whoever it was that died probably--" He stopped before he could let himself say such a thing. He didn't need to say it; everyone within hearing range knew how the sentence would have ended.
--probably deserved it, thought Parvati, and it bothered her that the idea of the words upset her so much, because she knew Ron was right. The people who had been murdered had been the murderers many times before. Everyone knew the role of a Death Eater. Horrible people, they were.
But... subhuman?
Parvati frowned.
Across the Great Hall, the sound of a plate shattering made everyone turn toward the source of the sound. Pansy Parkinson stood up and yelled, "Draco! What-" as Draco Malfoy stood up and stormed out of the room.
The double doors slammed behind him. The chatter in the room had all but stopped completely. Parvati tore her eyes away from the door as a house elf quickly swept up the broken remains of the plate.
"What was that about?" asked Dean Thomas, who was sitting next to Parvati. Ginny sighed, looked over, and tapped Dean lightly on the arm. No one knew whether the two of them were still a couple or just friends; they were so ambiguous about their relationship. Parvati didn't know Ginny well, but she did seem like a nice girl.
"Do none of you ever read the Prophet?" asked Ginny, holding out the headline for them to see.
"Why're you reading it?" interjected Ron. "Where did you get the Prophet from? We never get it anymore." Parvati knew the Weasleys, like many other families, had stopped reading the Daily Prophet because of its misguided opinions on Harry.
"Some of us," snapped Ginny, "have minds of our own and come up with things for ourselves once in a while."
"Some of us," replied Ron mockingly, "convinced their older twin brothers to give them a cut in their joke shop in exchange for Charms help on their products-"
"Well, if you knew, why did you ask me?" asked Ginny scathingly. Ron scowled and looked away, but did not answer. She shoved the paper roughly toward the middle of the table. Parvati leaned forward and scanned it.
"'Aftermath of the Azkaban breakout, supposed whereabouts of the-'" she mumbled to herself.
"No," said Ginny impatiently, "look here." She pointed at a spot about halfway down the page, under a picture of several Aurors wading through large pieces of rubble and conversing urgently with one another.
"'Four Death Eaters were killed on the scene," Parvati read, "the rest fled before an Auror could stun them... Macnair and Avery, captured and killed by Aurors... and two Death Eaters by the names of Nott and Lucius Malfoy escaped but were later found dead... it is rumored that they were killed by Lord Vol- Vol-" Parvati, however hard she tried, couldn't bring herself to say the name. She had been taught all her life not to. "um, You-Know-Who- 'however, the reasons behind their deaths are currently unknown and unconfirmed.'"
There was a silence among the people who were within hearing range. "Lucius Malfoy," repeated Ron dully.
"Lucius Malfoy," whispered Parvati, understanding all at once.
"Wouldn't you be upset if your dad had just died?" asked Ginny, looking very sad. Parvati studied the Fifth Year girl. She remembered Hermione telling her about how Arthur Weasley had nearly died last year. Hermione had allowed her no specifics and not explained how Mr. Weasley had been hurt. Even so, she knew it had happened, and she supposed Ginny could empathize to some extent. She thought of Malfoy and his unbreakable resolve. She couldn't imagine him crying.
"He's Malfoy," answered Ron shortly, "he doesn't have feelings." Parvati lowered her eyes.
"That's just stupid, Ron, just because you don't like him--" began Ginny hotly.
"You're starting to sound like Hermione," growled Ron at his sister.
"Someone has to, don't they?" yelled Ginny. "She's not here, and without her you do all sorts of stupid things--"
"She's not my mother, Ginny! I can take care of myself, I don't need annoying little sisters to try and take anyone's place." Ginny glared, but went back to eating silently, putting the newspaper down on the table. Parvati looked away from the ongoing family squabble and toward Harry. He hadn't made a single comment since he had come into the Great Hall. He was currently staring distractedly at Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting beside the empty seat that had once contained Draco Malfoy. He turned toward Parvati a moment later, however; Parvati assumed that he'd felt her eyes on his back.
"They've all been acting strange," he said, obviously trying to explain the intense staring he had been doing.
"The Slytherins?" she asked. He nodded his assent.
"Of course they have," Parvati said bitterly, "one of them has been attacking people's dorms at night."
"Hmm," said Harry, although Parvati couldn't tell whether it was in assent, thought, or something else. She went back to eating, and when she looked up again, Harry was gone.
[October 9]
Harry decided to follow him.
He had been leaving meals early, hardly talking to any of the people in his little band of Slytherins; he hadn't spoken to Harry in any manner since their meeting in the hallway. He had changed in ways that Harry had yet to understand. What's more, it had started before the death of Lucius Malfoy, which made less sense than if it had started yesterday. It was weird. It was suspicious.
And Harry had to follow him if he was the one who had hurt Hermione. He had said he was on the side of the light, said he hadn't cast the spell... but Malfoy's word had never been worth anything to Harry, and he wouldn't think twice about lying to him.
Not to follow him would be trusting his word. Malfoy didn't deserve Harry's trust.
He had to start as soon as he could. Tonight, if it was possible. He'd watch Malfoy at dinner, and if Malfoy.
If Malfoy caught him- well, Harry wasn't sure what would happen. He didn't know if Malfoy would be upset about the death of his father; if he'd be cold and aloof; enraged on the inside, like last year, when he had stared coldly at Harry, proclaiming, "You're dead, Potter."
It didn't matter. He had to do it.
As luck would have it (and Harry had been known to have exceptionally good luck), Draco gave the Great Hall a quick once-over before darting out the door halfway through dinner that night. Harry waited a few minutes before mumbling a quick excuse to Ron and striding quickly out of the Hall.
By the time Harry closed the doors again behind him, the din of the Great Hall nothing now but a faint murmur, Malfoy was out of sight. Harry cursed under his breath and dug in his bag for the Marauder's Map. Bloody Malfoy, always around just when Harry'd rather never see him again, and now that Harry had to find him, he was nowhere.
The Map showed the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' as being on the second floor, in what Harry knew to be a largely unused hallway.
Suspicious indeed.
Harry walked through the maze of staircases and hallways that Hogwarts School encompassed, watching the dot labeled 'Harry Potter' get closer to the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy'. How had he gotten all the way over there so fast? Harry frowned, stuffing the Map quietly back into his bag.
The hallway that the Map had indicated was dark and faintly musty. The doors scattered here and there leading off to empty rooms had no torches lighting them. There was no need to maintain the cleanliness of this hallway, though: no teachers or students ever used them for class. Walking further down, Harry heard a faint clinking to his right. It was a slight sound; if there had been any other noise at all, he would have missed it. As it was, he knew no one else was inhabiting this hallway.
It occurred to Harry for the first time as he prepared to round the corner and presumably come upon Malfoy that it would have probably been of some help to bring his Invisibility Cloak. He frowned. Maybe Malfoy was doing something that would require his full attention, maybe he wouldn't notice Harry; maybe he would be too shocked at finding another person here to hex Harry.
Maybe Harry wasn't willing to take that chance. But the dorms were floors and staircases away, and he owed it to Hermione and to himself and to whomever Malfoy was going to try and get next to catch him in the act.
He slid quietly around the corner and stopped abruptly.
Malfoy was sitting alone in the middle of the corridor, his legs tucked under him and a wooden block in his hand. The only light came from a lone torch mounted on the wall. It gave his skin an ethereal glow.
Around him were various ingredients: some Harry had seen in Potions, some were unfamiliar. Test tubes, almost none of which were full, were scattered haphazardly around. A couple large, worn textbooks sat open in various positions in front of him. Harry wasn't close enough to read what they said.
A large tan bowl with something dark in color inside was directly in front of Malfoy. He was carefully grinding the already powdery substance into a fine dust.
Harry blinked and frowned. He was making a potion? Doing a ritual? But the attack had been a spell. None of the teachers had left any room for interpretation in that respect. No potion had been found in their bodies, McGonagall had told them so as soon as they were aware.
So what was Malfoy doing?
The blond growled softly and shoved the bowl aside suddenly, slamming one large book shut. The noise startled Harry, who had been firmly entrenched in his own thoughts. He jumped and his bookbag slid to the floor with a resounding slap.
Draco Malfoy's eyes jumped up suddenly to Harry, and he froze and tensed, waiting for Malfoy's reaction. Run, his brain whispered, but he had to know what Malfoy was going to do. The hooded gray eyes were dark and unreadable.
Malfoy stood up, smoothed his robe and looked coolly at Harry. "Hello, Potter," he said, no emotion whatsoever in his voice.
The detached confidence startled him, but nothing could have kept him from responding in kind: "Malfoy." Malfoy nodded and glanced briefly at his surroundings. Harry nodded slightly. He hadn't expected to be caught so easily, and he certainly hadn't expected to be treated so civilly if he was.
"Er," said Harry intelligibly. "I- what are you-"
"I see you've regained your usual level of eloquence," said Malfoy, shifting slightly. The tan bowl was no longer in Harry's line of vision. He wondered whether Malfoy had moved on purpose.
He wondered if possibly the supposed spell was a potion after all.
"Yeah," said Harry, engrossed in the scenarios racing through his head. "What're you doing here, then?"
"Potter," said Malfoy churlishly, "is this the part where I reveal my evil master plan to you before you blow up my conveniently placed lair?"
"If you weren't doing something you weren't supposed to, you wouldn't have any problem letting me know, would you?" replied Harry swiftly.
"Worried about your Mudblood friend again. You're utterly predictable."
"It's called compassion, Malfoy, not something I'd expect you to know about."
"You're too transparent, Potter. It's called weakness, something I'd expect you to know about very well."
"Why don't you tell me about it, Malfoy? You're too weak to pick a bloody side."
Malfoy took a few steps toward Harry, sweeping a book aside with his foot. "Potter," he said quietly, "let me make something perfectly clear. I despise you with every fiber of my being. You are the last person on Earth I would want to converse with. I have multiple problems with you, not the least of which being your annoying habit of showing up precisely when I don't want you there."
Harry smiled bitterly. "Thought so the other day, too, didn't you? 'No, Potter, I'm a spy-'"
"Shut up," hissed Malfoy, and moved forward in such a way that made Harry instinctively step back. But Malfoy did not move further, and after a few seconds, the cold flash of anger that had dominated his features was gone.
"Shut up," he repeated, much calmer now, "and go the hell away, Potter, because you know nothing."
"I'll leave once you tell me what you're doing," replied Harry, making an effort to match Malfoy's tone.
Malfoy snorted, looking intently at the boy across from him.
"Stay away, Potter," he said finally, and Harry would pretend for weeks afterward that he'd never heard the almost amused quality of the voice. "Stay away, stay alive. And you won't tell what you've seen."
Malfoy made no move to clear up his things, and it was Harry, in the end, who left the hallway, having no more idea as to whether Malfoy was up to something than he had when he'd first walked out of the Great Hall. Harry did not look at the Map again that night.
[2:48 AM, October 10]
She blinked. She thought at first she was bleeding, but the liquid was too viscous to be blood. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a murky lake- no, a murky swamp. She couldn't quite recall the distinction. Kappas lived in one but never the other...
It was dark and wet here. She could see the Muggle carnival in the distance, but her arms were too heavy to move. They dragged through the wet marsh as if they were filled with sand. She was panting already and not even close to shore, but she had to leave, had to get out. Struggling out of the swamp, she lay on the ground, exhausted.
Looking at the path to the carnival, her eyes widened. Black bats lined the narrow path. She knew somehow that they must be hungry.
Her flesh would not be their next meal. She veered to the left, started up a steep hill. She heard a faint sound halfway up, one vaguely familiar to her. She frowned, but kept walking.
She saw it before the sound became more defined: a crying child trapped on the falling rock. The little girl would surely fall to her death if she couldn't be reached.
"What's your name?" she asked quietly. Right, right. Be soothing. Be quiet. She won't fall. You've read books on this, have you not?
"Deirdra," the girl whispered, looking deathly afraid.
She reached out for Deirdra, who was so young and so fragile and would certainly not die.
Within an inch of the girl now, the cliff crumbled and Deirdra was clinging to her hand for dear life. The child looked up at her, her eyes wide.
"You tried," she whispered, "you tried and small things break so very easily..."
Her hands suddenly very slippery, she could not hold onto the little girl. Deirdra disappeared over the edge.
"Hermione!" came the unbridled scream, and Hermione turned her hands palm up for the first time. They were drenched in blood.
"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione-"
Hermione sat straight up in her bed. Madam Pomfrey was looking at her worriedly. Her nightgown was rumpled and her Mediwitch cap, hastily shoved on, was askew. Despite her tired, ruffled appearance, her face was entirely alert. The clock on Hermione's temporary bedside proclaimed it too early and chided Hermione for not being asleep.
But Madam Pomfrey looked so panicked that Hermione's attention was quickly drawn back to the Mediwitch.
"Hermione- Miss Granger," she began urgently, before Hermione could open her mouth (and Hermione wondered at the fact that Poppy Pomfrey had lost her professionalism enough to call Hermione by her first name), "you must come with me immediately."
"Madam P-"
"The Ravenclaw common room was attacked this morning."
Hermione's eyes widened, and she felt the same cold stab of fear that she'd harbored in her dream. She scrambled out of bed, numb and thinking of the Slytherins. Every Gryffindor girl except Lavender Brown followed her downstairs.
["Nothing endures but change." -Heraclitus]
[October 8]
"Azkaban got broken out of again." The voice that spoke the words was young, solemn, and obviously afraid. Parvati didn't really want to listen.
But she couldn't help but think of herself in second year, think of knowing Harry and wondering if her own parents knew about the Chamber. Parvati remembered the terror. And she listened to the girls talk.
"The dementors are all gone," a different voice replied, "what d'you expect? It's got to be easier to escape now. Especially since those Death Eaters did it already."
"Do you think it was one of them who attacked us?" There was no need to look to see the certainty, less need still to look to see the fear.
Coldly, "I bet it was one of their children."
Murmurs of agreement.
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"I'd bet you anything it was."
"But the Aurors got there right away-"
"Yeah, I heard some people died."
A barely stifled gasp. "Who? I didn't hear about that, oh, no! I hope it wasn't an Auror."
"I- don't remember. I don't think it was anyone on our side."
"Oh, okay. Hey, did you hear about what happened in McGonagall's class yesterday?"
"No!" Several voices chimed in excitedly, and the somber conversation was lost in the muddle of a twelve-year-old's day-to-day psyche, the kind of mentality that blended all events together.
Parvati watched the four younger girls chatter excitedly. "How can they be so calm about it all?" she said to no one in particular. "People died and they don't even care."
Ron Weasley looked up from his position across from her. "Why should they care?" he asked. "It's not like they were on our side. Whoever it was that died probably--" He stopped before he could let himself say such a thing. He didn't need to say it; everyone within hearing range knew how the sentence would have ended.
--probably deserved it, thought Parvati, and it bothered her that the idea of the words upset her so much, because she knew Ron was right. The people who had been murdered had been the murderers many times before. Everyone knew the role of a Death Eater. Horrible people, they were.
But... subhuman?
Parvati frowned.
Across the Great Hall, the sound of a plate shattering made everyone turn toward the source of the sound. Pansy Parkinson stood up and yelled, "Draco! What-" as Draco Malfoy stood up and stormed out of the room.
The double doors slammed behind him. The chatter in the room had all but stopped completely. Parvati tore her eyes away from the door as a house elf quickly swept up the broken remains of the plate.
"What was that about?" asked Dean Thomas, who was sitting next to Parvati. Ginny sighed, looked over, and tapped Dean lightly on the arm. No one knew whether the two of them were still a couple or just friends; they were so ambiguous about their relationship. Parvati didn't know Ginny well, but she did seem like a nice girl.
"Do none of you ever read the Prophet?" asked Ginny, holding out the headline for them to see.
"Why're you reading it?" interjected Ron. "Where did you get the Prophet from? We never get it anymore." Parvati knew the Weasleys, like many other families, had stopped reading the Daily Prophet because of its misguided opinions on Harry.
"Some of us," snapped Ginny, "have minds of our own and come up with things for ourselves once in a while."
"Some of us," replied Ron mockingly, "convinced their older twin brothers to give them a cut in their joke shop in exchange for Charms help on their products-"
"Well, if you knew, why did you ask me?" asked Ginny scathingly. Ron scowled and looked away, but did not answer. She shoved the paper roughly toward the middle of the table. Parvati leaned forward and scanned it.
"'Aftermath of the Azkaban breakout, supposed whereabouts of the-'" she mumbled to herself.
"No," said Ginny impatiently, "look here." She pointed at a spot about halfway down the page, under a picture of several Aurors wading through large pieces of rubble and conversing urgently with one another.
"'Four Death Eaters were killed on the scene," Parvati read, "the rest fled before an Auror could stun them... Macnair and Avery, captured and killed by Aurors... and two Death Eaters by the names of Nott and Lucius Malfoy escaped but were later found dead... it is rumored that they were killed by Lord Vol- Vol-" Parvati, however hard she tried, couldn't bring herself to say the name. She had been taught all her life not to. "um, You-Know-Who- 'however, the reasons behind their deaths are currently unknown and unconfirmed.'"
There was a silence among the people who were within hearing range. "Lucius Malfoy," repeated Ron dully.
"Lucius Malfoy," whispered Parvati, understanding all at once.
"Wouldn't you be upset if your dad had just died?" asked Ginny, looking very sad. Parvati studied the Fifth Year girl. She remembered Hermione telling her about how Arthur Weasley had nearly died last year. Hermione had allowed her no specifics and not explained how Mr. Weasley had been hurt. Even so, she knew it had happened, and she supposed Ginny could empathize to some extent. She thought of Malfoy and his unbreakable resolve. She couldn't imagine him crying.
"He's Malfoy," answered Ron shortly, "he doesn't have feelings." Parvati lowered her eyes.
"That's just stupid, Ron, just because you don't like him--" began Ginny hotly.
"You're starting to sound like Hermione," growled Ron at his sister.
"Someone has to, don't they?" yelled Ginny. "She's not here, and without her you do all sorts of stupid things--"
"She's not my mother, Ginny! I can take care of myself, I don't need annoying little sisters to try and take anyone's place." Ginny glared, but went back to eating silently, putting the newspaper down on the table. Parvati looked away from the ongoing family squabble and toward Harry. He hadn't made a single comment since he had come into the Great Hall. He was currently staring distractedly at Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting beside the empty seat that had once contained Draco Malfoy. He turned toward Parvati a moment later, however; Parvati assumed that he'd felt her eyes on his back.
"They've all been acting strange," he said, obviously trying to explain the intense staring he had been doing.
"The Slytherins?" she asked. He nodded his assent.
"Of course they have," Parvati said bitterly, "one of them has been attacking people's dorms at night."
"Hmm," said Harry, although Parvati couldn't tell whether it was in assent, thought, or something else. She went back to eating, and when she looked up again, Harry was gone.
[October 9]
Harry decided to follow him.
He had been leaving meals early, hardly talking to any of the people in his little band of Slytherins; he hadn't spoken to Harry in any manner since their meeting in the hallway. He had changed in ways that Harry had yet to understand. What's more, it had started before the death of Lucius Malfoy, which made less sense than if it had started yesterday. It was weird. It was suspicious.
And Harry had to follow him if he was the one who had hurt Hermione. He had said he was on the side of the light, said he hadn't cast the spell... but Malfoy's word had never been worth anything to Harry, and he wouldn't think twice about lying to him.
Not to follow him would be trusting his word. Malfoy didn't deserve Harry's trust.
He had to start as soon as he could. Tonight, if it was possible. He'd watch Malfoy at dinner, and if Malfoy.
If Malfoy caught him- well, Harry wasn't sure what would happen. He didn't know if Malfoy would be upset about the death of his father; if he'd be cold and aloof; enraged on the inside, like last year, when he had stared coldly at Harry, proclaiming, "You're dead, Potter."
It didn't matter. He had to do it.
As luck would have it (and Harry had been known to have exceptionally good luck), Draco gave the Great Hall a quick once-over before darting out the door halfway through dinner that night. Harry waited a few minutes before mumbling a quick excuse to Ron and striding quickly out of the Hall.
By the time Harry closed the doors again behind him, the din of the Great Hall nothing now but a faint murmur, Malfoy was out of sight. Harry cursed under his breath and dug in his bag for the Marauder's Map. Bloody Malfoy, always around just when Harry'd rather never see him again, and now that Harry had to find him, he was nowhere.
The Map showed the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' as being on the second floor, in what Harry knew to be a largely unused hallway.
Suspicious indeed.
Harry walked through the maze of staircases and hallways that Hogwarts School encompassed, watching the dot labeled 'Harry Potter' get closer to the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy'. How had he gotten all the way over there so fast? Harry frowned, stuffing the Map quietly back into his bag.
The hallway that the Map had indicated was dark and faintly musty. The doors scattered here and there leading off to empty rooms had no torches lighting them. There was no need to maintain the cleanliness of this hallway, though: no teachers or students ever used them for class. Walking further down, Harry heard a faint clinking to his right. It was a slight sound; if there had been any other noise at all, he would have missed it. As it was, he knew no one else was inhabiting this hallway.
It occurred to Harry for the first time as he prepared to round the corner and presumably come upon Malfoy that it would have probably been of some help to bring his Invisibility Cloak. He frowned. Maybe Malfoy was doing something that would require his full attention, maybe he wouldn't notice Harry; maybe he would be too shocked at finding another person here to hex Harry.
Maybe Harry wasn't willing to take that chance. But the dorms were floors and staircases away, and he owed it to Hermione and to himself and to whomever Malfoy was going to try and get next to catch him in the act.
He slid quietly around the corner and stopped abruptly.
Malfoy was sitting alone in the middle of the corridor, his legs tucked under him and a wooden block in his hand. The only light came from a lone torch mounted on the wall. It gave his skin an ethereal glow.
Around him were various ingredients: some Harry had seen in Potions, some were unfamiliar. Test tubes, almost none of which were full, were scattered haphazardly around. A couple large, worn textbooks sat open in various positions in front of him. Harry wasn't close enough to read what they said.
A large tan bowl with something dark in color inside was directly in front of Malfoy. He was carefully grinding the already powdery substance into a fine dust.
Harry blinked and frowned. He was making a potion? Doing a ritual? But the attack had been a spell. None of the teachers had left any room for interpretation in that respect. No potion had been found in their bodies, McGonagall had told them so as soon as they were aware.
So what was Malfoy doing?
The blond growled softly and shoved the bowl aside suddenly, slamming one large book shut. The noise startled Harry, who had been firmly entrenched in his own thoughts. He jumped and his bookbag slid to the floor with a resounding slap.
Draco Malfoy's eyes jumped up suddenly to Harry, and he froze and tensed, waiting for Malfoy's reaction. Run, his brain whispered, but he had to know what Malfoy was going to do. The hooded gray eyes were dark and unreadable.
Malfoy stood up, smoothed his robe and looked coolly at Harry. "Hello, Potter," he said, no emotion whatsoever in his voice.
The detached confidence startled him, but nothing could have kept him from responding in kind: "Malfoy." Malfoy nodded and glanced briefly at his surroundings. Harry nodded slightly. He hadn't expected to be caught so easily, and he certainly hadn't expected to be treated so civilly if he was.
"Er," said Harry intelligibly. "I- what are you-"
"I see you've regained your usual level of eloquence," said Malfoy, shifting slightly. The tan bowl was no longer in Harry's line of vision. He wondered whether Malfoy had moved on purpose.
He wondered if possibly the supposed spell was a potion after all.
"Yeah," said Harry, engrossed in the scenarios racing through his head. "What're you doing here, then?"
"Potter," said Malfoy churlishly, "is this the part where I reveal my evil master plan to you before you blow up my conveniently placed lair?"
"If you weren't doing something you weren't supposed to, you wouldn't have any problem letting me know, would you?" replied Harry swiftly.
"Worried about your Mudblood friend again. You're utterly predictable."
"It's called compassion, Malfoy, not something I'd expect you to know about."
"You're too transparent, Potter. It's called weakness, something I'd expect you to know about very well."
"Why don't you tell me about it, Malfoy? You're too weak to pick a bloody side."
Malfoy took a few steps toward Harry, sweeping a book aside with his foot. "Potter," he said quietly, "let me make something perfectly clear. I despise you with every fiber of my being. You are the last person on Earth I would want to converse with. I have multiple problems with you, not the least of which being your annoying habit of showing up precisely when I don't want you there."
Harry smiled bitterly. "Thought so the other day, too, didn't you? 'No, Potter, I'm a spy-'"
"Shut up," hissed Malfoy, and moved forward in such a way that made Harry instinctively step back. But Malfoy did not move further, and after a few seconds, the cold flash of anger that had dominated his features was gone.
"Shut up," he repeated, much calmer now, "and go the hell away, Potter, because you know nothing."
"I'll leave once you tell me what you're doing," replied Harry, making an effort to match Malfoy's tone.
Malfoy snorted, looking intently at the boy across from him.
"Stay away, Potter," he said finally, and Harry would pretend for weeks afterward that he'd never heard the almost amused quality of the voice. "Stay away, stay alive. And you won't tell what you've seen."
Malfoy made no move to clear up his things, and it was Harry, in the end, who left the hallway, having no more idea as to whether Malfoy was up to something than he had when he'd first walked out of the Great Hall. Harry did not look at the Map again that night.
[2:48 AM, October 10]
She blinked. She thought at first she was bleeding, but the liquid was too viscous to be blood. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a murky lake- no, a murky swamp. She couldn't quite recall the distinction. Kappas lived in one but never the other...
It was dark and wet here. She could see the Muggle carnival in the distance, but her arms were too heavy to move. They dragged through the wet marsh as if they were filled with sand. She was panting already and not even close to shore, but she had to leave, had to get out. Struggling out of the swamp, she lay on the ground, exhausted.
Looking at the path to the carnival, her eyes widened. Black bats lined the narrow path. She knew somehow that they must be hungry.
Her flesh would not be their next meal. She veered to the left, started up a steep hill. She heard a faint sound halfway up, one vaguely familiar to her. She frowned, but kept walking.
She saw it before the sound became more defined: a crying child trapped on the falling rock. The little girl would surely fall to her death if she couldn't be reached.
"What's your name?" she asked quietly. Right, right. Be soothing. Be quiet. She won't fall. You've read books on this, have you not?
"Deirdra," the girl whispered, looking deathly afraid.
She reached out for Deirdra, who was so young and so fragile and would certainly not die.
Within an inch of the girl now, the cliff crumbled and Deirdra was clinging to her hand for dear life. The child looked up at her, her eyes wide.
"You tried," she whispered, "you tried and small things break so very easily..."
Her hands suddenly very slippery, she could not hold onto the little girl. Deirdra disappeared over the edge.
"Hermione!" came the unbridled scream, and Hermione turned her hands palm up for the first time. They were drenched in blood.
"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione-"
Hermione sat straight up in her bed. Madam Pomfrey was looking at her worriedly. Her nightgown was rumpled and her Mediwitch cap, hastily shoved on, was askew. Despite her tired, ruffled appearance, her face was entirely alert. The clock on Hermione's temporary bedside proclaimed it too early and chided Hermione for not being asleep.
But Madam Pomfrey looked so panicked that Hermione's attention was quickly drawn back to the Mediwitch.
"Hermione- Miss Granger," she began urgently, before Hermione could open her mouth (and Hermione wondered at the fact that Poppy Pomfrey had lost her professionalism enough to call Hermione by her first name), "you must come with me immediately."
"Madam P-"
"The Ravenclaw common room was attacked this morning."
Hermione's eyes widened, and she felt the same cold stab of fear that she'd harbored in her dream. She scrambled out of bed, numb and thinking of the Slytherins. Every Gryffindor girl except Lavender Brown followed her downstairs.