* * *
"Harry, we're going to be late for breakfast!" Ron had been trying to wake up his roommate for a good twenty minutes. "Get out of bed!"
"Whadda you care?" Harry murmured from beneath his pillow. He still hurt from the Cruciatus curse Malfoy had used last night. On top of that, he hadn't managed to get much sleep. Most of his night had been spent alternately berating himself for being such an idiot, or convincing himself that he was stronger than any stupid Slytherin. He'd vowed to make Malfoy feel ten times the pain he had suffered.
Unusually anxious to get downstairs, Ron – who had already showered and dressed - walked over and grabbed Harry's covers, yanking them off and tossing them to the floor. "Get up, you lazy arse! They're announcing the players for the Hogwarts/Durmstrang Quidditch match, and we need to be there."
"Mngrmmph, "Harry mumbled as he brought his knees up, trying to shield his bare chest from the chill by burrowing himself into the mattress.
"Honestly, Harry – I'd think you'd be a bit more excited. You're sure to be picked! ...I only hope that I at least end up as the alternate Keeper..." The wistfulness in Ron's voice caused Harry to sigh tragically and slowly remove the pillow from over his head. His bloodshot eyes looked up at his friend as he attempted a reassuring smile, although it came out looking much more like a grimace.
"You'll make it as the starting Keeper, Ron. I know you will." That said, the pillow moved quickly over the Gryffindor Seeker's face once more. Unfortunately, Ron had already gotten a good look at the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines of stress on his weary face.
"You look like hell, Harry," he said cheerfully, his confidence restored by his friend's support.
"...You're too kind, Weasley." The sardonic remark was muffled, but quite distinguishable.
Ron grinned. "Harry, you absolutely have to get out of bed. You need a shower before breakfast – you stink. What were you doing last night - rolling around in a trough?"
Harry just groaned and squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "Shut up, you annoying git! For the love of all things Quidditch, will you please let me sleep in peace?"
"Sorry, ol' pal, but this is for your own good." With the words came a slight grunt – it was the only warning Harry had before his mattress was tipped over and he was flung to the floor with an impressively loud thump.
"...Ron..." The name was drawled out threateningly against the floor as the bruised boy slowly began to shift, one hand feeling up against his night stand for his glasses.
Ron grinned again and tossed a towel atop his friend's head. "Yes, good one, Harry - my name is Ron! And now that we've got that all cleared up, it's time to shower. Quickly, now! Up!"
Harry stood slowly, his glasses tilted sideways on his nose, his loose cotton pajama bottoms having slid down to expose the slight protrusion of his hip bones, his dark brown hair standing straight up in some places and pressed flatly to his head in others. He stared at Ron a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he muttered ruefully, "You're very irritating. And I'm too tired to hit you. Rain check?"
"Sure. Now go! Before Thomas gets in the bathroom and fogs it up getting all dolled up for my sister." The last words sounded rather irritable, although it was mostly for show. He had to do the protective older brother thing, although he'd come to realize that Dean wasn't an ass and intended to treat Ginny well. After all, as Dean had put it when he'd visited over the summer – what kind of idiot would treat such a wonderful girl like crap... especially when she had six unpredictable older brothers?
After half-heartedly tossing a book at Ron's feet – he'd been aiming for his head – Harry trudged slowly toward the door. Leaning against the doorway was Hermione, who was grinning in amusement and shaking her head.
"Are you certain you two are sixth years?"
Harry just smiled a little as he walked past, bending to brush his lips against her forehead in greeting before heading to the bathroom at a snail's pace. Ron frowned a bit at Harry's action, then realized what Hermione'd said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he stuttered belligerently. She just laughed and headed over to Harry's bed, gathering up the sheets that were scattered everywhere.
"Look at this room, Ron! It's atrocious – and the House Elves work so hard to keep it clean. You make them do so much extra work...it's truly unkind of you. And very adolescent."
Ron just groaned and flung his hands up in the air. "Not this again, Hermione, please! I have enough on my mind..."
At his words she paused, then turned and walked to the door, closing it and affixing it with a silencing charm. She gave him a beseeching look, and he stared back unflinchingly. Finally, her gaze broke off and drifted to the floor, and she began to move about the room, tidying everything in sight.
"...He didn't look so good, Ron."
"I know, Hermione...I know." He raked a hand through his hair and looked over at her somewhat anxiously. "Do you think... do you think he's having the same problems we did?" He sat down dejectedly on his own bed, watching her scurry around the room, cleaning. She always did that when she was nervous or upset – if she couldn't study her way out of things, she cleaned.
Hermione paused for a moment, then continued to place books back on the shelves, dusting almost obsessively. "I think the answer to that is fairly obvious. We know he's had a few strange dreams, and – hell, you saw him. I doubt he slept more than five full minutes at a time last night. Help me with the mattress."
"But Harry said that he'd done really well in Occlumency yesterday. Even Dumbledore said he wasn't as good as Harry is! He ought to be able to block it..." Ron stood and moved over to Harry's bed, bending and lifting the mattress back in place with little effort.
She nodded, fitting the sheets in place distractedly, "...I know...but..."
Ron interrupted suddenly. "Why don't you just use magic for that?" He gestured lightly to the bed she was making by hand.
Hermione glanced down, then shrugged briefly. "It helps me think."
After a moment he nodded, although his look suggested that he thought she was a bit on the strange side. It wasn't the first time she'd seen that look directed at her, and she was positive it wouldn't be the last.
"Regardless, Ron... there's always the chance that the dreams are not visions sent by Voldemort."
He controlled the instinctive flinch that always seemed to follow hearing the Dark Lord's name and lifted a brow skeptically. "Do you honestly believe that, Hermione?"
"No."
"...Then why even suggest it?"
At his words she sighed and began fluffing Harry's pillows. "Possibly because I want it to be that way. He doesn't need this, Ron – he's got too much else to deal with. I mean, first Voldemort-"
Ron cut her off abruptly. "Quit saying his name, damnit!"
Irritated by the sudden attack, Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Voldemort. It's not difficult to say. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!"
"She's right, you know. That is how you pronounce his name, Ron. It's quite simple." Harry had pushed the door open, his towel draped around his neck, though one hand was still rubbing some of the cloth against his moist, spiky hair.
Hermione wrinkled her nose as Ron rolled his eyes. "I had a silencing charm on that door."
"I know. I removed it." The casual reply was was accompanied by a shrug as the slightly more refreshed Gryffindor padded to his closet with bare feet.
"But I didn't even hear or sense anything!" She appeared rather incredulous, and a bit annoyed that Harry had been able to remove her spell without her noticing. So appalled that she'd missed it, she didn't see that Harry didn't have his wand on him.
Harry just smiled. As always, being with Hermione and Ron relaxed him. Well, at least when it was just the three of them. They were the only people that he was certain wouldn't place him on a pedestal – which was good, because it was damned lonely up there on that high, unstable perch.
"You didn't sense anything because you were too busy scaring Ron shitless with a measly name."
Ron stood up indignantly, his cheeks flushing a bit. "Harry! You're supposed to be on my side, here. We're 'mates!"
His roommate looked purposefully in the direction of his own bed, which was now perfectly remade. "I do believe you're forgetting a few things. I owe you."
Ron followed his gaze, then nodded in agreement. "Good point."
"You know," Hermione interrupted blithely. "I don't believe I like the insinuation that I'm someone's punishment."
"It's not just an insinuation, Hermione, dear." This time when the thick book sailed toward Ron's head, he had to duck to avoid it. Hermione had much better aim than Harry. He grinned and glanced at the clock, then gasped in horror.
"We're late! Hurry Harry – we'll meet you in the common room." Ron latched onto Hermione's wrist and began dragging her toward the door.
Just before they reached it, Harry spoke up nonchalantly. "By the way. Why was there a silencing charm on the door? What were you two talking about that you didn't want me to hear?" He'd begun the sentence facing his closet, but as he finished he turned and watched his two best friends directly, his green eyes unwavering yet unaccusing behind his round glasses.
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and both began to color nervously.
"We were discussing the D.A. and didn't want anyone to hear - "
"We were snogging and didn't want anyone to hear."
Hermione's rushed voice came out at the same time as Ron's, her last words a loud, dismayed shriek.
"What? Ronald Weasley, we most certainly were not –" She was cut off as Ron's hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged outside.
"Two minutes, Harry. I'm not kidding!" Ron closed the door behind him, then yelped. "You bit me! You crazy wench!"
"I'm not a wench, and I will do a lot worse if you ever tell anyone I was making out with you! Ugh! Disgusting!"
Inside the room, Harry smiled and shook his head, then returned his attention to getting dressed, having forgotten about the silencing charm for the moment. He didn't have the same success when it came to forgetting the scene with Draco the previous night...but he put a lot of effort into trying.
* * *
After finishing his breakfast – having taken quite awhile to do so – Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, still patting his mouth with his napkin. He didn't have to ask for quiet. Most of the school had been sitting impatiently at their tables, watching their Headmaster eat for a good half hour, give or take a minute.
Ron elbowed Harry, whispering excitedly, "He's going to tell us now!"
Harry rubbed his side, then slid his fist rather forcefully into Ron's abdomen. His friend swatted at it lightly, not even looking away from Dumbledore. Hermione lifted a brow as she watched the two of them, then shook her head and met Ginny's eyes across the table. The youngest Weasley just rolled her eyes and grinned, as if to say 'They're male – of course they're Neanderthals'.
"Before we get started, I'd just like to say that I believe this year's team will be very strong. So long as they work together, we're guaranteed to win the match!" He paused to allow the cheering to fade.
"Now...this decade, we have decided to do something a bit different. Not only are we going to have an alternate Keeper and Seeker – we're going to have an alternate team. If, for any reason, the players from the starting team cannot actually start the match, the alternate team will step in. Because we're having two teams, I've decided that we ought to have two coaches, as well. I had to do quite a bit of persuading to get these two individuals here today, so I trust you'll treat them kindly."
Ron squirmed excitedly. "Oh! What if they're professional coaches? There'd be no way Durmstrang could beat us!"
"We can't, it's against the rules," Hermione informed him primly. His face fell, and he looked back at the Headmaster.
"Damn. I hope whoever it is knows what they're doing..."
"Without further ado, let me introduce your new coaches. They have decided that they'll figure out who will coach which team at a later date." Dumbledore gestured to the entrance of the hall – and in walked Fred and George Weasley.
The students gasped in unison – then pandemonium ensued. The Gryffindors were falling out of their seats, cheering enthusiastically, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs whistled and clapped as well. Many of the older students were calling out greetings while the younger ones were holding up items they'd bought from the twin's catalogue. Typically, the Slytherins were not excited – half the house had raced up in front of Professor Snape, demanding that he object to the discrimination against their house.
Ginny jumped up from the table, racing forward to be hugged by each brother – Dean followed her, shaking hands and welcoming them back. As Harry and Hermione greeted the twins they kept an eye on Ron, whose shoulders had slumped dejectedly - his smile seemed forced as he congratulated Fred and George.
Finally, the twins made it to the front and waved hello to everyone. Only those closest to them noticed the fine silver powder that fell from their sleeves, and one small Ravenclaw boy was about to ask what it was when a few bits hit the ground. A loud exploding noise reverberated throughout the hall, accompanied by a flash of orange-red light. As girls and younger students dived under the tables screaming, the boys (and a few females who were devoted to the joke shop) were laughing and applauding. Most of the teachers appeared appalled, but Dumbledore was chuckling merrily, obviously amused.
Fred and George dusted each other off, then grinned. "Sorry 'bout that, everyone – we needed a test audience. Did anyone lose the ability to hear? No? Wonderful!"
"...Y'know, if they did, they wouldn't have heard you ask the question," Fred pointed out to his brother.
"Oh! Right, then. We'll have to consider that for next time." George shrugged it off, grinned again, and addressed the school once more. "Now that that's taken care of, let's get on with the teams. We reviewed games from last season as well as this one, rated those who'd applied, and came up with what we thought was the best selection of players. Oh, and we're having practice right after breakfast. Those chosen have been excused from their morning classes by Professor Dumbledore." The Headmaster nodded in agreement of his words – some of the teachers looked surprised. Snape simply looked annoyed.
Fred stepped up, no list in hand. "Our Seeker will, of course, be Harry Potter. In the event that Harry has his head taken off by a bludger in practice – which we've decided to try and avoid – the alternate seeker will be..." he paused to shoot a glare in Dumbledore's direction, receiving only a serene smile in response. "...Draco Malfoy."
As most of Slytherins cheered and slapped their reigning king on the back (some were decidedly morose; apparently, not everyone trusted Malfoy after his return), the Gryffindors assumed a collectively horrified expression. Harry had paled, and felt a bit sick to his stomach. He was going to have to spend time with Malfoy. In twenty minutes. He shook his head and forced himself to pay attention to what his friends were saying.
"Malfoy? A Death Eater's son, representing the entire school! What were Fred and George thinking? " queried Seamus incredulously.
Ron glanced at his brothers a moment, then looked over at Ginny as he spoke. "They didn't do it...something's going on. They'd never pick a Slytherin for Seeker. Not willingly."
Ginny nodded her agreement, her eyes flickering back to the twins as they continued, announcing two Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor named Andrew Kirke for Beaters. When the applause died, one of the twins listed the Chasers – unsurprisingly, Angelina was a starter. A Slytherin and a Ravenclaw were also chosen – a brother and sister from Hufflepuff were named the alternates, along with another Slytherin.
The only position left to be announced was Keeper. Hermione moved her hand beneath the table to grip Ron's, squeezing once for luck. He aimed a light smile in her direction, then looked back at his siblings intently.
Fred and George looked at each other a long moment, as if speaking to each other silently. Finally one nodded, and the other – no one knew which one it was – faced the students and spoke in a rush. "Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff, and Ron Weasley as the alternate."
Zacharias had been a Beater for Hufflepuff until this year, when he filled the empty Keeper position. He wasn't a bad player, either, so the student population reacted favorably to the announcement.
The twins turned as one and looked over at Ron, ignoring the cheering throughout the hall, their eyes trying to give some sort of message or apology. It wasn't one he was interested in receiving. Stunned and humiliated, Ron turned his head away, ignoring for the moment the various congratulations and sympathies his fellow Gryffindors were extending. Above his head Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Neville were glancing from Ron to the twins and back, distress and uncertainty clouding their faces.
Ron swallowed hard past the ball of rage and hurt in his throat. His own brothers didn't believe he was a good enough Keeper to represent Hogwarts. I'm going to be sick, he thought just as a soft whisper brushed against his ear.
"Ron. Please... you're hurting my hand." He glanced down at the hand held in a death grip by his own, then looked up at Hermione, appalled.
"Hermione. I... I didn't mean...are you okay?" His head was spinning. He couldn't believe he'd been hurting her.
She waved it off, then looked over at Harry, who seemed a bit distracted. Making a mental note to ask what was bothering him later, she gripped Ron's hand and tugged, her free hand shaking Harry's shoulder. "Let's go. Both of you have practice in a few minutes, and I think you need a second to yourselves first."
Neither of the boys protested, rising to their feet and following her from the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle piped up rather sadistically.
"...He always lets the Quaffle in – yes, Weasley is our King!"
Ron stopped abruptly, reality fading behind the red haze that clouded his eyes. His hands balled into fists as he turned to face the large, dullwitted boys. He didn't notice when Hermione gasped and tugged on his arm.
"Ron, don't let them get to you. Come on!" Hermione was scared – she didn't like the look on Ron's face. He was livid, and she'd been warned about what could happen if she didn't calm him down quickly.
Hearing her words, Harry glanced behind him, then immediately toward the Slytherin table. His gaze bounced off Malfoy's, then returned. He lifted his chin disdainfully, unaware of the soft flush of color against his pale cheeks as those metallic silver eyes watched him without expression. Harry had to force himself to look away, berating himself for even acknowledging Draco's existence.
Hermione nearly stamped a foot in exasperation as she looked to Harry for help controlling Ron, only to find him locked in some sort of death-glare with Malfoy. Damn these stupid, confrontational Gryffindor males anyway! Her grip tightened harshly on Ron's arm as he started to walk toward the Slytherin table. He didn't seem to be aware of her presence, merely dragging her with him.
"Harry!" The green-eyed Seeker whirled around at Hermione's cry, quickly assessing the situation and hurrying close. He wasn't fast enough. Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, each slinging an arm around Ron's shoulders and frog-marching him discreetly out of the hall.
"Congrats on the alternate posi-" Fred quit speaking as soon as they were out of hearing distance. He looked toward Hermione. "We have maybe ten seconds to find a private room before he loses it."
The young prefect took one look at Ron's red face, nodded, and immediately turned to the nearest door, muttering a spell only Prefects (and Head Girl and Boy) were allowed to have. The door opened, and they stepped inside so she could close and lock it behind them.
"Y'know, it's kind of dark in here," one of the twins said conversationally.
"Lumis Solem."
"Thanks, Hermione. Oh, hey – we're in a broom closet! We made use of a lot of these while we were here." Fred was obviously very excited, but his words seemed to wake Ron from his anger-induced stupor.
"The broom closets didn't miss you. GO HOME! You have NO RIGHT to interfere with MY life this way! Why can't you just stay the FUCK away from me!" What had begun in a loud but normal tone quickly escalated into screaming fury as Ron swung for Fred's face, only mildly hindered by George's grip on his arm. Harry stared at Ron, utterly shocked - uncertain what the hell was going on. As the younger Weasley launched himself at his older brother, Harry inhaled sharply and lifted his hand to rub his suddenly throbbing scar.
Luckily, Fred managed to duck, but Ron's momentum propelled his fist into a shelving unit, causing the entire apparatus to totter unsteadily. George cursed and tried desperately to grab onto Ron's other hand.
"Bloody hell, George, hold tighter!"
"I'm trying! You could help, y'know!"
Ron made a rough sound of fury deep within his throat, and his foot lashed out, connecting quite forcefully with George's ankle and causing his brother to lose his grip. Blind with rage, he whirled for Fred once more.
"YOU ARE FUCKING WITH MY LIFE! IT'S MY TURN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE! GET THE HELL OUT OF HOGWARTS!"
"...He's going to kill him, Harry," Hermione was shaken as she watched her friend attack his own brother.
Hearing his name called pulled Harry from the myriad of angry, resentful images that had suddenly begun flooding through his mind. He let out a breath, reinforcing the wall he'd built as quickly as he could. The images disappeared, but he could feel them pounding against his barrier as he took in the scene. Harry pressed his lips together, considered grabbing his wand, then quickly abandoned the idea when Ron's fist swung again for one of the twins, narrowly missing Hermione. He leapt at his friend, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly, purposely impairing his ability to breathe.
"Where...the hell... is Ginny..." Fred panted out. As if answering a summons, Ginny Weasley's distant, frantic voice could be heard just beyond the door.
"...Fred? George? Oh Merlin, where are you? Ron?"
"Open... the door!" This time it was George who yelled the words – he'd gotten back up to help Harry. Between the two of them, they were slowly pushing Ron to the floor, but the other boy seemed to have the strength of 5 others his size and was getting in more than a few good hits. Hermione spun immediately to release the spell she'd cast on the door, and let Ginny in quickly - though a thought slipped through her mind that it was really too crowded in here to bring in someone else.
Ginny was pale, but her lips pressed together with determination as she dropped to her knees next to her brother - Fred, George and Harry were nearly lying atop Ron to keep him down - and her hand reached out to brush through his sweaty hair.
"Ron. Ron, it's Ginny. I need some help, Ron, I'm really scared." Her voice was soft, trembling a little.
Hermione frowned and looked at one of the twins questioningly. He shook his head, mouthing the word 'later', then turned his attention back to his brother.
"Ron.. please! I'm scared! I need your help, Ron. I need you to find me. Please!" She sounded so desperate that for a moment Harry thought she really was in trouble – until he looked at her and noticed her determined expression. She's faking it!
Amazingly, Ron had seemed to calm down just a little. He was still fighting, struggling to get up, but no one was getting hit any longer. Ginny's hand moved to her brother's forehead, and she rubbed lightly in an almost motherly manner. "Ron... please, you're so close. I need you to help me. I'm hurt!"
Finally Ron shuddered and recognition flared in his eyes, followed quickly by panic. "Wh... Ginny! I'm coming, I-"
"Ron, I'm here!" she interrupted quickly, motioning for the boys to let him up.
Harry watched uncomprehendingly as Ron looked up at Ginny, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Again?" he asked wearily.
Ginny wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him tightly. "You're okay now?"
He returned the embrace, looking over her shoulder at the rest of them as he nodded a little. "Yeah. Just a little tired. And my hand hurts. Is everyone alright?"
Ginny murmured reassurance as Hermione stepped forward decisively, trying hard to keep the worry from her expression. "Here, let me see it." She waved her wand over the bruised fist, her mediwizard knowledge helping to ease the pain and cause the purple and blue colors to fade a bit.
One of the twins poked Hermione in the arm. "We're hurt too, y'know!"
"I think I'm going to have a scar," the other twin muttered, prodding at a rather deep gash in his left arm. "I was the victim of a particularly cruel metal shelf. I think that rough edge is still taunting me." He turned to offer a threatening glare to the offending object.
Hermione laughed halfheartedly, then saw to the wounds as Harry raked a hand through his hair and looked around grimly, forcing himself to keep from touching his scar.
"Alright, would someone mind telling me what the hell that was all about? Ron?" He looked pointedly at his best friend, who remained conspicuously silent for one tense, uncomfortable moment.
George spoke up quickly to fill the gap, "Oh, me 'n Fred have often driven him to that. It's a family thing. We're very cruel." He seemed rather proud of himself.
Harry looked questioningly toward Ron, who nodded his confirmation, then to Hermione, who avoided meeting his gaze. I'm missing something here.
He was just about to demand he be told what was going on when Ginny stood up and brushed herself off. "I do believe that four of the people in this tiny closet were supposed to be on the Quidditch pitch five minutes ago," she said rather matter-of-factly.
At those words, Fred and George jumped to their feet, identical expressions of horror on their faces. "We need to go before they all kill each other!"
"Well, so long as it's only the Slytherins..."
Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled a bit as she began to open the door.
"Oh, and we need to speak to all of you. Tonight. Nine o'clock tonight in the broom closet on the second floor. Third door to the left past the Lady Godiva statue."
Ron looked at Fred blankly, "Huh?"
Hermione lifted a brow, speaking dryly. "Naked woman on a horse, Ron."
Ron's expression cleared with fond remembrance. "Oh, that statue!"
"I can't make it," Harry interrupted softly, his eyes carefully avoiding everyone else's. He tried not to dwell on what he'd just admitted to himself - that he was definitely going to keep his meeting with Malfoy. Again.
George shut the door, his expression abruptly serious – a very uncommon look for both of the twins. "You have to come, Harry. Change your plans."
Harry chewed on his lower lip, then finally looked toward Fred, who seemed just a tad more approachable at the moment. "Can we make our meeting at seven?"
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded. "Yes. Everyone get that? Good. Thanks for the help, kiddies." George paused to kiss Ginny's cheek, then followed his twin out the door.
Silence reigned in the tiny closet for a good minute or so, when Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "You need to get out there too, Harry...Ron."
Ron scowled and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going, not to play bloody alternate. I can't believe my own brothers didn't make me the starter! The fruity pansies."
Harry blinked, then snickered. "Did you just refer to the twins as 'fruity pansies'? Because honestly, Ron, that's really queer."
"It is not," Ron stated indignantly, though he colored a lovely crimson shade.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look, children, can you finish the argument later? Ron – Fred and George are obviously up to something. They would never have chosen to put Malfoy on the team. Not of their own violation. Even you said so! Furthermore, why Fred and George? They're just nineteen this year. It makes very little sense."
Ron thought about this a moment, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll think about it, Gin."
She nodded, then glanced at Harry imploringly. He sighed, his stomach knotting again as he thought of what – no, who – he'd have to endure for the rest of the morning. Reluctantly he pushed Ron toward the door. "We'll see you two later, alright?"
Hermione nodded, then closed the door behind them and looked toward Ginny, her hands rubbing her arms as if fending off a chill. "...This is getting out of hand."
The other girl nodded, "I know. We have to take him to see Dumbledore. And we probably ought to tell Harry..."
Once again, Hermione shivered, closing her eyes. "You know what it's going to do to him, right, Ginny? He's already withdrawing from us – I can tell that he's keeping something secret. If we tell him what Voldemort has done, he's going to feel so guilty..." she trailed off, sighing dejectedly.
"It can't be helped, Hermione. It's getting dangerous. For a moment there, I didn't think I'd be able to reach him this time."
"Are you the only one who can pull him out of it?"
Ginny nodded, sighing lightly as she slid her fingers through her hair, pulling it back away from her face. "Yeah, so far. Professor Dumbledore said it was probably due to a deep-seated feeling of guilt because of the Tom thing my first year."
Hermione considered this silently, then grinned at Ginny's next thoughtful words. "Although to be honest, Hermione...the idea of Dumbledore turning pop psychologist is really rather frightening."
"A good point. We'll have to watch out for it."
The two girls laughed together as they left the closet in no small state of disrepair. Neither noticed the grim, satisfied expression of the next person to walk down the hallway, an Extendable Ear held in one hand.
* * *
Out on the Quidditch pitch, two fights had already been broken up before Harry and Ron arrived. Angelina had explained that it was, predictably, the Slytherins' fault when she'd passed them on her way to the infirmary with Andrew Kirke.
Ron's face darkened at the news. "Bloody hell, we're never going to even get to practice if that's the way things are going to go."
Harry said nothing, his concentration spent trying to avoid looking at Malfoy. He was determined to get through this morning without a public unveiling of the previous night. Unfortunately, the other Seeker had positioned himself so that the two Gryffindors had no choice but to pass him if they wanted to join everyone else for practice.
"Pretty pathetic, isn't it Weasley, that even your own brothers know you suck?" He practically drawled the words; the effect was only slightly marred by the lack of snickering that his missing sidekicks usually provided.
Ron's arm was grabbed - rather painfully, he'd complain later - by Harry, who swung his head around in Draco's direction, his green eyes narrowed warningly. "At least he's beaten Slytherin, Malfoy. I don't quite remember you ever having caught the Snitch before a Gryffindor did."
Ron released a breath, then jerked his arm free, though he met Harry's gaze reassuringly before looking back toward the blond. "He could never beat you, Harry. He's not even in your league."
Harry's eyes didn't move from Draco's as he replied firmly, "I know."
Draco heard the silent message sent by Harry's adamant gaze. And you know it. You can't even compete with me. As the two Gryffindors moved off toward Fred, George and the others, Draco shook his head in self-disgust. He'd let Potter have the upper hand again! Where was his infamous Slytherin wit and ability to shred another's confidence apart with no effort whatsoever?
Furious with himself, Draco curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the steel pole he'd been leaning against, then jumped back, hissing in pain. Damn, that hurt.
A sudden noise caused Malfoy to pause, still gripping his throbbing fist, and tilt his head. Hearing only silence, he rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the shiver that slid down his spine. For a moment, he'd thought he'd heard malicious, taunting laughter ... directed at him... but no one was even looking in his direction. He shrugged lightly; must have been the wind.
Making a mental note not to take out his temper on his own body anymore, Draco reluctantly turned and moved toward the others. His keen gaze made note of the hostile glances passing around the lot of them as he approached.
"...so if you'll break into the original teams, we'll have a quick scrimmage so everyone can get used to everyone's styles." One of the twins shooed them away as he finished speaking; which Weasley it was, Draco couldn't tell. It didn't really matter, he supposed. Both of them were idiots, as far as he was concerned.
However, being a Malfoy, he did have a slight problem with the knowledge that his new coaches didn't seem to care whether he was there or not when they started explaining things. It was a bit of a new experience; he was used to being waited on. No matter - they couldn't do anything to him anyway. Or so he thought.
"Malfoy, why are you still standing here? Join your team." Fred-or-George was frowning at him. He didn't bother to ask which team that was supposed to be; he was playing opposite Potter. That's all he needed to worry about.
"I'm going, Weasel-Dum. Keep your pants on." Draco blithely ignored the furious glare the coach gave him - that is, until said coach proceeded to grab onto his arm and bend forward to hiss in his ear.
"Listen you snot-nosed, whining git. Neither I nor my brother want you on this team, and as far as we're concerned, any excuse will do to get you kicked off this team. If you don't want the humiliation of being thrown out by a Weasley, I suggest you watch yourself." He nearly spat the words, then threw Draco's arm away from him and turned, stalking back to his brother, arms folded over his chest.
As soon as Malfoy was out of hearing range, George looked at his brother. "Well?"
"It didn't go off."
"So he doesn't have it?"
"Nope. Unless, of course, it doesn't work. We haven't tested it yet."
"Well, who were we supposed to test it on, for Merlin's sake? Harry?"
Fred appeared to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Or... Ginny..."
"I'm not certain that's a good idea."
"I'm not certain any of this is a good idea. Although it does have its benefits..."
"Like?"
George snickered upon hearing Fred lift his voice to yell at the players flying around above them. "Malfoy! You're flying like a dying owl! Vultures are beginning to gather, thinking they've found their afternoon meal. Pick it up!"
Fred grinned at his brother as he finished. "School-sanctioned harassment. This is surely the good life."
As the match progressed, Harry slid deeper inside himself. So much so that the painful, throbbing ache created by the curses the night before barely registered. His only thoughts revolved around his interaction with Malfoy, and the unbearable memory of the moments just before Draco had released him from the Cruciatus Curse. The other boy had seemed so... so horrified. Yet Harry knew that couldn't be the case. Malfoy was the son of a very influential Death Eater – he was born to follow Voldemort.
But he wasn't...was he? Not for the first time, Harry contemplated the thought that Professor Dumbledore might actually be wrong. He'd not noticed when Barty Crouch had taken Mad-Eye Moody's place during 4th year, nor had he been able to sense that Voldemort himself was actually residing in the school during 1st year. Was Dumbledore right? Could Draco Malfoy be trusted? Even as he formed the words, his mind shuddered with denial. No way in hell. Even Malfoy suggested that he was here only on the Dark Lord's orders. If that were the case, then... then... his thoughts scattered as he heard Draco insult Ron.
As the scrimmage continued, Draco was struggling to contain his rage at the constant ribbing he was taking from the Weasleys. Including the one on his own team.
"For the love of my pinky toe, Malfoy, could you at least pretend like you're doing something useful up there? You look like you'd rather be picking pink tulips while wearing a tutu than trying to find the Snitch! No wonder you've never managed to best Harry!" Ron was obviously enjoying himself.
Draco inhaled sharply, then whirled his broomstick around to face his team's Keeper. "Perhaps not at Quidditch, but I'm much better at many other things than Potter is. Just ask him! Unlike yourself, I'm not always second-best." He smirked when the other boy flushed with anger, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing the Quaffle to get past him, into the goal.
"Malfoy!" Finally, the voice Draco felt like he'd been waiting all day to hear. He spun to face Harry, his expression easing into one of arrogant amusement.
"Problem with the truth, Potter?"
"Leave him alone, Malfoy," Harry threatened.
Draco lifted his brows in mild surprise. "I'm just following my example, Potter. They started it!"
Harry shifted uncomfortably on his broom; for once, Malfoy was right. He'd heard the whole thing. "That's a first-year excuse, if I ever heard one."
"Speaking of first-year behavior, I was just thinking that your pathetic showing last night was quite similar to what I'd expect from a child." Draco smiled with satisfaction as he watched the color drain from Harry's face. His voice dropped a bit as he leaned a bit closer on his broom, crooning sarcastically "Still hurt, Potter? Does it feel good? Ready for more?"
His face white and strained, Harry turned his head away. He should have known Malfoy wouldn't be able to resist taunting him - even during Quidditch.
"No? Sure? Ahh, well, that's alright, Potter. You can't take a Malfoy, anyway - that much was obvious last night. Why, even I was surprised by your weakness! Poor thing, you-" Draco stopped speaking abruptly, his silver gaze narrowing a split second before he leaned forward on his broom and hurtled across the playing field.
"Shit," Harry muttered as he inhaled sharply, then dived quickly after him.
Moments later they were nearly side by side, Harry's right shoulder pressed purposefully against Draco's left hip as he used his momentum to try and push the other boy off balance. Grimly, Draco held on and reached out a hand.
Just...a little bit...closer... come on! For once in your life... beat Harry Potter! Draco gritted his teeth, his father's words echoing in his head as his fingers brushed the air a mere centimeter behind the flying golden ball. Draco, you'll never be anything if you do not learn to fight for it. You fight for nothing, and as such you are worthless, a waste of oxygen. Fighting the urge to close his eyes against the memory, he stretched forward just a bit further... Come on....!
A flicker in the corner of his eye caused Draco to glance over for just a moment - only to see Harry's arm stretching out alongside his - and then past it. The other boy lost speed dramatically as he pulled up on his broom, and Draco looked quickly back in front of him. The Snitch was gone!
Groaning inwardly, Draco turned to look behind him - and saw Harry being descended upon by the players, the Golden Snitch held triumphantly in his hand. He slowed down and headed toward the ground, fighting desolation as he avoided the celebratory group. He didn't see Harry disengage himself from the others, promising to return quickly.
As he was walking along the pitch, broom in hand, the Snitch dropped at his feet. Immediately, Draco looked up, finding Harry flying just above him.
"You may have been the first to see the Snitch, Malfoy...but in the end, I beat you. And I always will." Harry stared down at him a moment, his green eyes alight with the confidence that Draco despised, then returned to the others.
"Son of a bitch," Draco spat the words, Harry's voice echoing in his mind. Potter hadn't been talking about Quidditch, and he knew it. His sweaty, aristocratic hand gripped his broomstick tightly as he watched Harry's casual acceptance of the praise he was being offered.
"I'm going to wipe the floor with you, Potter. Until you beg me to stop." He turned furiously and left the pitch, vowing retribution.
* * *
Harry stood beneath the shower and tilted his head back, allowing the steaming water to drum against his throat. The other players had long since left the locker room to return to class, but he couldn't bring himself to leave – not when his imagination was working overtime to process the events of last night and this morning. He didn't understand what was going on, not with anything, and it was slowly driving him mad.
Do I trust Malfoy not to betray us to Voldemort? Should I not show tonight? It would be easier, that way, and safer.
Yeah, sure it would be easier, he mocked his own thoughts. That is, until you had to face Voldemort again and he destroyed you with one quick curse. And everyone else would die, because you're fated to be the only one that could defeat him. So yes, great idea, Harry. Don't see Malfoy again. Don't learn how to deflect the curses, how to use the curses. You won't be needing that knowledge or anything.
Groaning softly, he closed his eyes and ducked his head, his callused palms flattening against the wall as he drenched his sweat-slicked hair. Images of all the people who might die because of his cowardice flashed beneath his eyelids. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, the Gryffindors, Lupin... he pictured their horrid, bloody deaths. And in his anguished depictions, he imagined that all had the same thoughts, the same words on their lips in the moment before their lives were stolen – If only Harry hadn't been so afraid.
Cursing savagely, Harry straightened and shook his head, his stomach knotted with shame. He didn't have a choice; he had to protect them. He couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if he failed...
Sirius's face appeared in his mind, then the scene of his abrupt and useless death, and he muttered in anguish, "Not again...Merlin, I'm not going through that again."
Forcing himself to think about something else, Harry grabbed a bottle of shampoo and brought up the image of Ron's red, furious face. As he scrubbed his scalp raw, he contemplated the abnormal rage his friend had exhibited... and Hermione's refusal to meet his eyes afterward. He knew they were keeping something from them, and he was fully aware that they probably thought they were protecting him. It wasn't fair.
Oh, you mean you're being fair? He thought sarcastically. Because you've told them everything, right? About the Prophecy, about Malfoy?
It's not the same! He insisted to himself as he soaped himself up and rinsed off.
Right, of course not. When you do it, it's honorable. You have perfectly good reasons for hiding things from them. It's for their own good! Heaven forbid you give Ron and Hermione the same honesty you want from them.
"Son of a - " he smothered the angry expletive, then reached forward and turned the water off rather forcefully. While wiping water free of his eyes with his free hand, his left reached out to catch the towel he had Accio'd from across the room, no wand in sight.
After dressing and preparing to leave, Harry still hadn't managed to decide if meeting Malfoy was the best thing for everyone. Rather than go to class, he decided to make a detour.
* * *
Harry stared at the door to Dumbledore's office, racking his brain for the password. "Lemon drops. Chocolate-covered ants. Ton-Tongue Toffee." The door opened and Harry shook his head. Sometimes the Headmaster could be quite predictable.
As he glanced around the empty office, Harry sighed in disappointment. Bloody well figured. Every time he actually needed the Professor for something, he wasn't around. He was beginning to think that, despite what everyone told him, he really would be on his own when the Final Showdown came.
Sighing, Harry wandered around the room, his fingers running lightly over small, dust-covered statuettes and oddly-shaped stones. Bored and frustrated, his green eyes glanced about curiously, passing over then returning to the Pensieve he'd once discovered before.
I shouldn't... it doesn't belong to me. The devil in his mind responded sarcastically. Oh? Since when has that bothered you? Besides, it isn't like you're going to look through private memories. If you could just see the meeting with Draco – determine for yourself whether you can trust him or not. It's truly of the utmost importance.
Not thinking further about it – he was relieved that he'd managed to talk himself into it – Harry walked closer, moving to his knees next to the Pensieve and chewing lightly on his lower lip. Just as he bent his head forward, the low sound of a man clearing his throat jerked him erect.
"Oh. Professor Dumbledore. I was just – "
"I know every well what you were doing, Harry." The Headmaster's tone was sharp in a way that it had never been previously – with Harry, at least.
Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, the younger Gryffindor lifted his chin. "Yes I suppose you do. Perhaps, then, you could tell me why I was going to do it?"
Professor Dumbledore stared at his favorite student for a moment before exhaling slowly and sitting down wearily. "I suppose because you feel like you deserve to know."
Harry lifted a brow, standing in front of the desk. "Are you about to tell me that I don't?" He was, quite obviously, incredulous.
"Harry... there are things that you don't underst-"
"If you're about to have the absolute gall to tell me that I don't understand why I'm not allowed to know why I should trust people like Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape – when my life might be threatened by their very presence – then I honestly don't believe we have anything further to talk about." Furious and oddly hurt by his Professor's inability to treat him as an adult, Harry turned and headed for the door.
Dumbledore stood as he spoke. "Harry...wait. Sit down. Please," he added.
Harry paused, closing his eyes a moment at the request added to the command. While he wanted, badly, to walk out the door, a part of him realized that it was pride that demanded he abandon Dumbledore – just to prove that he could. With that thought came the recognition of stupidity, and sighing softly, he turned and sat down without saying a word.
Albus met the intense, slightly accusing glare of green eyes with no small amount of trepidation congealing in his gut. He couldn't afford to alienate Harry. Yet at the same time, the desire to protect the young man that he'd been responsible for for so long was strong. Stalling for time, the professor lifted a hand and removed his glasses, wiping the lens clean with a bit of his sleeve. Harry, however, didn't seem uncomfortable. His stare was unrelenting as he waited for his Headmaster to speak.
"Would I be correct if I stated that you no longer trust my word, Harry?"
Immediately guilt and shame flooded Harry's thoughts – but he shoved them back determinedly. "Are you trying to turn this conversation into something other than what it is, Professor? Because quite honestly, if you're attempting to make me feel guilty because I have difficulty trusting blindly, then I would remind you of the various instances when I've been betrayed by people I trusted. Some of whom you, yourself endorsed! So please, let's not stray from the point."
Dumbledore flinched at the unexpected perception of his angry student, but he hadn't become one of the wizarding world's most infamous personalities by flailing nervously at the first sign of conflict. "What is the point, then?"
"The point," Harry began furiously, "is that I am tired of being asked to just trust what people say, when in the end it's going to be me. Alone. No matter what you say, Professor – or Hermione, or Ron or anyone – I'm going to have to face Voldemort on my own. I'm going to have to find some way to defeat the Killing Curse – again! I'm going to have to kill someone – intentionally. I have to prepare for it, and I can't do that without knowing everything – without knowing who I can trust. Especially considering –" Abruptly Harry closed his mouth, stopping himself just before mentioning his recent interactions with Malfoy.
Albus didn't miss the omission, but decided not to pursue it – yet. Instead he leaned back in his chair and toyed idly with his beard. "Do you believe it's somehow wrong to trust people, Harry? Is that what the problem is?"
Harry clenched his jaw in frustration. "The problem is that you're wasting your time pretending like you know everything when you damn well don't! The problem is that I don't have a choice in any of this, and yet you don't even have the decency to see to it that I know everything possible! The problem is that I want to know why you believe Draco Malfoy is trustworthy. I want the option to make that decision for myself!"
Dumbledore glanced away, no longer able to hold the boy's gaze while reining in his emotions. When he spoke, however, his tone was even, ignoring the painful thrusts Harry had just twisted in his gut. "Ahh, I see. You believe you do not have enough information currently to be able to reach a verdict as to whether Draco is good or evil. Unfortunately, life does not come in such neat little packages, it-"
"Professor, please." Harry was disgusted with the avoidance tactics. Why wouldn't anyone just tell the damned truth? "I know all this, I understand that people are simply what they are. Stop treating me like a child! You said last year that Sirius' death was partially your fault because you sheltered me too much. So learn from it, damnit! Stop sheltering me! I need to know if Malfoy is truly on our side."
The aging Headmaster finally nodded, but he seemed to have wilted during Harry's vehement statements. Softly, he spoke, his words simple and sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Harry – I truly am. But to explain precisely what precipitated Draco's return to Hogwarts would be to reveal personal information that is his to relate, not mine. All I can say is that I have examined carefully his reason and found there to be little sense in denying him entrance to the school."
Sinking back into his chair and swallowing his anger as best he could, Harry inclined his head, realizing the Dumbledore would no more betray Draco to Harry than he would Harry to Draco. Quickly he changed tactics, pursuing a slightly different angle, "What about entrance into the D.A., Professor? Are you certain it's wise to allow the son of a rather notorious Death Eater to have any knowledge whatsoever of our plans and preparations – much less to be involved in the making of those plans?"
Sighing softly, Albus met Harry's gaze directly. "Harry... sometimes decisions are so difficult to make that one has to carefully consider the consequences of not only the decision they make – but also the decision that they don't. Do you recall our discussions regarding involving the entire school in the D.A.? We wanted to make certain that everyone felt that there was a place for them here. Perhaps it would be wise to use the same train of thought with Draco's involvement in our defensive operations. In addition... as a whole, the Defense League must appreciate not only its strengths, but also its weaknesses. And... it must find a way to correct them."
Having said as much as he felt prudent, Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes sparkling once again as he pulled out a box from beneath his desk. "Would you like to see the clever little toys the Weasleys gave me this week, Harry?"
Harry's hand fisted with frustration as the Headmaster closed the conversation without his consent – but he was tired of arguing about it. His thoughts raced rapidly as he considered the various bits of information Dumbledore had let slip, so he shook his head and rose to his feet. Just before moving down the stairs, Harry paused and looked back. "Thank you, but no, Professor. However, there is one thing. I'd like to increase the number of Occlumency lessons I'm having right now, if at all possible."
The Headmaster set his new Scented Exploding Quill aside and looked up at his student intently. "Of course, Harry. But why do you need them? You've been doing so well. There isn't much more I can teach you."
This time it was Harry who looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor as he muttered softly, "I just... want to practice - to make certain I'm ready, Professor. Have a good evening." He didn't wait for a response, leaving the office quickly.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind Harry. Everything had been set in motion. Now, he just had to wait and see what happened.
* * *
Harry left Dumbledore's office feeling physically and mentally exhausted. He'd felt so guilty... and then out of nowhere came a rage that he hadn't even been aware of. He was so angry with the Professor – how could the man put him in such a horrid position? Forced to either trust blindly or risk losing everything, as well as a valuable asset – an asset that could turn out the be the either their greatest advantage or the death of them all.
Rubbing his temples, he left the school and walked out into the brisk wind, wandering the gardens. Snow would come soon, so most of the plants had chosen to plant themselves in the greenhouse already. Harry rather enjoyed the bleak emptiness of the area at this time of year. He felt less alone when he was here – quite possibly because more and more as of late he felt lonely even when the entire school was around him. It was horrible.
His gut twisted and he sat down on a cold stone bench, his mind recalling the sheer helplessness that had overtaken him last night just before Malfoy had left the room. It had been a frightening sensation – not only because it was a particularly desolate feeling, but because he had recognized it. Harry had always felt rather isolated from the rest of the world; in his youth it had been because of the Dursleys, but after his first year at Hogwarts the feeling had abated – it was the only time he ever truly remembered being happy. Cedric's death had brought everything back. And then Sirius. Merlin... he'd never felt so alone as he had the first few weeks after his godfather's death. Until last night, that is.
Unable to sit still any longer, Harry moved quickly to his feet and began to wander along the stone path, his hand repeatedly raking through his untidy dark hair. Late last night – or rather, early this morning – he'd made the decision to prove to Malfoy that he was perfectly fine after the other boy's so-called 'help'. Yet today it seemed like such an absurd idea, even though he'd managed to best the Slytherin earlier. If he met Malfoy tonight, it wouldn't be like it had been on the Quidditch pitch. He'd be subjecting himself to the other's whims, he'd have to allow Draco Malfoy to see him weakened. Helpless. His very soul rebelled at the idea. But his intellect hammered at him relentlessly. What other choice do you have?
He simply had to learn how to effectively counter or resist the Unforgivable Curses. He'd done some reading; it was those incantations that had resulted in so many deaths all those years ago. And the Prophecy stated that one of them would kill the other...
Sometimes, he wished it were him; he wished he were dead. Not so much because he wanted to be, but because he was so tired of the endless planning and second-guessing and waiting. Harry often suspected that he'd been living his entire life on borrowed time, and it was one of the least comfortable feelings a person could have. The only way to be rid of it, he figured, would be to get rid of Voldemort. For good, this time.
To do that, he needed Malfoy.
And therein lay the crux of the matter. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. In addition, he had his pride to consider. If he didn't show tonight, Malfoy would think Harry was afraid. He'd gloat and laugh...
Harry shuddered at the thought. He couldn't bear the image of having to work with Draco almost daily for D.A. planning and Quidditch practice, and see the satisfaction lingering in the other boy's eyes at having utterly humiliated Harry. Abruptly, his decision was made. He'd be at the Room of Requirement tonight. Early, so he wouldn't be caught unaware again. He'd show Malfoy who the stronger wizard was.
* * *
Draco decided to forgo dinner in exchange for some time to himself. All day he'd used sheer will to keep from dwelling on his actions last night merely so he wouldn't have to think about what he was going to do this evening. Now, however, was time to plan.
He sank into a stuffed chair in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room. It was empty at the moment, which oddly pleased him. Usually he hated being in such a vast place alone. He had enough of that at the Manor. For a few minutes, the determined young wizard leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and resting. He didn't move; only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was actually breathing. After awhile Draco's lashes fluttered, then lifted slowly so he could stare idly at the ceiling as he allowed himself to contemplate his circumstances.
There was no question of not meeting Potter tonight; he'd never back down from that overrated git, not ever. There would be no repeat of this morning's Quidditch events; he was furious with himself for his disgusting descent into insecurity and spinelessness. He fully intended that the stupid Gryffindor pay for causing it.
He'd returned to Hogwarts for one reason alone, and he would do whatever he had to in order to accomplish it. He was a Malfoy – failure wasn't an option.
Although...
Draco shook his head furiously, annoyed at his lapse. He'd managed to get through the entire day without thinking of his father, and he had work to do. This was most certainly not the time to be dwelling on events that couldn't be changed.
Now was the time to deal with Potter. If there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop and think instead of letting his pride do the reasoning for him, he ignored it. He was rather good at that.
Smiling with satisfaction, the young Malfoy rose to his feet, dusting himself off regally and heading for the door. He had preparations to complete.
* * *
Harry jogged a few steps to catch up with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville as they left the hall following dinner. "Did I miss anything exciting this morning?" His voice was purposely casual; he was desperate that no one notice the strain he felt. He needed to relax, or he'd go mad.
"Professor Sprout awarded Neville 10 points for being the only person in class to correctly identify every plant in the greenhouse. He didn't make one mistake!" Hermione beamed over at Neville; to her, this was the ultimate compliment - praise from a teacher.
The tips of Neville's ears turned red as he shrugged and smiled back at her. "Thanks - but it's nothing special. I just like plants."
Harry grinned over at his friend, whose confidence was very slowly beginning to emerge. "Don't sell yourself short, Neville. That's a big deal. Congrats."
The other boy seemed to relax on some small, nearly imperceptible level. "Well, thanks. Incidentally, you also missed Professor Tonks's rather spectacular Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture."
Ron rolled his eyes skyward and stopped to listen in a small alcove on the second floor. "Oh man. What happened this time?"
Ginny giggled a bit. "She decided to demonstrate how to put a Locator spell atop an attack spell - so you can be certain that your hex will hit only the person you intend it to. Very useful in a large battle, I'd wager," she mused.
"...So what went wrong?" Harry leaned against a wall as he spoke, cradling his books loosely in one arm.
"Well, she was standing near a mirror, and she tripped on her hair - it was excessively long today, and powder blue - as she tried to aim the spell at nearby mouse. She accidentally set it to Locate herself. She must've run around the room ten times before Hermione managed to disengage it." Ron snickered, shaking his head.
"If this is the best talent the Order could find, we're in big troub-OW! GINNY!" Ron rubbed his abdomen where his sister's elbow had decided to test for durability. He eventually saw her frantic gesturing toward Neville.
Hermione glanced away when she saw this, then muttered beneath her breath, "...Actually...Ginny....he knows."
Everyone stopped and looked at her - except for Neville, who suddenly seemed to find the nearest window ledge extraordinarily fascinating. She flushed sheepishly. "Sorry, I just... I wanted to ask him a few things, and then I thought it was rather unfair that he didn't know - what with his parents and all... I..."
Ron glanced from Neville to Hermione, seeming to inflate with anger, "I can't believe you went behind our backs! You had no right - and neither did you, Neville!"
Upon hearing his name, the boy bit his lip and turned his head away, about to offer to leave...when something stopped him. He thought for a moment, then lifted his chin and met Ron's gaze determinedly; he hoped no one could tell that his knees were shaking. "You should have told me. Last year. You...you've seen my parents. Ron, Harry... you should have told me. At the very least, you could have admitted that the people who came with Dumbledore to help us that night weren't merely friends of Harry's. I had a right to know."
Ginny looked away, embarrassed, but Ron frowned and opened his mouth to argue again. Harry interrupted quietly. "Don't, Ron. He's right." He turned to face Neville, holding out his hand. "I'm truly sorry, Neville. You're right; we should have told you. I know what it's like to have people hide information about your own parents from you - I should have thought. I really do apologize."
Looking cautiously elated, Neville reached out and shook Harry's hand, then released a pent-up breath. "It's alright, Harry. I - I know why you didn't. I've not been much help to anyone in the past. I was too scared; my grandmother used to tell me horrible stories..." He trailed off, wishing he hadn't rambled.
"I'm sorry, too, Neville." This was from Ginny, who was hugged briefly in thanks. Finally, they all looked purposefully toward Ron - everyone except Neville, who turned back to that incredibly entertaining windowsill.
Ron remained silent for a good minute or so, then sighed ruefully, looking at Neville as he slid a hand through his hair. "Me too. I've been an arse today, and I know it. Didn't mean to upset you..."
While he'd neatly managed to avoid apologizing, Neville didn't mind. He just grinned back at Ron as he replied, "Yeah, you have been. It's alright though. With a nose like yours, it must be difficult to keep from taking out your anger on everyone else." The words were stated so sympathetically that for a moment even Hermione missed the humor beneath them.
Ron's hand went immediately to his nose, and he glanced at his reflection in the window. "What's wrong with my-" he broke off upon hearing Hermione's snicker, then saw Neville's smile. "Cute, Neville. Real cute." He laughed then, and lowered his hands.
Ron spoke up once more. "Anyway, as I was saying... have you all noticed the lack of information Professor Tonks has? Not referring to her DADA skills, but rather the blank look she gets if you discreetly ask her something about the Or-?"
Ginny spoke up abruptly, "So Lavender said that the Slytherins managed to get Snape to put in a formal protest to Dumbledore - who probably will just laugh anyway - to have Marcus Flint replace one of the twins as coach - all except for Blaise, because he hates Flint for some reason - but Padma and Parvati say that it isn't true. It might not be, 'cause Lavender sometimes makes things up when there isn't any real news to-" She stopped rambling as abruptly as she'd started, then looked at Ron to give him her full, silent attention.
The boys looked at Ginny, bewildered, then exchanged glances with each other that clearly questioned her sanity. Hermione rolled her eyes. "There were people in the other hallway, they might have been able to hear us. Ginny was just covering. Honestly, don't you three pay attention to anything?"
Ron ignored the question in favor of asking one of his own. "Is it true?"
Ginny stared at her brother blankly. "Huh? Yeah, there were people in the hallway..."
"No! Are they going to replace Fred or George with Flint?"
She blinked. "Lord love a duck, Ron, of course not! I made it up!" For an instant Ron looked disappointed, but the expression vanished quickly beneath a red flush of embarrassment.
"Oh. Yeah, I knew that...I...just wanted to see if you were going to lie about it..."
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, then rolled their eyes in unison. Harry grinned a bit. "Nice try, Ron. Next time, though... try saying that you've lost your short-term memory due to a freak accident with your hair brush, and you can't recall what was said. It might be a bit more believable."
Ron laughed, then nodded and continued where he'd left off earlier. "So... do you think that Tonks is still receiving information from the Order?"
"She probably just isn't supposed to tell us, Ron. We aren't supposed to know a lot of the things that happen. Though it's not as though that's ever stopped us before - sooner or later, we always find out everything." Hermione's voice had just a bit of arrogance to it. She was quite proud of the things they'd accomplished together.
Harry blanched and looked away, abruptly reminded of the Prophecy, his meetings with Malfoy, his dreams. His eyes closed tightly, then quickly flicked open before images he didn't want to revisit could flash in his mind. He hated keeping things from them. But... it was necessary, wasn't it? They were safer if they didn't know - and he couldn't handle the pity or the over-protectiveness that would surely choke him. It had been so difficult for him not to tell Ron about his encounter with Malfoy during the scrimmage, but...hell. There wasn't really a good reason for keeping it from them - so why was he?
"What time is it?" Ginny looked around for someone with a watch. Neville lifted a small gold pocketwatch on a chain from his pants.
"Ten after seven, why?"
"We're late!" Hermione grabbed her stack of books up off the floor and looked around quickly. "Where's the Lady Godiva again?"
"Outside the bathroom." The three boys answered at the same time, then grinned at each other pridefully - as if knowing where the naked-lady statue defined their masculinity to some completely incomprehensible degree.
Ginny and Hermione just shook their heads and hurried down the corridor.
* * *
"We've received another message, Master." The Death Eater handed the sealed parchment to the Dark Lord, then hurried away. They'd learned quickly that it was wise to avoid sticking around to see whether the information was good or bad. While the former had the benefits in resulting in close confidence, generous grants of power and excellent scotch, the latter had a tendency to result in death. Voldemort's 'Kill the Messenger' policy was legend.
The seal was broken with careful attention and skill - Lord Voldemort would not have it said that he was a hasty man, ruled by passion. No, he was intelligent and powerful - it was written down somewhere. Of course, he'd arranged to have it written that way, just as he'd forbidden the use of his name. He enjoyed inciting fear in his inferiors.
Cold eyes read the words, committing the format and style to memory. For a good five minutes he sat silently, moving only to lift his drink to his lips occasionally. Finally, he began to laugh. Everything was going according to his plans. Adjusted plans, perhaps, but no matter. Dumbledore knew nothing of the changes, he was certain. The Dark Lord had made it clear that, this time, there would not be any mistakes. He wouldn't tolerate failure again.
Besides, he had a secret weapon. One they knew nothing about. He laughed again, then called for another glass of scotch to be prepared. He had a visitor coming.
* * *
"You're late," Fred didn't seem too bothered by this; he was fiddling with what looked to be a circular ceramic block. It didn't shatter when he knocked it rather viciously against the table, though, so it couldn't have been too fragile.
"Sorry, we got distracted." Ginny sat down on a sofa in the surprisingly large broomcloset. It appeared that the twins had made some changes before they'd shown up. She leaned back between the twins, gazing down at their new toy. "What is that?"
"Right now? A worthless piece of crap." Fred frowned again and tried shaking the thing vigorously. Still nothing. "Damned thing."
Deciding she really didn't want to know, Ginny looked toward George as everyone took their seats - Hermione and Neville on the sofa across from she and the twins, Harry sprawled in an armchair - his legs dangling over one arm, and Ron took the chair across from Harry.
"We brought Neville," Hermione said warily. He hadn't wanted to come, but she'd insisted - her eyes shooting daggers at the others until they'd insisted too.
Fred didn't look up. "Neville? Never heard of him."
"Never met him before," said George, ignoring the stunned looks given by Hermione and Neville - they'd been in the same House just the year before!
Fred lifted his head, feigning a blank expression as he looked toward Neville. "He looks rather like an asparagus," he said to his twin.
"I dislike asparagus."
"As do I. Perhaps we might suggest a Polyjuice Potion to give him a more... broccoli appearance."
"I dunno. I was thinking carrot."
"Lettuce?" Fred offered a compromise.
"Romaine lettuce," George qualified with a nod.
The twins grinned at each other, then looked toward the rather bewildered boy. "Hey, Neville. Welcome. Glad you could make it. How's your Mimbulus mimbletonia?"
Neville exhaled in relief, stating that his plant was doing quite well.
"My brothers are certifiable," Ron informed Harry solemnly.
"Yes. Runs in the family, doesn't it?" Harry just laughed at Ron's glower.
"Ahem. Could we get on with this? I have plenty of studying to do tonight." Hermione glared at the lot of them; she was quite anxious to find out what was going on. "And no, Neville, you don't look like a vegetable," she responded to the whispered question.
Fred finally put down his circular tablet and used it as a coaster, setting his drink atop it. "We joined the Order of the Phoenix. We're here on their behalf."
Five shocked pairs of eyes stared at the twins blankly, followed quickly by a collective exclamation of disbelief and demands for explanations. George held up a hand.
"Listen, we'll tell you what we can. Just... before we do... you have to understand that we're not supposed to be saying anything at all. We're only including you because we figure that you've all faced the Death Eaters before and therefore you have a greater chance of running into them again. What is said here goes no further. You don't tell Snape, you don't tell Tonks, you don't even tell McGonagall. Understood?"
Everyone nodded solemnly. Harry's stomach clenched suddenly; he had a feeling that he didn't want to hear this. He said nothing, however, but straightened in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests loosely.
"The Order was there the night that the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban. They fought the Dark Lord and his cronies - and they lost." Fred's face was grim as he listened to his brother speak. Hermione thought briefly that she'd never seen the twins look so solemn.
"Some of those who were there died - most of whom you've never met. The rest who were there were badly hurt. And yeah, Ginny...Ron... that includes Dad. He's okay now, just...tired a lot." George paused, meeting Ron's eyes apologetically as Fred wrapped an arm around his softly weeping sister, whispering repeatedly that their father was alright.
"What about Bill? And Charlie?" Ron's voice was a bare whisper, as if something was stuck in his throat.
"...They...weren't there. They had another assignment..." The words were reassuring, but George spoke hesitantly.
"Doing what?"
"...We don't know, Ron. Only Dumbledore does, and he's not telling."
"Are... are they okay?"
"We...don't know that either, Ron. I'm sorry."
Hermione had clapped a hand over her mouth when she'd heard that some had died; now tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Neville bit his lip sympathetically, then reached behind her hesitantly and began to rub her lower back, not saying a word.
Ron nodded and stared at the floor, blinking furiously. After a minute, Ginny's quiet sobs goaded him into lifting his head angrily. "You should have told us. They're our family. We had a right to know."
Fred answered this one, his voice quiet and sad. "We wanted to, Ron. You have no idea how much we wanted to... but it would have endangered not only your life, but theirs as well."
"That's just an excuse!"
George hesitated a moment before replying softly, "Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is. We just... we didn't want to tell you until we knew something definitive. But we still don't, and now that we're here... well... we won't have to worry about finding some way to contact you should something happen. Owl Post is no longer reliable; neither is the Floo network. Everything's been infiltrated."
Harry, who'd been silent until that moment, finally lifted his head and caught George's gaze. He held it forcefully, his face pale but determined, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests tightly. "You said people were hurt. Have they recovered? What are our numbers? What support is being given by the Ministry? For that matter, what all has the Ministry been allowed to know? Tell us what's going on!" His apprehension revealed itself as anger, causing Hermione to admonish him stiffly.
"Harry. We'll get to it."
For once, her words didn't cause him the slightest feeling of discomfort. He stood to face her quickly, knocking his chair over in his haste. "You're damned right we'll get to it. And we'll get to it right now. Ron and Ginny know that their father is alright, beyond that there's nothing more we can do about it. Not until we know everything. And I am fucking sick of being kept out of the loop. I, more than anyone else, have to know what's going on!"
While Fred and George dropped their eyes guiltily at the last words, Ron shoved himself to his feet. "This isn't about you, Harry! I'm so tired of you thinking that this is all fucking about you!"
"Ron," George tried to interrupt quietly. When his soft warning went unheeded, he too got to his feet. "Ron!"
The angry young boy broke off and shifted his gaze to his brother. "What!"
"Harry's right," was the simple reply. Ron closed his eyes a moment, then looked incredulously at his brother.
"...About which part?"
"Everything, Ron. About everything." The words were solemn and sad. George turned to look at Harry, a bit of curiosity in his gaze.
Harry, who'd been standing with his fists clenched tightly, shook his head in a brief negative movement, then looked away, unable to hold the gaze. George sighed and turned back to his brother.
"Please. Can we do this without yelling? Fred and I will explain everything we can. I promise."
Ron remained flushed with anger until Ginny spoke up, sniffling lightly. "P..please. I want to know what's g-going on. Ron?"
At her soft pleading, Ron finally sat down - though he continued to glare resentfully at Harry. Hermione watched the defensive expression on Harry's face and felt her insides freeze over. Something was very, very wrong. Unknowingly she leaned into Neville a little, seeking comfort; she wasn't aware of his hand holding hers until he squeezed it reassuringly.
"...Harry?" The gentle prodding from the youngest Weasley was enough to cause Harry's icy demeanor to thaw a little, and he sat down rigidly in his chair.
"Alright, then. What don't we know?" Though they were still harsh, Harry's words had lost their accusing tone.
"You don't know that the Order is very nearly out of commission. That night at Azkaban... You-Know-Who showered our entire Protection Force with some sort of potion, but in powder form. We've been working on determining what it was made of for weeks, but we're still only halfway there."
"Who's 'we', if the Order is out of commission?" This was Neville, who didn't know much about the Order yet.
"Us," Fred replied. "And Professor Snape."
Hermione glanced up, frowning. "But you two got horrible grades in Potions."
Fred shrugged lightly, "Only because we stored the ingredients and used them for other things; we rarely did any of the assigned work in that class."
The other girl rolled her eyes - it figured.
"Regardless, the potion causes everyone who comes into direct contact with it to have a problem getting their balance all the time; they can't stand straight, much less walk straight or point a wand and hit a target."
"Sounds like a bad ear infection," Harry mused quietly.
"Huh?" Fred looked at Harry as if he'd spoken in Parseltongue.
"Oh, honestly! You ought to study how people who can't do magic live! An ear infection is a common cold; Muggles often experience them. And they don't get rid of them in a day by swallowing a potion - they have to take pills and antibiotics for a good ten days - at least. And Harry suggested that it might be an ear infection because they have a tendency to cause one's equilibrium to go haywire. The balance problems, in other words." Hermione paused to take a breath, and George jumped in quickly.
"Tell us later, okay Hermione?" He didn't give her a chance to respond, continuing on. "The point is, they're as good as useless. They can't go anywhere. And Dumbledore doesn't think things are bad enough, yet, to risk involving more Ministry members. See... we know for a fact that there's a small but powerful group of defectors within the Ministry; we just aren't positive who they are."
Hermione spoke up hesitantly, "Have you tried asking Percy?"
The three Weasley boys flushed with fury. "I wouldn't ask Percy to spit on me if I was on fire," George hissed, and Fred and Ron nodded their instant agreement.
Wishing she hadn't said anything, Hermione just nodded and looked away.
"Besides," countered Ginny softly. "Percy wouldn't know. He doesn't pay attention to anything aside from his Very Important Reports. I doubt he's aware that there are those in his wonderful Ministry that support the Dark Arts."
"I'd really like to know why so many people think it'd be a lark to join the Dark Lord. I mean - he lies and kills people who defy him - even amongst his own followers!" Ron was frustrated.
"Because he also grants power - and a lot of it - to those followers," murmured Harry.
The others nodded, and Neville spoke up slowly. "Actually... I think that there's more to it. At least, my grandmother says that there is..." He trailed off nervously, uncertain as to whether or not his words would be welcomed. It was obvious that he'd missed quite a bit these past few years - he didn't know half of what George and Fred were talking about.
"What does she say," queried Hermione.
Everyone looked over at Neville with interest, who gazed at his shoes as he responded. "She... she says that a lot of people are afraid of Muggles. They don't know anything about them, so they don't understand them... so they fear them."
Dawning realization crossed everyone's face as they processed Neville's words.
"I think your grandmother's probably right, Neville. But there's more to it, I'd guess."
"What do you mean?" George leaned forward, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Well, for one thing," Hermione murmured, slipping into Lecture Mode. "..we have been hunted by Muggles in the past. The most infamous case is the Salem Witch Trials that happened not so long ago in America. People were afraid of those who were different from them - women who were especially good with plants, or who seemed to be able to predict the weather. The entire town ganged up on them and put them through horrible deaths. Many Purebloods are terrified that this will happen again, because Muggles outnumber us greatly. If they discovered us and tried to snuff out magic, we'd be forced into seclusion. We simply cannot fight them all."
"I haven't ever heard of any of this," muttered Ron - he didn't want to believe that it was possible for anything that drastic to happen.
"You haven't heard of this because Hogwarts accepts Mudbloods." Hermione's words were calmly stated; only her tighter grip on Neville's hand indicated her distress.
Ron still looked blank; Harry took pity on him. "I think she means that there are so many of us that have grown up in the Muggle world, or had parents who did so, that we aren't afraid of them. We understand that they're just people, too."
Neville spoke up once more. "But the Purebloods don't understand that, because they know nothing about the Muggle world. So they want to keep those Muggles who are the first witches or wizards in their family from ever finding out what they are - this way, they minimize the number of people who know."
"And You-Know-Who feeds this fear and encourages the Purebloods to study the Dark Arts - so that they'll be prepared to fight off the army of Muggles that will surely come and kill us all, one day." Fred's sarcastic words were accompanied by disgusted mutters throughout the room.
Ginny stood up, unable to sit still any longer, and began to pace. Three pairs of Weasley eyes followed her progress anxiously.
"You okay, Gin?" Ron's voice was soft and concerned. She stopped and looked back at him, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
"No, honestly, I'm not. But if you're all honest, none of you are okay, either. It doesn't matter. If Fred and George are here, that means that there's a need for the Order's presence here at Hogwarts. So we are obviously going to have to prepare for something." Though her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin pale and clammy, she was calm and determined.
"I'm rather wondering what that is," said Harry casually.
All eyes turned to Fred and George, who looked at each other for a moment before speaking. "We have reason to believe that You-Know-Who has a spy here, and our job is to find out who it is and figure out what they know. Discreetly."
Only Harry appeared unsurprised. He tapped his fingers idly on his armrest a few times, then spoke up softly, "Do you think it's Malfoy?" If anyone noticed how tensely he awaited the answer or the slight flush of color in his cheeks, they didn't say anything.
Fred and George glanced at each other again, then back toward Harry. "Honestly? It's a bit too obvious, isn't it? We don't think so. We've got no trace of any sort of Dark Energy coming from him..." As George trailed off, Fred piped up ruefully.
"But we aren't certain our Detector is working, anyway. We haven't been able to test it."
"How does it work?" Hermione held out her hand excitedly - not so much because she liked toys, but because it was something new to learn about.
"It's supposed to get very hot if the person wearing it comes into physical contact with another who has had recent contact with Dark magic. And Harry has had more than the rest of us."
Hermione held the circular tablet in her hand, then stood and made her way to Harry's side. She didn't say a word, but he knew quite well what she intended. He didn't protest as she lifted a hand to rest it against his scar.
"Ahh!" Hermione cried out, dropping the tablet to the floor and began blowing on her stinging hand. "Bloody hell, that hurt."
Fred whooped and jumped off the sofa, hurrying to pick up the quickly cooling stone, then straightening and kissing Hermione quickly in gratitude. "You're a goddess, Herm!" She blushed, stuttering in embarrassment at the abrupt kiss – quite forgetting that she didn't allow anyone to refer to her as 'Herm', on penalty of death.
Ron's eyes narrowed angrily, but he said nothing, distracted by Harry's next words. "Hermione, try the same thing with Neville, if you would?"
Neville sat up straight, his voice squeaking in surprise. "You think I am a follower of the Dark Lord?" He sounded so hurt that Harry's voice immediately softened.
"No, Neville...just... bear with me, please?"
The boy nodded reluctantly, holding perfectly still as Hermione's free hand gingerly encircled Neville's wrist. A slight shriek escaped her throat as the hot tablet dropped to the floor. With the exception of Harry, everyone stared at Neville, stunned, then with slowly dawning anger.
"Neville, I can't believe you - " Ron's resentment swelled dangerously.
"He's not," Harry cut him off quickly. "The same thing would happen to you, or Hermione, or Ginny – or anyone in the D.A. We've all been toying with the Dark Arts lately, remember?"
The twins looked crestfallen at Harry's words. "We didn't think about that."
"Then why didn't it work on Malfoy?" Fred asked his brother curiously. Harry's eyes widened with shock, quickly concealed.
"You tried it on Malfoy, and it didn't work?" Ron's voice raised incredulously. "But he's in the D.A. with us. And we know he's doing Dark magic on the side."
Hermione shook her head just once. "No, we don't, Ron. We assume that he is, but we don't know. And for that matter, I can't recall seeing Draco perform one spell with the D.A. He just instructs and advises. He isn't a bad teacher, actually."
Ron looked exasperated. "Oh would you stop, Hermione? We have no desire to hear Malfoy-worshipping at this very moment!" She rolled her eyes, but decided against pushing the topic.
But I prepared a spell to protect Malfoy from being sensed if he performed any Dark magic – it was only supposed to work in the Room of Requirement! Harry closed his eyes tightly. How could he find out of the spell only worked in the Room, or if it continued everywhere else? Damn!
"We'll have to work on it. Regardless, there are other things you need to know." George sounded rather businesslike again; it was rather disconcerting.
"Such as..." Ron drawled.
"We think that Tonks has been compromised. We inform her only what we don't mind passing on, but other than that, don't trust her."
"How? Why?" Hermione seemed distraught; she truly liked the woman. Not as a teacher, of course – she was an abysmal failure at that – but as a person, she was wonderful.
"Well, Dumbledore isn't certain whether or not she actually is, but... she went on a mission just before school started, and he thinks that the Dark Lord got ahold of her. We've been told that he's very persuasive."
"And," added Fred "no one's seen her brother since two weeks before school began. Her younger brother, whom she's been responsible for all her life. If You-Know-Who has him, she'd do anything, I'd think."
Hermione rested a hand on her throat, utterly appalled. "Oh, Merlin. How frightening! Poor Tonks..."
"Don't go getting all sympathetic, Hermione," George cautioned. "There's also the possibility that he'd gotten to her beforehand, and she sent her brother to him on her own. Or that he just ran off."
"It's not as if You-Know-Who's afraid of going after a target's friends and family to get what he wants, either." Ron piped up rather bitterly.
Harry glanced toward him, frowning a bit. "We have proof that he's done that?"
Ron's eyes widened with horror, unable to believe what he'd just given away, until Hermione stepped quickly in front of him.
"Of course we do. You told me yourself, Harry, remember? Our second year, when Dumbledore had been asked to leave. He told Lucius Malfoy that certain people had been afraid that their families would be harmed if they didn't vote for his removal."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, then shook his head, "Yes, but that was Malfoy's doing. I think."
Hermione nodded quickly, "Yes, but there's also the incidents with the Crouch family..."
His eyes closed as he remembered the terrified confusion on Mr. Crouch's expression before he'd left to go find help. The man had been dead by the time Harry'd returned; killed by his own son – a supporter of the Dark Lord.
"Yeah, maybe. It wouldn't really surprise me."
"Speaking of Malfoy," Fred piped up, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. "We wanted to clear something up, Ron."
Ron looked toward his brother, lifting a brow somewhat defensively. "Yeah?"
"We didn't want Draco Malfoy on the team, we were worried about having him around. But Dumbledore insisted, so we had to. Then...well, we were going to have you be the starting Keeper, but we needed someone to stay close to Malfoy. Just in case, y'know? It would be easier to do that if we had someone on his own team who could spy on him."
The younger Weasley's expression seemed to ease with relief and hope. "So... you don't think I'm not good enough to represent Hogwarts?" The vulnerability in his statement caused Ginny to reach out and grab Ron's hand.
"Of course not! We think you're the best person for the job, Ron... and if we get a chance, we'll get you playing time. Merlin knows Hogwarts would be better off with you guarding the hoops," Fred's words were boasting, and Ron beamed his first genuine smile since breakfast.
Harry and Hermione smiled as they looked at Ron, a blatant 'I told you so!' expression in their eyes. He flushed, then just shrugged and grinned back at them.
"Oh, shuddup. I do not want to hear it," he muttered as he smiled.
"What time is it?" Harry sat up abruptly, looking for a clock.
Neville pulled his pocket watch out, "Quarter to nine, why?"
Harry flushed and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, I have to go. We can talk about all of this later, okay? Fred, George... thanks for all the information. I apologize for getting so frustrated, I'm probably just tired. See you all later!" He hurried out of the room before anyone could stop him, leaving a rather curious group of teenagers.
"What was that all about?" George looked at Ron, who was staring at the door blankly.
"I have no idea..."
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other warily, looking away only after Fred spoke up.
"Well, we may as well continue this later. George and I have to go see Professor Dumbledore." He paused a moment, then continued with poorly faked nonchalance. "Ron, why don't you come with us! I'm sure he'd love to... to tell you more about Mom and Dad...."
Ever the smart one, Hermione picked up on the twins' intention immediately. "Yes, why don't you, Ron? It might be helpful. ...For that matter, why don't we all go? I'd like to ask him a few questions, anyway."
Neville and Ginny merely shrugged, deciding not to argue as they stood and headed for the door. Ron followed, giving a few seconds for the twins to whisper fiercely to Hermione.
"What are you doing?"
She replied calmly, her wand rearranging the broomcloset back to its original state. "If he's gotten through Ron's shield, he'll get through mine, too. And since Neville and Ginny are spending more time with us, it can't hurt them to be offered the opportunity to be protected. And... it's best, for Harry. The fewer people Voldemort can get ahold of..." She drifted off as they picked up on her meaning.
"You're right, we should have thought about it." They turned for the door.
"Wait, I just have one question." At Hermione's words, they looked back questioningly.
"Are you here because of a traitor, or to protect Harry?"
The twins looked at each other warily, then George spoke up softly. "Both, Hermione."
"...So Dumbledore doesn't think he's enough of a deterrent, anymore."
Fred and George, who hadn't thought of it that way, frowned apprehensively. "I certainly hope that's not the case, Hermione."
After a moment she nodded, then gestured for them to leave. She didn't respond; there was nothing to say.
* * *
Harry crept up the stairs, peeking around the corner before finally hurrying toward the Room of Requirement. He grabbed the doorknob, feeling the slight twinge of magic that identified him – in addition to various other protections and Dark Arts shields, he'd keyed the Room to allow only himself and Draco after 9pm each night. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, though warily this time – his wand drawn.
It took perhaps the blink of an eye to identify that he wasn't alone, and another to swiftly shout "Protego!" in attempt to ward off the binding spell Malfoy had used the last time.
Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly prepared for the spell Draco actually used. The word 'Imperio' barely registered before he felt the curse hit him, and his entire body shuddered with reaction. He felt the wall protecting his mind begin to crumble, and he inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
Malfoy watched, smirking lightly. While he was aware that Potter had resisted Imperious before, it hadn't been done well. Besides, unlike now, Harry had been able to prepare for it before. Folding his arms over his chest, he cocked a brow arrogantly. "Potter – be a dear and close the door."
Close the door? Of course.
The thoughts drifted unhindered through Harry's mind, and he turned and closed the door behind him, even as a pathetically tiny voice seemed to scream No, don't listen! He ignored it – why shouldn't he listen? The demanding voice was somehow comforting, and he did want to please it.
Chuckling softly, Draco shook his head and murmured commandingly, "Potter, bring me your wand, if you would."
Bring you my – my wand?
Just as Harry began to take a step toward Malfoy, he stopped, his forehead crinkled in distress as his hands slowly fisted at his side.
That doesn't sound reasonable. I'd really rather not.
Draco inhaled sharply, his eyes widening in shock. Already, he could fight it? That... that was odd... he'd never seen anyone start to recover so quickly – most never even did.
Harry's jaw clenched tightly as his mind waged a grueling battle for control. Brick by brick, his wall reinforced, and his thoughts became more clear. I should keep my wand with me at all times. I know this. Although, it isn't like it would kill me...
It might! His mind responded furiously. You may need it to defend yourself!
"Potter. Your wand. Bring it here." Draco had straightened, speaking louder, his silver eyes focused intently on the slightly smaller wizard standing shakily before him.
His breath held, Draco watched as Harry trembled, obviously struggling to fight off the curse. Moments passed, and suddently the dark-haired wizard lifted his wand, holding it out toward Malfoy. Just as Draco leaned forward to take it, Harry lifted his head, green eyes blazing.
"Commoveo!" he shouted, and vibrant emerald light emerged from his wand, moving unerringly toward the other boy.
The sound of Malfoy's gasp of shock was quickly followed by a dull thud as he hit the wall forcefully and slid to the floor. Harry stood utterly still, panting softly with exertion as he glared furiously at his attacker.
"Get up." The enraged Gryffindor hissed, although Draco was already scrambling to his feet, his pale cheeks flushed with humiliated fury.
"You'll pay for that, Potter, I promise you." The blonde held his wand out threateningly, his muscles tense as he awaited Harry's next move. Later he would berate himself for not attacking immediately, but at the moment his sole concern was avoiding the other wizard's certain strike.
Harry lifted his wand, steadying it as he aimed at the treacherous Slytherin, his voice but a whisper as he hissed out furiously "How dare you, Malfoy! How dare you-"
Draco laughed sardonically. "How dare I what, Potter? Do exactly what you had asked me to do? Use the Unforgivable Curses on you?" He watched the other boy disdainfully, delighting in pointing out the famous Gryffindor's stupidity.
Harry flinched, his lashes flickering in acknowledgement of the hit. Embarrassed at the point made, he quickly countered, "You have no honor whatsoever, Malfoy! You didn't even bother to wait until I was inside, or to ask me what I wanted to practice. You're scum – just like your father." He said it only because he knew it would irritate the hell out of Malfoy, and he desperately needed just a moment or two to regroup – he was humiliated at having been caught unaware. Again.
The change that passed over Draco's face at the last words was astounding. Until then, Malfoy had been angry, disturbed, but still arrogant and somehow cold. Now it seemed like every muscle in his body had tightened with sheer, unadulterated hatred. His silver eyes gleamed like liquid metal as his gaze slid slowly, contemptuously over Harry, who shivered and actually stepped back uncertainly.
Draco inhaled slowly, releasing the breath in a slow, soft hiss. It was taking every bit of energy he had to keep from using the Killing Curse on Potter – and even then, he could feel himself slipping. The rage was there, demanding to be released. He could feel it within him.
It would be so easy, his mind whispered. Two words, and he would be gone. Never to say such words again. You have the power, the strength. He is a weakling – you are not. You have the power of life and death... and he deserves to be punished for his insolence.
Harry watched as Malfoy tilted his head to the side a bit, as if listening to someone whisper in his ear. His own breathing quickened as he watched awareness fade in Draco's eyes, overcome by the illusion of supremacy given to him by the shocking amount of power he seemed to suddenly radiate.
As those enraged metal eyes focused on him once more, Harry assessed his options. He wasn't prepared to deal with this angry power that he'd never seen before, and he knew it. Making a swift decision and hoping like hell that it worked, he lifted his wand. Just as Malfoy's eyes widened, Harry focused on his hatred of Voldemort and shouted - as if volume would somehow increase his power.
"Imperio!" The flash of green light caught Draco's right shoulder, and Harry waited tensely, hoping like hell the curse was effective enough to distract Malfoy and perhaps cause him to lose his focus a bit.
Slowly, Draco lifted his simmering silver eyes from his shoulder and stared at Harry, who shuddered as the Slytherin's softly spoken words seeped into him. This wasn't the Malfoy he knew. This was someone else entirely.
"Potter," he hissed dangerously. "You are a fool... a weak fool. An Unforgivable Curse must be willed to have an effect. The caster has to want the recipient to feel the effects with every fiber of his being. Like... this. Crucio."
The curse was all the more effective for its taunting delivery, and Harry had been so distracted by the unearthly voice Draco had used that he completely forgot to avoid the spell. A groan of anguish ripped from his throat as he sank immediately to his knees, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he bent over, curling into a ball as if he could contain the pain that way.
Draco watched unfeelingly as Harry's muscles locked tightly; never once did his wand waver as he held the curse, not allowing the pathetic, quivering boy on the ground a reprieve – even when tortured gasps reached his ears.
You see? The power you have – even Dumbledore's Hero cannot match you. You are without equal. And he – he deserves to die for what he said about your father...
Malfoy growled deep in his throat as the words floated through his mind, and amazingly the Curse seemed to take on a new dimension. No longer did it feel to Harry like he was being swallowed alive by misery and hatred and absolute evil – now, it felt like it were eating at him from the inside out, and he just wanted to give into it. The world wasn't worth fighting for so long as this existed. It would be so much easier to just... surrender.
The energy Draco had sent at Harry seemed to intensify malevolently as the thought of submitting drifted through his ravaged mind. Quickly the remainder of the wall he'd erected to protect himself was wiped away, and with it any constraints that had been placed on him.
Wild images raced in front of the Gryffindor's closed eyelids, patches and flickers that made no sense whatsoever, until they seemed to merge together, and only a soft whimper escaped Harry's lips as his consciousness slipped away.
* *
Something was coming toward him. It was dark, menacing, and it was reaching for him – so close! Harry turned to run, only to feel cold, heavy tendrils of ominous energy wrapping about his throat, holding him still. A panicked whimper parted his lips as words whispered threateningly in his ear. You're mine... you belong to Me. He heard the words, his eyes wide with horror, and suddenly he couldn't breathe as mocking laughter filled the air.
Without warning, the laughter turned to a piercing shriek of rage. No! No, he's Mine... Mine!
Blessedly, his world whirled around and he felt himself sucked into another time, another place - leaving the evil presence behind as Harry became another, just as he had when he'd practiced Occlumency with Dumbledore...
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .
...He watched as the familiar man walked to a clear space and lifted his head to face him. No... not him, Him. The one demanding this task, the one standing next to him, gripping his shoulder. Hatred and fear twisted his gut, his hands clenching tighter as he watched, struggling to remain impassive. He'd been spared only one glance by his father, the victim of this atrocity, and it had been cool, unemotional. He wouldn't disrespect that courage by showing his fear, his desperation. His fists were slick now as he watched the proceedings, not knowing that his breath came in soft gasps – almost whimpers.
Finally he heard it, stated triumphantly and accompanied by a slightly mad cackle of superiority... Avada Kedavra. He saw the resignation on his father's face a mere instant before the curse struck – his head spun, and everything went black.
Harry shook himself from Draco's mind and pulled out quickly, his thoughts whirling as he acknowledged the impossible truth of what he'd seen. Commanding himself to remember everything, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to return...
* *
Harry lifted his lashes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling as he listened to the sound of his heart racing, reliving the last few moments of his dream – if it actually was a dream, which he doubted. Moments later he turned his head, very slowly, and focused on the Slytherin panting softly, eyes closed. Quickly he noted the slumped shoulders and slight tremble of the boy's hands and exhaled softly in relief. Whatever monster had taken over Draco before seemed to have gone, thankfully.
Groaning lightly as he shifted, his entire body shuddering in protest, Harry placed an arm on the ground and tried to push himself into a sitting position, only to collapse back to the ground, weak and exhausted. The movements caught Draco's attention, and looked up with bloodshot eyes, then inhaled sharply.
"Harry?" The words were whispered almost inaudibly; Malfoy lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, verifying that what he was seeing was reality. When he saw Harry move again, he groaned and slid to his knees. "Oh, Merlin..."
Harry took a deep breath, then quickly shoved himself up to a sitting position, his hands grabbing at his head as he held himself still while his world spun wildly. "I'm going to kill you for this, Malfoy," Harry muttered as he waited impatiently for the gnomes tap-dancing on his head to quit the racket.
Surprisingly, no response followed his words – sarcastic, threatening or otherwise. Frowning a little, Harry looked over at Draco once more, his brows lifting in curiously as he saw the Slytherin curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn to his chest, providing an uncomfortable pillow for his forehead.
Harry caught his breath – Draco's shoulders were shaking. Was he...crying? Surely not. Malfoy didn't cry – Malfoy wasn't even human. The memory of the scene he'd recently seen caused guilt to flood his stomach. Oh, hell no. You do not feel sympathy for Draco. Just because he saw his father die...
And that was all it took – the memory of Sirius' death, the recollection of how he'd felt all his life, the rootlessness and loneliness that had been so much a part of him...and all because his parents were gone - Harry closed his eyes as remorse flooded his entire being. Draco was a creep, yes, but... no one deserved having to lose people they cared about in such a way.
Hesitantly, Harry scooted toward the Slytherin, holding his breath to keep from crying out at the horrid sensations - which felt how Harry imagined having nails hammered into his bones would feel. When he was close enough to touch, he whispered softly, though his left hand gripped his wand nervously behind his back. He'd been a fool twice in the past two days with this wizard – it wouldn't happen again.
"Malfoy?" There was no response aside from the sudden stillness of the blond. Biting his lower lip apprehensively, Harry tried again. "...Draco? Are... are you... what happened?" Sympathetic as he felt, he couldn't quite stomach asking Malfoy if he was okay.
There was no answer for perhaps half a minute, when a pent-up breath was released from the other boy, sounding like nothing else so much as a long- suffering sigh. Then Draco lifted his head and stared coldly at Harry, his eyes bloodshot, but oddly there was no sign whatsoever that the Slytherin had shed even one tear.
"Haven't had enough yet, Potter?" The words were dripping with sarcasm, as usual, and Malfoy's expression held nothing but confidence in his superiority. And yet... something was different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it.
"No? Want to 'practice' some more, Potter? I wouldn't mind, but perhaps pain gets you hard... I really don't care to be used as a substitute for your hand." Again he taunted, and there wasn't even a flicker in his gaze to suggest that he didn't mean every disdainful word.
Harry felt his hands curling into fists, anger flushing his cheeks. This was a new and unfamiliar method of taunting that he just wasn't used to. Behind his glasses, his green eyes narrowed with loathing. "Malfoy, you couldn't turn on a rock."
Draco just smirked arrogantly. "Shows what you know, Potter."
Considering attacking Malfoy again, Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and get to his feet. He didn't have the strength to go another round with the surprisingly powerful Slytherin. As it was, it took most of his remaining energy just to keep upright. He'd never hurt so badly in his life...well, physically, at least.
"You're not worth my time, Malfoy." Harry spat the words, then turned and made his way as steadily as possible for the door. The tart retort he'd expected never came, and it wasn't until he was out the door that he hunched over, struggling to stay upright. It took a long time to reach the dorm.
* * *
Draco watched Harry leave, ignoring the trembling of his wand as he held it out, casting a spell to lock the door. As soon as he finished, the wand clattered to the floor as he turned to his side. He bent forward, supporting himself with his palms on the cold stone floor as he retched repeatedly.
When he finished, the weary Slytherin sat up and leaned back against the wall, staring sightlessly at the floor as he tried to recall what had happened. Almost instantly, his stomach clenched and bile rose once again in his throat – but there was nothing left to come up.
Once he'd settled again, he lifted his lashes and looked down at the prominence of his veins in his left forearm. My wand arm, he thought immediately, and his eyes widened.
Something was horribly wrong. He didn't know what happened; one minute he'd been waiting for Potter to strike, and the next the boy had been lying limply on the floor, and he'd been panting with exertion. Draco shuddered at the memory. He'd thought Harry was dead. He'd thought that he had killed someone...again.
Damnit! His stupid sentiments regarding killing weakened him. Draco was absolutely furious with himself for caring, for even one moment, about fucking Harry Potter. The boy was dumb enough to ask these favors of him; if he ended up dead, it was his own damned fault!
Still... this shouldn't have happened. He didn't know how to explain how it had. Closing his eyes, Draco swallowed hard past the lump of fear in his throat. His return to Hogwarts may have been more foolhardy than he'd realized..
* * *
The rough hand shaking his shoulder woke him sluggishly. He didn't even bother to open his eyes; he could tell it was still dark, and he couldn't see much without his glasses anyway.
"...What?" Harry mumbled irritatedly. He was tired, he hurt. He wanted to sleep, damnit.
"Harry, wake up." It was one of the Weasley twins. "Dumbledore's been attacked."
* * *
"Harry, we're going to be late for breakfast!" Ron had been trying to wake up his roommate for a good twenty minutes. "Get out of bed!"
"Whadda you care?" Harry murmured from beneath his pillow. He still hurt from the Cruciatus curse Malfoy had used last night. On top of that, he hadn't managed to get much sleep. Most of his night had been spent alternately berating himself for being such an idiot, or convincing himself that he was stronger than any stupid Slytherin. He'd vowed to make Malfoy feel ten times the pain he had suffered.
Unusually anxious to get downstairs, Ron – who had already showered and dressed - walked over and grabbed Harry's covers, yanking them off and tossing them to the floor. "Get up, you lazy arse! They're announcing the players for the Hogwarts/Durmstrang Quidditch match, and we need to be there."
"Mngrmmph, "Harry mumbled as he brought his knees up, trying to shield his bare chest from the chill by burrowing himself into the mattress.
"Honestly, Harry – I'd think you'd be a bit more excited. You're sure to be picked! ...I only hope that I at least end up as the alternate Keeper..." The wistfulness in Ron's voice caused Harry to sigh tragically and slowly remove the pillow from over his head. His bloodshot eyes looked up at his friend as he attempted a reassuring smile, although it came out looking much more like a grimace.
"You'll make it as the starting Keeper, Ron. I know you will." That said, the pillow moved quickly over the Gryffindor Seeker's face once more. Unfortunately, Ron had already gotten a good look at the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines of stress on his weary face.
"You look like hell, Harry," he said cheerfully, his confidence restored by his friend's support.
"...You're too kind, Weasley." The sardonic remark was muffled, but quite distinguishable.
Ron grinned. "Harry, you absolutely have to get out of bed. You need a shower before breakfast – you stink. What were you doing last night - rolling around in a trough?"
Harry just groaned and squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "Shut up, you annoying git! For the love of all things Quidditch, will you please let me sleep in peace?"
"Sorry, ol' pal, but this is for your own good." With the words came a slight grunt – it was the only warning Harry had before his mattress was tipped over and he was flung to the floor with an impressively loud thump.
"...Ron..." The name was drawled out threateningly against the floor as the bruised boy slowly began to shift, one hand feeling up against his night stand for his glasses.
Ron grinned again and tossed a towel atop his friend's head. "Yes, good one, Harry - my name is Ron! And now that we've got that all cleared up, it's time to shower. Quickly, now! Up!"
Harry stood slowly, his glasses tilted sideways on his nose, his loose cotton pajama bottoms having slid down to expose the slight protrusion of his hip bones, his dark brown hair standing straight up in some places and pressed flatly to his head in others. He stared at Ron a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he muttered ruefully, "You're very irritating. And I'm too tired to hit you. Rain check?"
"Sure. Now go! Before Thomas gets in the bathroom and fogs it up getting all dolled up for my sister." The last words sounded rather irritable, although it was mostly for show. He had to do the protective older brother thing, although he'd come to realize that Dean wasn't an ass and intended to treat Ginny well. After all, as Dean had put it when he'd visited over the summer – what kind of idiot would treat such a wonderful girl like crap... especially when she had six unpredictable older brothers?
After half-heartedly tossing a book at Ron's feet – he'd been aiming for his head – Harry trudged slowly toward the door. Leaning against the doorway was Hermione, who was grinning in amusement and shaking her head.
"Are you certain you two are sixth years?"
Harry just smiled a little as he walked past, bending to brush his lips against her forehead in greeting before heading to the bathroom at a snail's pace. Ron frowned a bit at Harry's action, then realized what Hermione'd said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he stuttered belligerently. She just laughed and headed over to Harry's bed, gathering up the sheets that were scattered everywhere.
"Look at this room, Ron! It's atrocious – and the House Elves work so hard to keep it clean. You make them do so much extra work...it's truly unkind of you. And very adolescent."
Ron just groaned and flung his hands up in the air. "Not this again, Hermione, please! I have enough on my mind..."
At his words she paused, then turned and walked to the door, closing it and affixing it with a silencing charm. She gave him a beseeching look, and he stared back unflinchingly. Finally, her gaze broke off and drifted to the floor, and she began to move about the room, tidying everything in sight.
"...He didn't look so good, Ron."
"I know, Hermione...I know." He raked a hand through his hair and looked over at her somewhat anxiously. "Do you think... do you think he's having the same problems we did?" He sat down dejectedly on his own bed, watching her scurry around the room, cleaning. She always did that when she was nervous or upset – if she couldn't study her way out of things, she cleaned.
Hermione paused for a moment, then continued to place books back on the shelves, dusting almost obsessively. "I think the answer to that is fairly obvious. We know he's had a few strange dreams, and – hell, you saw him. I doubt he slept more than five full minutes at a time last night. Help me with the mattress."
"But Harry said that he'd done really well in Occlumency yesterday. Even Dumbledore said he wasn't as good as Harry is! He ought to be able to block it..." Ron stood and moved over to Harry's bed, bending and lifting the mattress back in place with little effort.
She nodded, fitting the sheets in place distractedly, "...I know...but..."
Ron interrupted suddenly. "Why don't you just use magic for that?" He gestured lightly to the bed she was making by hand.
Hermione glanced down, then shrugged briefly. "It helps me think."
After a moment he nodded, although his look suggested that he thought she was a bit on the strange side. It wasn't the first time she'd seen that look directed at her, and she was positive it wouldn't be the last.
"Regardless, Ron... there's always the chance that the dreams are not visions sent by Voldemort."
He controlled the instinctive flinch that always seemed to follow hearing the Dark Lord's name and lifted a brow skeptically. "Do you honestly believe that, Hermione?"
"No."
"...Then why even suggest it?"
At his words she sighed and began fluffing Harry's pillows. "Possibly because I want it to be that way. He doesn't need this, Ron – he's got too much else to deal with. I mean, first Voldemort-"
Ron cut her off abruptly. "Quit saying his name, damnit!"
Irritated by the sudden attack, Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Voldemort. It's not difficult to say. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!"
"She's right, you know. That is how you pronounce his name, Ron. It's quite simple." Harry had pushed the door open, his towel draped around his neck, though one hand was still rubbing some of the cloth against his moist, spiky hair.
Hermione wrinkled her nose as Ron rolled his eyes. "I had a silencing charm on that door."
"I know. I removed it." The casual reply was was accompanied by a shrug as the slightly more refreshed Gryffindor padded to his closet with bare feet.
"But I didn't even hear or sense anything!" She appeared rather incredulous, and a bit annoyed that Harry had been able to remove her spell without her noticing. So appalled that she'd missed it, she didn't see that Harry didn't have his wand on him.
Harry just smiled. As always, being with Hermione and Ron relaxed him. Well, at least when it was just the three of them. They were the only people that he was certain wouldn't place him on a pedestal – which was good, because it was damned lonely up there on that high, unstable perch.
"You didn't sense anything because you were too busy scaring Ron shitless with a measly name."
Ron stood up indignantly, his cheeks flushing a bit. "Harry! You're supposed to be on my side, here. We're 'mates!"
His roommate looked purposefully in the direction of his own bed, which was now perfectly remade. "I do believe you're forgetting a few things. I owe you."
Ron followed his gaze, then nodded in agreement. "Good point."
"You know," Hermione interrupted blithely. "I don't believe I like the insinuation that I'm someone's punishment."
"It's not just an insinuation, Hermione, dear." This time when the thick book sailed toward Ron's head, he had to duck to avoid it. Hermione had much better aim than Harry. He grinned and glanced at the clock, then gasped in horror.
"We're late! Hurry Harry – we'll meet you in the common room." Ron latched onto Hermione's wrist and began dragging her toward the door.
Just before they reached it, Harry spoke up nonchalantly. "By the way. Why was there a silencing charm on the door? What were you two talking about that you didn't want me to hear?" He'd begun the sentence facing his closet, but as he finished he turned and watched his two best friends directly, his green eyes unwavering yet unaccusing behind his round glasses.
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and both began to color nervously.
"We were discussing the D.A. and didn't want anyone to hear - "
"We were snogging and didn't want anyone to hear."
Hermione's rushed voice came out at the same time as Ron's, her last words a loud, dismayed shriek.
"What? Ronald Weasley, we most certainly were not –" She was cut off as Ron's hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged outside.
"Two minutes, Harry. I'm not kidding!" Ron closed the door behind him, then yelped. "You bit me! You crazy wench!"
"I'm not a wench, and I will do a lot worse if you ever tell anyone I was making out with you! Ugh! Disgusting!"
Inside the room, Harry smiled and shook his head, then returned his attention to getting dressed, having forgotten about the silencing charm for the moment. He didn't have the same success when it came to forgetting the scene with Draco the previous night...but he put a lot of effort into trying.
* * *
After finishing his breakfast – having taken quite awhile to do so – Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, still patting his mouth with his napkin. He didn't have to ask for quiet. Most of the school had been sitting impatiently at their tables, watching their Headmaster eat for a good half hour, give or take a minute.
Ron elbowed Harry, whispering excitedly, "He's going to tell us now!"
Harry rubbed his side, then slid his fist rather forcefully into Ron's abdomen. His friend swatted at it lightly, not even looking away from Dumbledore. Hermione lifted a brow as she watched the two of them, then shook her head and met Ginny's eyes across the table. The youngest Weasley just rolled her eyes and grinned, as if to say 'They're male – of course they're Neanderthals'.
"Before we get started, I'd just like to say that I believe this year's team will be very strong. So long as they work together, we're guaranteed to win the match!" He paused to allow the cheering to fade.
"Now...this decade, we have decided to do something a bit different. Not only are we going to have an alternate Keeper and Seeker – we're going to have an alternate team. If, for any reason, the players from the starting team cannot actually start the match, the alternate team will step in. Because we're having two teams, I've decided that we ought to have two coaches, as well. I had to do quite a bit of persuading to get these two individuals here today, so I trust you'll treat them kindly."
Ron squirmed excitedly. "Oh! What if they're professional coaches? There'd be no way Durmstrang could beat us!"
"We can't, it's against the rules," Hermione informed him primly. His face fell, and he looked back at the Headmaster.
"Damn. I hope whoever it is knows what they're doing..."
"Without further ado, let me introduce your new coaches. They have decided that they'll figure out who will coach which team at a later date." Dumbledore gestured to the entrance of the hall – and in walked Fred and George Weasley.
The students gasped in unison – then pandemonium ensued. The Gryffindors were falling out of their seats, cheering enthusiastically, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs whistled and clapped as well. Many of the older students were calling out greetings while the younger ones were holding up items they'd bought from the twin's catalogue. Typically, the Slytherins were not excited – half the house had raced up in front of Professor Snape, demanding that he object to the discrimination against their house.
Ginny jumped up from the table, racing forward to be hugged by each brother – Dean followed her, shaking hands and welcoming them back. As Harry and Hermione greeted the twins they kept an eye on Ron, whose shoulders had slumped dejectedly - his smile seemed forced as he congratulated Fred and George.
Finally, the twins made it to the front and waved hello to everyone. Only those closest to them noticed the fine silver powder that fell from their sleeves, and one small Ravenclaw boy was about to ask what it was when a few bits hit the ground. A loud exploding noise reverberated throughout the hall, accompanied by a flash of orange-red light. As girls and younger students dived under the tables screaming, the boys (and a few females who were devoted to the joke shop) were laughing and applauding. Most of the teachers appeared appalled, but Dumbledore was chuckling merrily, obviously amused.
Fred and George dusted each other off, then grinned. "Sorry 'bout that, everyone – we needed a test audience. Did anyone lose the ability to hear? No? Wonderful!"
"...Y'know, if they did, they wouldn't have heard you ask the question," Fred pointed out to his brother.
"Oh! Right, then. We'll have to consider that for next time." George shrugged it off, grinned again, and addressed the school once more. "Now that that's taken care of, let's get on with the teams. We reviewed games from last season as well as this one, rated those who'd applied, and came up with what we thought was the best selection of players. Oh, and we're having practice right after breakfast. Those chosen have been excused from their morning classes by Professor Dumbledore." The Headmaster nodded in agreement of his words – some of the teachers looked surprised. Snape simply looked annoyed.
Fred stepped up, no list in hand. "Our Seeker will, of course, be Harry Potter. In the event that Harry has his head taken off by a bludger in practice – which we've decided to try and avoid – the alternate seeker will be..." he paused to shoot a glare in Dumbledore's direction, receiving only a serene smile in response. "...Draco Malfoy."
As most of Slytherins cheered and slapped their reigning king on the back (some were decidedly morose; apparently, not everyone trusted Malfoy after his return), the Gryffindors assumed a collectively horrified expression. Harry had paled, and felt a bit sick to his stomach. He was going to have to spend time with Malfoy. In twenty minutes. He shook his head and forced himself to pay attention to what his friends were saying.
"Malfoy? A Death Eater's son, representing the entire school! What were Fred and George thinking? " queried Seamus incredulously.
Ron glanced at his brothers a moment, then looked over at Ginny as he spoke. "They didn't do it...something's going on. They'd never pick a Slytherin for Seeker. Not willingly."
Ginny nodded her agreement, her eyes flickering back to the twins as they continued, announcing two Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor named Andrew Kirke for Beaters. When the applause died, one of the twins listed the Chasers – unsurprisingly, Angelina was a starter. A Slytherin and a Ravenclaw were also chosen – a brother and sister from Hufflepuff were named the alternates, along with another Slytherin.
The only position left to be announced was Keeper. Hermione moved her hand beneath the table to grip Ron's, squeezing once for luck. He aimed a light smile in her direction, then looked back at his siblings intently.
Fred and George looked at each other a long moment, as if speaking to each other silently. Finally one nodded, and the other – no one knew which one it was – faced the students and spoke in a rush. "Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff, and Ron Weasley as the alternate."
Zacharias had been a Beater for Hufflepuff until this year, when he filled the empty Keeper position. He wasn't a bad player, either, so the student population reacted favorably to the announcement.
The twins turned as one and looked over at Ron, ignoring the cheering throughout the hall, their eyes trying to give some sort of message or apology. It wasn't one he was interested in receiving. Stunned and humiliated, Ron turned his head away, ignoring for the moment the various congratulations and sympathies his fellow Gryffindors were extending. Above his head Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Neville were glancing from Ron to the twins and back, distress and uncertainty clouding their faces.
Ron swallowed hard past the ball of rage and hurt in his throat. His own brothers didn't believe he was a good enough Keeper to represent Hogwarts. I'm going to be sick, he thought just as a soft whisper brushed against his ear.
"Ron. Please... you're hurting my hand." He glanced down at the hand held in a death grip by his own, then looked up at Hermione, appalled.
"Hermione. I... I didn't mean...are you okay?" His head was spinning. He couldn't believe he'd been hurting her.
She waved it off, then looked over at Harry, who seemed a bit distracted. Making a mental note to ask what was bothering him later, she gripped Ron's hand and tugged, her free hand shaking Harry's shoulder. "Let's go. Both of you have practice in a few minutes, and I think you need a second to yourselves first."
Neither of the boys protested, rising to their feet and following her from the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle piped up rather sadistically.
"...He always lets the Quaffle in – yes, Weasley is our King!"
Ron stopped abruptly, reality fading behind the red haze that clouded his eyes. His hands balled into fists as he turned to face the large, dullwitted boys. He didn't notice when Hermione gasped and tugged on his arm.
"Ron, don't let them get to you. Come on!" Hermione was scared – she didn't like the look on Ron's face. He was livid, and she'd been warned about what could happen if she didn't calm him down quickly.
Hearing her words, Harry glanced behind him, then immediately toward the Slytherin table. His gaze bounced off Malfoy's, then returned. He lifted his chin disdainfully, unaware of the soft flush of color against his pale cheeks as those metallic silver eyes watched him without expression. Harry had to force himself to look away, berating himself for even acknowledging Draco's existence.
Hermione nearly stamped a foot in exasperation as she looked to Harry for help controlling Ron, only to find him locked in some sort of death-glare with Malfoy. Damn these stupid, confrontational Gryffindor males anyway! Her grip tightened harshly on Ron's arm as he started to walk toward the Slytherin table. He didn't seem to be aware of her presence, merely dragging her with him.
"Harry!" The green-eyed Seeker whirled around at Hermione's cry, quickly assessing the situation and hurrying close. He wasn't fast enough. Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, each slinging an arm around Ron's shoulders and frog-marching him discreetly out of the hall.
"Congrats on the alternate posi-" Fred quit speaking as soon as they were out of hearing distance. He looked toward Hermione. "We have maybe ten seconds to find a private room before he loses it."
The young prefect took one look at Ron's red face, nodded, and immediately turned to the nearest door, muttering a spell only Prefects (and Head Girl and Boy) were allowed to have. The door opened, and they stepped inside so she could close and lock it behind them.
"Y'know, it's kind of dark in here," one of the twins said conversationally.
"Lumis Solem."
"Thanks, Hermione. Oh, hey – we're in a broom closet! We made use of a lot of these while we were here." Fred was obviously very excited, but his words seemed to wake Ron from his anger-induced stupor.
"The broom closets didn't miss you. GO HOME! You have NO RIGHT to interfere with MY life this way! Why can't you just stay the FUCK away from me!" What had begun in a loud but normal tone quickly escalated into screaming fury as Ron swung for Fred's face, only mildly hindered by George's grip on his arm. Harry stared at Ron, utterly shocked - uncertain what the hell was going on. As the younger Weasley launched himself at his older brother, Harry inhaled sharply and lifted his hand to rub his suddenly throbbing scar.
Luckily, Fred managed to duck, but Ron's momentum propelled his fist into a shelving unit, causing the entire apparatus to totter unsteadily. George cursed and tried desperately to grab onto Ron's other hand.
"Bloody hell, George, hold tighter!"
"I'm trying! You could help, y'know!"
Ron made a rough sound of fury deep within his throat, and his foot lashed out, connecting quite forcefully with George's ankle and causing his brother to lose his grip. Blind with rage, he whirled for Fred once more.
"YOU ARE FUCKING WITH MY LIFE! IT'S MY TURN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE! GET THE HELL OUT OF HOGWARTS!"
"...He's going to kill him, Harry," Hermione was shaken as she watched her friend attack his own brother.
Hearing his name called pulled Harry from the myriad of angry, resentful images that had suddenly begun flooding through his mind. He let out a breath, reinforcing the wall he'd built as quickly as he could. The images disappeared, but he could feel them pounding against his barrier as he took in the scene. Harry pressed his lips together, considered grabbing his wand, then quickly abandoned the idea when Ron's fist swung again for one of the twins, narrowly missing Hermione. He leapt at his friend, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly, purposely impairing his ability to breathe.
"Where...the hell... is Ginny..." Fred panted out. As if answering a summons, Ginny Weasley's distant, frantic voice could be heard just beyond the door.
"...Fred? George? Oh Merlin, where are you? Ron?"
"Open... the door!" This time it was George who yelled the words – he'd gotten back up to help Harry. Between the two of them, they were slowly pushing Ron to the floor, but the other boy seemed to have the strength of 5 others his size and was getting in more than a few good hits. Hermione spun immediately to release the spell she'd cast on the door, and let Ginny in quickly - though a thought slipped through her mind that it was really too crowded in here to bring in someone else.
Ginny was pale, but her lips pressed together with determination as she dropped to her knees next to her brother - Fred, George and Harry were nearly lying atop Ron to keep him down - and her hand reached out to brush through his sweaty hair.
"Ron. Ron, it's Ginny. I need some help, Ron, I'm really scared." Her voice was soft, trembling a little.
Hermione frowned and looked at one of the twins questioningly. He shook his head, mouthing the word 'later', then turned his attention back to his brother.
"Ron.. please! I'm scared! I need your help, Ron. I need you to find me. Please!" She sounded so desperate that for a moment Harry thought she really was in trouble – until he looked at her and noticed her determined expression. She's faking it!
Amazingly, Ron had seemed to calm down just a little. He was still fighting, struggling to get up, but no one was getting hit any longer. Ginny's hand moved to her brother's forehead, and she rubbed lightly in an almost motherly manner. "Ron... please, you're so close. I need you to help me. I'm hurt!"
Finally Ron shuddered and recognition flared in his eyes, followed quickly by panic. "Wh... Ginny! I'm coming, I-"
"Ron, I'm here!" she interrupted quickly, motioning for the boys to let him up.
Harry watched uncomprehendingly as Ron looked up at Ginny, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Again?" he asked wearily.
Ginny wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him tightly. "You're okay now?"
He returned the embrace, looking over her shoulder at the rest of them as he nodded a little. "Yeah. Just a little tired. And my hand hurts. Is everyone alright?"
Ginny murmured reassurance as Hermione stepped forward decisively, trying hard to keep the worry from her expression. "Here, let me see it." She waved her wand over the bruised fist, her mediwizard knowledge helping to ease the pain and cause the purple and blue colors to fade a bit.
One of the twins poked Hermione in the arm. "We're hurt too, y'know!"
"I think I'm going to have a scar," the other twin muttered, prodding at a rather deep gash in his left arm. "I was the victim of a particularly cruel metal shelf. I think that rough edge is still taunting me." He turned to offer a threatening glare to the offending object.
Hermione laughed halfheartedly, then saw to the wounds as Harry raked a hand through his hair and looked around grimly, forcing himself to keep from touching his scar.
"Alright, would someone mind telling me what the hell that was all about? Ron?" He looked pointedly at his best friend, who remained conspicuously silent for one tense, uncomfortable moment.
George spoke up quickly to fill the gap, "Oh, me 'n Fred have often driven him to that. It's a family thing. We're very cruel." He seemed rather proud of himself.
Harry looked questioningly toward Ron, who nodded his confirmation, then to Hermione, who avoided meeting his gaze. I'm missing something here.
He was just about to demand he be told what was going on when Ginny stood up and brushed herself off. "I do believe that four of the people in this tiny closet were supposed to be on the Quidditch pitch five minutes ago," she said rather matter-of-factly.
At those words, Fred and George jumped to their feet, identical expressions of horror on their faces. "We need to go before they all kill each other!"
"Well, so long as it's only the Slytherins..."
Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled a bit as she began to open the door.
"Oh, and we need to speak to all of you. Tonight. Nine o'clock tonight in the broom closet on the second floor. Third door to the left past the Lady Godiva statue."
Ron looked at Fred blankly, "Huh?"
Hermione lifted a brow, speaking dryly. "Naked woman on a horse, Ron."
Ron's expression cleared with fond remembrance. "Oh, that statue!"
"I can't make it," Harry interrupted softly, his eyes carefully avoiding everyone else's. He tried not to dwell on what he'd just admitted to himself - that he was definitely going to keep his meeting with Malfoy. Again.
George shut the door, his expression abruptly serious – a very uncommon look for both of the twins. "You have to come, Harry. Change your plans."
Harry chewed on his lower lip, then finally looked toward Fred, who seemed just a tad more approachable at the moment. "Can we make our meeting at seven?"
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded. "Yes. Everyone get that? Good. Thanks for the help, kiddies." George paused to kiss Ginny's cheek, then followed his twin out the door.
Silence reigned in the tiny closet for a good minute or so, when Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "You need to get out there too, Harry...Ron."
Ron scowled and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going, not to play bloody alternate. I can't believe my own brothers didn't make me the starter! The fruity pansies."
Harry blinked, then snickered. "Did you just refer to the twins as 'fruity pansies'? Because honestly, Ron, that's really queer."
"It is not," Ron stated indignantly, though he colored a lovely crimson shade.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look, children, can you finish the argument later? Ron – Fred and George are obviously up to something. They would never have chosen to put Malfoy on the team. Not of their own violation. Even you said so! Furthermore, why Fred and George? They're just nineteen this year. It makes very little sense."
Ron thought about this a moment, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll think about it, Gin."
She nodded, then glanced at Harry imploringly. He sighed, his stomach knotting again as he thought of what – no, who – he'd have to endure for the rest of the morning. Reluctantly he pushed Ron toward the door. "We'll see you two later, alright?"
Hermione nodded, then closed the door behind them and looked toward Ginny, her hands rubbing her arms as if fending off a chill. "...This is getting out of hand."
The other girl nodded, "I know. We have to take him to see Dumbledore. And we probably ought to tell Harry..."
Once again, Hermione shivered, closing her eyes. "You know what it's going to do to him, right, Ginny? He's already withdrawing from us – I can tell that he's keeping something secret. If we tell him what Voldemort has done, he's going to feel so guilty..." she trailed off, sighing dejectedly.
"It can't be helped, Hermione. It's getting dangerous. For a moment there, I didn't think I'd be able to reach him this time."
"Are you the only one who can pull him out of it?"
Ginny nodded, sighing lightly as she slid her fingers through her hair, pulling it back away from her face. "Yeah, so far. Professor Dumbledore said it was probably due to a deep-seated feeling of guilt because of the Tom thing my first year."
Hermione considered this silently, then grinned at Ginny's next thoughtful words. "Although to be honest, Hermione...the idea of Dumbledore turning pop psychologist is really rather frightening."
"A good point. We'll have to watch out for it."
The two girls laughed together as they left the closet in no small state of disrepair. Neither noticed the grim, satisfied expression of the next person to walk down the hallway, an Extendable Ear held in one hand.
* * *
Out on the Quidditch pitch, two fights had already been broken up before Harry and Ron arrived. Angelina had explained that it was, predictably, the Slytherins' fault when she'd passed them on her way to the infirmary with Andrew Kirke.
Ron's face darkened at the news. "Bloody hell, we're never going to even get to practice if that's the way things are going to go."
Harry said nothing, his concentration spent trying to avoid looking at Malfoy. He was determined to get through this morning without a public unveiling of the previous night. Unfortunately, the other Seeker had positioned himself so that the two Gryffindors had no choice but to pass him if they wanted to join everyone else for practice.
"Pretty pathetic, isn't it Weasley, that even your own brothers know you suck?" He practically drawled the words; the effect was only slightly marred by the lack of snickering that his missing sidekicks usually provided.
Ron's arm was grabbed - rather painfully, he'd complain later - by Harry, who swung his head around in Draco's direction, his green eyes narrowed warningly. "At least he's beaten Slytherin, Malfoy. I don't quite remember you ever having caught the Snitch before a Gryffindor did."
Ron released a breath, then jerked his arm free, though he met Harry's gaze reassuringly before looking back toward the blond. "He could never beat you, Harry. He's not even in your league."
Harry's eyes didn't move from Draco's as he replied firmly, "I know."
Draco heard the silent message sent by Harry's adamant gaze. And you know it. You can't even compete with me. As the two Gryffindors moved off toward Fred, George and the others, Draco shook his head in self-disgust. He'd let Potter have the upper hand again! Where was his infamous Slytherin wit and ability to shred another's confidence apart with no effort whatsoever?
Furious with himself, Draco curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the steel pole he'd been leaning against, then jumped back, hissing in pain. Damn, that hurt.
A sudden noise caused Malfoy to pause, still gripping his throbbing fist, and tilt his head. Hearing only silence, he rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the shiver that slid down his spine. For a moment, he'd thought he'd heard malicious, taunting laughter ... directed at him... but no one was even looking in his direction. He shrugged lightly; must have been the wind.
Making a mental note not to take out his temper on his own body anymore, Draco reluctantly turned and moved toward the others. His keen gaze made note of the hostile glances passing around the lot of them as he approached.
"...so if you'll break into the original teams, we'll have a quick scrimmage so everyone can get used to everyone's styles." One of the twins shooed them away as he finished speaking; which Weasley it was, Draco couldn't tell. It didn't really matter, he supposed. Both of them were idiots, as far as he was concerned.
However, being a Malfoy, he did have a slight problem with the knowledge that his new coaches didn't seem to care whether he was there or not when they started explaining things. It was a bit of a new experience; he was used to being waited on. No matter - they couldn't do anything to him anyway. Or so he thought.
"Malfoy, why are you still standing here? Join your team." Fred-or-George was frowning at him. He didn't bother to ask which team that was supposed to be; he was playing opposite Potter. That's all he needed to worry about.
"I'm going, Weasel-Dum. Keep your pants on." Draco blithely ignored the furious glare the coach gave him - that is, until said coach proceeded to grab onto his arm and bend forward to hiss in his ear.
"Listen you snot-nosed, whining git. Neither I nor my brother want you on this team, and as far as we're concerned, any excuse will do to get you kicked off this team. If you don't want the humiliation of being thrown out by a Weasley, I suggest you watch yourself." He nearly spat the words, then threw Draco's arm away from him and turned, stalking back to his brother, arms folded over his chest.
As soon as Malfoy was out of hearing range, George looked at his brother. "Well?"
"It didn't go off."
"So he doesn't have it?"
"Nope. Unless, of course, it doesn't work. We haven't tested it yet."
"Well, who were we supposed to test it on, for Merlin's sake? Harry?"
Fred appeared to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Or... Ginny..."
"I'm not certain that's a good idea."
"I'm not certain any of this is a good idea. Although it does have its benefits..."
"Like?"
George snickered upon hearing Fred lift his voice to yell at the players flying around above them. "Malfoy! You're flying like a dying owl! Vultures are beginning to gather, thinking they've found their afternoon meal. Pick it up!"
Fred grinned at his brother as he finished. "School-sanctioned harassment. This is surely the good life."
As the match progressed, Harry slid deeper inside himself. So much so that the painful, throbbing ache created by the curses the night before barely registered. His only thoughts revolved around his interaction with Malfoy, and the unbearable memory of the moments just before Draco had released him from the Cruciatus Curse. The other boy had seemed so... so horrified. Yet Harry knew that couldn't be the case. Malfoy was the son of a very influential Death Eater – he was born to follow Voldemort.
But he wasn't...was he? Not for the first time, Harry contemplated the thought that Professor Dumbledore might actually be wrong. He'd not noticed when Barty Crouch had taken Mad-Eye Moody's place during 4th year, nor had he been able to sense that Voldemort himself was actually residing in the school during 1st year. Was Dumbledore right? Could Draco Malfoy be trusted? Even as he formed the words, his mind shuddered with denial. No way in hell. Even Malfoy suggested that he was here only on the Dark Lord's orders. If that were the case, then... then... his thoughts scattered as he heard Draco insult Ron.
As the scrimmage continued, Draco was struggling to contain his rage at the constant ribbing he was taking from the Weasleys. Including the one on his own team.
"For the love of my pinky toe, Malfoy, could you at least pretend like you're doing something useful up there? You look like you'd rather be picking pink tulips while wearing a tutu than trying to find the Snitch! No wonder you've never managed to best Harry!" Ron was obviously enjoying himself.
Draco inhaled sharply, then whirled his broomstick around to face his team's Keeper. "Perhaps not at Quidditch, but I'm much better at many other things than Potter is. Just ask him! Unlike yourself, I'm not always second-best." He smirked when the other boy flushed with anger, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing the Quaffle to get past him, into the goal.
"Malfoy!" Finally, the voice Draco felt like he'd been waiting all day to hear. He spun to face Harry, his expression easing into one of arrogant amusement.
"Problem with the truth, Potter?"
"Leave him alone, Malfoy," Harry threatened.
Draco lifted his brows in mild surprise. "I'm just following my example, Potter. They started it!"
Harry shifted uncomfortably on his broom; for once, Malfoy was right. He'd heard the whole thing. "That's a first-year excuse, if I ever heard one."
"Speaking of first-year behavior, I was just thinking that your pathetic showing last night was quite similar to what I'd expect from a child." Draco smiled with satisfaction as he watched the color drain from Harry's face. His voice dropped a bit as he leaned a bit closer on his broom, crooning sarcastically "Still hurt, Potter? Does it feel good? Ready for more?"
His face white and strained, Harry turned his head away. He should have known Malfoy wouldn't be able to resist taunting him - even during Quidditch.
"No? Sure? Ahh, well, that's alright, Potter. You can't take a Malfoy, anyway - that much was obvious last night. Why, even I was surprised by your weakness! Poor thing, you-" Draco stopped speaking abruptly, his silver gaze narrowing a split second before he leaned forward on his broom and hurtled across the playing field.
"Shit," Harry muttered as he inhaled sharply, then dived quickly after him.
Moments later they were nearly side by side, Harry's right shoulder pressed purposefully against Draco's left hip as he used his momentum to try and push the other boy off balance. Grimly, Draco held on and reached out a hand.
Just...a little bit...closer... come on! For once in your life... beat Harry Potter! Draco gritted his teeth, his father's words echoing in his head as his fingers brushed the air a mere centimeter behind the flying golden ball. Draco, you'll never be anything if you do not learn to fight for it. You fight for nothing, and as such you are worthless, a waste of oxygen. Fighting the urge to close his eyes against the memory, he stretched forward just a bit further... Come on....!
A flicker in the corner of his eye caused Draco to glance over for just a moment - only to see Harry's arm stretching out alongside his - and then past it. The other boy lost speed dramatically as he pulled up on his broom, and Draco looked quickly back in front of him. The Snitch was gone!
Groaning inwardly, Draco turned to look behind him - and saw Harry being descended upon by the players, the Golden Snitch held triumphantly in his hand. He slowed down and headed toward the ground, fighting desolation as he avoided the celebratory group. He didn't see Harry disengage himself from the others, promising to return quickly.
As he was walking along the pitch, broom in hand, the Snitch dropped at his feet. Immediately, Draco looked up, finding Harry flying just above him.
"You may have been the first to see the Snitch, Malfoy...but in the end, I beat you. And I always will." Harry stared down at him a moment, his green eyes alight with the confidence that Draco despised, then returned to the others.
"Son of a bitch," Draco spat the words, Harry's voice echoing in his mind. Potter hadn't been talking about Quidditch, and he knew it. His sweaty, aristocratic hand gripped his broomstick tightly as he watched Harry's casual acceptance of the praise he was being offered.
"I'm going to wipe the floor with you, Potter. Until you beg me to stop." He turned furiously and left the pitch, vowing retribution.
* * *
Harry stood beneath the shower and tilted his head back, allowing the steaming water to drum against his throat. The other players had long since left the locker room to return to class, but he couldn't bring himself to leave – not when his imagination was working overtime to process the events of last night and this morning. He didn't understand what was going on, not with anything, and it was slowly driving him mad.
Do I trust Malfoy not to betray us to Voldemort? Should I not show tonight? It would be easier, that way, and safer.
Yeah, sure it would be easier, he mocked his own thoughts. That is, until you had to face Voldemort again and he destroyed you with one quick curse. And everyone else would die, because you're fated to be the only one that could defeat him. So yes, great idea, Harry. Don't see Malfoy again. Don't learn how to deflect the curses, how to use the curses. You won't be needing that knowledge or anything.
Groaning softly, he closed his eyes and ducked his head, his callused palms flattening against the wall as he drenched his sweat-slicked hair. Images of all the people who might die because of his cowardice flashed beneath his eyelids. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, the Gryffindors, Lupin... he pictured their horrid, bloody deaths. And in his anguished depictions, he imagined that all had the same thoughts, the same words on their lips in the moment before their lives were stolen – If only Harry hadn't been so afraid.
Cursing savagely, Harry straightened and shook his head, his stomach knotted with shame. He didn't have a choice; he had to protect them. He couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if he failed...
Sirius's face appeared in his mind, then the scene of his abrupt and useless death, and he muttered in anguish, "Not again...Merlin, I'm not going through that again."
Forcing himself to think about something else, Harry grabbed a bottle of shampoo and brought up the image of Ron's red, furious face. As he scrubbed his scalp raw, he contemplated the abnormal rage his friend had exhibited... and Hermione's refusal to meet his eyes afterward. He knew they were keeping something from them, and he was fully aware that they probably thought they were protecting him. It wasn't fair.
Oh, you mean you're being fair? He thought sarcastically. Because you've told them everything, right? About the Prophecy, about Malfoy?
It's not the same! He insisted to himself as he soaped himself up and rinsed off.
Right, of course not. When you do it, it's honorable. You have perfectly good reasons for hiding things from them. It's for their own good! Heaven forbid you give Ron and Hermione the same honesty you want from them.
"Son of a - " he smothered the angry expletive, then reached forward and turned the water off rather forcefully. While wiping water free of his eyes with his free hand, his left reached out to catch the towel he had Accio'd from across the room, no wand in sight.
After dressing and preparing to leave, Harry still hadn't managed to decide if meeting Malfoy was the best thing for everyone. Rather than go to class, he decided to make a detour.
* * *
Harry stared at the door to Dumbledore's office, racking his brain for the password. "Lemon drops. Chocolate-covered ants. Ton-Tongue Toffee." The door opened and Harry shook his head. Sometimes the Headmaster could be quite predictable.
As he glanced around the empty office, Harry sighed in disappointment. Bloody well figured. Every time he actually needed the Professor for something, he wasn't around. He was beginning to think that, despite what everyone told him, he really would be on his own when the Final Showdown came.
Sighing, Harry wandered around the room, his fingers running lightly over small, dust-covered statuettes and oddly-shaped stones. Bored and frustrated, his green eyes glanced about curiously, passing over then returning to the Pensieve he'd once discovered before.
I shouldn't... it doesn't belong to me. The devil in his mind responded sarcastically. Oh? Since when has that bothered you? Besides, it isn't like you're going to look through private memories. If you could just see the meeting with Draco – determine for yourself whether you can trust him or not. It's truly of the utmost importance.
Not thinking further about it – he was relieved that he'd managed to talk himself into it – Harry walked closer, moving to his knees next to the Pensieve and chewing lightly on his lower lip. Just as he bent his head forward, the low sound of a man clearing his throat jerked him erect.
"Oh. Professor Dumbledore. I was just – "
"I know every well what you were doing, Harry." The Headmaster's tone was sharp in a way that it had never been previously – with Harry, at least.
Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, the younger Gryffindor lifted his chin. "Yes I suppose you do. Perhaps, then, you could tell me why I was going to do it?"
Professor Dumbledore stared at his favorite student for a moment before exhaling slowly and sitting down wearily. "I suppose because you feel like you deserve to know."
Harry lifted a brow, standing in front of the desk. "Are you about to tell me that I don't?" He was, quite obviously, incredulous.
"Harry... there are things that you don't underst-"
"If you're about to have the absolute gall to tell me that I don't understand why I'm not allowed to know why I should trust people like Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape – when my life might be threatened by their very presence – then I honestly don't believe we have anything further to talk about." Furious and oddly hurt by his Professor's inability to treat him as an adult, Harry turned and headed for the door.
Dumbledore stood as he spoke. "Harry...wait. Sit down. Please," he added.
Harry paused, closing his eyes a moment at the request added to the command. While he wanted, badly, to walk out the door, a part of him realized that it was pride that demanded he abandon Dumbledore – just to prove that he could. With that thought came the recognition of stupidity, and sighing softly, he turned and sat down without saying a word.
Albus met the intense, slightly accusing glare of green eyes with no small amount of trepidation congealing in his gut. He couldn't afford to alienate Harry. Yet at the same time, the desire to protect the young man that he'd been responsible for for so long was strong. Stalling for time, the professor lifted a hand and removed his glasses, wiping the lens clean with a bit of his sleeve. Harry, however, didn't seem uncomfortable. His stare was unrelenting as he waited for his Headmaster to speak.
"Would I be correct if I stated that you no longer trust my word, Harry?"
Immediately guilt and shame flooded Harry's thoughts – but he shoved them back determinedly. "Are you trying to turn this conversation into something other than what it is, Professor? Because quite honestly, if you're attempting to make me feel guilty because I have difficulty trusting blindly, then I would remind you of the various instances when I've been betrayed by people I trusted. Some of whom you, yourself endorsed! So please, let's not stray from the point."
Dumbledore flinched at the unexpected perception of his angry student, but he hadn't become one of the wizarding world's most infamous personalities by flailing nervously at the first sign of conflict. "What is the point, then?"
"The point," Harry began furiously, "is that I am tired of being asked to just trust what people say, when in the end it's going to be me. Alone. No matter what you say, Professor – or Hermione, or Ron or anyone – I'm going to have to face Voldemort on my own. I'm going to have to find some way to defeat the Killing Curse – again! I'm going to have to kill someone – intentionally. I have to prepare for it, and I can't do that without knowing everything – without knowing who I can trust. Especially considering –" Abruptly Harry closed his mouth, stopping himself just before mentioning his recent interactions with Malfoy.
Albus didn't miss the omission, but decided not to pursue it – yet. Instead he leaned back in his chair and toyed idly with his beard. "Do you believe it's somehow wrong to trust people, Harry? Is that what the problem is?"
Harry clenched his jaw in frustration. "The problem is that you're wasting your time pretending like you know everything when you damn well don't! The problem is that I don't have a choice in any of this, and yet you don't even have the decency to see to it that I know everything possible! The problem is that I want to know why you believe Draco Malfoy is trustworthy. I want the option to make that decision for myself!"
Dumbledore glanced away, no longer able to hold the boy's gaze while reining in his emotions. When he spoke, however, his tone was even, ignoring the painful thrusts Harry had just twisted in his gut. "Ahh, I see. You believe you do not have enough information currently to be able to reach a verdict as to whether Draco is good or evil. Unfortunately, life does not come in such neat little packages, it-"
"Professor, please." Harry was disgusted with the avoidance tactics. Why wouldn't anyone just tell the damned truth? "I know all this, I understand that people are simply what they are. Stop treating me like a child! You said last year that Sirius' death was partially your fault because you sheltered me too much. So learn from it, damnit! Stop sheltering me! I need to know if Malfoy is truly on our side."
The aging Headmaster finally nodded, but he seemed to have wilted during Harry's vehement statements. Softly, he spoke, his words simple and sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Harry – I truly am. But to explain precisely what precipitated Draco's return to Hogwarts would be to reveal personal information that is his to relate, not mine. All I can say is that I have examined carefully his reason and found there to be little sense in denying him entrance to the school."
Sinking back into his chair and swallowing his anger as best he could, Harry inclined his head, realizing the Dumbledore would no more betray Draco to Harry than he would Harry to Draco. Quickly he changed tactics, pursuing a slightly different angle, "What about entrance into the D.A., Professor? Are you certain it's wise to allow the son of a rather notorious Death Eater to have any knowledge whatsoever of our plans and preparations – much less to be involved in the making of those plans?"
Sighing softly, Albus met Harry's gaze directly. "Harry... sometimes decisions are so difficult to make that one has to carefully consider the consequences of not only the decision they make – but also the decision that they don't. Do you recall our discussions regarding involving the entire school in the D.A.? We wanted to make certain that everyone felt that there was a place for them here. Perhaps it would be wise to use the same train of thought with Draco's involvement in our defensive operations. In addition... as a whole, the Defense League must appreciate not only its strengths, but also its weaknesses. And... it must find a way to correct them."
Having said as much as he felt prudent, Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes sparkling once again as he pulled out a box from beneath his desk. "Would you like to see the clever little toys the Weasleys gave me this week, Harry?"
Harry's hand fisted with frustration as the Headmaster closed the conversation without his consent – but he was tired of arguing about it. His thoughts raced rapidly as he considered the various bits of information Dumbledore had let slip, so he shook his head and rose to his feet. Just before moving down the stairs, Harry paused and looked back. "Thank you, but no, Professor. However, there is one thing. I'd like to increase the number of Occlumency lessons I'm having right now, if at all possible."
The Headmaster set his new Scented Exploding Quill aside and looked up at his student intently. "Of course, Harry. But why do you need them? You've been doing so well. There isn't much more I can teach you."
This time it was Harry who looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor as he muttered softly, "I just... want to practice - to make certain I'm ready, Professor. Have a good evening." He didn't wait for a response, leaving the office quickly.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind Harry. Everything had been set in motion. Now, he just had to wait and see what happened.
* * *
Harry left Dumbledore's office feeling physically and mentally exhausted. He'd felt so guilty... and then out of nowhere came a rage that he hadn't even been aware of. He was so angry with the Professor – how could the man put him in such a horrid position? Forced to either trust blindly or risk losing everything, as well as a valuable asset – an asset that could turn out the be the either their greatest advantage or the death of them all.
Rubbing his temples, he left the school and walked out into the brisk wind, wandering the gardens. Snow would come soon, so most of the plants had chosen to plant themselves in the greenhouse already. Harry rather enjoyed the bleak emptiness of the area at this time of year. He felt less alone when he was here – quite possibly because more and more as of late he felt lonely even when the entire school was around him. It was horrible.
His gut twisted and he sat down on a cold stone bench, his mind recalling the sheer helplessness that had overtaken him last night just before Malfoy had left the room. It had been a frightening sensation – not only because it was a particularly desolate feeling, but because he had recognized it. Harry had always felt rather isolated from the rest of the world; in his youth it had been because of the Dursleys, but after his first year at Hogwarts the feeling had abated – it was the only time he ever truly remembered being happy. Cedric's death had brought everything back. And then Sirius. Merlin... he'd never felt so alone as he had the first few weeks after his godfather's death. Until last night, that is.
Unable to sit still any longer, Harry moved quickly to his feet and began to wander along the stone path, his hand repeatedly raking through his untidy dark hair. Late last night – or rather, early this morning – he'd made the decision to prove to Malfoy that he was perfectly fine after the other boy's so-called 'help'. Yet today it seemed like such an absurd idea, even though he'd managed to best the Slytherin earlier. If he met Malfoy tonight, it wouldn't be like it had been on the Quidditch pitch. He'd be subjecting himself to the other's whims, he'd have to allow Draco Malfoy to see him weakened. Helpless. His very soul rebelled at the idea. But his intellect hammered at him relentlessly. What other choice do you have?
He simply had to learn how to effectively counter or resist the Unforgivable Curses. He'd done some reading; it was those incantations that had resulted in so many deaths all those years ago. And the Prophecy stated that one of them would kill the other...
Sometimes, he wished it were him; he wished he were dead. Not so much because he wanted to be, but because he was so tired of the endless planning and second-guessing and waiting. Harry often suspected that he'd been living his entire life on borrowed time, and it was one of the least comfortable feelings a person could have. The only way to be rid of it, he figured, would be to get rid of Voldemort. For good, this time.
To do that, he needed Malfoy.
And therein lay the crux of the matter. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. In addition, he had his pride to consider. If he didn't show tonight, Malfoy would think Harry was afraid. He'd gloat and laugh...
Harry shuddered at the thought. He couldn't bear the image of having to work with Draco almost daily for D.A. planning and Quidditch practice, and see the satisfaction lingering in the other boy's eyes at having utterly humiliated Harry. Abruptly, his decision was made. He'd be at the Room of Requirement tonight. Early, so he wouldn't be caught unaware again. He'd show Malfoy who the stronger wizard was.
* * *
Draco decided to forgo dinner in exchange for some time to himself. All day he'd used sheer will to keep from dwelling on his actions last night merely so he wouldn't have to think about what he was going to do this evening. Now, however, was time to plan.
He sank into a stuffed chair in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room. It was empty at the moment, which oddly pleased him. Usually he hated being in such a vast place alone. He had enough of that at the Manor. For a few minutes, the determined young wizard leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and resting. He didn't move; only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was actually breathing. After awhile Draco's lashes fluttered, then lifted slowly so he could stare idly at the ceiling as he allowed himself to contemplate his circumstances.
There was no question of not meeting Potter tonight; he'd never back down from that overrated git, not ever. There would be no repeat of this morning's Quidditch events; he was furious with himself for his disgusting descent into insecurity and spinelessness. He fully intended that the stupid Gryffindor pay for causing it.
He'd returned to Hogwarts for one reason alone, and he would do whatever he had to in order to accomplish it. He was a Malfoy – failure wasn't an option.
Although...
Draco shook his head furiously, annoyed at his lapse. He'd managed to get through the entire day without thinking of his father, and he had work to do. This was most certainly not the time to be dwelling on events that couldn't be changed.
Now was the time to deal with Potter. If there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop and think instead of letting his pride do the reasoning for him, he ignored it. He was rather good at that.
Smiling with satisfaction, the young Malfoy rose to his feet, dusting himself off regally and heading for the door. He had preparations to complete.
* * *
Harry jogged a few steps to catch up with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville as they left the hall following dinner. "Did I miss anything exciting this morning?" His voice was purposely casual; he was desperate that no one notice the strain he felt. He needed to relax, or he'd go mad.
"Professor Sprout awarded Neville 10 points for being the only person in class to correctly identify every plant in the greenhouse. He didn't make one mistake!" Hermione beamed over at Neville; to her, this was the ultimate compliment - praise from a teacher.
The tips of Neville's ears turned red as he shrugged and smiled back at her. "Thanks - but it's nothing special. I just like plants."
Harry grinned over at his friend, whose confidence was very slowly beginning to emerge. "Don't sell yourself short, Neville. That's a big deal. Congrats."
The other boy seemed to relax on some small, nearly imperceptible level. "Well, thanks. Incidentally, you also missed Professor Tonks's rather spectacular Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture."
Ron rolled his eyes skyward and stopped to listen in a small alcove on the second floor. "Oh man. What happened this time?"
Ginny giggled a bit. "She decided to demonstrate how to put a Locator spell atop an attack spell - so you can be certain that your hex will hit only the person you intend it to. Very useful in a large battle, I'd wager," she mused.
"...So what went wrong?" Harry leaned against a wall as he spoke, cradling his books loosely in one arm.
"Well, she was standing near a mirror, and she tripped on her hair - it was excessively long today, and powder blue - as she tried to aim the spell at nearby mouse. She accidentally set it to Locate herself. She must've run around the room ten times before Hermione managed to disengage it." Ron snickered, shaking his head.
"If this is the best talent the Order could find, we're in big troub-OW! GINNY!" Ron rubbed his abdomen where his sister's elbow had decided to test for durability. He eventually saw her frantic gesturing toward Neville.
Hermione glanced away when she saw this, then muttered beneath her breath, "...Actually...Ginny....he knows."
Everyone stopped and looked at her - except for Neville, who suddenly seemed to find the nearest window ledge extraordinarily fascinating. She flushed sheepishly. "Sorry, I just... I wanted to ask him a few things, and then I thought it was rather unfair that he didn't know - what with his parents and all... I..."
Ron glanced from Neville to Hermione, seeming to inflate with anger, "I can't believe you went behind our backs! You had no right - and neither did you, Neville!"
Upon hearing his name, the boy bit his lip and turned his head away, about to offer to leave...when something stopped him. He thought for a moment, then lifted his chin and met Ron's gaze determinedly; he hoped no one could tell that his knees were shaking. "You should have told me. Last year. You...you've seen my parents. Ron, Harry... you should have told me. At the very least, you could have admitted that the people who came with Dumbledore to help us that night weren't merely friends of Harry's. I had a right to know."
Ginny looked away, embarrassed, but Ron frowned and opened his mouth to argue again. Harry interrupted quietly. "Don't, Ron. He's right." He turned to face Neville, holding out his hand. "I'm truly sorry, Neville. You're right; we should have told you. I know what it's like to have people hide information about your own parents from you - I should have thought. I really do apologize."
Looking cautiously elated, Neville reached out and shook Harry's hand, then released a pent-up breath. "It's alright, Harry. I - I know why you didn't. I've not been much help to anyone in the past. I was too scared; my grandmother used to tell me horrible stories..." He trailed off, wishing he hadn't rambled.
"I'm sorry, too, Neville." This was from Ginny, who was hugged briefly in thanks. Finally, they all looked purposefully toward Ron - everyone except Neville, who turned back to that incredibly entertaining windowsill.
Ron remained silent for a good minute or so, then sighed ruefully, looking at Neville as he slid a hand through his hair. "Me too. I've been an arse today, and I know it. Didn't mean to upset you..."
While he'd neatly managed to avoid apologizing, Neville didn't mind. He just grinned back at Ron as he replied, "Yeah, you have been. It's alright though. With a nose like yours, it must be difficult to keep from taking out your anger on everyone else." The words were stated so sympathetically that for a moment even Hermione missed the humor beneath them.
Ron's hand went immediately to his nose, and he glanced at his reflection in the window. "What's wrong with my-" he broke off upon hearing Hermione's snicker, then saw Neville's smile. "Cute, Neville. Real cute." He laughed then, and lowered his hands.
Ron spoke up once more. "Anyway, as I was saying... have you all noticed the lack of information Professor Tonks has? Not referring to her DADA skills, but rather the blank look she gets if you discreetly ask her something about the Or-?"
Ginny spoke up abruptly, "So Lavender said that the Slytherins managed to get Snape to put in a formal protest to Dumbledore - who probably will just laugh anyway - to have Marcus Flint replace one of the twins as coach - all except for Blaise, because he hates Flint for some reason - but Padma and Parvati say that it isn't true. It might not be, 'cause Lavender sometimes makes things up when there isn't any real news to-" She stopped rambling as abruptly as she'd started, then looked at Ron to give him her full, silent attention.
The boys looked at Ginny, bewildered, then exchanged glances with each other that clearly questioned her sanity. Hermione rolled her eyes. "There were people in the other hallway, they might have been able to hear us. Ginny was just covering. Honestly, don't you three pay attention to anything?"
Ron ignored the question in favor of asking one of his own. "Is it true?"
Ginny stared at her brother blankly. "Huh? Yeah, there were people in the hallway..."
"No! Are they going to replace Fred or George with Flint?"
She blinked. "Lord love a duck, Ron, of course not! I made it up!" For an instant Ron looked disappointed, but the expression vanished quickly beneath a red flush of embarrassment.
"Oh. Yeah, I knew that...I...just wanted to see if you were going to lie about it..."
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, then rolled their eyes in unison. Harry grinned a bit. "Nice try, Ron. Next time, though... try saying that you've lost your short-term memory due to a freak accident with your hair brush, and you can't recall what was said. It might be a bit more believable."
Ron laughed, then nodded and continued where he'd left off earlier. "So... do you think that Tonks is still receiving information from the Order?"
"She probably just isn't supposed to tell us, Ron. We aren't supposed to know a lot of the things that happen. Though it's not as though that's ever stopped us before - sooner or later, we always find out everything." Hermione's voice had just a bit of arrogance to it. She was quite proud of the things they'd accomplished together.
Harry blanched and looked away, abruptly reminded of the Prophecy, his meetings with Malfoy, his dreams. His eyes closed tightly, then quickly flicked open before images he didn't want to revisit could flash in his mind. He hated keeping things from them. But... it was necessary, wasn't it? They were safer if they didn't know - and he couldn't handle the pity or the over-protectiveness that would surely choke him. It had been so difficult for him not to tell Ron about his encounter with Malfoy during the scrimmage, but...hell. There wasn't really a good reason for keeping it from them - so why was he?
"What time is it?" Ginny looked around for someone with a watch. Neville lifted a small gold pocketwatch on a chain from his pants.
"Ten after seven, why?"
"We're late!" Hermione grabbed her stack of books up off the floor and looked around quickly. "Where's the Lady Godiva again?"
"Outside the bathroom." The three boys answered at the same time, then grinned at each other pridefully - as if knowing where the naked-lady statue defined their masculinity to some completely incomprehensible degree.
Ginny and Hermione just shook their heads and hurried down the corridor.
* * *
"We've received another message, Master." The Death Eater handed the sealed parchment to the Dark Lord, then hurried away. They'd learned quickly that it was wise to avoid sticking around to see whether the information was good or bad. While the former had the benefits in resulting in close confidence, generous grants of power and excellent scotch, the latter had a tendency to result in death. Voldemort's 'Kill the Messenger' policy was legend.
The seal was broken with careful attention and skill - Lord Voldemort would not have it said that he was a hasty man, ruled by passion. No, he was intelligent and powerful - it was written down somewhere. Of course, he'd arranged to have it written that way, just as he'd forbidden the use of his name. He enjoyed inciting fear in his inferiors.
Cold eyes read the words, committing the format and style to memory. For a good five minutes he sat silently, moving only to lift his drink to his lips occasionally. Finally, he began to laugh. Everything was going according to his plans. Adjusted plans, perhaps, but no matter. Dumbledore knew nothing of the changes, he was certain. The Dark Lord had made it clear that, this time, there would not be any mistakes. He wouldn't tolerate failure again.
Besides, he had a secret weapon. One they knew nothing about. He laughed again, then called for another glass of scotch to be prepared. He had a visitor coming.
* * *
"You're late," Fred didn't seem too bothered by this; he was fiddling with what looked to be a circular ceramic block. It didn't shatter when he knocked it rather viciously against the table, though, so it couldn't have been too fragile.
"Sorry, we got distracted." Ginny sat down on a sofa in the surprisingly large broomcloset. It appeared that the twins had made some changes before they'd shown up. She leaned back between the twins, gazing down at their new toy. "What is that?"
"Right now? A worthless piece of crap." Fred frowned again and tried shaking the thing vigorously. Still nothing. "Damned thing."
Deciding she really didn't want to know, Ginny looked toward George as everyone took their seats - Hermione and Neville on the sofa across from she and the twins, Harry sprawled in an armchair - his legs dangling over one arm, and Ron took the chair across from Harry.
"We brought Neville," Hermione said warily. He hadn't wanted to come, but she'd insisted - her eyes shooting daggers at the others until they'd insisted too.
Fred didn't look up. "Neville? Never heard of him."
"Never met him before," said George, ignoring the stunned looks given by Hermione and Neville - they'd been in the same House just the year before!
Fred lifted his head, feigning a blank expression as he looked toward Neville. "He looks rather like an asparagus," he said to his twin.
"I dislike asparagus."
"As do I. Perhaps we might suggest a Polyjuice Potion to give him a more... broccoli appearance."
"I dunno. I was thinking carrot."
"Lettuce?" Fred offered a compromise.
"Romaine lettuce," George qualified with a nod.
The twins grinned at each other, then looked toward the rather bewildered boy. "Hey, Neville. Welcome. Glad you could make it. How's your Mimbulus mimbletonia?"
Neville exhaled in relief, stating that his plant was doing quite well.
"My brothers are certifiable," Ron informed Harry solemnly.
"Yes. Runs in the family, doesn't it?" Harry just laughed at Ron's glower.
"Ahem. Could we get on with this? I have plenty of studying to do tonight." Hermione glared at the lot of them; she was quite anxious to find out what was going on. "And no, Neville, you don't look like a vegetable," she responded to the whispered question.
Fred finally put down his circular tablet and used it as a coaster, setting his drink atop it. "We joined the Order of the Phoenix. We're here on their behalf."
Five shocked pairs of eyes stared at the twins blankly, followed quickly by a collective exclamation of disbelief and demands for explanations. George held up a hand.
"Listen, we'll tell you what we can. Just... before we do... you have to understand that we're not supposed to be saying anything at all. We're only including you because we figure that you've all faced the Death Eaters before and therefore you have a greater chance of running into them again. What is said here goes no further. You don't tell Snape, you don't tell Tonks, you don't even tell McGonagall. Understood?"
Everyone nodded solemnly. Harry's stomach clenched suddenly; he had a feeling that he didn't want to hear this. He said nothing, however, but straightened in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests loosely.
"The Order was there the night that the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban. They fought the Dark Lord and his cronies - and they lost." Fred's face was grim as he listened to his brother speak. Hermione thought briefly that she'd never seen the twins look so solemn.
"Some of those who were there died - most of whom you've never met. The rest who were there were badly hurt. And yeah, Ginny...Ron... that includes Dad. He's okay now, just...tired a lot." George paused, meeting Ron's eyes apologetically as Fred wrapped an arm around his softly weeping sister, whispering repeatedly that their father was alright.
"What about Bill? And Charlie?" Ron's voice was a bare whisper, as if something was stuck in his throat.
"...They...weren't there. They had another assignment..." The words were reassuring, but George spoke hesitantly.
"Doing what?"
"...We don't know, Ron. Only Dumbledore does, and he's not telling."
"Are... are they okay?"
"We...don't know that either, Ron. I'm sorry."
Hermione had clapped a hand over her mouth when she'd heard that some had died; now tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Neville bit his lip sympathetically, then reached behind her hesitantly and began to rub her lower back, not saying a word.
Ron nodded and stared at the floor, blinking furiously. After a minute, Ginny's quiet sobs goaded him into lifting his head angrily. "You should have told us. They're our family. We had a right to know."
Fred answered this one, his voice quiet and sad. "We wanted to, Ron. You have no idea how much we wanted to... but it would have endangered not only your life, but theirs as well."
"That's just an excuse!"
George hesitated a moment before replying softly, "Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is. We just... we didn't want to tell you until we knew something definitive. But we still don't, and now that we're here... well... we won't have to worry about finding some way to contact you should something happen. Owl Post is no longer reliable; neither is the Floo network. Everything's been infiltrated."
Harry, who'd been silent until that moment, finally lifted his head and caught George's gaze. He held it forcefully, his face pale but determined, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests tightly. "You said people were hurt. Have they recovered? What are our numbers? What support is being given by the Ministry? For that matter, what all has the Ministry been allowed to know? Tell us what's going on!" His apprehension revealed itself as anger, causing Hermione to admonish him stiffly.
"Harry. We'll get to it."
For once, her words didn't cause him the slightest feeling of discomfort. He stood to face her quickly, knocking his chair over in his haste. "You're damned right we'll get to it. And we'll get to it right now. Ron and Ginny know that their father is alright, beyond that there's nothing more we can do about it. Not until we know everything. And I am fucking sick of being kept out of the loop. I, more than anyone else, have to know what's going on!"
While Fred and George dropped their eyes guiltily at the last words, Ron shoved himself to his feet. "This isn't about you, Harry! I'm so tired of you thinking that this is all fucking about you!"
"Ron," George tried to interrupt quietly. When his soft warning went unheeded, he too got to his feet. "Ron!"
The angry young boy broke off and shifted his gaze to his brother. "What!"
"Harry's right," was the simple reply. Ron closed his eyes a moment, then looked incredulously at his brother.
"...About which part?"
"Everything, Ron. About everything." The words were solemn and sad. George turned to look at Harry, a bit of curiosity in his gaze.
Harry, who'd been standing with his fists clenched tightly, shook his head in a brief negative movement, then looked away, unable to hold the gaze. George sighed and turned back to his brother.
"Please. Can we do this without yelling? Fred and I will explain everything we can. I promise."
Ron remained flushed with anger until Ginny spoke up, sniffling lightly. "P..please. I want to know what's g-going on. Ron?"
At her soft pleading, Ron finally sat down - though he continued to glare resentfully at Harry. Hermione watched the defensive expression on Harry's face and felt her insides freeze over. Something was very, very wrong. Unknowingly she leaned into Neville a little, seeking comfort; she wasn't aware of his hand holding hers until he squeezed it reassuringly.
"...Harry?" The gentle prodding from the youngest Weasley was enough to cause Harry's icy demeanor to thaw a little, and he sat down rigidly in his chair.
"Alright, then. What don't we know?" Though they were still harsh, Harry's words had lost their accusing tone.
"You don't know that the Order is very nearly out of commission. That night at Azkaban... You-Know-Who showered our entire Protection Force with some sort of potion, but in powder form. We've been working on determining what it was made of for weeks, but we're still only halfway there."
"Who's 'we', if the Order is out of commission?" This was Neville, who didn't know much about the Order yet.
"Us," Fred replied. "And Professor Snape."
Hermione glanced up, frowning. "But you two got horrible grades in Potions."
Fred shrugged lightly, "Only because we stored the ingredients and used them for other things; we rarely did any of the assigned work in that class."
The other girl rolled her eyes - it figured.
"Regardless, the potion causes everyone who comes into direct contact with it to have a problem getting their balance all the time; they can't stand straight, much less walk straight or point a wand and hit a target."
"Sounds like a bad ear infection," Harry mused quietly.
"Huh?" Fred looked at Harry as if he'd spoken in Parseltongue.
"Oh, honestly! You ought to study how people who can't do magic live! An ear infection is a common cold; Muggles often experience them. And they don't get rid of them in a day by swallowing a potion - they have to take pills and antibiotics for a good ten days - at least. And Harry suggested that it might be an ear infection because they have a tendency to cause one's equilibrium to go haywire. The balance problems, in other words." Hermione paused to take a breath, and George jumped in quickly.
"Tell us later, okay Hermione?" He didn't give her a chance to respond, continuing on. "The point is, they're as good as useless. They can't go anywhere. And Dumbledore doesn't think things are bad enough, yet, to risk involving more Ministry members. See... we know for a fact that there's a small but powerful group of defectors within the Ministry; we just aren't positive who they are."
Hermione spoke up hesitantly, "Have you tried asking Percy?"
The three Weasley boys flushed with fury. "I wouldn't ask Percy to spit on me if I was on fire," George hissed, and Fred and Ron nodded their instant agreement.
Wishing she hadn't said anything, Hermione just nodded and looked away.
"Besides," countered Ginny softly. "Percy wouldn't know. He doesn't pay attention to anything aside from his Very Important Reports. I doubt he's aware that there are those in his wonderful Ministry that support the Dark Arts."
"I'd really like to know why so many people think it'd be a lark to join the Dark Lord. I mean - he lies and kills people who defy him - even amongst his own followers!" Ron was frustrated.
"Because he also grants power - and a lot of it - to those followers," murmured Harry.
The others nodded, and Neville spoke up slowly. "Actually... I think that there's more to it. At least, my grandmother says that there is..." He trailed off nervously, uncertain as to whether or not his words would be welcomed. It was obvious that he'd missed quite a bit these past few years - he didn't know half of what George and Fred were talking about.
"What does she say," queried Hermione.
Everyone looked over at Neville with interest, who gazed at his shoes as he responded. "She... she says that a lot of people are afraid of Muggles. They don't know anything about them, so they don't understand them... so they fear them."
Dawning realization crossed everyone's face as they processed Neville's words.
"I think your grandmother's probably right, Neville. But there's more to it, I'd guess."
"What do you mean?" George leaned forward, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Well, for one thing," Hermione murmured, slipping into Lecture Mode. "..we have been hunted by Muggles in the past. The most infamous case is the Salem Witch Trials that happened not so long ago in America. People were afraid of those who were different from them - women who were especially good with plants, or who seemed to be able to predict the weather. The entire town ganged up on them and put them through horrible deaths. Many Purebloods are terrified that this will happen again, because Muggles outnumber us greatly. If they discovered us and tried to snuff out magic, we'd be forced into seclusion. We simply cannot fight them all."
"I haven't ever heard of any of this," muttered Ron - he didn't want to believe that it was possible for anything that drastic to happen.
"You haven't heard of this because Hogwarts accepts Mudbloods." Hermione's words were calmly stated; only her tighter grip on Neville's hand indicated her distress.
Ron still looked blank; Harry took pity on him. "I think she means that there are so many of us that have grown up in the Muggle world, or had parents who did so, that we aren't afraid of them. We understand that they're just people, too."
Neville spoke up once more. "But the Purebloods don't understand that, because they know nothing about the Muggle world. So they want to keep those Muggles who are the first witches or wizards in their family from ever finding out what they are - this way, they minimize the number of people who know."
"And You-Know-Who feeds this fear and encourages the Purebloods to study the Dark Arts - so that they'll be prepared to fight off the army of Muggles that will surely come and kill us all, one day." Fred's sarcastic words were accompanied by disgusted mutters throughout the room.
Ginny stood up, unable to sit still any longer, and began to pace. Three pairs of Weasley eyes followed her progress anxiously.
"You okay, Gin?" Ron's voice was soft and concerned. She stopped and looked back at him, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
"No, honestly, I'm not. But if you're all honest, none of you are okay, either. It doesn't matter. If Fred and George are here, that means that there's a need for the Order's presence here at Hogwarts. So we are obviously going to have to prepare for something." Though her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin pale and clammy, she was calm and determined.
"I'm rather wondering what that is," said Harry casually.
All eyes turned to Fred and George, who looked at each other for a moment before speaking. "We have reason to believe that You-Know-Who has a spy here, and our job is to find out who it is and figure out what they know. Discreetly."
Only Harry appeared unsurprised. He tapped his fingers idly on his armrest a few times, then spoke up softly, "Do you think it's Malfoy?" If anyone noticed how tensely he awaited the answer or the slight flush of color in his cheeks, they didn't say anything.
Fred and George glanced at each other again, then back toward Harry. "Honestly? It's a bit too obvious, isn't it? We don't think so. We've got no trace of any sort of Dark Energy coming from him..." As George trailed off, Fred piped up ruefully.
"But we aren't certain our Detector is working, anyway. We haven't been able to test it."
"How does it work?" Hermione held out her hand excitedly - not so much because she liked toys, but because it was something new to learn about.
"It's supposed to get very hot if the person wearing it comes into physical contact with another who has had recent contact with Dark magic. And Harry has had more than the rest of us."
Hermione held the circular tablet in her hand, then stood and made her way to Harry's side. She didn't say a word, but he knew quite well what she intended. He didn't protest as she lifted a hand to rest it against his scar.
"Ahh!" Hermione cried out, dropping the tablet to the floor and began blowing on her stinging hand. "Bloody hell, that hurt."
Fred whooped and jumped off the sofa, hurrying to pick up the quickly cooling stone, then straightening and kissing Hermione quickly in gratitude. "You're a goddess, Herm!" She blushed, stuttering in embarrassment at the abrupt kiss – quite forgetting that she didn't allow anyone to refer to her as 'Herm', on penalty of death.
Ron's eyes narrowed angrily, but he said nothing, distracted by Harry's next words. "Hermione, try the same thing with Neville, if you would?"
Neville sat up straight, his voice squeaking in surprise. "You think I am a follower of the Dark Lord?" He sounded so hurt that Harry's voice immediately softened.
"No, Neville...just... bear with me, please?"
The boy nodded reluctantly, holding perfectly still as Hermione's free hand gingerly encircled Neville's wrist. A slight shriek escaped her throat as the hot tablet dropped to the floor. With the exception of Harry, everyone stared at Neville, stunned, then with slowly dawning anger.
"Neville, I can't believe you - " Ron's resentment swelled dangerously.
"He's not," Harry cut him off quickly. "The same thing would happen to you, or Hermione, or Ginny – or anyone in the D.A. We've all been toying with the Dark Arts lately, remember?"
The twins looked crestfallen at Harry's words. "We didn't think about that."
"Then why didn't it work on Malfoy?" Fred asked his brother curiously. Harry's eyes widened with shock, quickly concealed.
"You tried it on Malfoy, and it didn't work?" Ron's voice raised incredulously. "But he's in the D.A. with us. And we know he's doing Dark magic on the side."
Hermione shook her head just once. "No, we don't, Ron. We assume that he is, but we don't know. And for that matter, I can't recall seeing Draco perform one spell with the D.A. He just instructs and advises. He isn't a bad teacher, actually."
Ron looked exasperated. "Oh would you stop, Hermione? We have no desire to hear Malfoy-worshipping at this very moment!" She rolled her eyes, but decided against pushing the topic.
But I prepared a spell to protect Malfoy from being sensed if he performed any Dark magic – it was only supposed to work in the Room of Requirement! Harry closed his eyes tightly. How could he find out of the spell only worked in the Room, or if it continued everywhere else? Damn!
"We'll have to work on it. Regardless, there are other things you need to know." George sounded rather businesslike again; it was rather disconcerting.
"Such as..." Ron drawled.
"We think that Tonks has been compromised. We inform her only what we don't mind passing on, but other than that, don't trust her."
"How? Why?" Hermione seemed distraught; she truly liked the woman. Not as a teacher, of course – she was an abysmal failure at that – but as a person, she was wonderful.
"Well, Dumbledore isn't certain whether or not she actually is, but... she went on a mission just before school started, and he thinks that the Dark Lord got ahold of her. We've been told that he's very persuasive."
"And," added Fred "no one's seen her brother since two weeks before school began. Her younger brother, whom she's been responsible for all her life. If You-Know-Who has him, she'd do anything, I'd think."
Hermione rested a hand on her throat, utterly appalled. "Oh, Merlin. How frightening! Poor Tonks..."
"Don't go getting all sympathetic, Hermione," George cautioned. "There's also the possibility that he'd gotten to her beforehand, and she sent her brother to him on her own. Or that he just ran off."
"It's not as if You-Know-Who's afraid of going after a target's friends and family to get what he wants, either." Ron piped up rather bitterly.
Harry glanced toward him, frowning a bit. "We have proof that he's done that?"
Ron's eyes widened with horror, unable to believe what he'd just given away, until Hermione stepped quickly in front of him.
"Of course we do. You told me yourself, Harry, remember? Our second year, when Dumbledore had been asked to leave. He told Lucius Malfoy that certain people had been afraid that their families would be harmed if they didn't vote for his removal."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, then shook his head, "Yes, but that was Malfoy's doing. I think."
Hermione nodded quickly, "Yes, but there's also the incidents with the Crouch family..."
His eyes closed as he remembered the terrified confusion on Mr. Crouch's expression before he'd left to go find help. The man had been dead by the time Harry'd returned; killed by his own son – a supporter of the Dark Lord.
"Yeah, maybe. It wouldn't really surprise me."
"Speaking of Malfoy," Fred piped up, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. "We wanted to clear something up, Ron."
Ron looked toward his brother, lifting a brow somewhat defensively. "Yeah?"
"We didn't want Draco Malfoy on the team, we were worried about having him around. But Dumbledore insisted, so we had to. Then...well, we were going to have you be the starting Keeper, but we needed someone to stay close to Malfoy. Just in case, y'know? It would be easier to do that if we had someone on his own team who could spy on him."
The younger Weasley's expression seemed to ease with relief and hope. "So... you don't think I'm not good enough to represent Hogwarts?" The vulnerability in his statement caused Ginny to reach out and grab Ron's hand.
"Of course not! We think you're the best person for the job, Ron... and if we get a chance, we'll get you playing time. Merlin knows Hogwarts would be better off with you guarding the hoops," Fred's words were boasting, and Ron beamed his first genuine smile since breakfast.
Harry and Hermione smiled as they looked at Ron, a blatant 'I told you so!' expression in their eyes. He flushed, then just shrugged and grinned back at them.
"Oh, shuddup. I do not want to hear it," he muttered as he smiled.
"What time is it?" Harry sat up abruptly, looking for a clock.
Neville pulled his pocket watch out, "Quarter to nine, why?"
Harry flushed and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, I have to go. We can talk about all of this later, okay? Fred, George... thanks for all the information. I apologize for getting so frustrated, I'm probably just tired. See you all later!" He hurried out of the room before anyone could stop him, leaving a rather curious group of teenagers.
"What was that all about?" George looked at Ron, who was staring at the door blankly.
"I have no idea..."
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other warily, looking away only after Fred spoke up.
"Well, we may as well continue this later. George and I have to go see Professor Dumbledore." He paused a moment, then continued with poorly faked nonchalance. "Ron, why don't you come with us! I'm sure he'd love to... to tell you more about Mom and Dad...."
Ever the smart one, Hermione picked up on the twins' intention immediately. "Yes, why don't you, Ron? It might be helpful. ...For that matter, why don't we all go? I'd like to ask him a few questions, anyway."
Neville and Ginny merely shrugged, deciding not to argue as they stood and headed for the door. Ron followed, giving a few seconds for the twins to whisper fiercely to Hermione.
"What are you doing?"
She replied calmly, her wand rearranging the broomcloset back to its original state. "If he's gotten through Ron's shield, he'll get through mine, too. And since Neville and Ginny are spending more time with us, it can't hurt them to be offered the opportunity to be protected. And... it's best, for Harry. The fewer people Voldemort can get ahold of..." She drifted off as they picked up on her meaning.
"You're right, we should have thought about it." They turned for the door.
"Wait, I just have one question." At Hermione's words, they looked back questioningly.
"Are you here because of a traitor, or to protect Harry?"
The twins looked at each other warily, then George spoke up softly. "Both, Hermione."
"...So Dumbledore doesn't think he's enough of a deterrent, anymore."
Fred and George, who hadn't thought of it that way, frowned apprehensively. "I certainly hope that's not the case, Hermione."
After a moment she nodded, then gestured for them to leave. She didn't respond; there was nothing to say.
* * *
Harry crept up the stairs, peeking around the corner before finally hurrying toward the Room of Requirement. He grabbed the doorknob, feeling the slight twinge of magic that identified him – in addition to various other protections and Dark Arts shields, he'd keyed the Room to allow only himself and Draco after 9pm each night. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, though warily this time – his wand drawn.
It took perhaps the blink of an eye to identify that he wasn't alone, and another to swiftly shout "Protego!" in attempt to ward off the binding spell Malfoy had used the last time.
Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly prepared for the spell Draco actually used. The word 'Imperio' barely registered before he felt the curse hit him, and his entire body shuddered with reaction. He felt the wall protecting his mind begin to crumble, and he inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
Malfoy watched, smirking lightly. While he was aware that Potter had resisted Imperious before, it hadn't been done well. Besides, unlike now, Harry had been able to prepare for it before. Folding his arms over his chest, he cocked a brow arrogantly. "Potter – be a dear and close the door."
Close the door? Of course.
The thoughts drifted unhindered through Harry's mind, and he turned and closed the door behind him, even as a pathetically tiny voice seemed to scream No, don't listen! He ignored it – why shouldn't he listen? The demanding voice was somehow comforting, and he did want to please it.
Chuckling softly, Draco shook his head and murmured commandingly, "Potter, bring me your wand, if you would."
Bring you my – my wand?
Just as Harry began to take a step toward Malfoy, he stopped, his forehead crinkled in distress as his hands slowly fisted at his side.
That doesn't sound reasonable. I'd really rather not.
Draco inhaled sharply, his eyes widening in shock. Already, he could fight it? That... that was odd... he'd never seen anyone start to recover so quickly – most never even did.
Harry's jaw clenched tightly as his mind waged a grueling battle for control. Brick by brick, his wall reinforced, and his thoughts became more clear. I should keep my wand with me at all times. I know this. Although, it isn't like it would kill me...
It might! His mind responded furiously. You may need it to defend yourself!
"Potter. Your wand. Bring it here." Draco had straightened, speaking louder, his silver eyes focused intently on the slightly smaller wizard standing shakily before him.
His breath held, Draco watched as Harry trembled, obviously struggling to fight off the curse. Moments passed, and suddently the dark-haired wizard lifted his wand, holding it out toward Malfoy. Just as Draco leaned forward to take it, Harry lifted his head, green eyes blazing.
"Commoveo!" he shouted, and vibrant emerald light emerged from his wand, moving unerringly toward the other boy.
The sound of Malfoy's gasp of shock was quickly followed by a dull thud as he hit the wall forcefully and slid to the floor. Harry stood utterly still, panting softly with exertion as he glared furiously at his attacker.
"Get up." The enraged Gryffindor hissed, although Draco was already scrambling to his feet, his pale cheeks flushed with humiliated fury.
"You'll pay for that, Potter, I promise you." The blonde held his wand out threateningly, his muscles tense as he awaited Harry's next move. Later he would berate himself for not attacking immediately, but at the moment his sole concern was avoiding the other wizard's certain strike.
Harry lifted his wand, steadying it as he aimed at the treacherous Slytherin, his voice but a whisper as he hissed out furiously "How dare you, Malfoy! How dare you-"
Draco laughed sardonically. "How dare I what, Potter? Do exactly what you had asked me to do? Use the Unforgivable Curses on you?" He watched the other boy disdainfully, delighting in pointing out the famous Gryffindor's stupidity.
Harry flinched, his lashes flickering in acknowledgement of the hit. Embarrassed at the point made, he quickly countered, "You have no honor whatsoever, Malfoy! You didn't even bother to wait until I was inside, or to ask me what I wanted to practice. You're scum – just like your father." He said it only because he knew it would irritate the hell out of Malfoy, and he desperately needed just a moment or two to regroup – he was humiliated at having been caught unaware. Again.
The change that passed over Draco's face at the last words was astounding. Until then, Malfoy had been angry, disturbed, but still arrogant and somehow cold. Now it seemed like every muscle in his body had tightened with sheer, unadulterated hatred. His silver eyes gleamed like liquid metal as his gaze slid slowly, contemptuously over Harry, who shivered and actually stepped back uncertainly.
Draco inhaled slowly, releasing the breath in a slow, soft hiss. It was taking every bit of energy he had to keep from using the Killing Curse on Potter – and even then, he could feel himself slipping. The rage was there, demanding to be released. He could feel it within him.
It would be so easy, his mind whispered. Two words, and he would be gone. Never to say such words again. You have the power, the strength. He is a weakling – you are not. You have the power of life and death... and he deserves to be punished for his insolence.
Harry watched as Malfoy tilted his head to the side a bit, as if listening to someone whisper in his ear. His own breathing quickened as he watched awareness fade in Draco's eyes, overcome by the illusion of supremacy given to him by the shocking amount of power he seemed to suddenly radiate.
As those enraged metal eyes focused on him once more, Harry assessed his options. He wasn't prepared to deal with this angry power that he'd never seen before, and he knew it. Making a swift decision and hoping like hell that it worked, he lifted his wand. Just as Malfoy's eyes widened, Harry focused on his hatred of Voldemort and shouted - as if volume would somehow increase his power.
"Imperio!" The flash of green light caught Draco's right shoulder, and Harry waited tensely, hoping like hell the curse was effective enough to distract Malfoy and perhaps cause him to lose his focus a bit.
Slowly, Draco lifted his simmering silver eyes from his shoulder and stared at Harry, who shuddered as the Slytherin's softly spoken words seeped into him. This wasn't the Malfoy he knew. This was someone else entirely.
"Potter," he hissed dangerously. "You are a fool... a weak fool. An Unforgivable Curse must be willed to have an effect. The caster has to want the recipient to feel the effects with every fiber of his being. Like... this. Crucio."
The curse was all the more effective for its taunting delivery, and Harry had been so distracted by the unearthly voice Draco had used that he completely forgot to avoid the spell. A groan of anguish ripped from his throat as he sank immediately to his knees, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he bent over, curling into a ball as if he could contain the pain that way.
Draco watched unfeelingly as Harry's muscles locked tightly; never once did his wand waver as he held the curse, not allowing the pathetic, quivering boy on the ground a reprieve – even when tortured gasps reached his ears.
You see? The power you have – even Dumbledore's Hero cannot match you. You are without equal. And he – he deserves to die for what he said about your father...
Malfoy growled deep in his throat as the words floated through his mind, and amazingly the Curse seemed to take on a new dimension. No longer did it feel to Harry like he was being swallowed alive by misery and hatred and absolute evil – now, it felt like it were eating at him from the inside out, and he just wanted to give into it. The world wasn't worth fighting for so long as this existed. It would be so much easier to just... surrender.
The energy Draco had sent at Harry seemed to intensify malevolently as the thought of submitting drifted through his ravaged mind. Quickly the remainder of the wall he'd erected to protect himself was wiped away, and with it any constraints that had been placed on him.
Wild images raced in front of the Gryffindor's closed eyelids, patches and flickers that made no sense whatsoever, until they seemed to merge together, and only a soft whimper escaped Harry's lips as his consciousness slipped away.
* *
Something was coming toward him. It was dark, menacing, and it was reaching for him – so close! Harry turned to run, only to feel cold, heavy tendrils of ominous energy wrapping about his throat, holding him still. A panicked whimper parted his lips as words whispered threateningly in his ear. You're mine... you belong to Me. He heard the words, his eyes wide with horror, and suddenly he couldn't breathe as mocking laughter filled the air.
Without warning, the laughter turned to a piercing shriek of rage. No! No, he's Mine... Mine!
Blessedly, his world whirled around and he felt himself sucked into another time, another place - leaving the evil presence behind as Harry became another, just as he had when he'd practiced Occlumency with Dumbledore...
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .
...He watched as the familiar man walked to a clear space and lifted his head to face him. No... not him, Him. The one demanding this task, the one standing next to him, gripping his shoulder. Hatred and fear twisted his gut, his hands clenching tighter as he watched, struggling to remain impassive. He'd been spared only one glance by his father, the victim of this atrocity, and it had been cool, unemotional. He wouldn't disrespect that courage by showing his fear, his desperation. His fists were slick now as he watched the proceedings, not knowing that his breath came in soft gasps – almost whimpers.
Finally he heard it, stated triumphantly and accompanied by a slightly mad cackle of superiority... Avada Kedavra. He saw the resignation on his father's face a mere instant before the curse struck – his head spun, and everything went black.
Harry shook himself from Draco's mind and pulled out quickly, his thoughts whirling as he acknowledged the impossible truth of what he'd seen. Commanding himself to remember everything, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to return...
* *
Harry lifted his lashes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling as he listened to the sound of his heart racing, reliving the last few moments of his dream – if it actually was a dream, which he doubted. Moments later he turned his head, very slowly, and focused on the Slytherin panting softly, eyes closed. Quickly he noted the slumped shoulders and slight tremble of the boy's hands and exhaled softly in relief. Whatever monster had taken over Draco before seemed to have gone, thankfully.
Groaning lightly as he shifted, his entire body shuddering in protest, Harry placed an arm on the ground and tried to push himself into a sitting position, only to collapse back to the ground, weak and exhausted. The movements caught Draco's attention, and looked up with bloodshot eyes, then inhaled sharply.
"Harry?" The words were whispered almost inaudibly; Malfoy lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, verifying that what he was seeing was reality. When he saw Harry move again, he groaned and slid to his knees. "Oh, Merlin..."
Harry took a deep breath, then quickly shoved himself up to a sitting position, his hands grabbing at his head as he held himself still while his world spun wildly. "I'm going to kill you for this, Malfoy," Harry muttered as he waited impatiently for the gnomes tap-dancing on his head to quit the racket.
Surprisingly, no response followed his words – sarcastic, threatening or otherwise. Frowning a little, Harry looked over at Draco once more, his brows lifting in curiously as he saw the Slytherin curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn to his chest, providing an uncomfortable pillow for his forehead.
Harry caught his breath – Draco's shoulders were shaking. Was he...crying? Surely not. Malfoy didn't cry – Malfoy wasn't even human. The memory of the scene he'd recently seen caused guilt to flood his stomach. Oh, hell no. You do not feel sympathy for Draco. Just because he saw his father die...
And that was all it took – the memory of Sirius' death, the recollection of how he'd felt all his life, the rootlessness and loneliness that had been so much a part of him...and all because his parents were gone - Harry closed his eyes as remorse flooded his entire being. Draco was a creep, yes, but... no one deserved having to lose people they cared about in such a way.
Hesitantly, Harry scooted toward the Slytherin, holding his breath to keep from crying out at the horrid sensations - which felt how Harry imagined having nails hammered into his bones would feel. When he was close enough to touch, he whispered softly, though his left hand gripped his wand nervously behind his back. He'd been a fool twice in the past two days with this wizard – it wouldn't happen again.
"Malfoy?" There was no response aside from the sudden stillness of the blond. Biting his lower lip apprehensively, Harry tried again. "...Draco? Are... are you... what happened?" Sympathetic as he felt, he couldn't quite stomach asking Malfoy if he was okay.
There was no answer for perhaps half a minute, when a pent-up breath was released from the other boy, sounding like nothing else so much as a long- suffering sigh. Then Draco lifted his head and stared coldly at Harry, his eyes bloodshot, but oddly there was no sign whatsoever that the Slytherin had shed even one tear.
"Haven't had enough yet, Potter?" The words were dripping with sarcasm, as usual, and Malfoy's expression held nothing but confidence in his superiority. And yet... something was different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it.
"No? Want to 'practice' some more, Potter? I wouldn't mind, but perhaps pain gets you hard... I really don't care to be used as a substitute for your hand." Again he taunted, and there wasn't even a flicker in his gaze to suggest that he didn't mean every disdainful word.
Harry felt his hands curling into fists, anger flushing his cheeks. This was a new and unfamiliar method of taunting that he just wasn't used to. Behind his glasses, his green eyes narrowed with loathing. "Malfoy, you couldn't turn on a rock."
Draco just smirked arrogantly. "Shows what you know, Potter."
Considering attacking Malfoy again, Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and get to his feet. He didn't have the strength to go another round with the surprisingly powerful Slytherin. As it was, it took most of his remaining energy just to keep upright. He'd never hurt so badly in his life...well, physically, at least.
"You're not worth my time, Malfoy." Harry spat the words, then turned and made his way as steadily as possible for the door. The tart retort he'd expected never came, and it wasn't until he was out the door that he hunched over, struggling to stay upright. It took a long time to reach the dorm.
* * *
Draco watched Harry leave, ignoring the trembling of his wand as he held it out, casting a spell to lock the door. As soon as he finished, the wand clattered to the floor as he turned to his side. He bent forward, supporting himself with his palms on the cold stone floor as he retched repeatedly.
When he finished, the weary Slytherin sat up and leaned back against the wall, staring sightlessly at the floor as he tried to recall what had happened. Almost instantly, his stomach clenched and bile rose once again in his throat – but there was nothing left to come up.
Once he'd settled again, he lifted his lashes and looked down at the prominence of his veins in his left forearm. My wand arm, he thought immediately, and his eyes widened.
Something was horribly wrong. He didn't know what happened; one minute he'd been waiting for Potter to strike, and the next the boy had been lying limply on the floor, and he'd been panting with exertion. Draco shuddered at the memory. He'd thought Harry was dead. He'd thought that he had killed someone...again.
Damnit! His stupid sentiments regarding killing weakened him. Draco was absolutely furious with himself for caring, for even one moment, about fucking Harry Potter. The boy was dumb enough to ask these favors of him; if he ended up dead, it was his own damned fault!
Still... this shouldn't have happened. He didn't know how to explain how it had. Closing his eyes, Draco swallowed hard past the lump of fear in his throat. His return to Hogwarts may have been more foolhardy than he'd realized..
* * *
The rough hand shaking his shoulder woke him sluggishly. He didn't even bother to open his eyes; he could tell it was still dark, and he couldn't see much without his glasses anyway.
"...What?" Harry mumbled irritatedly. He was tired, he hurt. He wanted to sleep, damnit.
"Harry, wake up." It was one of the Weasley twins. "Dumbledore's been attacked."
* * *
