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Harry yawned, smiling vaguely up at the canopy of his bed. He was at Hogwarts. It was months before he had to return to the Dursleys. Both of his best friends were here, and both were still alive and well, despite the resurrection of Voldemort. All in all, Harry was feeling pretty good about himself.
Slinging open his curtains, Harry clambered out of bed, and crept noiselessly over to Ron's. Sticking his head through the sleeping red-head's curtains, Harry stared at him and grinned, a great luminous Halloween smile. Ron, subconsciously feeling the eyes on him, awoke, took one look at Harry and screamed.
"AAARGH!! ...... Frigging hell Harry, don't ever do that again...."
Seamus snickered. Ron shot him a glare. "Hey, you try and stay quiet when you wake up to this grinning lunatic in your face!"
Harry grinned again. Ron shuddered, and clumsily sprawled his way out of bed. Ron was never overly coordinated in the mornings. Neville, awakened by Ron's scream, yawned as he opened his trunk.
In the common room they joined Hermione. Already the bushy haired girl's arms were full of books.
"Geez Mione! Classes haven't even started yet!" exclaimed Ron. Hermione smiled and shrugged. "Never too early." She replied lightly. Harry smiled at their banter.
After breakfast, the trio hurried through the halls towards the dungeon. Double Potions with the Slytherins and everyone's favourite teacher. Harry was almost anticipating seeing Malfoy. The boy had been absent at breakfast as well, but no one else seemed perturbed by it.
As they entered the classroom, his eyes alighted on the silver hair bent over the book, surrounded by Slytherins and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry frowned, searching Draco's face as he turned to look at him. He could see no sign of the depression, the emptiness of last night. Either it had all been some odd joke, or Draco was the best actor he'd ever seen. Possibly it was both.
Snape swirled in, his cloak flying up. Sharp eyes stabbed into Harry, and then, surprisingly, passed over him. "Mr Malfoy!"
Draco's head snapped around. "Yes, sir?" Draco asked. Harry was astonished to hear the wary note in the boy's voice. Draco was Snape's favourite, he had nothing to worry about.
"You're chewing Drooble's Gum. Spit it out. 10 points from Slytherin." The Gryffindors gaped as Malfoy resentfully spat out the gum and destroyed it with a tiny spell. The Slytherins on the other hand, seemed grimly unsurprised.
Hermione was frowning, her hazel eyes flicking back and forth between the hook-nosed teacher and the boy. She looked like she did when faced with a particularly perplexing and obscure question; determined. She wanted answers. Her eyes drifted to Harry, and she quickly scribbled a note to him.
You were on the train with him. Notice anything odd?
Harry paused. Should he tell the truth? This was Hermione, one of his best friends. She had stood with him forever, and he would trust her with anything. But something in him was jealously guarding whatever last night was.
Not really. We didn't talk.
It was only a little lie, he assured himself. They'd been silent for most of the journey. Ron suddenly joined in.
Hey, so no one knows wot we're talking about, can we call him Elfie?
Their eyes widened, and simultaneously they turned to stare at Ron. He shrugged, and whispered, "He looks like one."
Still giving him odd looks, Harry turned his attention onto 'Elfie'. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Snape, but Harry had the distinct feeling he wasn't taking in a word.
Finally they began to collect their ingredients to actually make the Potions. Just as they were about to start, Snape held up a hand. "Crabbe, partner Potter, and Goyle, you with Weasley. And Malfoy," he said with a vicious smile. "With Longbottom."
A knock on the door roused Harry from his unhappy contemplation. The object of his study, his and Goyle's potion, had just turned a mustard yellow colour, and as it was meant to be turquoise blue, he doubted that was good sign. Goyle was hopeless, bumbling and fumbling his way through.
At the door stood Dumbledore, his white hair and beard almost luminescent in the dingy classroom. The only thing that rivalled them was Malfoy's shining hair. But his smile far outshone the tiny, imperceptible smirk that, for some reason, was still lingering on Draco's face.
"Excuse me Severus. Could I see Harry in my office for a moment?" the old wizard asked, his voice a little hoarse. Harry immediately abandoned the ruined potion, gathered his things and was at Dumbledore's side in an instant.
They walked in companionable silence through the halls. Harry had the feeling that whatever Dumbledore had to say could not be discussed in public.
"Peanut brittle." Dumbledore said softly as they stood before the griffin statue. Despite being in Gryffindor, Harry had always though that a little biased, and it made him wonder whether Godric Gryffindor had built the headmaster's office.
Settled in Dumbledore's office, Harry look inquiringly at the kindly old man. Or perhaps not so kindly. Harry knew well that, all along, Dumbledore had been playing his own game, smoothly spiralling towards some unknown end. He trusted Dumbledore never to harm him, or anyone else for that matter, without the utmost urgency. What bothered him were Dumbledore's definition of urgent, and what exactly the old man classified as harm.
"Well, my boy, there are several things I'd like to talk to you about. Firstly, Voldemort has left Britain."
Harry's eyes bugged out of his head. He'd never really thought about it, but the idea of Voldemort just up and leaving the country was suddenly as absurd as the thought of Ron and Malfoy dancing around in tutus.
"He has set up what, Snape tells me, is a permanent base in Hawaii." Dumbledore expanded. Harry snorted. Hawaii? Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most evil and feared wizard currently living... was in Hawaii?
Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. Then his face turned grave. "Harry, this is going to sound incredibly blunt, but you need to learn wandless magic."
Harry blinked. "Run that past me again?" Dumbledore obliged, and then added, "I can see from the look on your ace that you believe it impossible. What I am about to tell you, you must tell no one, not even Mr Weasley or Miss Granger." Harry frowned at the thought of keeping secrets from his friends. That didn't stop you in Potions, his brain prodded. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Why do we use spells when we cast magic? After all, spells are only words, and words are only sound. Sound has no direct impact whatsoever. What it does do, however, is create an image in your mind.
"What separates magic folk from Muggles, Harry, is not some deep, profound mystical power. It is merely a different sort of brain. All humans leave a huge percentage of the brain unused. There is one part that, unless you're born knowing how to use it, can never be put into action. All magic people and animals can use this part of their brains.
"This is where the image from the spell comes in. If the image is strong enough in this part of the brain, then the mind will twist reality to make the image part of that reality."
Dumbledore held up a hand as Harry's opened his mouth. "Wait until I am finished, Harry." He chided gently.
"Wands are, technically, useless. They aren't required for actual spell-casting. Neither are words actually, but at this point that would be far, far too advanced, even for you.
"Wands, like spells, are another mental reassurance. The thing about magic is that people have to truly believe that they can. If they believe that wands contain magic, then they will in turn believe that they can perform magic.
"This is not common knowledge Harry. To put wandless magic into practice requires a great deal of courage, confidence and belief in oneself. I wholeheartedly believe you are up to the task, but others are not. Take away their faith in their wands, and the wizarding community would be like sitting ducks.
"This is why you must not tell your friends. And why you must learn how to operate without your wand. It would give you an enormous advantage over Voldemort, as he doesn't even know about wandless magic.
"I have arranged for Monsieur De Clark to tutor you in wandless magic. You may still back out of it if you wish. But before you make any decisions, I should inform you that, were you to take the tutoring, I would deem you in need of some stress relief. Quidditch, for instance? I think we could see our way around that ban."
Harry mulled it over for a moment. Having been raised as a Muggle, he could accept Dumbledore's explanation of magic, although he knew most wizards wouldn't be able to. He was more than willing to take on the extra lessons, despite their added weight on his already strained timetable, if it meant his return to Quidditch. There was just one thing bothering him.
"Why do we use magical creatures body-parts in Potions, Professor?"
Dumbledore smiled benignly. "So curious, Harry. It is because, after a time, the sheer will power used in magic seeps into physical vessels. Some creatures just exude more than others. Anything else?"
Harry shook his head. He felt simultaneously honoured, and disappointed, like a kid who's just been told that Santa Claus isn't real. Honoured, because he'd been trusted with the truth, and disappointed, because part of the wonder of magic had been sapped away.
The corridors were cold, and Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he slowly walked back to the Gryffindor common room. "Mobilus." He informed the Fat Lady. She smiled indulgently and swung open.
The common room was almost stiflingly warm after the chill of the corridors, and Harry was swamped by a wave of noise and colour. He felt a sudden urge to return to the corridors, and drowned it immediately. Ron and Hermione were looking expectantly at him from a corner. Sitting with them was a small, bushy-haired girl with huge buck-teeth. Harry was reminded instantly of a rabbit.
The girl gasped at the sight of him. "I've read about you!" she cried, forgoing the introductions. "You're Harry Potter! I know all about you!"
Harry blinked. It wasn't every day complete strangers claimed to know everything about him, after all. "Umm, thanks?" he ventured.
"I'm Clementine." She told him bossily. From over her head, Hermione gave an apologetic smile. Ron rolled his eyes. She's a monster, he mouthed at Harry.
"Harry, you forgot your quill." Interjected Ginny. She passed it to him with a coy smile. Harry was almost sure she had just fluttered her eyelashes at him. Thankfully, Ron took pity on him.
"Hey Harry, lets go play chess. The Great Hall would be empty now, don't you think?" he said pointedly. Ginny opened her mouth to agree, only to be collared by Hermione. "You'll help me show Clem around, won't you?" she asked sweetly, steering the red-head away.
"Thanks Ron." Said Harry, relieved, as they escaped through the Portrait Hole. "No problem." He replied with a grin.
Five minutes later, Ron had already desecrated Harry's pawns, murdered his bishop and was advancing on his castle. Harry had managed to capture one of Ron's pawns, and was hopeful of getting another one before Ron won the game.
Footsteps in the deserted Hall drew their attention. A slim, straight-backed figure was walking along the tables, clearly on his way to somewhere else. Ron halted his game, and stared balefully as Draco passed, a smirk firmly locked onto his face. Harry's own face was confused, and uncertain. That seemed to be happening a lot today.
Draco's shield was raised again. There was no chink in his armour, no weak spots in his defence. The icy wall was alive and well.
"Git." Ron muttered as he left.
"Why does your whole family hate them so much?" Harry asked curiously. He had learnt early that mention the word Malfoy around the Weasleys, and generation-old grievances would surface.
Ron grinned. "Glad you asked. They started it. The Malfoys used to be our servants." He said cockily. Harry gaped. "It was ages ago of course. We were really, and I mean really rich back then. The whole family worked for us. If they still did, Malfoy would probably be our stable-boy or something. Do him good, I reckon.
"Anyway, one day this messenger came from the king. He said he'd heard we were planning to rebel, and as a result, all our land, titles and wealth were forfeit. There was an army waiting outside to make sure we complied." Ron explained with the air of someone repeating a well-known story.
"He also said that all of our stuff would go to the guy who'd 'informed the king of our grievous treachery'. Guess who? Centur Malfoy, our scribe."
"Really?" asked Harry, astonished. Ron nodded.
"Filthy Malfoys. They owe everything to us. Draco Malfoy's going to be the worst of the lot, I reckon. Carbon-copy of dearest Daddy, he is."
Harry had his doubts. The Malfoy on the train was nothing like Lucius. But then, the Malfoy on the train had been a broken, scared creature. Draco Malfoy was never scared, never broken. Always utter, impenetrable ice.
Smallish chapter this time. Review?