Chapter 10: Difficult Times

Disclaimer: I own a large number of gorgeously wondrous new things, thanks to my friends buying me birthday presents. However, they failed to buy me the rights to Harry Potter. Shame on them!

Thanks for 245 reviews goes to: Mandemi, Pheonix, willowfairy, btvsgoddess, PinkTribeChick (x2), Awkward, Flexi Lexi, Beauty Full, laterose, Celestial Eclipse, SoshilaDove, Haystack8190, samhaincat, heavengurl899, jules37, KrystyWroth, mutsumi, Plaidly Lush, storm079, Saotoshi, nutmegmercury, Go10, kedda, mesmer, Kaydera, Azn-Sweetie, Hustler, Saotoshi, SycoCallie, Cho Chang-Emotional Dark Hole

A/N: Heh, you made me feel… little now, what with the 'You're only sixteen!' comments. Well, technically as I write, only fifteen. 16 tomorrow.

I've had most of my presents, and thanks to everyone reading from real life who's given me one! I've also had an extremely good Parent's Evening, in which my divine twist of fate even the Maths teacher, to whom I'd given in about a quarter of my homework this term, merely commented that I needed to be a little more organised.

I was also in the Latin Speaking competition at my school, and came joint second! Anyone who lives around my area: my photo's going to be in the South Manchester Reporter sometime soon, because I was the only person who wasn't terrified of photographs. Go me.

Anyway, can't think of anything else I need to say. Oh, wait, yes I can. I'm going to be renaming all the chapters thus far soon, because I don't like the names so far. If you have any suggestions for chapter names, drop me a review!

And on to the chapter: enjoy.

~*~

It is a denial of justice not to stretch out a helping hand to the fallen; that is the common right of humanity.

Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)

~*~

His pale eyes narrowed and he tensed with anger; Hermione, knowing she had no reason for being there, stepped nervously backwards. Damn, why hadn't she chosen a better time to come here, why couldn't she have waited…

Unexpectedly, Rita spoke up. 'Draco, don't get angry…'

'Shut up,' he said, flatly; all the anger was hidden away, leaving nothing but a harsh, fierce edge to his tone.

'She's only trying to…'

'I said,' Draco interrupted, eyes flaring, 'shut up.'

Rita did so, and Draco turned his attention back to Hermione, who stood, fearful of his rage, in the corner of the room. She attempted to speak, 'Malfoy, please don't be angry, I'm sorry…'

'Sorry doesn't mean anything,' he hissed, taking a step forward, closer to her. Hermione watched him warily. Was he going to attack her? He couldn't, surely not, he was just trying to be intimidating, to scare her. He wouldn't dare to hurt her, not here, at the Order, surrounded by trained Aurors…

But none of them were here, were they? Here in this room, that was. And the door was shut, and the rooms were all soundproofed, and he was angry, so angry…

'Malfoy, listen to me,' she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 'I was only trying to help you, that's all I wanted to do, and I know I shouldn't have come in your room but I needed to talk to Rita…'

Malfoy laughed, a short, bitter laugh that had nothing of amusement in it. 'That traitor's already told you all my secrets, Mudblood,' he said simply, and Hermione winced at the name. Prejudice, like in the Daily Prophet…

Hermione kept calm. 'I wasn't asking for secrets, I just wanted to know how you were doing,' she explained, backing up even further, to press against the wall. It was cold against her back.

'It's none of your business,' he spat, stepping closer to her. He was out of place, here, in this normal little room with the amber sunlight shafting through the window. He should have been at the top of a castle, made from the bleakest black stone that existed, atop a remote crag in a thunderstorm with lightening crackling through the air. Angry.

Hermione tried not to be afraid. 'I just wanted to help you,' she pleaded. 'I mean, I know it must be difficult, and all I want to do is…'

'Shut up,' he told her, his voice now rough as his rage built, And Hermione did so. 'I don't care what you want! You have no right to be in my room, whatever reason you're in here. And I don't want your help, Granger. I just want to be left alone.'

'Malfoy,' and she knew it was dangerous to press her point, but carried on regardless, 'you need help. You need someone to help you figure things out…'

And his eyes were suddenly infernos of silvery fire. He stepped up to her, tense with anger, and grabbed her arm, his grip painfully tight. Hermione forced herself not to cry out, not to show her fear, because all that ever did was show Malfoy that he was getting to her…

'I do not need help,' he told her, his voice soft as flame and just as dangerous. 'I especially don't need it from a filthy Mudblood like you.'

Hermione made herself breathe slowly, not too fast, and tried to ignore her hammering heart as she sought desperately for a way out of the situation. Would he hit her? He was angry enough to… She glanced right and left, saw no escape, and then looked back at him.

And in his eyes she spotted it, just behind the flame, something she knew all too well at this moment: fear. But why? Why was he afraid; he wasn't the one pressed against the wall with a furious enemy in front of him…

Anger. She realised. He was frightened of the anger, too, but in his case it was because he didn't know what it was. Because it was a powerful emotion, and he wasn't used to them, and it scared him…

'Malfoy…' she began uncertainly, noticing his grip on her arm slackening, 'Malfoy, please…'

And his eyes hardened again, the flame freezing to stone. 'Get out,' he spat suddenly, releasing her arm and turning away.

She'd have given anything to hear that from him a minute ago; now she wasn't sure. 'Malfoy…'

'Get out!' he repeated, a roar this time and forceful, and she realised he wouldn't be moved on this. She didn't want to leave him, but… but she had to. She couldn't do anything until he wanted her help.

Biting her lip, she crossed the floor without another word, defeated, and left him alone.

~*~

Sleeping was still difficult. He'd woken at least three times in the night, sweaty from visions of veils and death and screaming.

Soon after dawn, he'd decided he wasn't going to manage any more sleep that night. It was far too early for Mrs Weasley to be making breakfast, but he was hungry. He could always get a sandwich from the kitchen, then find something to do – read a book, perhaps, if he could find any.

Sighing, Harry swung himself out of bed. It was difficult to get the images of his nightmare out of his mind, but he resisted them, trying to think of other things. Like where he could get a book from, for example. Hermione would have some, but she would be asleep and he didn't want to disturb her by going into her room to get a book out. Was there a library here? He didn't know.

He reached the kitchen without meeting anyone, which was unsurprising given the time, but just as his hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn it, he heard voices from inside, and paused.

'How on earth can you stand starting the day without coffee? I can't think without sweet, sweet caffeine in the morning…'

Harry relaxed – it was Tonks' voice – and opened the door, wondering what she could possibly be doing up at this time in the morning, and questioning, too late, who she was talking to.

Because she was talking to Remus Lupin.

There were a few seconds of rather awkward silence, which Harry spent cursing himself for not thinking to see who else was with Tonks. He'd been really angry at Lupin before, which had faded to leave just embarrassment – he'd acted so stupidly – and worry: was Lupin angry, was he upset? Then he remembered his conversation with Ginny yesterday. Damnit, he was probably interrupting something…

'I'll just…' he began, intending to say 'go', but Tonks cut in.

'Harry!' she beamed. 'Come in, what are you standing in the doorway for?'

'Er…' Harry began, unsure. He glanced towards Lupin, as if asking permission, and was relieved and somewhat startled to see his former teacher give a weak smile and a tiny nod. Not angry, then, but Lupin wasn't really the kind of person who got mad easily.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and made his way to the table, strangely timid. Lupin kept his head down and stared at his mug of what appeared to be tea, while Tonks' grin was rather too bright.

'What are you doing down here at this time?' Tonks asked with genuine curiosity. 'I've got to go to the Ministry early, and Remus was keeping me company, but you should be sleeping, it's only five o'clock!'

Harry shrugged. 'I wasn't really tired,' he lied, 'and I felt a bit hungry, so I thought I'd get a sandwich or something…'

Tonks' grin grew suddenly impish; like a child caught eating the sweets it had been forbidden to touch. 'You know, I've been trying to learn cookery spells lately…'

Lupin's head snapped up. 'Cookery spells? I don't think that would be a very good idea…'

'Oh, its just a sandwich,' Tonks said dismissively. 'It's not like I can burn anything this time, is it?'

Lupin looked unconvinced, but didn't argue. Tonks turned to Harry, 'You don't mind me using a spell to make you a sandwich, do you? Some people don't like it… fussy eaters…'

'I don't mind,' Harry said, 'but what do you mean, burn something?'

'Don't worry about it, it was only a little fire.' Tonks said reassuringly. 'Now, let me see… panumseca!'

A loaf of bread shot out from nowhere and began to slice itself into pieces neatly on the worktop. Tonks grinned. 'See! I can do it! Ham okay with you, Harry?'

'Sure.'

Tonks muttered another spell. The fridge door blew open so hard it was a wonder it didn't fall off its hinges; a packet of ham shot out, trailing some other unfortunate items behind it, and crashed spectacularly into the far wall in the space of half the second.

The mess was spectacular. Ham was scattered everywhere; clinging to the walls and ceiling, on the table, on the floor, where it mingled with cracked eggs that had fallen out of the fridge.

There was a blank second in which the three of them absorbed the mess. Then, as if on cue, they all broke into infectious laughter.

Things were rather less awkward after that.

~*~

'Do you know where Harry is? He's not in his room.'

Ginny opened a bleary eye in an attempt to focus on the source of the noise. 'Wha?' she managed.

The figure, which she identified as Hermione, sighed. 'Harry. Do you know where he's got to?'

Ginny blinked, pushing herself up on one elbow. 'What time's it?'

'About half-past seven.' Hermione estimated, to be met with a groan from Ginny, who flopped down again into the warm, cosy bed.

'If he's got any sense, he's hiding from you and your ridiculously early ideas of what time's acceptable to wake people up,' she moaned. 'Let me sleep…'

'Do you want breakfast?' Hermione chided her. 'Come on, lazy, get up. Harry's probably gone to eat, then, if you don't know where he is…'

Ginny made an incoherent grunt, and Hermione left with a sigh. When she finally decided to surface, it was seven forty-five. After getting quickly washed and dressed, it was eight o'clock, and she went downstairs in search of Harry, Hermione and food.

All three were in the kitchen. Her mum wasn't down yet, but Lupin was cooking some sausages in a frying pan, looking happier than usual. Harry and Hermione were bent over the table, reading what appeared to be the Daily Prophet in silence. Hermione was frowning deeply.

'Good morning, Ginny,' Lupin said, looking up at her. He noticed the others' expressions as they read the front page article, and asked, 'Is something wrong?'

'Very wrong,' Hermione said grimly, glancing up from the paper. 'You remember the Hestia Bennett-Edmonds case?'

Ginny's mind went blank, although Lupin seemed to know what she was talking about. 'That was a week or two ago, wasn't it? Has it come to trial already?' he remarked.

'Yesterday. And they were convicted, listen to this.' She began to read from the newspaper. 'The two wizards accused of breaking into the Bennett-Edmond's ancestral home were convicted yesterday on the grounds of attempted burglary. Damien Curtis, 25, and Alan Forsyth, 27, denied the charges, but were found guilty and sentenced to pay a fine of two hundred Galleons each.'

'Convicted?' Lupin looked amazed. 'I thought there wasn't any evidence against them?'

'I didn't even know the Bennett-Edmonds' had been burgled. Ginny remarked. 'Isn't Hestia Bennett-Edmonds the one who does all the volunteer work? I think I read an interview with her in Witch Weekly a month or two ago…'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, and she actually said publicly that those men shouldn't have been convicted. There was no concrete evidence they'd done it. They were caught on Muggle CCTV cameras in nearby shops, and a neighbour saw some people with similar hair colours entering the property, but they weren't identified properly. It was all circumstantial evidence…'

Puzzled, Ginny sat down beside her. 'But then how did they get convicted, with no evidence? I mean, I know Voldemort's trying to make people prejudiced, but they aren't prejudiced enough to do something like this yet…'

Harry, who'd lapsed into a silence until now, spoke up. 'They probably rigged the trial.'

'I don't know, it'd take a lot of work to twist the judicial system so much…' Lupin frowned. 'Then again, if anyone can, it would be him.'

There was a grim pause as each person there realised the implications of such a control and what Voldemort could use it for. Lupin spoke, eventually, flipping over the sausages with a tired sigh.

'We are living in very difficult times, it seems,' he said.

Ginny fidgeted, uncomfortable in the gloomy air that had descended, and made a flippant remark, 'Very difficult times. And in the future, we'll all have challenges to face and important things to do, but right now, I think the best thing to do would be to eat sausages. Anyone agree?'

Harry and Hermione actually laughed at that, and Lupin appeared amused. 'That could almost be deeply philosophical. Almost.'

The anxious air was broken, and as Lupin served up the sausages, the three Gryffindors fell back into normal teenage chatter. More people began arriving, including Ron, and Mrs Weasley took over the cooking. Lupin left to chatter to some old acquaintance.

The trial was on almost everyone's lips, and Ginny found it difficult to keep Harry and Hermione from worrying about it, though thankfully her brother was too busy eating to worry much. 'Cheer up,' she told them, 'I don't think too many people will believe it. And the Order are going to do something to stop it, aren't they? Things will be fine.'

Still, neither of them really put it to the back of their minds until a loud tapping on the glass heralded the arrival of a pair of large owls. One of them seemed to have a huge bundle of parchment tied to its foot, the other, a dignified tawny owl, carried just one. A cheerful young man leaned over and opened the window, letting the owls fly in.

The tawny owl flew straight to Draco, who held an arm out for it to land on. The other, wobbling slightly from all its letters, landed clumsily between Ron and Ginny, who reached over to relieve the disgruntled bird of its burden.

It was carrying their Hogwarts letters, they soon discovered. Ginny took hers, then passed the others round by the names written on them. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley… and Draco Malfoy. She glanced up, frowning – she didn't want to actually go over there and give it to him. Quickly glancing round to ensure no one was watching too closely, she carefully threw it straight across the table at Draco. However she misjudged her throw, and it hit the owl instead, who hooted loudly and flapped her wings indignantly.

'Hush, Raphael, its only a letter,' Draco told the owl, reaching out with his free hand to give the bird a calming stroke, before throwing a particularly murderous glare at Ginny. She shrank back, feeling guilty. After all, the owl was innocent. Glancing to one side, she saw Hermione looking in the owl's direction with an expression of concern.

'Its okay, the owl's not hurt.' Ginny assured her. 'I was aiming for Malfoy…'

Hermione looked conflicted, her eyes not moving as she tore open her Hogwarts letter. 'It's not that, it's… oh, never mind, I'll talk to you later.'

She took out her letter – the usual uniform and equipment list, together with what appeared to be some information about NEWTs – and started reading. The two boys were barely glancing through the information, it seemed. Ginny turned to hers and tore it open.

Something fell out with a soft thunk onto the table. Something that sparkled golden in the bright sunlight that flooded the kitchen, with vivid red parts that almost seemed to glow.

A Prefect badge?

Ron noticed it first. 'You made Prefect?' he asked, grinning. 'Oh, wait till Fred and George hear about this! Oy, Mum, come and look!'

Ginny picked up the badge, feeling a mixture of amazement, pride and concern as Hermione congratulated her. Amazement that she'd been chosen – she hadn't expected it – pride that Dumbledore had thought her worthy, and concern because how on earth could she ever be a Prefect? She broke the rules too often…

A shriek nearly deafened her, and then her mother grabbed her from behind and hugged her so tightly she was afraid she would choke.

'You're a Prefect!' she cried. 'Oh, Ginny, I'm so proud of you!'

'Mum!' she wailed. 'You're choking me!'

Mrs Weasley relaxed her hold very slightly. 'Sorry, precious, but…' She broke off, sniffing and smiling sappily. Ginny looked round at her beaming friends – except for Harry, who was pushing a sausage around his plate moodily – and sighed, realising that she was in for a lot of unwanted congratulations.

~*~

He'd waited until breakfast was over to read his letter: he didn't want anyone looking at it over his shoulder. So he'd eaten quickly and left for his own room, then closed and locked the door. He'd placed the stack of homework his mother had sent on his desk, noting that Raphael had flown up here in readiness for him and was perched on the back of his chair. Then he crossed to his bed, sitting upon it and opening the letter.

My darling Draco,

                         I can't begin to say how overjoyed I was to read your letter. You said you didn't understand how 'normal' humans worked; but to me, you sounded perfectly and completely human.

And I think the most important piece of advice I can give you is to assure you that, even though emotions maybe difficult and painful now, not all emotions are such. Joy, and hope, and happiness, and peace, and love – for now, they are only words to you, I know, but soon I am sure you will feel them for yourself.

But enough of my sentimental side: I should be suggesting what you could do. And I know it's difficult for you, Draco. I wish I could be there to help you, instead of being limited to writing letters. They're too slow and conversations are too difficult to hold properly, especially about such a topic as you need help with.

Which is the crux of my suggestion, really. I don't know how your personality may have changed, now emotions have come into play, but mother's instinct tells me you won't want help from anyone. I possibly don't count under that heading, being nothing but a piece of parchment that knows what you are already. Like a book from the school library!

But the only way you can get help is in person, face-to-face with another human being who knows what emotions are and can help you understand them. Trust me, my son, I've thought long and hard about this and it's the only way in which you can get any kind of adequate help. I know many of the people there are your enemies, but Dumbledore has helped you already and would help you again. It may not be the best solution – I'm aware that Dumbledore is a lot older than you are and your headmaster besides – but do consider it, please. You need someone and I can think of no one else who would suffice.

Don't be angry with me for suggesting this: and of course, you can always ignore my advice if you see fit. I must confess, I worry about you a lot. About whether you're doing alright, about what will happen when your father finds you… Draco, be careful. Write soon and swiftly.

With all my love, Mother.

He frowned, and set the letter down on the table beside him. He trusted his mother. And that made three people who'd told him to talk to someone about these emotions, Rita and Hermione being the other two.

But he didn't want help. And the most annoying thing was that he didn't know why. Help was the sensible thing, the logical thing. But with emotions, rationality and logic had little place.

And even if he did want to talk to someone, Dumbledore wasn't even there most of the time, so he had nobody. But then again…a treacherous tendril of thought reminded him: Granger was willing to help, wasn't she? He could always accept her help. And maybe he ought to follow his mother's advice.

Frustrated, he flung the letter onto his desk and stalked out of the room, heading nowhere.

~*~

A/N: Latin translation: 'pamumseca' translates roughly as 'cut, bread'.

Anyway, Hogwarts letters have arrived, and this can only mean that the new term is finally looming on the horizon. I hear you all cheering already.

Now, onto the reviews. It's my sixteenth birthday tomorrow. Guess what I'd like from all of you as presents? That's right, reviews in copious quantities! For the sake of the sweet sixteenth, review!