Chapter 34: Umbrella

Disclaimer: I sometimes sit here and wonder if anyone reads these things. How interesting can it be, really, to find out that I don't own Harry Potter? I think in future, to save time composing disclaimers, I should just type something else in here. Like, say, Hamlet. To disclaim or not to disclaim; that is the question; whether 'tis nobler in the fic to suffer the courts and suing of outrageous lawyers, or to take arms against a sea of copyrights and by disclaiming end them.

Thanks for 1274 reviews goes to: draconas, foxer, plumsy321, Madam Midnight, Flexi Lexi (x2), midnight blue, Kiyoko, SycoCallie, citcat299, Erica G, B.B.T.W, Meghan, Sparkling Cherries, sad-soulz, Nathonea, J. Deann, FalconWing, Crystella, Alexi Lupin, KrystyWroth, PinkTribeChick, savvyfairy, Nikki, Natalie Garner, brettley, Plaidly Lush, jules37, Go10, Persephone Snodhatch-Sna, Stoneage Woman, PinkTribeChick, Slytheravengryffinpuff, storm079 (x3), Angel-Wings-Forever, ToOtHpIcK, Janie Granger, Storm079.

A/N: As to Lavender's blood-status; it isn't actually mentioned in canon whether she's Muggleborn, Pureblood, half-blood etc. (To the best of my knowledge; and I did double-check with various websites. If I'm wrong, tell me what she is and where it says it!) In the absence of evidence, I chose to make her Pureblood, because it fits the fic better.

If you want me to contact you – the review system seems to be removing the name of the e-mail provider from the review, so I get 'Iamme' and nothing else. Which obviously makes it very hard to me to get in touch! Putting your e-mail address in your name, rather than in the main review, seems to work, so try that.

You have no idea how thankful I am that it's half term. I'm going to post this up and go collapse in my cosy bed. On thing I have to be thankful for is that I now have an actual excuse to play Sims2, as my English Language coursework involves writing a review of said game (which will, apparently, get me more marks than writing a story. Anyone else find this odd?) So no, mum I'm not playing – I'm doing important research. Honestly! Don't worry, I'll still have time for writing!

And now, onto the chapter. Enjoy!

Do not protect yourself by a fence, but rather by your friends.

Czech Proverb.

Harry had always liked dusk.

It seemed an odd thing to like, really – the Boy Who Lived ought to like everything light, bright and sunlit, and hate the shadows and the darkness. Perhaps it was because, as a child, the nights had always been his own time, his private time, away from his uncle's orders and his aunt's scowls and Dudley's child-minded viciousness. Even if he was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs.

Dusk was falling now, as Harry trudged back up to the school from the Quidditch tryouts, and the air felt cool, fresh and invigorating. Where fires were lit within the castle the windows glowed a soft gold – the highest point of light, right at the top of the school, was Gryffindor House – and the effect was cheering.

The Quidditch tryouts had gone well. Five people had tried out to be Chasers; there were a couple of third-years who'd played well as Chasers, and Ginny seemed to get on with them despite the two-year age gap. When it came to Beaters, Harry was a little more divided – two of those who'd tried out had shown promise, but they appeared to be deadly enemies. Which posed the difficult question for whether he should ask both of them to be on the team and work together, or have one of them and ask a less-talented person to be the second Beater for the sake of team unity.

Harry was optimistic, at any rate, about the team's chances in this year's Cup. As long as they trained hard and got the new players into shape, they should have no problems.

The others were walking just a little way ahead of him; they'd started out at the same time, but he'd fallen gradually behind. If he listened closely, he could just hear their chatter, soft and rhythmic with the occasional chaotic laugh. Why didn't he catch up to them?

He'd been spending too much time alone, not joining in. He'd been worse at the beginning of term, of course, when he'd barely spoke. But sometimes his attention still wandered, or he didn't want to be around people. Sometimes he just felt like being alone, by himself, where he could think what he wanted without having to consider whether it'd worry Hermione or make Ron frown, or cause Ginny to touch his arm lightly and ask, 'Harry?' Even when he wasn't thinking about Sirius, or the Prophecy, or anything like that. It was still sometimes nice to be alone, to be quiet.

He walked along for a minute or two in silence, watching the sky turn slowly indigo above him, until he heard someone fall into step beside him. Glancing sideways, he saw that it was Ginny.

'Do you know who you're choosing?' she asked. Her face was still flushed from the practice.

Harry shrugged. 'Pretty much,' he replied.

Ginny nodded, then glanced upwards. 'It's a nice night.'

They carried on up to the castle in companionable silence. Harry found that he didn't mind too much.

'What on earth is the point of the beetle shells?' Ginny asked, furiously scribbling something out with her quill. 'You just sieve them out again afterwards, and they don't do anything…'

Hermione glanced upwards. 'Beetle shells? In which potion?' she asked, pulling Ginny's parchment towards herself and leaning over to see. 'Oh, the Eluvio Potion,' she said, and frowned. 'The beetle shells make the Knarl quills mix with the oak sap, because otherwise they'd just float around on top instead of dissolving into the sap. So when you put the beetle shells in… it's a bit complicated,' she finished. 'Do you have your textbook? There's a section on it in there…'

Ginny did have her textbook, and Hermione rapidly flicked through to the right page. 'You'd better hurry up with that,' she said, glancing at her watch, 'it's already… ten to eight? Oh, no…' she groaned, 'I've got to get to the Library…'

'And leave me to do my Potions essay all alone?' Ginny asked, pressing a hand to her forehead with pretended melodrama.

'You aren't alone, Harry and Ron are here. They can help,' Hermione said, getting to her feet and swinging her schoolbag onto her shoulder.

'My brother? With Potions?' Ginny asked incredulously. Hermione laughed, and was just about to say goodbye and head down to the Library when Ginny spoke again. 'What are you going to the Library for?' she asked, curious.

'To, er, study,' Hermione replied, wishing desperately as she said it that she had a better excuse.

Ginny gave a rather wicked smile. 'Ooo, are you meeting the mysterious D again?'

'There's nothing mysterious about him,' Hermione said firmly, hoping her face wasn't turning red. 'We study together, that's all.'

Ginny laughed. 'Don't get upset, Hermione, I'm only teasing,' she grinned. 'Go on, have fun studying with Mysterious D. You'll be late if you stand around any longer.'

When she found him in the library – only five minutes late – he was reading what looked like a letter.

'Your mum?' she asked, by way of greeting, and slid into her usual seat. He looked up, nodding.

'I wrote to her and told her I suspected Delaney of being the spy,' he said simply. 'She doesn't know much about him, though. Want to read?'

Hermione reached out a hand, than paused. 'Do you mind?'

He shook his head, so she took the parchment and began reading.

My dearest son,

I know little about Erebus Delaney, I'm afraid, and I've certainly never seen him at the Manor or heard Lucius mention his name in conversation. That means little, of course – in choosing a spy, Lucius wouldn't choose someone too closely connected with him, and certainly wouldn't mention him to me. Not when he suspects me of being in contact with you.

What I do know about him you probably already know: he is a Pureblood of one of the reasonably old and reasonably wealthy bloodlines. His immediate family, for what I know, isn't connected with Voldemort, although his second cousin was one of the Death Eaters given the Kiss immediately after the Dark Lord was first defeated. You mentioned that Erebus appeared to dislike Mudbloods, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's a Death Eater. Of course, it doesn't mean that he isn't, either, and it's impossible to tell whether his loyalties lie with the Dark Lord or not.

I wish I could be of more help. It goes without saying that I'll keep my eyes open for any news.

As to emotion: I wouldn't worry about how long it's taking. It seems to me that you've learnt an incredible amount in such a short space of time – we must thank Hermione for that, I imagine! – even if to you it seems like barely anything. There are a lot of emotions, and above that, subtle gradients of emotion. It will, of course, take you time to learn what they are. I have every faith, however, in the fact that you can and will learn them.

Your loving mother,

Narcissa.

Hermione put the letter down, frowning, and watched it change back into a collection of meaningless pleasantries. The letter gave her far too much to think about.

'So she doesn't know much,' Hermione said, picking the easiest thought to get out of the way first. 'Did you expect her to?'

'Not particularly,' Draco replied. 'Father doesn't tell her much.'

Hermione nodded, then reached out to touch the parchment again, scanning the letter through once more. 'Did anything strike you as… odd about this?' she asked carefully.

'Odd? No,' he replied, leaning over. 'Why, is there something…?'

'It's not odd, necessarily, it's just…' Hermione paused, biting her lip; her fingers fluttered over a particular line. Draco read it, read it again, and appeared to realise what she meant.

'Oh,' he said, frowning. 'She said…'

'Mudblood,' Hermione finished, quite quietly, then leant back in her chair, letting the parchment turn back to its usual form.

'She isn't prejudiced, if that's what you're thinking,' Draco said, picking up the letter and glancing through it again. 'I think it was just an accident…'

'Accident?' Hermione asked, more sharply than she meant to; he felt the irrational beginnings of tears and blinked them away. 'How can you say that as an accident?'

Draco glanced at her, frowning. 'Don't... don't get upset,' he said, sounding more anxious than anything. 'And it would have been an accident. You have to think of how she grew up, how she lives now.'

'What does that have to do with-'

'Because her family, when she was a child, would have used that word, her husband says it, most of her social group of friends will say it…' He paused. 'I used to say it, remember? I probably still would if it didn't upset you. Among Purebloods… well, we use it all the time informally. If it were a formal letter she wouldn't use it. She probably didn't even think. Remember she didn't know you were going to read it.'

'That's still no excuse for using it,' she replied, though she did feel better, and rather annoyed at herself for even being upset by it. It was only a word…

'I'll write her a letter and tell her not to use it,' Draco said seriously. 'She'll want to write you a formal apology, of course, and probably send you some compensation as well, a few hundred Galleons should do it…'

'What?' Hermione asked, sitting upright in her seat. 'Don't you think that's a little excessive?'

'Of course not,' Draco replied, looking scandalised at the very idea. 'It was an insult. That used to be punishable by death, in Pureblood circles at least. Really she should come down here and beg your forgiveness on her knees, but obviously, circumstances being as they are…'

Hermione was giving him a long, suspicious stare. 'Draco Malfoy,' she said eventually, 'you're completely making this whole thing up, aren't you?'

He laughed. 'Yes,' he admitted, with a wide and slightly evil grin. 'But it cheered you up, didn't it?'

Lacking anything heavier, she hit him with the letter. 'Perhaps,' she said. 'I assume she isn't going to write a formal apology, then?'

'Well, she might,' Draco said thoughtfully, 'if I pointed it out to her. Not a formal one, though. Probably an apology. I won't tell her, though, unless you want me to.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I guess we may was well forget it,' she said, then picked the letter up once again. 'So she definitely isn't prejudiced?'

'No,' Draco replied, shaking his head, 'she was never like that. She came from a Pureblood family – typical blood prejudice – but her sister married a Muggleborn, and I think my mother has similar ideas. I don't have a clue why she married my father, I'd have thought he'd be the last person she wanted as a husband. Especially being half-Fallen…'

Hermione frowned, remembering the tapestry she'd see at 12 Grimmauld Place. 'She was a Black, wasn't she?'

Draco frowned. 'How did you know that?'

'It's… complicated,' Hermione found herself saying. Telling Draco about the tapestry and where she'd seen it would mean explaining about Sirius, which would involve Harry and get into far too tangled a tale. 'It'd take too long to explain.'

'Or you just don't want to,' Draco remarked wryly. 'It's okay, I don't mind. I just found it odd that you knew.'

Hermione, meanwhile, was frowning at the parchment, struck with a sudden idea. 'Draco?' she asked. 'If you taught me that spell, do you think I could write to your mother, too?'

'I don't see why not, if we come up with a plausible person for you to be,' Draco replied, frowning. 'Why?'

'I just thought it'd be useful, that's all,' Hermione replied. 'I could… tell her what had been going on, things like that. Find out more about Fallens. I mean, I could just send it as part of your letter, if you wanted…'

'I'll ask my mother and see what she thinks,' Draco replied. 'It might be easier; or she might prefer to send them separately.' He shrugged, picking up the letter and putting at away neatly in his schoolbag. 'To the usual topic, then? I read something about hope in a book earlier…'

The common room that night was a perfect example of Slytherin politics in action.

After talking to Hermione, he'd written a letter to his mother, gone up to the Owlery and sent it, and returned to the common room. Ellen had been there, in her usual corner, doing homework, and she'd asked him something about Knarls. He'd sat down to explain it to her, and they'd started talking when she finished her homework about nothing in particular.

After about five minutes of this Draco became conscious that the circle of unoccupied chairs near Ellen was growing even wider, which was odd. The Slytherins still hated the Muggleborn's presence, but after weeks of living with her the social protocol had become established. Ellen was always relegated to this dark corner, where none but her friends would ever go, as though she were in a specified quarantine zone. People would come up to the edge of the circle but no further.

And now the circle was widening. It wasn't blatant, but subtle; people would innocently cross the common room to speak to a friend, perhaps, or go to the toilet and sit in a different place when they came back. But the circle was clearly widening.

Draco gave a few surreptitious glances towards the common room and shortly spotted what was going on – Blaise. She and the other highest-circle Slytherins were sitting together, as usual, talking quietly; Blaise was giving Ellen dark looks. And of course, the Slytherins always followed the moods and whims of the highest circles, either as an attempt at integration or a simple desire not to get caught up with whoever was today's scapegoat.

Obviously, there was a reason for Blaise's actions. Hermione had mentioned that she'd heard the two fighting, though she hadn't mentioned why, and he couldn't imagine a reason except for Ellen's parentage. And that didn't explain why now, why so much anger.

Ellen would know; but he couldn't ask her openly. There may be a large space around them, but people would be eavesdropping, and it only took a Hearing-Enhancement charm to listen in. That wasn't a difficulty, though, it just meant subtlety was required.

He waited until she was looking at him. 'I hear there's going to be storms tonight,' he said, and gave a deliberate quick glance in Blaise's direction. To anyone eavesdropping, it would sound like he was merely commenting on the weather, but hopefully that quick glance would tell Ellen he was speaking about something else. A storm that wasn't wind and rain, but politics and social subtleties. Blaise.

For a moment he thought she wouldn't understand what he meant -that was worry – but she simply leaned back in her chair, casually, and said, 'I heard, a bad one too. The rain will churn all the mud up, it'll get all over our shoes when we go to Herbology.'

Ellen, normally, never showed any interest in the state of her shoes -which was a subtle hint that she'd understood him and was also speaking in double meanings. Draco relaxed. What she'd said was simple; a confirmation of what he'd said and an admission that she was afraid. They'd already connected Blaise with the storm, so the rain was the by-product of Blaise's actions. The mud – Mudblood – was Ellen. In other words, she was worried that because Blaise was angry with her, some of the Slytherins would try to attack her again.

Draco laughed. 'I'll lend you an umbrella, if you need one.' Umbrellas for protection from rain, or protection from the Slytherins.

She smiled. 'Thanks.' No translation was needed for that.

'Wonder what's caused this weather?' Draco asked thoughtfully. 'It was fine a while ago. A little cold, of course, but…'

'No idea,' Ellen replied, frowning, when with a childish giggle, added, 'Maybe all the dragons have flown away for the winter and taken their fire with them, so that's why the weather's cold.'

Draco provided the obligatory indulgent laugh, but inside he felt… as though someone had struck a tuning fork against his spine. He had to ask Hermione that one… Dragons meant himself, Draco, and that meant he was involved. But how? Flown away from the winter, and that made Blaise angry… well he hadn't flown away, had he? He was still here.

His attention was distracted at this point by a pair of fourth-years; both boys, both social climbers, creeping up behind Ellen. Mildly, his tone disinterested, he remarked, 'I believe it's about to rain.'

To her benefit, Ellen didn't start, or look around, or give any indication of the news he'd given her. 'I suppose this is where the mud gets splattered all over?' she asked.

'Umbrella,' Draco replied, drawing his wand from his pocket and toying with it idly, keeping his eyes on the boys at all times. They looked nervous at this, but another friend joined them and there was quiet but determined discussion. Probably strategy. Draco knew what his strategy was; as soon as they attacked, fire off a shield so Ellen wasn't hit, then say something threatening about his knowledge of Dark Arts. If that didn't intimidate them enough, and they persisted, he'd have to use one; there were some the Hogwarts wards could not detect and he knew them all perfectly.

In the meantime, what had Ellen meant about dragons? Flying away had to be metaphorical; he'd left something behind, and that had upset Blaise, enough for her to be angry with Ellen. What…

And suddenly it all made sense: Blaise and he had been friends, and now they weren't; that was the 'fire' he'd taken away. And that was why Blaise was angry; she was jealous. For some reason, this annoyed Draco incredibly – some hot unreasonable burst of anger. It had, after all, been Blaise's own choice not to be friends with him, after he'd changed sides, and she had no reason to be hostile towards Ellen. Draco risked a glance at her, where she sat regally in the middle of the room, watching the three boys who were lurking behind Ellen. The common room, at this point, was completely silent.

And then it came.

'Evome Serpentes!'

'Protego!' Draco snapped immediately; his shield deflected the beam of red light that had been heading for Ellen's back. She hadn't even flinched, but now turned round, so she could see both Draco and her attackers.

There was silence for about half a second, before Draco said, quite calmly and quietly, 'You are all aware of my reputation with the Dark Arts. I assure you that my ability remains undiminished, and that there are numerous spells which can be performed within Hogwarts without setting off alarms,' he said, feeling adrenalin rush through his blood. This was dangerous, yes, but thrilling in a way. 'If you persist in attacking Ellen, I shall be left with no other option.'

The boys shared a glance. 'Why are you defending a Mudblood?' one of them, the most daring, asked with a sharp sneer.

'Why are you not?' Draco asked in reply. This meant nothing, of course; it was a prelude to the fight, to the final decision. Time bought.

Two of the boys remained uncertain, but the third who'd just spoken scoffed. 'Filthy Mudblood,' he spat, then raised his wand, pointed it at Ellen.

Draco didn't even give him a chance to cast his spell. 'Incende Ipse!' he called, pointing his wand straight and true across the common room; the light was purple. There were gasps as it struck to the boy, who dropped his wand, screamed and fell to the ground, whimpering, bathed in purple light which ran over his skin and patterned it with burns, with flames. His friends yelled and dropped beside him, not out of pain but out of fear for their friend, who was crying…

Draco cut off the spell, breathing hard, not from exertion – for a half-Fallen these spells were easy – but some something else, some indefinable thing which set his heart beating fast, something which felt like both fear and horror and other things. Ellen, beside him, was white.

They helped the boy back to his seat; any evidence of a spell now gone. It was a nasty one, borderline Dark Arts as Draco had said, causing the victim – while he was under the spell's direct effect – to be essentially allergic to himself, breaking out into burns. It ended as soon as the spell was dropped, of course, with no physical effects, but…

He'd only used it to protect Ellen, hadn't he? They wouldn't have been shy about leaving her a few scars. But they wouldn't have used Dark Arts.

'Don't be upset,' Ellen whispered beside him, and he started – had he been that transparent? 'You did it for the right reasons. If you… if you want to go, you probably can; no one else will dare to try anything tonight, not after…'

After this. Draco nodded, getting to his feet. 'You're right,' he said. 'I should… I'll go.'

He wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere that would take his mind off what had just happen, simplify the confuses mess of emotions swirling inside him. Without looking back, he headed for the way out. Whispers followed behind.

A/N: 'Evome Serpentes' translates to 'Vomit Snakes' – thanks to Dina for suggesting that particular nicety. 'Incende Ipse' means 'Burn Yourself.' 'Eluvio', the name of the potion Ginny was doing homework on, means 'deluge'.

The scene I most enjoyed writing in this chapter had to be the last one. It was quite simply fun. And that brings me to a question – what was your favourite chapter or scene of the fic so far? And, if possible, why? No real reason, just interest. I want to know what I'm doing right!

Now, you see the review button? Hit it… you know you want to… Review!