Chapter 7

Stark Reminders

I shoot upright on my bed, cold sweat clinging to my forehead. Apart from the reassuring snores of my friend on the bed next mine, and Dean mumbling something in his sleep across the room, my heavy breathing is alone in the silence.

I glance out the window of the dormitory, where there's a smatter of stars across an inky hue. Without my glasses they look like neon lights flickering on the unkept buildings my aunt has always crossed the street to avoid. Today — assuming it's not past midnight — left questions hanging in the air like the mark over Hogsmeade: 'Who would do such a thing?'; 'Why would anyone think this is funny?'; 'When are we going to stand against our aging ideals?' Clenching my jaw, I let gravity pull me back down to my pillow. Behind my bed, Ron's snoring as peacefully as ever. I glower at the silhouette of the blank wall opposite me.

My mind wanders to what had woken me up. If I hadn't had such a similar play in my mind about his father, then perhaps I would've believed this was a real vision through Voldemort's eyes.

He consumes my waking moments, and now, he haunts my dreams. I dread the day that she starts haunting my nights with him.

…

The morning post arrives, and I'm so intent on unravelling the paper that Hedwig gives me a reproachful hoot for my lack of gratitude. She dips her beak into my untouched bowl of cereal and just as she soars off, I straighten out the Daily Prophet and flatten it against the space on the table I'd already reserved for it.

DARK MARK: A CHILLING REMINDER

As if we need reminding, I think darkly.

The Dark Mark has been cast over the village of Hogsmeade, close to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The Dark Mark, a sign of a murder by the followers of You-Know-Who —

I scowl, clenching my jaw. They should just say his bloody name. After Hermione gave up the dumb shudders and flinches, she'd once admitted to me by a crackling fire how stupid it all was. She'd said that, "Fear gives him power," and I couldn't agree more.

— was sighted yesterday afternoon over the village of Hogsmeade. Investigation of the area found multiple damaged buildings but no casualties.

Wizarding Britain is reminded of its dark times when the mark of the presence of You-Know-Who and his followers was cast close to its most prestigious school on Saturday afternoon. There had been several explosions heard by witnesses, which was later investigated to have damaged a number of the village's buildings, the most notable being Zonko's Joke Shop.

Aurors were summoned and quickly arrived at the scene. They searched the village for several hours, not allowing anyone in or out until their investigation was complete. No casualties were discovered, it was stated, and thankfully nobody, especially the students of Hogwarts, were harmed. It was believed that the culprit(s) had fled, but retired Auror Mad-Eye Moody was made available for comment.

"I come where trouble is," he'd stated, "which is why I was reluctant to come here today. Hogsmeade was heavily guarded and warded, even before the measures that will be taken today. No disturbances were detected. There is no rhyme nor reason behind the attack. More likely, it was an ill-tasted prank gone too far."

I stare at the words until the print goes blurry. Not five seconds after I'd burst out onto the street, Aurors Apparated in from everywhere. The Dark Mark had casted a ghostly green glow over their hard expressions as they immediately started waving their wands and the air around them shimmered. Nobody would tell me anything. They ignored me when I emphasised that someone had screamed outside, one Auror brushing it off as a scared villager seeing the Mark. Mad-Eye had chuckled roughly at all of my questions and once Dumbledore arrived, he seemed to deliberately avoid me. It was infuriating. It felt like last year. I did briefly wonder, in fact, if the Headmaster somehow knew I'd shortly reconnected to Voldemort's mind. If so, I know the cue — take matters into my own hands.

I'm about to continue reading, but somebody slumps into the seat beside me. My eyes narrow when they glimpse the bushy hair, then I turn my head completely towards her. She's focused on the paper, worrying her bottom lip beneath her teeth.

"I'm so glad it was nothing but a scare," she mutters, and when she suddenly grabs my arm and squeezes it I almost wrestle down the urge to confront her.

"It wasn't just a scare," I reply, quietly, studying her expression. Hermione's eyes raise towards me, unfocused and mildly bemused, brows hovering over them.

"What?" Something must've shown on my face, because her gaze sharpens and she hisses, "He wasn't even in Hogsmeade, Harry."

My right hand curls into a fist over the newspaper. "How do you know that?"

"He was in the library. With me." I'm so shocked by the blunt casualness of the statement that I find myself struggling with an argument to throw back.

A flash of fiery red in my peripheral vision catches Hermione's attention. For a second, her clenched jaw tightens further, but then she relaxes and reaches across the table. My eyes dart to Ron just as he clasps his hand over hers, wearing a tentative smile. It's only for a moment, but it's just the three of us and the rest of the world doesn't exist. Despite everything racing through my mind, I feel a smile of my own growing.

Then my gaze lands on something over Ron's shoulder, and the spell shatters. Malfoy's watching us. Watching her. But rather than the cold fury he usually wears when his eyes are on Hermione, his face is blank. Neutral. Relaxed, even. Like when Tom Riddle held the cup of Helga Hufflepuff in his hands, a deadly clarity glinting in his eyes.

The foreign memory of his father's throat in my grip flashes across my mind. It reminds me of what had haunted my dream last night, making me clench my jaw.

I tear my eyes away to glance at my two friends, then down at the newspaper. As Ron begins a hesitant conversation, I'm about to look up again, but his voice fades in the background when a smaller headline in a squashed margin of the front page catches my eye.

AZKABAN ESCAPE: YOU-KNOW-WHO FOLLOWERS

Brows furrowing, I skim lower

Convicts of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries have escaped from Azkaban. Auror Michael Vanderson states that all of the inmates have had a history of pledged loyalty towards You-Know-Who as far back as the First Wizarding War. Aurors have little comment about the methods…

My eyes narrow as they dart lower. They zero in on one of the listed names: Lucius Malfoy. So Voldemort was breaking him, among others, out of prison. At a very similar time to the Hogsmeade Attack. Mad-Eye has good instincts, but I'm wondering if this 'prank gone too far' was a deliberate distraction. My stare crawls up to the other end of the Hall.

My pulse starts racing. Malfoy isn't watching Hermione this time. His silver eyes are dissecting me. When our stares lock, he smiles a wolfish smile which sends spiders skidding down my spine.

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"So you can tell me a story, but without many details, so it would be a half-story? Sort of like how fairies exist on half-truths?"

I pace back and forth on the shore of the lake, glancing at her serene expression from where she lies on the grass. "Um, yeah."

"Sounds good to me, Harry," Luna says dreamily.

I am in dire need of what is known as another perspective. Hermione is out of the question — I have a horrible feeling she and Malfoy are getting dangerously close. It's not like I think she'll go around telling him all my secrets, not at all; Hermione is a fiercely loyal friend, she was even willing to die for me when we'd faced whom we believed to be a psychotic serial killer. But her loyalty goes both ways, if Malfoy truly is her friend. That makes her unreliable… at least until I can figure out her relationship with him.

As for Ron, well, he's prone to giving me disbelieving looks and laughing about the idea of anything being related to Malfoy.

I'd considered Parvati, but there's only so much I can reveal to her; the same goes for Ginny, and Neville. But Luna?

I would trust Luna to carry my most embarrassing memory bottled in her pocket for eternity. I frown lightly at the dewy grass beneath my shoes, trying to pinpoint what exactly is my most embarrassing memory. Perhaps it was the one where I pronounced 'Diagon Alley' wrong, and ended up in bloody Knockturn Alley instead. Nah, there's got to be a juicier one.

"Harry?" prompts Luna airily, and I'm jolted out of my ridiculous train of thought.

"Right." I stop pacing, turning my back on the lake. As I look down at a smiling Luna, I press my lips together. "Right, uh…" I slowly lower myself to sit opposite where she lies. The dying Sunday sun shimmers over her hazy, pale eyes. "Right."

"You've said that three times," she comments dreamily, wispy eyelashes flickering.

"Right," I say without thinking, and Luna's laugh chimes like a bell. I clear my throat, averting my stare to the grass. I'm pretty sure I've gone red. Might put this down as my most embarrassing memory. "Um, well, it starts with a theory."

Luna gasps, drawing my eyes to her widened ones. "I love those! They're great for the Quibbler, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah," I say hastily, returning my gaze to the grass, "Well, this theory has less to do with Nargles and more to do with… well, Draco Malfoy."

She hums, which isn't the reaction I'm expecting but then again nothing about Luna is predictable. "He has more Nargles than you, Harry."

I have no idea what to say to that, so I just nod. "It's, well — the theory goes, he's involved in what happened at Hogsmeade."

"Do you think he cast the Dark Mark?" she asks somehow simultaneously airily and bluntly.

"Uhh… yeah. Kind of. I think he had something to do with that, and probably the explosions, too."

"Why do you think he'd have something to do with those things, Harry?"

I hesitate.

"You're going to make me proud, Draco," I say, my voice but a hiss. My fingernails dig into the shoulder of his prim black suit. I watch my snake slither by us, whispering her praise. "Proud like your father never did."

The boy smiles a wolfish smile, sharpening the glint in his eyes. I'm thrilled. "Thank you, my Lord," he drawls, "you won't be disappointed."

Surreal but not real. Just an unconscious reflection of careful speculation.

"His dad's a Death Eater, right?" I say instead, shaking away thoughts of the dream from the night of the 'Hogsmeade Scare'. "He's always so desperate to please. I imagine that originates from somewhere."

"Hmm." Luna seems to want to say something, but she holds it back. I wonder what on Earth Luna Lovegood would want to hold back. "But you don't think he was on his own?"

"He wasn't even in Hogsmeade," I state, glancing over my shoulder at the lake. The sunlight seeps across it like the embers of a fire. When I turn back, my eyes land on Luna. She's propped her head up on her hand, elbow against the grass, expression serene as ever. "So someone was definitely doing the dirty work for him."

"Any ideas on who?"

I shrug. "Could be anyone, really. More likely one of his friends. Parkinson and Greengrass were there. And mini Greengrass, although I'm not sure she'd be capable of casting a Dark Mark."

"'Mini Greengrass'?" queries Luna, and I feel my cheeks heatening again. I clear my throat. Again.

"Just my way of distinguishing between the two," I grumble, looking down at the grass.

"You could just call them Astoria and Daphne," Luna says dreamily. I give her the are-you-serious expression that Parvati is better at interpreting. Luna just seems dreamily serious as she levels her pale eyes with my poker stare.

"Never mind that."

"Right," Luna mimics my voice, and if she were anyone else I would have scowled instead of smiled. We lapse into brief silence, before Luna asks, "Hey, Harry, how do you know that Draco wasn't in Hogsmeade?"

"I saw him heading in the opposite direction of the crowd." To dwell in the library. With Hermione. I frown.

"So long story short, Draco hired some Slytherins to wreak havoc in Hogsmeade?" I nod, my frown deepening. "It makes for a great story, Harry," she states matter-of-factly, and I nearly snort, "but it really begs the question: what would be his motivation?"

That, Luna, I think dryly, is a question that has been haunting me all year.

"Must be the Nargles," I reply instead, and she hums in agreement.

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I never thought I would see the living embodiment of Moaning Myrtle, but here I am. Lavender is wailing as she drifts through the empty classroom, her eyes rimmed red and her normally glossy ringlets of hair tangled and dull. I would offer to awkwardly comfort her, if she wasn't incinerating passing desks with sharp jabs of her wand.

"Thank you," says Parvati from beside where I stand strategically at the door. I glance at her, watching her friend with a grim but satisfied expression. When I turn back to her friend, Lavender's bloodshot eyes pass over me and I tense slightly. "She won't have noticed you," Parvati advises. "When she's super passionate, everything fades into the background. I mean, the whole castle would know that by now." I clear my throat, acknowledging only her thanks.

"Didn't do much, really. Mentioned it again to Ron and since 'Mione and him are back to being friendly I reckon he, I dunno, decided to pull his head out his arse." Too little, maybe too late, I think grimly, Malfoy's smirk flashing in my mind's eye.

Parvati snorts, but when I glance at her again she's wrinkling her nose. "Like I said, he doesn't know what he wants. Lavender deserves better." She sounds rather disgusted. I cock an eyebrow, leveling my gaze on her.

"If you keep talking smack about Ron, I'm going to start calling her—" the blonde girl gives a spectacular shriek for effect, another desk a crumbling victim of her wand "—Lamenting Lav."

Parvati gasps dramatically, her eyes narrowing as they swoop over to me. "You," she hisses, taking a step closer to me, "wouldn't," she practically spits, jabbing her finger against my chest, "dare." I raise my eyebrows slightly and smirk. Her eyes widen slightly, before she scoffs. "You actually would." Parvati rolls her eyes, waving dismissively as she turns back to the direction of the classroom's increasing destruction. As she leans her back against the door behind us, I find my eyes travelling down her thick eyelashes to the sharp line of her jaw. "Your funeral, Potter."

I snort, eyes darting up a notch when her lips quirk.

We watch Lavender destroy the last available desk, and as she begins to invade the chairs, Parvati speaks again. "You must be wondering why I summoned you here."

"To help make sure she doesn't burn the castle down?" I ask dryly, nodding in Lavender's direction as another bout of flames burst in my peripheral vision.

"Do shut up," Parvati suggests with a twitch of her lips, and I smirk again. Shooting me a sidelong glance, she levels her eyes back on her friend. "So I had a conversation with your Elves—"

"Dobby's not mine."

"Is he not?" Face tilting towards me slightly, she arches a brow. "No wonder he's the nice one." I glare, and this time she smirks. "Well, the conversation involved a lot of how either our sly snake is a 'Bad Master' or a 'Beautiful, graceful, wonderful—' you get the gist," she says the last part dismissively, and I nod with a grim smirk, although my heart has started accelerating under my ribcage. "They couldn't really find much past his Prefect duties… but Dobby has started noticing his continued detours on the seventh floor. Then I got a few of my sources to confirm."

I frown, a fabricated image of Hermione sneaking Malfoy into Gryffindor tower flashing across my mind. "That's strange," I murmur. "What could he possibly want there?"

Parvati shifts, refocusing my gaze on her. She's leaning her arm against the wall, cocking a brow at me. "I would say that all boys are this thick, but then my boyfriend is capable of putting a simple jigsaw puzzle together so I suppose there are exceptions."

I blink. "You have a boyfriend?" is what comes out of my mouth rather than prompting her to elaborate on Malfoy or even just defending my gender. Parvati shrugs, crossing her arms.

"Beside the point, Potter."

"Right," I say hastily, and when Luna's laugh chimes in my head I inwardly swear. I hope the classroom's gloom and Lavender's bursts of fire will camouflage my flaming cheeks. I stare at her blankly and she rolls her eyes.

"The place we used for Dumbledore's Army?" she prompts, and my stomach drops as my mouth widens to an 'o'.

Then I frown again, palms sweating at the prospect of everything he could be doing in there. "The Room of Requirement, huh?"

She hums. "Dobby mentions there's always a couple of little girls waiting outside." I raise my eyebrows incredulously, looking at her. "I think we could use that to our advantage." Her friend wails particularly loudly, drawing our eyes to her. We quietly watch Lavender change things up, tossing the wand to the ground and grabbing a chair with her hands. She screeches as she throws it; it meets the wall with a resonating bang where it shatters like a broken heart.

"So your boyfriend would be in Ravenclaw, I imagine?" I find myself asking wryly. Just to tease her. In my peripheral vision, I watch her face turn to me.

"Actually, he's not even in Hogwarts," she replies, as Lavender, apparently unsatisfied with her new method, crouches and scoops her wand back up to incinerate another chair. "That's why he's intelligent."

"Oh."

0||0

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The full moon's peeking out this evening. It slices through the large, thin windows of the corridor I'm shifting through. For whatever reason, the candlelights have gone out, so the only source of illumination is creeping through the murky glass. The slivers of moonlight drape over Hermione and Malfoy when they cross each window, and fall off them like silk when they pass them.

My heart is beating so loud I have the absurd fear that if I get too close, they might hear me stalking them. It's funny that such a topic would get my pulse racing. It makes me wonder if my heart would break my rib cage if Malfoy were to just rip up his left sleeve right there and reveal his Dark Mark tattoo to Hermione.

"I don't understand what they would want to do all the way up there," Malfoy drawls, nodding towards one of the approaching windows. "Isn't there enough going on down here?"

Hermione scoffs, turning her head slightly. She's an arm's length away from Malfoy, but that's a way closer distance to how they started patrolling. "Their last major war was about fifty years ago. The aim is to avoid more of those in the future."

"Well how very civil of them," Malfoy says, and I detect the familiar sneer in his voice.

"More than we could say," Hermione remarks snidely.

There's a sharp silence — I have to stop walking, holding my breath.

"It is inevitable," he says. I continue to creep forwards to maintain the three footsteps of distance from them.

"What is?"

"War. You've read about the Osborn Wars?"

"Yes." My eyes dart to the slight skip in my friend's step, and I can't help, despite the circumstances, but smile fondly. "I suppose you're going to bring up Glevnial the Grizzly's battle speech in Norway, in which she claimed 'Goblins are thirsty creatures, but if thou not find an alternative, it will always be for blood.'"

Malfoy turns his head to her. I can see the side of his face from this angle; his smirk makes me frown. "That tells me you've read about the historians — like Bagshot — believing this to be true for most sentient creatures." Hermione nods, her bouncing curls momentarily giving a ghostly glow as they pass another window. "We are thirsty creatures, Granger. But what makes us more dangerous is that we could kill a wizard with the Killing Curse, and claim that no blood has been spilt."

There's another lapse of silence, and I pause again. The cloak whispers as it brushes against my ankles. I crouch down slightly lower, just to be safe.

"Is there an alternative for Vampires, d'you reckon?" she asks suddenly, and Malfoy snickers. Quietly continuing forward, I catch a flash of a grin as Hermione briefly turns to him. "I mean, historians say the quote stands true for all sentient beings."

"I would hardly call those things sentient," he drawls.

"Don't be so brash, Malfoy," Hermione says, wacking his arm lightly. The movement makes me stiffen, even though it's not the first time she's done something similar of the sort. I'm not the only one who goes rigid, although if I hadn't been looking I wouldn't have noticed Malfoy relaxing just as quickly.

Puffing out air, he goes, "I suppose they could be thirsty for sunlight."

"Oh, so you must be a Vampire, then."

"Shut up, Granger," he grumbles, as Hermione's laugh trickles through the corridor.

"You walked right into that one."

He hums, then pauses. I watch his arms raise from where they'd been swaying at his sides to disappear from my view. The way his elbows are sticking out, and the fingers of his left hand are poking past his right bicep, tells me he's crossed them. "Muggle saying, I presume."

A heartbeat.

"It is," Hermione says, haughtiness creeping into her tone. There's a few moments of silence; I attempt to silently echo Hermione's footsteps so they don't catch a sound that shouldn't be here.

"What does this one mean, then?"

I can practically hear Hermione beam. I'm just wondering how many definitions she's given him. "Well, you said something to make fun of something, but it turned out to be at your own expense. You essentially set up the joke for me. Hence why you, figuratively speaking, walked right into it."

"Funny," Malfoy mutters, "we have a similar one."

"I'm not sure that I've heard it."

"You wouldn't, hanging out with the likes of Weasley…" I scowl under the cloak, but Hermione intercedes for me.

"Malfoy."

His head turns to her, a slight ticking in his jaw. "I've noticed you two have gotten friendly again."

"Yeah, well, it was inevitable." He snickers faintly, but it dies quickly as he turns away, so I'm staring at the back of his platinum blonde head again.

"He broke up with Brown, did you hear?" There's something too casual about his tone.

"Of course I bloody heard. She's my roommate."

"Hmm." Two, slower heartbeats. "You happy?"

"About what?"

"C'mon, Granger," he drawls, that sneer edging into his voice. "Everyone knows you've been pining after that Ginger Wallop."

She scoffs. I notice, ever so slightly, that she drifts slightly to the right. The gap between them increases. "Maybe I still am," she replies haughtily, and I recognize the sudden tension in Malfoy as the way I reacted when Cho Chang rejected my offer to the Yule Ball in favour of Cedric Diggory. And, in fact, whenever she mentioned Cedric thereafter. Even after the poor sod died. But I would bet my soul that whatever it is Malfoy is thinking now is not the same as I had been thinking while facing an apologetic-faced Cho all that time ago. "What's that similar saying, then?"

Malfoy doesn't seem done with the Ron conversation, if the stiffness of his shoulders and the robotic way he's marching forward is any indication, but he doesn't stretch the silence too long. Thank Merlin, I think, as he begins to speak, it's really hard to shadow Hermione's footsteps, and the Slytherin's not that much better.

"You struck before the snake could."

Hermione hums. "Yeah. Yeah, I do see it."

I'm invisible, spying on my enemy and my friend, in no position to make any noise, and yet Voldemort chooses some wonderful timing when my scar sears and it feels like my skull is being split open.