A/N:
Please note that this fanfic is Bound by Souls Part 2. Part 1 complete and covers up to the start of sixth year. Part 2 is ongoing and will cover sixth and seventh year.
Rufus Scrimgeour strode through the murky water that pooled across the causeway between the apparition point and the entrance of Azkaban. Nala, his tabby dæmon, followed close behind. Her paws and fur already soaked and covered in the filth of the place.
The fortress towered above, casting a looming shadow and blocking what little moonlight had managed to seep through the clouds. Up ahead, two aurors and their daemons were standing guard, and a third was waiting for his arrival.
Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded as he approached. The auror's expression was grim, and his lynx daemon, Amabel prowled around restlessly at his feet.
"How many?" Scrimgeour asked.
"Last count was two dozen," Kingsley said. "Alecto and Amycus Carrow were among them."
Scrimgeour swore, and craned his neck back to scowl up at the impenetrable fortress.
"They were only put in last month-"
Far beneath them, waves crashed against the sculpted rock, the spray from the ocean covering the group in a damp mist. Scrimgeour pulled his robes tighter around himself.
"Come on then, better get this over with before I have to face Fudge-"
It was a long way up.
Kingsley led the way, his wand held high above his head as they entered through the wrought iron gates. Torch brackets lined the walls, the flames flickering weakly, giving off no real warmth or light.
Their route through the fortress was foul. The air grew stale and rancid, the darkness more pronounced as the pair wound through steep corridors, climbing into the depths of the prison. Here and there, other aurors were stationed, either patrolling back and forth or hurrying about with their daemons in tow, ducking in and out of side corridors and tunnels in the labyrinth like structure.
Kingsley and Scrimgeour entered a chamber that was filled with at least a dozen cells. Haunted faces pressed up against the bars and withered remains of dæmons clung into the back corners, no more than wisps of their former selves.
One cell was in a treacherous state. The iron had been ripped from where they had been magically fused with the wall. Stone lay in rubble, strewn about from the dismantled prison, the long term occupant no longer present.
Scrimgeour scowled at the sight.
"How long has Bellatrix Lestrange been gone?"
"About half an hour," Kingsley said, jerking his head in the direction of another pile of rubble halfway down the chamber. "Dolohov and Rookwood are missing from this floor too."
Scrimgeour cursed again, raising his wand to see further into the abyss.
There was something terribly wrong. A coldness lingered that should no longer be possible. It soaked deep into his skin and bones. Beside him, Nala slunk low to the ground and hissed. Frost clung to her fur but there was no sight of the source.
"And the dementors, when did they leave?"
"Maybe forty minutes tops," Kingsley said. "It looks like they've finally decided to side with the Dark Lord."
"It was only a matter of time," Scrimgeour muttered. "I warned Fudge this would happen-"
They walked to where the next dismantled cell was located.
"It looks like they've got everyone they came for," Kingsley said gruffly. "Every chamber has been secured, it doesn't look like they hung about-"
They were interrupted by the distant sound of a rumble, echoing above the roar of the waves. From above their heads, loose stones and dust crumbled and fell to the floor. Both their necks tilted upwards just as the floor began to shake.
"What in Merlin's name-"
The blast shook the very foundations. Stone and rubble erupted into the chamber, cascading down in an avalanche as the ground vibrated and the walls cracked. The force knocked Scrimgeour from his feet and he landed hard, pain erupting across his side.
Beside him, Kingsley scrambled onto his knees, throwing a shield above their heads as the roof quaked, threatening to dislodge more debris from the ceiling.
Despite the walls being sealed and resistant to most spells, magic was snapping around, resonating and breaking through every supposed protection.
"Come on," Kingsley shouted, swiping his wand downwards in a burst of purple light.
Nala tore across the room, dodging left and right to avoid whole stone blocks that were collapsing. A laugh resounded as she passed, a gaunt man pressed up against the bars was cackling wildly, unhinged and probably thankful for this fate.
Amabel ran after Nala, paws carrying her easily across the crumbling surroundings. Scrimgeour pushed himself to his feet, his body protesting and swaying as the floor beneath him tilted.
The whole fortress was being pulled into the sea.
He slashed his wand downwards, a prism of light encapsulating him. His feet were suddenly grounded, no longer swayed by the collapsing rock. With a satisfied grunt, he grabbed Kingsley's arm, pulling him into the protective layer. He took two tentative steps forwards to follow their daemons-
There was a flash of red, followed by a burst of icy pain splintering across Scrimgeour's chest. A moment of darkness, where all senses became disorientated and his feet were no longer touching solid ground.
He couldn't breathe or think. He grasped uselessly at his throat, his body suspended for one second too long. Then everything came crashing down.
Scrimgeour was lying in a half collapsed cell. Limbs stuck in crooked angles and deep red seeped across his robes, dripping and pooling onto the wet floor.
His wand lay uselessly out of reach. Nala was howling, scrabbling in the rubble, hunting for any sign of the thin piece of wood that was his last lifeline.
She never stood a chance.
Fire erupted, encompassing the immediate surroundings, blocking any view of where Kingsley may possibly be. Footsteps echoed rhythmically throughout the destruction.
A rising sense of dread bubbled up, unquenchable and suffocating all other emotion.
A young man stepped out between the parting flames. He was older, the spitting image of Riddle, yet was clearly not.
Tom. His presence far more solid, no longer translucent, as if a person stood before him and not a dæmon.
Tom's wand was held loosely in his palm, eyes void of all emotion.
"Wait-"
"Crucio."
Scrimgeour screamed, writhing on the freezing cold floor. His body contorted, moving unnaturally in jagged, violent motions. The mercy did not come. Nothing could stop the pain. It was impossible to comprehend anything beyond the unrelenting hurt.
Another flash, a purple curse reverberating over him.
Several bones snapped. His head cracked against stone, speckles of light flashed in his vision.
The curse broke abruptly, leaving only the burning ache, the sharp pain of his broken body. It could only end one way.
With every ounce of remaining effort, Scrimgeour rolled onto his side, hand scratching against jagged rock as he blinked back the onslaught of impending unconsciousness.
"You've made your choice then?" he spat. Blood welled up in his mouth, the copper taste thick and acrid.
Tom tilted his head to the side. There was a sudden blaze of light, and the rock around them cracked. Through the gap in the wall the wind howled. In the distance, curses of every violent shade of colour erupted, slicing through the night air and mixing with screams, shouts and the twisted cries of death.
"I suppose I have."
The lack of reaction was chilling. This was no longer the young boy who was once driven by fierce emotion, the desire only to protect what was his. No matter the cost.
"You're making a mistake." Scrimgeour coughed, his chest burnt and sight swam dangerously in and out of focus. "You'll never have Potter, never be able to return to him-"
Tom raised his wand, a haunted and twisted smile crept onto his face. Above them, the fortress shook, tipping further to the side, the crashes of stone plunged into the watery depths.
"It doesn't matter either way," Tom said. "Harry will come to me, in the end."
Scrimgeour braced himself. Nala lay at his side, curled against his body. She meowed, unable to seek sufficient comfort.
He gripped her fur, willing his broken legs to move.
Tom took several steps forwards. There was no hesitation, no hint of remorse or flicker of concern. He directed the wand straight at Scrimgeour's head.
And the room flashed green.
One month later - 1st September 1996
Harry lent against the window, watching the world go by. Having departed from London just over an hour ago, the Hogwarts Express was now trundling past clusters of towns and through open countryside.
Lyra was perched precariously on his shoulder. Every few minutes she would scurry from one side to the other and back again, bashing her tail deliberately against his ears.
When Harry didn't move or acknowledge her, she gave up and retreated onto the rumbling carriage floor. Without any hesitation, she sunk her teeth into his trouser leg, narrowly missing the blue cylindrical band that encompassed his right ankle.
Harry shook her off and scowled down at the pine marten. Lyra stared back at him, unwavering and daring him to challenge her. His dead eye surveyed her for a moment, taking in a swirl of golden light.
"Fine," Harry muttered, pushing himself away from the window. "Come on then."
Lyra needed no other instruction. She skipped between his feet, barely avoiding being stood on and scampered towards the next carriage.
The front of the train was far busier. Students and dæmons were packed into compartments, spilling out into the corridor, moving through crowds to eagerly greet friends.
Harry had no trouble navigating through them. One by one, people fell silent, expressions shifting to ones of terror as they parted out of his way, their dæmons trying to make themselves as small and still as possible.
Ignoring them, Harry cast his dead eye to one of the far compartments. Amongst the barrage of dæmons, he could barely make out the golden light of a dog, an otter and a small ferret.
He debated watching them for awhile but Lyra pressed on, scampering into the next carriage without waiting for him to catch up. Not eager to put any more strain on their bond than he needed to, he followed.
She was waiting for him at the second to last compartment, her small claws scratching at the door.
Without knocking Harry opened it.
The buzz of discussion died. Daemons scattered, tearing across the wooden floor to hide underneath benches or in the gaps between trunks. Anthony Goldstein's crow flapped frantically up to the luggage racks, while Hannah Abbots shrew scurried into a crevice in the seat.
Sephronia, totally obvious to Harry's intended target, jumped forwards wagging her tail to welcome Lyra as Ron grinned and waved at him.
Hermione gathered Ramiron up into her arms, cradling the otter close to her chest.
"Harry. This is a prefects meeting-"
"I know," Harry said, he withdrew his wand and pointed it straight at Draco Malfoy. "This won't take long."
There was a second when no one moved. Everyone's attention was fixed on the pair, gaze darting back and forth. Hermione caught her breath, her voice coming out a frantic whisper.
"Harry, you can't. What about the Ministry-"
Harry ignored her, his dead eye hovering deliberately on Adara, who tightened her claws on Draco's shoulder.
"It's fine, Granger," Draco said. He stood and straightened his robes as he glared at Harry. "If you would excuse us."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue.
"Leave it, Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Harry's not going to devour him before we even get to school."
A wicked grin crossed Harry's face.
"I might."
Adara growled and leapt from Draco's shoulder, just as he twisted and reached into his robe pocket-
Harry was faster, incantation and a burst of red light. There was a bang, several screams, followed by another flash of light as Adara and Lyra collided, hissing and biting in a mass of teeth and claws. Harry dodged Draco's spell and took several steps forwards to shove the tip of his wand against his throat.
The two dæmons parted at once.
Draco was breathing hard, adrenaline overcoming his composure. Harry jabbed his wand harder, his decayed mouth splitting into an unpleasant smile. The taint of a soul was so fresh, so close that he almost debated giving into his instincts.
"You can all stay if you wish," Harry said, and the room plunged several degrees, throwing each and everyone of them into their worst memories.
Anthony Goldstein stood, face pale as he waved his dæmon hurriedly down from the luggage racks. He just about managed to scowl at Harry, but otherwise didn't object as he made his hurried exit. Ernie Macmillan, Padma Patil and Hannah Abbott followed, their dæmons a boar, tiger and a shrew disappearing with them, not keen to hang about longer than they needed to.
Pansy Parkinson pulled her robes tightly around herself. She glanced briefly at Draco, and without saying a word gestured to Patamon. The black swan stretched his wings, snapped his beak towards Lyra and followed her from the compartment. Lyra watched idly, flicking her tail back and forth as she stared at the retreating dæmon with distaste.
"Harry," Hermione started. "I know you're upset but attacking Malfoy-"
Harry didn't even spare her a glance. Fortunately, Ron didn't need telling twice, he grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her towards the door.
"We'll catch you later, Harry."
As soon as they were across the threshold, Harry pointed his wand at the door. It rattled shut. With another flick, the compartment windows frosted into an unnatural hue, obscuring any view and plunging the room into a semi-darkness.
Draco shoved him away hard, straightening his dishevelled robes. He was trembling from head to toe as he glared at Harry.
"That was unnecessary."
Harry's dead eye, black and shrouded in mist fixed onto him, a half smile twitching onto his ashen lips.
"Was it?"
Before Draco could protest, Harry closed the distance between them again. Decayed fingers twisted around the others pale wrist, yanking Draco's arm forwards while pushing up his left sleeve.
"No-"
Draco's protest died in an instant, overwhelmed from the chilling cold that consumed the compartment. Adara scampered, claws scratching the wooden floor as she crammed herself into a recess under the seat. Harry spared her golden light only a flicker of any attention.
"You did it then."
A vivid black tattoo glistened on Draco's forearm. A serpent protruding from a skull, burnt and branded deep into the skin. Even in the dim light the snake seemed alive, its body contracting and coiling. The ominous link a potential lifeline to the one thing that Harry craved.
Draco shivered.
"I said I would."
Hot breath misted across Harry's face. It was intoxicating and the needless sense to devour rose, driven from the long summer days with no real contact with other souls.
With a restrained rattling breath, Harry instead raised a rotten finger to hover just above the blackened mark. What little temperature in their surroundings dissipated.
"Are you insane?" Draco hissed but he went complete still. Terror laced his voice and his eyes were almost rolling in his head, overcome and overwhelmed from the despair of his deepest and darkness memories. "He won't come-"
Harry fingers tightened, the itch to press the mark burning.
"Well, there's no harm in finding out then?" he whispered. The hunger was growing, the possibility that Tom could find him if only given the chance.
There was a growl, and sharp teeth plunged into Harry's ankle just above the tracker. It was the spark of light that did it, distorted and twisted in the lingering despair. Lyra was on the precipice of change, not quite there but the threat was paramount.
There would be no winners if Lyra transformed.
With an exasperated breath, Harry closed his eyes, a forced calmness descending. There was a moment when the urge to devour flickered again before it was replaced by nothingness.
Sensing his relaxed composure, Lyra withdrew slowly. She leapt up onto one of the seats and growled at him.
With a great reluctance, Harry stepped back and released his grip. Draco yanked his arm to cradle it against his chest, pulling down his sleeve to cover the dark mark while simultaneously reaching for Adara to salvage any comfort.
"I didn't become a Death Eater just for you to mess everything up already-"
"Sorry," Harry said, pressing a finger to his decayed lips as if it would stop any flickering temptation. "I do appreciate it."
Draco glared at him, but he couldn't stop Adara trembling against his chest.
"You could show it, if the Dark Lord ever finds out-"
Harry shrugged.
"You know our plan would work just as easily if Voldemort knows we are friends."
The sheer terror from Draco was palpable, any colour draining to leave his face gaunt. Harry didn't need to take another breath to taste the perspiration of deep fear.
"I can't let the Dark Lord suspect me-" Draco started. "This way is better. If I try and get close to Tom and the Dark Lord knows-"
"It's okay, Draco," Harry said. "I get it. I know I'm asking a lot and the least I can do is pretend to hate your guts."
"That doesn't mean you can just go and attack me in front of everyone-"
Harry's lip twitched into a smile, but there wasn't any trace of humour.
"I wanted to talk to you."
"And you couldn't wait until tonight?" Draco demanded incredulously.
Harry crossed his arms and lent back on the obscured window.
"I waited a month. I didn't think you'd appreciate an owl."
Draco opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again.
"I don't know what you think I can tell you-"
Lyra growled and leapt forwards to bare her small teeth. Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing as any patience disappeared. There was no way he would leave the carriage without some form of a satisfactory answer.
"Azkaban."
"You read the papers, don't you?" Draco said. "I don't know more than that-"
Harry half expected this. Keeping his voice deliberately indifferent he sat down. Lyra prowled restlessly across his lap and he teased his fingers through her fur absently.
"I don't care if Tom killed Scrimgeour."
Draco's eyes narrowed and he didn't immediately respond as he chose his next words.
"You should care," Draco said carefully. "The Ministry had nothing on him. Scrimgeour's death changes everything."
Harry didn't say anything.
For the past month, Tom's picture had appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet with the words Wanted. Aurors ordered to kill on sight plastered underneath. It wasn't even a recent photograph, or Harry might not have minded so much just to get a glimpse of him after two years.
Either way there was no point dwelling on it. Harry couldn't change Tom's actions, which left only one way forward. Lyra pressed her head against his hand, brushing her head against his fingers.
"It doesn't matter either way," Harry said quietly. "When I find Tom, I don't plan on coming back."
Draco took a step forwards and now there was a hint of a plea in his voice.
"Harry, you can't run forever, not with both the Dark Lord and the Ministry hunting you, plus if Tom doesn't want to leave-"
A shadow passed over Harry's face, made all the more terrifying from his rotten skin and cracked lips. He took a rattling breath and the temperature dropped several degrees again.
"If Tom chose Voldemort, then I'm just the Ministry's puppet," Harry hissed. Black sparks spat from the end of his wand. "Or do you think I'm Dumbledore's man?"
Adara was cowering, and the golden dust like light swirled around in such mesmerising patterns, each strand being teased under Harry's influence. She trembled, uncontrollable and desperate to escape the worst memories of her life.
"Of course not. Just if I approach Tom and you're wrong-"
Harry's anger dissipated in a single raspy breath, but no warmth returned to the room.
"Tom won't turn you over to Voldemort. He'll protect you if anything."
Draco paced back and forth, running both hands through his hair.
"That was before Azkaban-"
"You already signed up for this," Harry said coolly. "You swore you were ready before you got the Dark Mark etched into your skin. Are you backing out?"
Draco flushed, pausing in his step, but he kept his voice steady.
"No, but you have to see that murdering Scrimgeour changes things."
It was hard to admit it, but Draco was right. Before, Harry only had to steal back Tom and they would have had the protection from at least the Order of the Phoenix, possibly the Ministry. Now, there were few people who would welcome back Tom in any capacity.
At least Sirius would understand. But then again, Sirius owed Tom his life.
Lyra growled, drawing his attention down to his lap. She was watching him with that expression of hers. What little light in the room had faded so her dust like light shone all the brighter.
With a steady breath, Harry sat back, releasing the surroundings from his influence.
Adara dug her claws into Draco's shirt, scrabbling up onto his shoulder. She seemed more agitated than normal, and her tail flicked back and forth as she bared her small teeth towards him.
"You keep losing your temper," she squeaked.
Harry's mouth parting slightly. Even Draco looked taken aback as he tried to gather her back into his arms.
"Ignore her-"
Adara bit Draco's fingers, and he cursed, dropping her onto the opposite bench. Despite her small terrified form, the white ferret faced Harry again.
"Lyra agrees with me," Adara continued, digging in her claws to hold her ground. "You're not normally this difficult to be around."
A hollowness thrummed through Harry.
He glanced back down to Lyra, who merely growled again. He couldn't deny it. That was more than a few times he'd made the room go cold, and even the temptation to devour Draco's soul should never even have flickered in his want. He could already see the strands from both dæmons dancing unnaturally from his influence.
"Sorry," Harry said. "I've been a little on edge recently-"
With a great effort he let his mind clear of all thought and desires. The difference was paramount. Warmth shot into the compartment and the lingering despair vanished. Both dæmons visibly relaxed, their golden light shining even more brightly to Harry's dead eye.
"Since Azkaban you mean?" Draco said tightly.
A shame flickered through Harry as he nodded and ran his hands back through Lyra's fur. He'd promised her so much more, and his failure would only result in one thing.
She would separate from him as soon as they reached the castle. Not that he could blame her. Each rattling breath only destroyed her. He had to do better, which was easier said that done, specially when he needed answers.
"I just don't understand what happened," Harry said quietly. "Nothing makes sense any more. Tom wouldn't kill Scrimgeour for no reason...Voldemort must have offered him something."
Draco was silent for a second, and then he sighed reluctantly.
"I'll find out what I can, Harry," he said. "But getting close to Tom is going to be difficult in any circumstance, and I'm not sure how many opportunities I'll get while we're at school."
Harry nodded. He knew that, but if he had any chance to find answers no matter how small the possibility he would take it. He slumped down in the chair, head spinning.
One more year.
That was how long before he has any real potential of seeing Tom again. Then his options would be even more dangerous.
"You know, the Dark Lord asked about you," Draco said.
"That's surprising," Harry said. He closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose to stay off an on coming headache. "He's got half a dozen people watching me already."
"Well clearly that's not enough," Draco muttered.
Harry blinked his eyes open and tilted his head with a slightly frown.
"What could you tell him that he doesn't already know?"
All colour had drained out Draco's face and he scratched his arm over his sleeve where his Dark Mark was.
Harry sat up, startling both Lyra and Adara as his hand instinctively curled around his wand.
"Draco, what did you tell him?"
There was a moment when Harry thought he'd never find out, and then Draco took a long deep breath and exhaled, flooding the compartment with a flood of temptation.
"I told him you could be tempted to serve him if there's even a slight possibility of having a future with Tom."
Harry sat very still, thoughts whirling.
"And he bought it?" he asked quietly.
Draco nodded, but he didn't look very happy about it.
"I was sure someone would already have told him that...I mean Tom's probably been saying the same thing for years to keep you alive...but the Dark Lord...he was very interested in that."
Harry let out a rattling breath. The darkness pumped through his dead veins, oozing in the gaping hole where his heart used to be.
"Well that's a good thing at least. It'll help make things easier to steal Tom back-"
Despite everything, Draco looked away as if pretending that he hadn't heard. He started fidgeting with his sleeve again. There was a moments pause while the two of them sat in silence, both dæmons staying as still as they possibly could.
"Harry...you can't trick the Dark Lord," Draco said at last. "You know that right?"
"You did," Harry said at once. "He believed you when you told him I could be tempted to serve him."
Draco's expression tightened at this.
"That wasn't a lie and you know it."
Now it was Harry's turn to look away, the shroud of his dead eye swirling as he turned his attention to idly watch the dust like light from Adara and Lyra. Sirius had warned him time and time again to disregard the prophecy.
"If there was even a possibility, I would take it," Harry said. "But Voldemort will never give me Tom...I can't pretend otherwise."
Draco shook his head, and he slid forwards so that he was perched right on the end of the seat.
"Harry, I honestly think you really have a chance...and serving the Dark Lord isn't so bad...not really."
Harry sighed, letting out a rattling breath.
"It's more complicated than that."
He watched as Draco continued to fidget with his sleeve, fingers scratching at where the blackened skull on his forearm was hidden. The unpleasant memory was lingering, despite Harry's calmed state.
"Does your mother know?" Harry asked, nodding to Draco's arm.
Adara made an odd strangled yowl, and she leapt onto Draco's lap.
"She didn't," Draco said as he clutched at her fur for comfort. "After Azkaban though-"
"Ah-" Harry said. Sirius had told him about one of the particular escapees.
"My aunt was so proud," Draco continued. "She didn't realise that my mother might have been reluctant for me to follow in my father's footsteps so soon. I think she wanted me to finish school first."
"You've seen your father then?" Harry asked.
"He's been away," Draco said. "Overseas I think, persuading other witches and wizards to support the Dark Lord..."
Harry's attention slipped slightly. From the corner of his dead eye, an owl dæmon had separated from the crowds and was now flying towards their compartment.
"What task did Voldemort give you?" he asked absently, watching as the golden form approached.
"Something similar, actually," Draco said with a smile. Even Adara's ears perked up and she let out a small excited squeak.
"What?" Harry said. "Recruiting Death Eaters?"
"Essentially, but there's more to it than that," Draco said. "I'm pretty lucky to know that I've basically been guaranteed a place-"
There was a sharp rap of knuckles against the door causing the glass to shake in its frame.
Draco stiffened and pulled out his wand. Adara leapt back off the chair.
"It's Cho Chang," Harry said, watching as the owl flew in a tight circle before coming to land.
"She's the new head girl," Draco said, and then muttered under his breath. "Trust Granger to go running."
There was a second where neither of them spoke, and then the darkness which covered the windows vanished, causing them to both blink at the sudden influx of light. The door rattled open, and Cho entered with her wand grasped between her fingers.
Harad took flight again with a loud piercing screech. Adara scurried across the floor, ducking for cover under the nearest trunk, while Lyra darted between Harry's feet. Harad soared up to land on the luggage rack, his sharp talons gripping the railings as he fixed his yellow eyes down at the two dæmons with a horrible interest.
Cho didn't even look at Draco, her attention fixed on Harry.
"Malfoy, you can go," she said. "I'd like a word with Potter."
Draco ducked down to gather Adara in his arms, cast one final warning glance at Harry, and without saying another word, took his leave.
The second he'd stepped across the threshold, the door rattled shut.
Harry didn't say anything, but he deliberately glanced up at her dæmon with his dead eye. To the owl's credit, he didn't even flinch. His piercing yellow eyes in turn finding Lyra's as if daring him to try it.
"Potter, why are you terrifying the sixth year prefects?"
Harry lent back in his chair, decayed lips splitting into a smile.
"For kicks and thrills."
Cho crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Harry half expected her to start ranting at him but instead her tone was deliberately light.
"Then perhaps I should let you know, Professor Flitwick made it very clear that I shouldn't deal with you directly, that I should report any incidents to Professor Snape. That he would be very interested to hear if you were causing any trouble..."
Harry tilted his head, smile slipping as he focused his good eye on her. Aside from on the quidditch pitch he hadn't had much dealing with the Ravenclaw seeker, and she'd been a formidable opponent then.
"So why are you here?" he asked.
Cho raised her chin, expression guarded.
"I thought we could come to some sort of agreement, it would be a shame if Gryffindor quidditch team lost their seeker after all."
The temperature in the compartment dropped again from Harry's will alone. He watched, as she uncrossed her arms, gaze glancing up to her own dæmon briefly. Harad ruffled his feathers. It was a mistake. Her own fear saturated the air, Harry could taste it.
"You can't cast a patronus, can you?" he said.
Her silence, and the tightening of her jaw was enough of an answer.
Harry slipped off the chair and crouched down to let Lyra climb up onto his shoulder. She didn't seem to like this much more though, as she stared anxiously up at Harad's sharp beak which was suddenly a lot closer.
Harry moved passed Cho, ignoring the wand that was pointed at his face as he reached the doorway. The internal cold was growing with every moment, frost starting to cling to the windows. She didn't protest as he unlocked the door. He paused on the threshold, offering one last decayed smile.
"Perhaps you should learn."