A/N 1: Hamlet? I'm blushing! Thank you. Fan, it's lovely to hear from you again. And thank you to the other guests!
A/N 2: Just a shortish one this time - mainly because there ain't no Snape, and when he's not around I tend not to linger (I really am a hopeless case!) But fear not, Snape fanciers - he's back with a vengeance in the next chapter.
A/N 3: Talking of the next chapter, it won't be posted until the first week of January. The story's in first draft form but I have a ton of work plus a horde of house guests descending - no time to polish it for posting, which is the part I really enjoy. So, merry Christmas or happy Chanukah (or both for families like mine!), or if you don't celebrate, I wish you non-specific merriment. See you in January!
Chapter 2: More Questions Than Answers
The hospital wing, 9:45 am
A tangerine boinked! off Harry's head and somehow shot up in the air. He caught it before spinning around to question its sender.
"What?"
"You seeing Granger today?"
"Yep."
"Oh."
Draco Malfoy looked like the one child Father Christmas had forgotten. Harry took a step forward and peered at him. The Prat seemed as right as rain now and Harry recalled the crushing boredom of having to stay put in a hospital bed when you felt perfectly able to get up and leave.
"Hermione wanted to come up." He lied, "Only Snape's banned visitors … she can't."
Malfoy brightened.
"Yes well, I'm still Senior Advisor. Once I'm out of here, she'll have to come and meet with me to debrief. In fact, I'll need to interview all of you. Tell everyone to make themselves available."
Back to being an arrogant arse, then. All was right with Malfoy's world; Harry could safely leave.
oOo
"A nice surprise!"
Harry stopped mid-corridor and looked around. No one. Were the walls speaking to him again?
"Delightful, in fact!"
Back near the entrance to the ward, he spied an ample bottom poking out of a cupboard. It bustled backwards and the muffled voice repeated itself clearly this time.
"You two are very close; who'd have thought it? Young Malfoy of all people. But it's lovely to see!" Said Madam Pomfrey. "So very close!"
Harry's face turned crimson; had Madam Pomfrey seen his hand stuck between Malfoy's legs last night?!
"Erm … not really. I wouldn't say we're very close."
"No need for embarrassment."
Oh no … could Harry sense a mediwitch talk on how 'the love that dare not speak its name' really was fine, healthy and normal?
"Sticking charm!" He blurted out, "Professor Snape put a sticking charm on us!"
"He hasn't this morning dear, and yet here you are!"
If Voldemort was going to kill him, Harry couldn't think of a finer moment than this one.
"The girls and I were so worried about you last year … going down to the dungeons … all on your lonesome …"
"Girls?" Queried Harry.
It transpired the 'girls' were McGonagall, Sprout, Sinistra, Grubbly-Plank and Trelawney. Harry made a poor show of stifling a snort at the inapposite term. Madam Pomfrey spotted it and grinned along with him.
"You know dear, everyone's embarrassed about using the bedpan …"
What?!
"Number twos, especially."
Oh bloody hell! Why were mediwitches so … so anatomical? And where was this conversation heading?
"Eagle, snake, badger or lion, everyone dislikes the bedpan. So there it is; you're all the same really! Marvellous that you've made friends! Now off you pop, Potter!"
oOo
Lily of the valley scent, the sweet smell of face powder and an air of dottiness lingered comfortingly with Harry, so too did the news that Pomfrey and her pals had been worried about him. His exhaustion was changing from crotchety near-despair to languid haziness. He paused a moment to think on her words. His fibbing about Hermione wanting to visit Malfoy had been an act of friendship, hadn't it? Was he friends with Malfoy? He knew he was friends with Hermione and Ron, but Malfoy? He'd declared them both friends that night they'd played 'Ghosts in the Graveyard' and got trapped in the sarcophagus … but then Malfoy had gone on to be a real dick. What did 'friends' mean? He remembered Christmas 1990. His Aunt Petunia had made a rare sortie into the world of 'weird' and written a poem …
F You're funny
R You're reliable
I You're ingenious
E You're engaging
N You're nice
D You're dependable
I suppose this makes you a friend!
This towering literary achievement had been emblazoned on china mugs - Uncle Vernon having got a special deal with the man who did the Grunnings letterheads - and given to all the women in Privet Drive. Mrs Singh at number nine had been slow to reciprocate, and Harry recalled his aunt standing at the living room window loudly wondering if Mrs Singh's net curtains couldn't do with a good wash and how the Singh family car really ought to be parked elsewhere; the car being so ancient it lowered the tone of the whole street. Maybe that was it. Maybe Malfoy was a friend like Aunt Petunia was.
He shuffled his weary legs towards the central staircase and took hold of the bannister lest his fatigue cause him to tumble down the entire flight. But his grip firmed almost immediately; he had it! That annoying buzz in the back of his mind … that niggle as to why Malfoy's version of events couldn't possibly be the truth came to him in a flash. His exhaustion was jettisoned as Harry leapt four stairs at a time … straight into the brick wall that was Millicent Bulstrode.
"Sorry! I've got to see Hermione!"
"You're taking me with you." She told him.
oOo
The old belfry, 10:20 am
"Harry! Millicent! Sit down and listen to me!"
"No." Harry told Hermione, "I've figured something out; you need to listen."
"You can have your turn as soon as you've listened to me." Hermione promised, not giving Harry a split second before she launched into what she wanted to say.
"Malfoy hasn't got an upset stomach. He didn't even eat any birthday cake; he gave it to Goyle. I saw him. Something bad happened to him and Snape knows what it is. And I bet McGonagall knows too. I've been watching them give each other funny looks at high table. I thought they'd had words, but now I think they were just tense. I bet they knew something was going to happen, and they've been waiting for it."
"You're sort of right," Said Harry, "But you should've listened to me first …"
He enjoyed that; didn't get to say it often.
"Something bad did happen to Malfoy. He was attacked by a Death Eater …"
"What?!" Cried both Millicent and Hermione.
"Wait." Said Harry, "He's fine now. Remember I told you he was in a right state with McGonagall and that's why she sent me to get Snape?"
They remembered that from their pre-breakfast discussion.
"Yeah well, in the hospital he told me he wasn't upset; he was putting on an act 'cos McGonagall was about to make him turn out his pockets …"
"My frigging fault." Sighed Millicent, "I made him take those fags."
Hermione shot her a disapproving stare.
"Hold on." Urged Harry, "Think about the timeline. Malfoy comes face to face with a Death Eater, McGonagall sees him - and I mean, you should've seen him; he was shaking and gibbering like a baboon - and she makes him turn out his pockets?! Even she's not that strict."
"But," Said Hermione, "his shaking and gibbering was an act to stop McGonagall finding Millicent's stupid cigarettes, wasn't it?"
"No. He really did see a Death Eater. He told me this morning and I believe him."
"Who was it?" Asked Hermione.
"They wear masks." Said Millicent ominously, "You never know who it is."
"Right." Murmured Hermione quietly.
Harry returned to the point he was trying to make.
"But the important thing is the place and the timeline. Malfoy meets the Death Eater; the Death Eater leaves, and McGonagall straight away comes down the corridor."
The two girls looked blankly at Harry.
"Well, where did the Death Eater go?" Asked Harry, "There's only one way out; McGonagall must have passed the Death Eater in the corridor, or on the stairs."
They all flumped back on the makeshift hessian chairs, subsumed with thought.
"Two possibilities." Said Millicent eventually, "One, the Death Eater pulled off their mask. But then why didn't McGonagall raise the alarm that an outsider was here in Hogwarts? Number two: the Death Eater is someone from Hogwarts, and didn't cause any suspicion."
Possibility number two was a downer and no mistake. But then the grim option is so often the magnetic one, drawing you inexorably to it. Harry stared at his shoes, so tired he forgot to blink. His eyes ached and began to pool with water. Who could the covert Death Eater be? Filch? Had he been playing the long game and only pretending to be a squib? No. Malfoy had said it was a woman. Professor Burbage? Perfect cover pretending to love muggles. Sinistra? Sinister by name, sinister by nature? Trelawney? No chance. The moment Pomona Sprout entered his head as a possible double agent, he gave up in disgust. He was rubbish at all this murky, double-dealing stuff.
"There's a third possibility," Said Hermione, after a very long time.
Thank God for that, thought Harry.
"And it goes back to what I was saying about Snape and McGonagall. She didn't raise any alarm because she knew who the Death Eater was, and she came to Malfoy straight after because it had all been planned …"
"So the Death Eater wasn't a real one?" Asked Harry, "It couldn't have been, not with McGonagall there. No way."
He refused point blank to warp his brain to the extent it considered McGonagall capable of joining the dark side.
"Unless we look at my second possibility; that the Death Eater was someone from Hogwarts …" Said Millicent.
"Wouldn't Malfoy have recognised them, even with the mask? I mean a mask can't change the way you talk or walk."
"Probs." Said Millicent, a second before she leapt to her feet.
"You're right, Brainbox! Of course it was a plan, and of course they're both in on it! Just think; if there'd been the slightest suspicion that there'd been a Death Eater, the whole castle would be on lockdown! We'd all be trapped in our dorms until aurors had scoured this place!"
Or in the Great Hall, thought Harry, recalling the night after Sirius' attempt to get past The Fat Lady. But any pangs he might have felt at the thought of Sirius were momentary; this was too important. He knew Millicent was right; the trouble was, he didn't have a clue what Snape and McGonagall were up to. Should he be pleased or alarmed that they'd been plotting? Though he didn't have an answer to that, he couldn't help feeling comforted by the notion of McGonagall and The Git working together.
"But how could it have been a plan?"
Millicent was talking to herself and pacing.
"Snape didn't know Malfoy would be out in the corridor. Before I told Malfoy, the only one to know about it was me - and AB. How could they plan to have a fake Death Eater approach Malfoy in a place they had no idea he'd be? And why do that anyway? It makes no sense."
Harry was as bamboozled as Millicent. He looked hopefully to Hermione, who now had both forefingers massaging her temples. The thinking pose.
"Harry?" She asked after some time, "What exactly do you remember of the note you stole from Snape?"
"Note? It was an exam paper, second year potions."
He trotted out the lie that AB had furnished him with, but Hermione wasn't having any of it. She shook her head disapprovingly.
"No Harry, it was a note. I thought AB was going to explain it but he didn't, so you need to remember whatever you can."
Harry was gaping like a fish.
"Wha .. wha … what do you know about it?!"
He knew Hermione was hugely clever, but now she was just being freaky.
"You weren't even here! You can't know!"
"The paper chase? The whacking Snape gave AB? I was here, under the sacks. At one point, you nearly put your feet up on me. And before you say anything, I wasn't being sneaky. I'd come here first to get away from Lavender and Parvati. I would've excused myself but I didn't want you to know I'd been crying."
Harry thought back to the Easter weekend. Brown and Patil's rush to take offence over Hermione's dental hygiene gift basket, and the ensuing bullying. It all made sense.
"Hang on, Potter. You came up here with AB?" Asked Millicent, "And he told you about The Great Chase?"
"Yeah." Answered Harry.
"Hmm." Was all Millicent said.
In fact, all three started 'hmming'. It carried on for quite some time. Millicent interspersed her 'hmms' with mutterings about AB while Hermione broke off her 'hmms' to intermittently ask Harry if he could remember anything that had been written on Snape's note. Harry couldn't, and he just 'hmmed' with tiredness.
"We need a place to meet." Said Millicent, "We can't keep legging it all the way here; someone's bound to see us."
"What about the kitchen linen closet?" Suggested Harry, "That's handy."
"No." Millicent said, "Alicia knows about that and if what I'm thinking is right, we don't want the rest of Slytherin knowing about this."
"Your alcove up on the second floor, Harry! That'll be perfect!" Suggested Hermione.
"Can't." Said Harry, "Snape knows about it. I saw him look for me there when he thought I'd run off to Hogsmeade."
"If what I'm thinking is correct, then Snape knowing about it isn't a problem …"
Harry watched as Millicent gave Hermione a warm smile. He wished he had an inkling what it was they both suspected but his brain was now giving up normal functioning. So much had happened in the last twenty-eight hours - and only about seventeen minutes of it had been sleep. Images skittered past his open eyes: Goyle hamming it up in the old torture chamber pretending Crabbe was applying thumb screws; Ron telling them Snape had a girlfriend; shortarse Alicia desperate to be put on the stretching rack; Tracey; the cavernous torture chamber; Malfoy's look of abject terror; Tracey; being bollocked by Snape for no reason; Narcissa Malfoy's soft cool hand on his; Tracey; bonkers Hermione waking him up; Snape sticking him to Malfoy then buggering off; Lucius Malfoy looking alarmed and very un-sneery; a tangerine thudding onto his head; yelling at Snape; Ron telling him the note had been replaced; Tracey. It was all getting blurred now. He had to fight for details. Should he be worried? No, that's right. Ron had told him the note was back on Snape's shelf. The thoughts skittered once more: Pucey the charmer with his torture chamber escape rope; Malfoy and Hermione's flirty teasing; Tracey; him swearing and shouting at Snape …
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh SHIT!"
"Harry!"
"What's up?!"
"How did I forget?! How did I sodding forget?! He's gonna bloody murder me! That's it; I'm a dead man!"
"What is it?!" Screeched Hermione.
"I was supposed to see Snape straight after visiting Malfoy. He wants 'a chat'."
"Oh! That's wonderful Harry!" Said Hermione, clapping her hands.
Harry stared at her as if she were mad. Millicent snorted.
"Don't you see?" Asked Hermione, "This whole Death Eater swooping down on Malfoy wasn't real; it was engineered. I'm convinced of it. And it was engineered by McGonagall and Snape; I'm just as convinced. But we need to work out why. It's great that he wants to chat with you. Chatting to him is the perfect opportunity to probe for more information. Ask him how Professor McGonagall is; try and get details of how close they are, see if he gives anything away. I know! Tell him Draco told you about the Death Eater; then tell him you're really worried - see what his reaction is …"
"I don't think it's that kind of chat, Brainbox." Said Millicent.
"What do you mean?" Realisation struck Hermione. "Oh, Harry! Are you in trouble? Again?!"
"Sort of." Shrugged Harry.
"Well, we can't waste this opportunity." Scolded Hermione, "Don't get upset when he whacks you …"
"I never bloody do! And who says I'm getting whacked?"
"What's the chat about, Potter?" Demanded Millicent.
"Um … 'appalling disrespect' or something."
"You're getting whacked." She confirmed.
"You most probably deserve it," Said Hermione - a little too matter-of-factly for Harry, "but it's important you don't get upset. When you get upset, you miss things. You need to keep your wits about you and remember everything that's said. You, Millicent and I will need to sift through every last detail of this meeting with Snape."
Sod off, thought Harry; no way am I giving details of a Snape chat. He knew it wasn't prurience on Hermione's part but he couldn't help feeling pissed off all the same. Perhaps he should drop her in it? Casually mention to Snape all the shenanigans that had been going on these last few days, and see how she handled the prospect of a date with the slipper. Harry let out a groan … the effing slipper. Snape's furiously pinched face now scooted across his vision; his outburst last night had definitely been something Snape would deem slipper-worthy.
"I've got to go."
oOo
Slytherin corridor outside Snape's study, 11:50 am
It was an odd feeling, lead-limbed exhaustion peppered with a racing heart. Get a grip, Harry urged himself; you've copped it before from Snape. Not pleasant, but not terrible either. Of course part of him wanted to leg it. But there was also a part of him that wanted to barge in, take what he had coming and get it over with. Harry Potter was tired. Not just tired from lack of sleep, he was wilting under the weight of not-knowingness. He tried to remember all the last-minute instructions Hermione had garbled at him before he left the belfry, but couldn't recall a single one. Sod it. How much speaking was he going to do arse up over The Git's sofa anyway? He pushed himself off the wall, ignored Licorus Black's mean sniggers, gave two knocks - not too timid, not too loud - on the study door, and waited.