Chapter VI
Most quidditch tryouts drew a dozen students at most. People generally knew when they had the quality to make the team and, if they didn't, stayed away so as not to humiliate themselves. That made picking the team a relatively simple proposition for the captain.
Harry was not so fortunate. When he arrived at the pitch there were already a dozen people milling around, staring at him, and talking amongst themselves. By the time that tryouts were officially going to start the crowd had swelled to over fifty people. There were students there that weren't even in Gryffindor.
It was an unspoken rule among quidditch captains that you didn't send someone out to spy on another team's tryouts. Even the Slytherins held to the rule most years, though Harry wasn't sure if that was because they were being honorable or it was just too hard to get someone close enough to spy on tryouts without it being obvious.
As he stood just on the edge of the quidditch pitch, Harry was aware that it was probably the last time that he would be wearing his quidditch robes. Ginny was in the crowd, near the front, unbothered by the seething mass of students. He had a feeling she would deal with being captain even better than he would, but he would miss flying. It had been one of his greatest sources of comfort over the years, something he had been genuinely good at; possibly even the best in the school.
"Alright!" Harry shouted. "If you're not a Gryffindor, get out of here. This is a closed tryout."
There were scattered groans and even one quick chorus of boos, but the students did as Harry told them. All of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that had been in the crowd separated and trudged back up to the castle. That still left over forty people to choose from. Many of the students left were younger, second and third years that Harry recognized from the Dueling Club, standing with their old brooms (or, worse, the school brooms) and looking frightened yet determined.
Harry didn't think that he was a sexist but he doubted that the gaggle of giggling fifth year girls in one corner of the crowd had come to try out for the team. They were wearing an awful lot of makeup for someone who was about to get on a broom.
When they saw him looking at them they broke down into another refrain of giggles. Ginny shot them a disgusted look, more for disturbing the sanctity of the quidditch pitch with their inanity than for their coquetry, Harry thought.
Katie and Ron were the only two returning members of the team. Harry would need to fill another four positions, and he would like to do so with the future in mind. Promoting older students to the first team would leave a hole that a future captain would have to fill in only a few years. Katie was an obvious choice for the chaser position; her tryout would be a formality.
Ron was less of a certainty. He was prone to damaging lapses in concentration and had confidence issues in front of the hoops. Fortunately for him, it didn't look like there was going to be a lot of competition for the keeper position.
"If you're trying out for chaser go stand over there. Beaters over there and keepers there," Harry said, pointing to various spots on the pitch. About half of the crowd went to one of the assigned positions. The rest stayed where they were, content to be spectators. "If you aren't here to try out just stay quiet," he said.
Harry had each of the groups run drills. The prospective chasers would try to score on one of the keepers while the beaters tried to keep the bludgers away from them. It was a one-sided game of quidditch designed to weed out people who could fly a broom and those who couldn't.
The only two people trying out for the keeper position were Ron and McLaggen. Right away Harry was able to tell that it would be a close call. Ron had better distribution and quick reflexes but lacked McLaggen's supreme self-confidence. There wouldn't be any brilliant saves from McLaggen over the course of the season but Harry had the sinking suspicion that McLaggen would be the better player overall.
He was tempted to say no to McLaggen no matter what, on the grounds that he would be a detriment to team morale. McLaggen was a showboat and a git. Quidditch was a team sport and he would never be able to work as well with a group as Ron.
Most of the prospective chasers were horrible. Ginny was an exception, darting past rampant bludgers and placing shot after shot past McLaggen and Ron without remorse. She was a clinical finisher and had a degree of agility that most Hogwarts chasers could only aspire toward. Harry mentally marked her down alongside Katie as one of his chasers.
Predictably, Katie wasn't having any trouble with the tryout either. Ron and McLaggen were saving a fairly equal number of her shots but Ron looked like his confidence was draining away the longer tryouts went on. Being scored on repeatedly by his little sister seemed to be doing him in.
McLaggen only got more and more determined as the tryouts went on; he thrived on the attention that he was getting. The crowd behind Harry had ignored his order to stay quiet and was shouting out the names of the people that they thought should make the team. They seemed to be laboring under the impression that it was a democratic process. Ron had his share of supporters but Ginny and McLaggen had, by far, the loudest fan contingents.
There was a third girl that caught Harry's eye for the last chaser position. The bludgers were giving most of the chasers trouble because the beaters were having such a hard time containing them but the girl wasn't struggling with them at all. Every pass they made at her was effortlessly avoided; she couldn't be touched by anything, it seemed to Harry. Her finishing could use work but she had the natural speed, agility, and passing required to be a top class chaser. Harry decided that she was his final chaser. A pair of students watching, her friends most likely, were screaming her name whenever she pulled off a particularly daring maneuver. Demelza Robins.
Knowing that he wasn't going to be a part of the team after picking it, Harry kept his eye out for a replacement for him as seeker. Ginny seemed the most qualified but Harry worried that if she switched to seeker that would leave their offense drastically weakened. The next best chaser was Dean Thomas, who tried out every year, and he was significantly worse than any of Katie, Ginny, or the other girl. Gryffindor would be relying on their seeker to win every game for them with an unbalanced offense and a questionable keeper in either McLaggen or Ron.
Making matters even worse was the fact that the beaters were going to be the weakest part of the team. Harry could see it already. Only two boys, rambunctious and foulmouthed, were even close to being good enough to play for the house team. The rest were absolutely abysmal. Harry mentally added weak defense to the team's questionable offense. The more he watched the tryouts the less he envied Ginny's impending captainship.
Harry had wanted to leave his mark on the quidditch team as his first and last act as captain, but he was starting to suspect that it wouldn't be the kind of mark he had been hoping for. He could see the roster in his head. Ginny, Dean, Katie, Demelza, Peakes and Coote, and either Ron or McLaggen. It would be a close call but Harry was hoping that Ron would pull through. Part of him wanted Ginny and Katie to take it easy on him; they had to know that McLaggen would be intolerable if he made the team.
To try to finish his deliberating Harry broke the chasers into groups of three, putting Katie, Ginny, and Demelza together, blatantly stacked trio, and had them try to score on Ron and McLaggen. "Best out of seven," he announced.
Hermione left the crowd and came to stand next to Harry. She looked worried. "I couldn't see back there," she said. The spectators had gotten increasingly boisterous. They had taken sides on who was going to become the keeper, with some chanting McLaggen's name and others Ron's. The McLaggen partisans were a good deal louder, Harry thought. Never a good sign when it came to Ron's confidence.
McLaggen had a face of steel as he faced down the oncoming shots. He saved the first two easily, both shots by Demelza, then got shredded for the next four by Katie and Ginny. The last shot he saved with his fingertips, just knocking Ginny's shot over the top of the goalpost. Three saves. Harry hoped that Ron could do better.
"He's not going to make it," Hermione said. She was biting her lip. McLaggen pumped his fist in the air and shot a victorious look down at Harry, winking at Hermione as he flew past. Hermione couldn't seem to decide whether she felt disgusted or enraged.
Ron didn't have the most auspicious start, fumbling the first two shots. They were easy enough and should have been saved but Harry could see him panicking. Ginny threw a soft one for the third and Ron caught it but it didn't seem to restore any of his confidence. All the rest flew cleanly through the goalposts, two from Demelza and two from Katie. Ginny didn't have the heart to score on her brother but it didn't matter. Ron had been soundly beaten by McLaggen.
The chanting in the crowd rose to a crescendo. McLaggen made a valedictory lap around the quidditch pitch, basking in the approbation. Dejectedly, Ron flew to the ground, slung his broom over his shoulder, and slouched back to the castle. Hermione raced after him.
Though he wanted to follow them and make sure that Ron was all right, Harry knew that he had a responsibility to the team for as long as he was captain. He called the rest of the trialists back to the ground and said, "Thank you all for trying out. Selections will be posted in Gryffindor tower sometime next week."
There were more than a few slouched shoulders and grumpy expressions as the students wandered off. Harry figured that it was pretty obvious to everyone who was getting cut. The difference in quality between those who would be making the team and those who wouldn't was immense. Despite that, Harry suspected that it would be the weakest quidditch team that Gryffindor had fielded since before his first year.
There was little chance of them bringing the cup home with such an inexperienced team. Ginny, Demelza, and the two beaters, Peakes and Coote, would all get better with experience, but they were raw as things stood.
"Ginny, do you mind staying for a minute?" Harry asked.
She perked up at him singling her out and Harry led her over to a secluded part of the stands, away from prying ears. Harry noticed a few curious eyes as he led her away but most people were still bemoaning their performance and weren't paying attention to anything going on around them.
"If this is about Ron I tried to go easy on him," Ginny said. Harry imagined that it wouldn't be any easier for her to deal with Ron getting cut than it was for him. She had to live with him, after all.
"It's not about Ron. I'm stepping down as quidditch captain. I can't justify spending so much time on quidditch when Voldemort's out there. There are too many other things I need to be doing."
"And you want me to be captain," Ginny said. It wasn't a question. Katie was too quiet to be an effective captain; she would have a hard time running a team that already knew and respected her. With such a young, untried team, putting her in charge would be a serious mistake, Harry thought.
"Yes. Nobody else can do it. I thought it would be Katie, Demelza, and Dean for chasers, Peakes and Coote for beaters, you for seeker, and McLaggen as keeper."
"McLaggen's a menace and a pervert. I'd rather put Neville in goal than him," Ginny said.
"He is, but making Ron keeper would scream favoritism. It'd be a bad way to start your captainship after everyone saw McLaggen beat him. If he steps out of line you can turf him from the team. That might even make them respect you more."
"Don't you worry about that, Harry. I've got a couple of ideas about how to make them respect me," Ginny said, a malicious smile creeping onto her face.
For a moment Harry pitied everyone who had made the team. He had seen the same gleam in Wood's eyes too many times not to know what it meant.
"Have you told McGonagall yet? To make if official."
"Not yet." Harry had been dreading that particular meeting with his head of house. She was fanatically devoted to the quidditch team and he doubted she would take his abandonment of it well. Sometimes Harry wondered who was more fixated on the Gryffindor quidditch team; Wood or McGonagall. There were strong arguments on both sides.
No doubt McGonagall would want to get him to stay, either trying to guilt him or offering some vague incentive, but Harry resolved to stand firm. He hadn't come to the decision hastily and it was in the best interest in all of wizarding Britain if he quit (though that sounded rather arrogant). He would find a better way of phrasing it for McGonagall.
"And Ron? Have you told him?" Ginny asked.
Harry flinched, then said, "No, I was counting on him making the team."
"So now you're making your best friend's sister the captain of the same team that you just cut him from," Ginny said, almost seeming to admire him.
"I was sure he would make the team…"
"He's going to sulk for weeks. Trust me."
Harry sighed. Ron had a right to be upset. Harry knew that he wouldn't have reacted well had he been cut from the team. Still, he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Ron.
"You know, we haven't talked since our little walk last week," Ginny said, her voice changing, becoming less light.
He had expected that Ginny would want to talk to him about what they had spoken about earlier. Harry had been avoiding her since, in the hopes that she would just forget about it. Fleur's words wouldn't stop ringing in his head whenever he saw Ginny, conflicting with how he felt about her.
Harry wasn't even sure how he felt about her, if he was being honest with himself. The attraction that he had been feeling toward Ginny at the beginning of the year had dimmed, and Harry suspected that he knew why. It wasn't fair; every girl came up short when compared to Fleur, but Harry couldn't help but compare the two. Ginny was short where Fleur was tall, her hair a mess where Fleur's was always perfectly combed, her skin freckled and flushed where Fleur's was flawless and smooth, her body thin and bony where Fleur's was curvy and lush.
"We haven't," Harry said. If they were going to talk it would have to be Ginny that would lead the conversation.
"I'll just be honest then," Ginny said, looking somewhere between exasperated and embarrassed. "I like you, Harry. I never really stopped liking you. After you saved me from the Chamber of Secrets I decided to stop being such a little girl. I stopped idolizing you, starting dating other boys and having my own life, and tried to get to know you as a person instead of the Boy-Who-Lived. But the feelings never went away.
"I clearly haven't done a very good job of hiding my feelings toward you because you didn't seem surprised at all the last time we talked. It was like you already knew how I felt. So I'm not hiding anymore. I'm telling you how I feel and if you feel anything like that then now's the time to say it."
She seemed earnest. If there was any disingenuousness there Harry couldn't detect it. In a way, he admired her willingness to come right out and say what they had been dancing around last time. She was cutting through the usual flirtatious routine, putting herself out there in a way that Harry doubted he ever could.
He decided to point out the obvious problem. "You're dating Dean. How do you think it would look if you dumped him and immediately starting dating me?"
"You're trying to think of reasons that we wouldn't work," Ginny said. "There's no reason that we would have to get together in public right away. I don't want to hurt Dean's feelings but he was never more than just a fun boyfriend and he knew that. It wasn't serious between us. I think that you and I could actually have something. We get along, don't we?"
There wassomething between them; Harry couldn't deny that. The way that he felt when he saw her with Dean, kissing him or holding his hand or laughing with him; it was undeniable proof that he felt something for her. But what he felt wasn't anything he had felt before. It wasn't the blatant sexual attraction he felt for Fleur (much as he tried to ignore that) or the simple crush he had had on Cho. It was more complicated, less easily defined.
Fleur always made Ginny out to be some kind of child devil; conniving, cruel, and ruthless in the pursuit of her goals. She didn't seem like that to Harry. Rather, she seemed earnest and vulnerable, pursuing him despite all common sense and self-preservation.
Aware that the pause had stretched for an uncomfortably long time, Harry decided to reciprocate her honesty. "I don't know how I feel. But maybe that's a good thing, because I want to find out. We could try, if you wanted. You know, a date or something. Maybe in Hogsmeade."
Harry felt like he was fumbling horribly but Ginny didn't seem to care. She lit up at his words, a broad smile coming over her face, and she stood up on her tiptoes and pulled on the back of Harry's head to bring his lips down to meet hers.
It was the lightest of touches, a caress more than a kiss, but it enflamed Harry's imagination, sent a spark surging through his body. Suddenly he wasn't thinking so much of her deficiencies compared to Fleur. In fact, Ginny, windswept and sweaty from tryouts, looked more beautiful to Harry than ever before.
He didn't pull her closer and he didn't protest when she broke the kiss after a few short seconds. It hadn't been the kind of kiss that was a prelude to something more. "I think that I'll be the one taking you out on a date, Harry," she said. Her hands were fiddling with the front of his robes in a soothing manner. She seemed far from the tomboyish quidditch player that had been on the pitch only a few minutes before.
There was little doubt left in Harry's mind that everything Fleur had told him, everything he had suspected about Ginny, was groundless. She wanted him to like her, she had admitted as much, but it was a leap from that to manipulative shrew. Fleur may have had her own reasons for disliking Ginny, may have even tried to push Harry away from her for whatever reason, but Harry was starting to think that Ginny was nothing like he had been suspecting.
"That's alright with me," Harry said. Really, he would have expected nothing less from Ginny. She was the farthest thing from passive. No doubt she had been planning what to do with the opportunity of a date for some time; saw it as her chance to win him over. It would be better than anything he would be able to cook up; of that Harry had no doubt.
"Good. And do me one favor, Harry. Don't tell my brother about this. For both our sakes," Ginny said.
"He's in a bad enough mood as it is," Harry agreed.
She smiled at him, turned to leave, and, over her shoulder, said, in a sweet voice, "I look forward to our date then, Harry."
As she left, Harry had the feeling that he had just made a decision that would infuriate both Ron and Fleur when they found out. Fleur hated Ginny and Ron hated the idea of anyone with Ginny. Hermione would be his only shelter from their wrath, Harry thought.
Each year at Hogwarts seemed to grow bleaker than the last. Each week there were reports in the Daily Prophet about attacks by Death Eaters, with friends and family members of other students killed or abducted. Attacks on key ministry installations were growing increasingly common, a distressing sign of boldness among Voldemort's ranks. The Prophet continued to run patriotic opinion pieces but their effect was somewhat lessened, given that they were all written under pseudonyms. After enough tragedy, the rest became little more than white noise in the background; it was easily ignorable, as terrible as Harry found it to admit. As the deaths mounted, he supposed that the only way to deal with it was to ignore it.
There was an inessential quality to the air of panic around Hogwarts, an abstractness, which came from the students' own position of safety within the walls of the castle. The families of half-bloods and muggleborns were constantly in danger, fearful at all times of being targeted by Voldemort for being less than pure, but the students themselves had no such fears, cradled as they were by the walls of Hogwarts and the watchful eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
Despite their own security, few remained unaffected by the state of Wizarding Britain. Ron was one of the first down to breakfast every morning. He would wait for the owls to come in order to make sure that there wouldn't be any terrible news in a letter. It was a ritual for him, to come down early and wait, unable to eat, for a letter that would tell him about what unspeakable horrors had befallen a member of his family.
Hermione tried her best to keep him from worrying but he was unshakable in his belief that he needed to be there, the first one to hear the news. Harry thought that he was trying to shield Ginny, to be the one to get the news through a letter so that she didn't have to. It was, Harry decided, the best thing Ron had ever done as an older brother. It was also agonizing to watch, morning after morning.
The mood didn't get to Harry and Hermione quite so much. They both cared about the Weasleys and hoped nothing would happen to them, Harry thought about them like family, but they both had lives in the muggle world. Lives that, in all likelihood, would remain untouched by the war. Having another world to return to made the war seem more tolerable than it did to students who had only ever known the wizarding world. For them, the war touched everything they had ever known.
Though he tried not to be suspicious, in the name of inter-house unity, Harry couldn't help but keep a close eye on the Slytherins. He ignored the younger students for the most part, reasoning that they wouldn't be trusted with anything important or told anything by their parents, but he watched the older students closely, the ones who seemed least bothered by the chaos that the wizarding world was descending into.
They strutted around Hogwarts with confidence because they knew that they could play both sides. They were safe no matter no matter what. The Ministry and Dumbledore wouldn't touch them and Voldemort would never risk putting future Death Eaters at risk. While the happiness and confidence of the rest of the school diminished, theirs grew.
In particular, Harry watched Malfoy. His behavior over the course of the year had been the opposite of what Harry had expected. There was no confidence or bragging from Malfoy; he was keeping his head down, focusing on his work, and Harry saw less of him than he had ever before. None of the other Slytherins that Malfoy usually spent time with, Crabbe and Goyle included, were ever with him. It was as if he was a new person. Harry didn't trust it. There were few reasons for such a dramatic transformation and during a war, none of them boded well.
One night, when Harry was walking back to the common room after having a private dueling session with Fleur, he happened to see Malfoy slinking through the hallways, quickly looking over his shoulder as if fearful he was being followed. As if to eliminate any possibility of pursuit, Malfoy ducked through a number of secret passages and hidden corridors that only those who had spent countless hours plumbing Hogwarts of her secrets even knew existed. Anyone but Harry soon would have lost sight of Malfoy.
Harry was sure that anything that made Malfoy so interested in secrecy was something he should be interested in as well. Though he didn't have his invisibility cloak Harry had enough practice in sneaking around to be sure that Malfoy wouldn't see him. Fleur had taught him the Disillusionment Charm on a lark one afternoon and he put the spell to good use as an added level of protection from Malfoy's roving eyes.
Malfoy's course took him directly out of the castle, by way of a little used side passage that ran adjacent to the Great Hall. Harry followed at what he deemed a safe distance. It was dark outside, a sliver of moon providing barely enough light for Harry to safely put one foot in front of the other. Nobody was on the castle grounds and winter was starting to claw its way into Scotland. Harry could see traces of his breath in front of his face, a chill cloud that vanished quickly into the dark night.
Malfoy took a weaving path into the Forbidden Forest. The little light that had been shining on the castle grounds, reflected from the castle's torches and the half-moon overhead, was lost somehow in the thick limbed trees of the forest. Malfoy had to light up the tip of his wand to make sure he wouldn't be sent sprawling by a root or fallen tree. It was nearly impossible to see more than a foot in front of where Harry was. The distance between him and Malfoy started to grow, Harry moving slowly so as to not trip or make any noise.
Just when Harry thought that he was going to have to turn back, Malfoy becoming nothing more than an indistinct blur in the distance, the other boy stopped moving. They were far apart and Harry could just barely make out the clearing that Malfoy was waiting in, his wand light dim enough it lit up only the ground closest to him. Harry slowly took up a position a dozen yards away from the clearing. Malfoy was clearly waiting for someone or something.
A few minutes passed. Malfoy grew increasingly agitated as whatever he was waiting for didn't show up. The cold was saturating Harry, cutting at him, and he could feel his body starting to shake. The forest was even colder than the grounds had been, the unnatural chill that was always in the air there exacerbated by the stirrings of winter. Harry hoped that whoever Malfoy was trying to meet would show up soon or else he would risk serious injury. He knew that he couldn't cast the Warming Spell; there was too high a chance that Malfoy would see the distinctive flash of orange. He had no choice but to sit quietly and suffer.
A shadowy figure emerged from the woods; a man cloaked all in black with a face obscured in the darkness. He wasn't wearing a mask but Harry had no doubts what he was seeing. Draco Malfoy was meeting a Death Eater in the Forbidden Forest.
Harry knew that he had to tell Dumbledore as soon as he could. This concerned all of the students of Hogwarts. Nothing good could come of any plot of Voldemort's.
The two of them were too far away for Harry to make out what they were saying. Whatever it was clearly upset Malfoy, because he started gesticulating wildly at the man in black, his posture slumping when he got no response. Harry took some comfort in Malfoy's distress. Whatever he was plotting clearly wasn't going well.
No further words were exchanged between the two. The man in black handed a package wrapped in black cloth to Malfoy, who took it cautiously, as if fearful the wrong touch would break it.
The man in black apparated from the clearing. Malfoy slumped to his knees, his posture completely defeated. Harry could see his shoulders shaking. Though not enough to make Harry pity Malfoy, it made him wonder if Malfoy was quite so voluntary a participant as he had assumed. His meeting with the man in black certainly hadn't seemed a meeting of equals. More like Malfoy was being pushed into something, and the consequences of his failure were laid out clearly before him.
Harry couldn't say how long Malfoy kept that position but his hands were entirely numb by the time Malfoy started back for the castle. This time Harry felt no inclination to follow the boy. He knew that he had seen the extent of what Malfoy was going to do. Nobody could pivot from loss to action that quickly. Malfoy would go to sulk and plot and lick his wounds before he enacted the next stage of his plan.
Though he wanted to see what the man in black had given Malfoy, Harry doubted that the package would be opened anywhere that Malfoy thought there was even a chance he would be seen. Malfoy was proud, and even arrogant, but he wasn't a fool. He wouldn't risk Voldemort's displeasure.
Whether Malfoy was working against Hogwarts voluntarily or involuntarily didn't make much of a difference, Harry decided as Malfoy faded from sight. He was a threat either way. It was doubtful that the Ministry or Order would be able to do anything to end the blackmail hanging over Malfoy's head, if indeed he actually was being blackmailed. And if he wasn't being blackmailed, if every step he had taken was voluntary, they would only tip their hand by approaching him. For the sake of the other students at Hogwarts, they had to treat Malfoy as if he were a threat.
The pertinent question was what was Malfoy plotting? Figuring that out would mean Harry had a chance to stop Malfoy before he and Voldemort struck. He resolved to keep a close watch on Malfoy and couldn't help but feel that if he had only followed Malfoy into Knockturn Alley when he had been with Fleur all those months ago he would have been able to gain some knowledge about what Malfoy was plotting.
He would have to go to Dumbledore, Harry knew. Nobody else was in a position to do anything about Malfoy. Dumbledore would be able to get others, teachers and Order members, to keep an eye on Malfoy, track his movements, and figure out what he was planning. Harry would be able to do next to nothing on his own.
Harry returned to the castle and basked in the heat as feeling flooded back into his extremities. When he made it back to the common room, Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other, only the slightest bit of space between them, on a couch in front of the fire. He didn't mention anything about Malfoy to them. The fewer people that knew about Malfoy the less chance there was that he would be tipped off that Harry knew.
As he settled in front of the fire and talked absently to Ron and Hermione, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right decision. A year ago he would have taken on the Malfoy investigation on his own and refused to cede the role to Dumbledore or anyone else. Then again, a year ago they hadn't been at war. Voldemort had been skulking in the shadows, fearful of showing his face. Now the stakes were higher, the risks even more severe. It would be wrong to try to watch Malfoy on his own, like he was taking the lives of every other Hogwarts student into his own hands.
If there was something that Harry had learned from the ministry, from losing Sirius, it was that he couldn't do everything himself. He couldn't wage war on Voldemort alone. He needed help. And Albus Dumbledore was as mighty an ally as anyone could wish for.
Draco Malfoy, whatever his plot, would be foiled, Harry reassured himself. Even a lessened Dumbledore was more than a match, in both mind and magic, for any Hogwarts student.
Dumbledore was waiting next to his pensieve when Harry entered his office. One hand was swirling dreamily through the memories contained within. The other, his damaged one, was hidden inside the folds of his robes, its new resting place. Dumbledore rarely allowed it to be seen; whether that was out of fear of being thought weakened or simple politeness, Harry wasn't sure.
Fawkes was on his perch. He stared at Harry when he entered and Harry stroked the birds plumage for a few seconds. The phoenix squawked a greeting, its trill sending a pleasant shudder through Harry's spine.
"I have something you need to know, professor," Harry said.
Dumbledore looked up from the pensieve. "Oh?" He waited patiently for Harry to gather his thoughts.
"I saw Malfoy acting suspiciously last night and followed him. He seemed concerned about someone keeping tabs on him so I thought it was important to make sure he wasn't up to anything.. He went out to a clearing into the Forbidden Forest and met with someone. I couldn't see their face and they were wearing all black, but I think it was a Death Eater. Malfoy talked to them for a few minutes, was given a package, and then went back to the castle."
"Did you see what the package was? And how did Mr. Malfoy behave after the conclusion of this meeting?" Dumbledore asked, speaking slowly. He seemed utterly unperturbed by what Harry was telling him.
"I couldn't see the package but Malfoy seemed…distraught. Desperate. Terrified. He fell on his knees and I think he might have been crying," Harry said.
"Then he's being coerced," Dumbledore said. He nodded as if that information confirmed something he had already suspected. Harry was bemused by his reaction. He had expected Dumbledore to be surprised, grateful, angry; show some reaction to the fact that there was a student plotting against them right under his nose. But he was as placid as ever.
"You don't seem all that upset," Harry said probingly.
"I have been aware of Mr. Malfoy's activities for some time now. The what and the why of his activities have, I confess, eluded me, but I believe that you have just provided me with the why, Harry. It was my hope that he was doing the will of the Dark Lord because he was being coerced, either through threats to himself or to his family. His behavior suggests that his allegiance to Voldemort is not voluntary, which, in turn, means that he is not yet beyond our help."
If anything, Dumbledore looked pleased with himself, as if Harry had brought him a gift rather than troubling information about an enemy. Even if Malfoy was being coerced, Harry didn't see how that changed the situation. He was a threat no matter what his true beliefs were.
"You said you didn't know the what?" Harry asked, a clarifying question that he meant to remind Dumbledore they couldn't know how much of a threat Malfoy posed unless they knew what he was up to.
"While I do not know what Mr. Malfoy is plotting I am confident that I will soon be in possession of that information. There are avenues of attack beyond the obvious, Harry. I could, of course, expel him, but that would undoubtedly lead him into the arms of Voldemort, condemning him to a life I wish on none of my students. If I offered him protection and we later discover that it's his family that is being threatened then he would likely feel like he had no choice but to tell Voldemort that we know of him, leading, again, to a forced allegiance to Voldemort. Any action on our part would push Mr. Malfoy into a precarious situation. Our best line of defense is patience. With more information we will be able to act more assuredly."
Harry tried to keep his dissatisfaction off of his face but he felt as if Dumbledore had just pushed him off of the astronomy tower. It was noble to try to keep Malfoy safe but Dumbledore's responsibility was to the school in general, all of its students, not to just one of them. If he tried to protect Malfoy and Malfoy ended up being responsible for hurting, or even killing, other students, then Dumbledore would have to take responsibility for that. It was a dangerous move. Being patient was playing a game even riskier than confronting Malfoy, Harry thought.
"If you think so, professor," Harry said. Though he didn't voice his concern he made sure that his tone of voice conveyed his disapproval. There was nothing that he could do to Malfoy without Dumbledore. He had to trust the headmaster. Even if he didn't agree.
"Even one wayward youth can have a profound impact on the course of this war, Harry. Do not be so quick to judge Mr. Malfoy. He has had, in some ways, as challenging a life as your own. Often our enmity to another blinds us to the forces that shaped them into what they are. Speaking of which, it is time for us to delve, once more, into the mind of Tom Riddle."
Harry approached the pensieve, took Dumbledore proffered arm, and they dropped in together. He had become accustomed to the sense of extreme vertigo that came with entering memories. In the memories they explored Harry saw Slytherin's locket and the bleak orphanage where Riddle had grown up; he learned about Riddle's accidental magic as a child, the way he was able to control it and twist it to his own ends. It was both fascinating and horrifying. Horrifying because no child should have had such malice in them, such a drive to control and dominate, but fascinating because Harry had no idea Riddle had been able to control their magic so well from such a young age. Without a wand, no less. Harry hadn't been able to accomplish anywhere near what he had.
"I didn't know that others were able to control their accidental magic so well," Harry said, once they had exited the pensieve.
"They aren't," Dumbledore said. He drew the memories from within the pensieve and placed them into vials which he locked inside a thick wooden cabinet above the pensieve. "Tom was exceptional even from his earliest days. I know of no other wizard, myself included, who was able to control their magic to such a degree before receiving any additional training. Even more astounding is that Tom was not yet aware of magic as a real discipline. In some respects he was, and remains to this day, peerless."
"I wonder why he chose to become Voldemort, then. He could have done so much else," Harry said, some sense of loss, of misplaced potential, weighing him down.
"Something I have noticed over the years is that those who lack something they desire, whether it happens to be money, respect, or love, will go to any lengths to get that which they lack. Tom Riddle, for almost all of his early life, lacked control. And he has spent the rest of his life trying to acquire that control; often through appalling methods."
"It's almost enough to make you feel bad for Riddle," Harry said.
"There is nothing in this world that Voldemort would desire less than your pity, Harry, but it's good that you feel that way. You only begin to pity someone when you understand them." Dumbledore said.
There was a lull in the conversation, as if they were both following such trains of thought independently, in their own minds, and had no need to say what they were thinking out loud.
After a minute, Harry's mind turned away from Voldemort. "I have a question, professor. Actually, a few questions. They aren't about Riddle."
"It's about the books I gave you," Dumbledore said, a pleased smile coming over his face.
"Yes. I used one of the spells you'd written down, Praefortis, and it was powerful. Stronger than any spell I've ever cast before, except maybe the patronus. I don't understand why, if those spells are so powerful, people don't just use them all time."
Adopting his pedagogical tone, Dumbledore said, "For multiple reasons. The first and most obvious is that such magic is obscure. Generally the more powerful the knowledge the fewer people that know it. Power is hoarded, not distributed equally. Despite the prodigious size of Hogwarts' library, there are uncountable spells that have never been recorded within these walls.
"We must also remember that such spells require a talented witch or wizard to cast them; the average graduate of Hogwarts would struggle to wield such magic, if it were even possible for them to do so. I must also warn you, Harry, since I worry that you may not have read the warnings in my notebooks, that there is a cost to the spell you used. Each time you use such a spell it takes something from you, deadens a memory. The spell you used is a spell of victory, and uses memories of victory to give itself form. Over time memories can disintegrate from the strain of using such spells. They lose their vigor, then their clarity, and over time they decompose and you're left with nothing but a strange sense of loss, of having misplaced something, but you can never be sure what you've lost."
He spoke as if he was intimately familiar with such loss, Harry thought, though he supposed that someone as powerful as Dumbledore, who had fought as many battles as Dumbledore, would've had to resort to such powerful magic at times; over time they would have exacted their price. It was just another reminder to Harry that he had to read Dumbledore's notebooks more carefully, not just skim them for whatever new spell he wanted to learn.
Dumbledore continued: "Most magic requires no price. It is the strongest, wildest, most incomprehensible magic that exacts a price. Some of it is dark, some of it is not, but all take their toll. While I am glad that you are capable of using the magic I do not think that using it indiscriminately is wise. Memories are, in many respects, the foundation of who we are. If you weaken that foundation enough, the consequences could be catastrophic."
"I think I understand," Harry said. It conformed to what he had felt after he cast the spell at Fleur. Reaching for the memory he had used, it seemed less sure to Harry, hazier, like the emotions that usually hitched themselves on memories were dulled. Harry had only cast the spell once. He could only imagine what repeated casting would do. Emotional, or even mental, trauma, perhaps.
"I've been working through your notebook but I'm finding it rather difficult to follow," Harry said.
His admission got a chuckle out of Dumbledore. "That particular notebook was never designed for public use. I gave it to you because I thought that you might be able to glean some useful information from it but you were never intended to understand it all. I was older than you when it was written and I had a fondness for magical theory when I was younger; even the most erudite scholar would have a difficult time parsing some of that writing. Do what you can with the book and leave the rest where it belongs; to the graveyard of memory."
"There are some parts of the notebook that have a focus on…different spells. It was a bit strange," Harry said. Less different, and more dangerous, destructive, and difficult, if he was being honest.
Dumbledore's blackened hand slipped from his robes, the fingers twitching as if they had a life of their own. He paid his hand no heed. He didn't seem to realize that it was out in the open. His thoughts were somewhere else.
"Your curiosity does you credit, but there are certain sections of my notebook that I wish would remain a forgotten memory, even to myself," Dumbledore said. After another moment he folded his blackened hand back into his robes.
"Yes, professor," Harry agreed, eager not to be seen as pushy. He suspected that for Dumbledore to be as open as he was being, even if there was much left unrevealed, was a rarity in itself.
"Study the mind of your enemy, study your magic, and spread your knowledge; that is our best defense against the tide that would sweep us away," Dumbledore said, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking for himself and not for Harry.
Anxious to offer up some good news and cut off the dark path that Dumbledore's mind seemed to be moving down, Harry said, "The Dueling Club is going well. Membership hardly dropped after the first lesson. Almost everyone comes every session and they're learning a lot; even the younger students have improved a lot since the first time. I think they're eager to actually practice magic in a practical setting."
"I'm glad my high hopes for the club weren't misplaced," Dumbledore said. The heaviness of his mood washed away. "You sound as if you've discovered something of the wonders of teaching." He winked at Harry.
"I'm not sure I would go that far. It's Fleur who's really enjoying herself. I don't think she knew that she would enjoy being the Dueling instructor as much as she is. She used to think it was beneath her or something. Now it's all she looks forward to. Won't stop badgering me about preparing for our next meeting," Harry said, smiling fondly.
"I've heard nothing but wonderful things about Miss Delacour since she arrived at Hogwarts. The position is hers for as long as she desires it," Dumbledore said.
"She'll be happy to know that," Harry said.
"In fact, I was thinking of extending membership to the Order of the Phoenix to Miss Delacour. I wondered if you might be able to find out what her reaction would be. I don't want to be presumptuous, she isn't from our shores after all, but she is marrying a Weasley and they have an excellent track record when it comes to finding a spouse with a highly developed sense of justice."
Harry wasn't sure how Fleur would respond to such an invitation but he didn't see any reason why he couldn't float the idea by her. He told Dumbledore as much.
"Wonderful. I feel that this has been a productive night, Harry. I'm not sure that we will see each other again before the holidays and so I wish you an early, very merry Christmas."
Before he left, Harry had one more question; one that had been plaguing him through all of their meetings. "Professor, Voldemort doesn't really seem like a man anymore. At least, not the person he used to be. Can learning about his past really help to defeat him?"
"Lord Voldemort is both more than, and less than, a man. He has changed, sometimes in disturbing and profound ways, but the core of Voldemort is the core of Tom Riddle; understand the younger and you have a glimpse into the mind of the older."
Fawkes warbled as Harry left the room. Thoughts of Voldemort, Malfoy and the mysterious writings of Dumbledore's notebook spun in Harry's head.
"Ron, hurry up or else there won't be anywhere to," Hermione said.
"Don't worry about it. If we can't find somewhere to sit we'll just ask one of Harry's adoring fans to make room for us," Ron said, not hurrying from his lackadaisical slouch of a walk.
It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Harry would have expected to take Ginny somewhere on a date if she hadn't seemed to be planning what they were going to do on her own. The few times Harry had spoken to her since they had decided to go on a date together she had been closed-mouthed about what exactly they would be doing.
Harry was surprised to find himself anticipating the date; it would be a nice break from the monotony of his life. Hogwarts always settled into a routine, even amidst the upheaval in Wizarding Britain, and to an extent Harry enjoyed the predictability, but it was always nice to have some deviation from the norm to keep things interesting.
"Don't encourage them," Harry said. The blind respect that the student body used to have for Harry had morphed into a more deliberate adoration; a result, Hermione claimed, of his work with the Dueling Club, and especially his duel with Fleur. Nobody outside of a few members of the DA had ever seen Harry pushed to his limits before and it was apparently enough to impress the other students. There probably weren't any other students at Hogwarts who would be able to contend with Harry in a fair duel.
The number of rumors that were being spread about him had tripled since his duel with Fleur. The most persistent, as always, was that he was being trained by Dumbledore. It was, in a way, true, not that it made the constant rumormongering any more tolerable.
"What's the point of fame if you're not going to use it," Ron asked rhetorically. They were walking down the path to Hogsmeade, Ron setting a pace that was slow even for him.
Ever since he was cut from the quidditch team Ron had been acting strangely. Hard to motivate and uninterested in most things. It had been a struggle for Harry and Hermione to get him to agree to go to Hogsmeade. Hermione had told Harry more than once that she was worried about Ron but Harry didn't see that there was anything they could do. He was sure that Ron would break out of whatever funk he was in given enough time after the tryouts. It had been a blow to his ego when he lost the keeper position to McLaggen, but Harry was sure it wouldn't turn into anything more serious.
In a way, it had helped when Harry told Ron that he was giving up the captainship. He wasn't forced to watch Harry go and lead the team he had been kicked from every day, a constant reminder of his own inadequacies. Still, despite the comradery that Harry was trying to build, Ron was acting more oddly than Harry had ever seen before. Usually Ron resorted to anger or jealousy; for him to just become uninterested was troubling.
"I still don't understand why you invited her," Hermione said to Harry.
"She's never been to Hogsmeade before and I thought she might like to see the town," Harry said, as non-confrontationally as possible. Hermione had been complaining for hours and Harry was just doing his best to pretend that it wasn't getting to him.
"That doesn't mean it has to be you," she said.
"If not me then who?" Harry asked. Hermione huffed but didn't respond.
Harry had told Fleur about Hogsmeade weekend and invited her to join them, to Hermione's great displeasure, telling her that he would be more than happy to show her around the town. Even with the disclaimer that Hogsmeade wasn't much Fleur had seemed pleased to be invited along. Harry had been getting the impression that she had a lot of free time and that showing her around Hogsmeade would make a nice diversion for her. Being the Dueling Club instructor wasn't a massive drain on her time or energy.
Showing Fleur around Hogsmeade would also be a good opportunity to tell her about Dumbledore's offer for her to join the Order. While there had been a Dueling Club session since his meeting with Dumbledore, Harry hadn't had the chance to speak to Fleur at any great length before he needed to dash off after Hermione to get help on a Potions essay.
"Wouldn't want Fleur to have to wait at the Three Broomsticks by herself for too long, would we?" Ron asked. Harry couldn't tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.
"It would be rude," Harry agreed, deciding to take him as literally as possible.
All things considered, they weren't the best group, Harry had to admit. Hermione was fuming, Ron was apathetic, and he knew that Fleur wasn't going to be any more conciliatory than she absolutely had to be. Harry couldn't remember a Hogsmeade visit with a less auspicious beginning.
The village was less crowded when they arrived than it usually was. The threat of Voldemort had made students less bold than in years past. There was a Ministry contingent that was supposed to protect the village but nobody deluded themselves into thinking it would be adequate if there was an attack. Voldemort struck quickly, with overwhelming numbers, and without mercy.
Still, Harry didn't think that Voldemort would be so bold as to attack Hogsmeade. He wouldn't try anything so long as Dumbledore was nearby. The headmaster's presence shielded the village from the worst of the war's harm. There were softer target in Britain.
Interestingly, it wasn't the younger students who were frightened off by the prospect of war but the older students. The younger students couldn't seem to imagine war touching them; it was outside their scope of comprehension. The older students seemed better able to grasp the implications of war.
There were plenty of open tables in the Three Broomsticks when Ron, Harry, and Hermione entered. The usual dull roar of conversation that was half the reason for the pub's charm had subsided into an unenthused murmur. More than a few patrons glanced over when the three of them entered, a contrast to the blithe unconcern usually displayed. Madam Rosmerta gave them a bland greeting, not her usual cheery self, and Harry supposed that the war was bad for business and morale. Gloom seemed to be the order of business in the wizarding world ever since Voldemort had come back.
"There she is," Ron said, pointing to a table in the far corner.
Fleur was sitting and sipping at a butterbeer while a handsome older man, someone Harry didn't recognize, was leaning against the wall and talking with her. Or, Harry thought, it would be more accurate to say that he was talking at her. She seemed utterly unimpressed with whatever he was saying, giving the bare minimum in the way of response, but that wasn't deterring the man, who only doubled down the less she responded.
"We should probably go rescue her," Hermione said, unusually sympathetic.
"Someone tell that git that she's getting married," Ron muttered.
They walked over to the table and Fleur cheered up considerably when she saw them. She turned to the man and said something dismissive to him, causing his face to drop into a surly frown. He glared at the three of them when they approached but, to Harry's relief, left without giving them any trouble.
"Making friends?" Harry asked, sliding into Fleur's booth. Ron and Hermione sidled in along the other side.
"Not quite. I had hoped that the people in a quaint village would have the manners to go along with their villages' charm. I was profoundly mistaken. That was one of the most dull, self-assured, buffoons that I've ever had the misfortune of dealing with," Fleur said. She glared at her Butterbeer, as if it were responsible for drawing the man over.
"Tell us how you really feel," Ron said. It was a rarity for him to talk around Fleur. His funk seemed to be extending even over his admittedly deep-rooted attraction to, and fear of, Fleur. There was none of his customary embarrassment or stammering.
"I won't apologize for the poor manners of your countrymen," Fleur said, but in a more joking manner.
"If you think they're bad I should show you around Knockturn Alley," Harry said. The thought of Fleur hexing a handsy Mundungus Fletcher came to mind and Harry had to stifle a giggle.
"At least this is good," Fleur said, gesturing toward her butterbeer. "We don't have anything quite so heavy in France."
"Speaking of which, I could go for once myself." Ron got up and wandered off to the bar. Harry hoped that he would get one for everyone.
"Did you have any trouble finding this place?" Hermione asked politely.
"No, it's about the village's only attraction," Fleur said.
Harry almost sighed. He knew that he would have to steer the conversation between Fleur and Hermione. They both seemed to have taken a quiet dislike to each other; it was like a cold war was being fought between them. For two intelligent, mature witches it was remarkably petty, Harry thought.
"I was thinking that after we all have a drink we could show you around the village; go to Zonko's, Tomes and Scrolls, and maybe Gladrags," Harry said. That was about all the town had to offer—a place to have a drink, a joke shop that the Weasley twins made look like a joke itself, a small bookstore, and a clothes shop that Harry imagined Fleur would find underwhelming.
"We don't have to go to Gladrags, Harry," Fleur told him, a mock-benevolent look on her face.
Harry let go off the fearful breath he had been holding in. "You're a kind mistress."
Hermione stared oddly at the two of them, her focus only shifting when Ron returned, three butterbeers in hand. He placed them down on the table and drank half of his in one go, a lazy, satisfied smile stretching his face when he set it down again.
"That's worth the walk down here on its own," Ron said.
The three of them clanked their mugs together, a silent cheers. Fleur watched their easy companionship with an unreadable expression.
There was a bit of an awkward silence; the sort that came about when someone tried to bring together two groups of friends that didn't know each other and didn't have much in the way of common interests. Fleur disliked Hermione and oscillated between contempt and apathy toward Ron.
Harry wasn't looking at her but he could practically feel Hermione's glare on him for forcing her into the situation. Ron didn't seem to mind. He was lost in his own thoughts, taking a small swig of his butterbeer every now and then in a mechanical motion.
"I've enjoyed the Dueling Club a lot," Hermione said. It was stiff, but at least she was making an effort, Harry thought.
"Thank you. I've been trying to make sure that anyone, no matter how advanced they are, could get something out of it," Fleur said, her pleasure evident. Though she didn't have many weaknesses, flattery was definitely one of them.
"Even the people who usually struggle with dueling, like Neville, have really improved because of the club. He won't stop talking about how much he's looking forward to group dueling. He seems to have much more confidence in himself because of this and the DA," Hermione continued.
"You-Know-Who won't know what hit him," Ron chimed in.
"That's the idea," Harry said, smiling at the idea of Neville (of all people) facing down Voldemort. He had improved but he hadn't improved that much.
"What made you decide to teach the Piercing Curse instead of the Shield Breaking Charm?" Hermione asked. Though Harry doubted that she was trying to come off as critical her tone inevitably took on a superior quality, as it always did when she was questioning people about their choices, as if she knew better and obviously would have made a better decision. It was one of her idiosyncrasies that Harry would feel bad about pointing out, but at the same time was frustrating to hear over and over again.
Fleur picked up on the tone and said, "The Shield Breaking Charm is a one-use spell. It serves one function and does its job well but lacks the versatility of the Piercing Curse. We don't have time to teach everyone a hundred different spells for a hundred different situations; my job is to give them the flexibility to succeed in any situation."
"But it's a Dueling Club," Hermione pressed. "And there's no substitute for the Shield Breaking Charm in a one-on-one duel."
"I think that there are merits to both points of view," Harry said, hoping to cut the legs off of the argument. His attempt did nothing but earn him a snide look from Fleur and an annoyed one from Hermione. Nobody took their views more personally than Hermione; disagreement was tantamount to an insult. Ron was watching the conversation going back and forth as if it were the most amusing thing he had seen all week.
"In the time it takes to cast the Shield Breaking Charm and another offensive spell a talented wizard will have already ended you. You're not up against your peers when you go into the real world; you're facing wizards with years or even decades of dueling experience at the highest level. You may have read that there's no substitute for the Shield Breaking Charm but frankly that's just wrong," Fleur said, finality and a contemptuous annoyance mixing in her words. It was the sort of tone you took with an annoying younger sibling when they wouldn't leave you alone, Harry thought. Ron had levelled the same voice at Ginny often enough.
"Hermione, wasn't there a book you wanted to get from Tomes and Scrolls," Ron said, breaking into the conversation. His amusement seemed to have faded somewhat.
Not getting the chance to respond to Fleur was eating away at Hermione but she nodded to Ron and, without drinking almost any of her butterbeer, left the Three Broomsticks with him.
"She takes things very personally," Fleur said, taking a drink as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
"So do you," Harry said, a bit gloomily. Bringing together the disparate parts of his life—Ron, Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny—didn't seem like it was going to happen anytime soon.
"Books are a supplement to life, not the core of it. She'll learn that lesson the hard way soon enough," Fleur said.
"You could at least try to be nice to her. For my sake."
"I was trying. She wasn't."
"She doesn't mean to be confrontational. Sometimes she can't help herself."
"Why does she get a pass and I don't?" Fleur asked.
The answer, if Harry was being honest, was that he expected more from Fleur than he did Hermione. Hermione was intelligent and knowledgeable, but Fleur was more mature and socially adept. If anyone was going to be the bigger person when those two talked it would have to be her.
He didn't say that though. Instead he said, "Ron's been sulking ever since he got cut from the quidditch team."
"The quidditch team that you're no longer in charge of," Fleur said.
"I don't remember telling you that."
"Believe it or not, you're not the only person that I talk to, Harry."
"That's news to me." Harry paused. "I gave the captainship to Ginny."
"I know. She'll make a fine captain," Fleur said.
"You think so?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Of course. She has all of the important qualities. Blind overconfidence in her ability and the ability of her subordinates, rash decision making, and an abiding love for the game that blinds her to the truly important things that are happening around her."
"And here I thought you were paying her a compliment."
"I give her all the credit that she deserves," Fleur said. She finished her butterbeer.
"You're probably not going to like what I have to tell you, then," Harry said. In fact, he knew that Fleur wasn't going to like what he had to tell her. Ginny and Fleur mixed even worse than Fleur and Hermione.
"Tell me after we've left this place," Fleur responded. There was a drunkard standing on top of the bar, proclaiming that the end-days had arrived and they all had to surrender to the harbinger of the dark times. Madam Rosmerta was drawing her wand wearily and looked ready to remove the man if he didn't remove himself.
Once they were outside the Three Broomsticks Harry led Fleur on a rambling course around the village designed to give her a feel for what it was like. He told her to stop if she saw anything she wanted to go into.
"I will. And you need to tell me what this horrible secret of yours is," Fleur said.
"Ginny confronted me a while ago, admitting that she liked me. I know you said she's insincere, but I didn't get that sense from her," Harry said.
"I think I said something stronger than just insincere," Fleur said, but she gestured for Harry to continue.
"She seemed earnest and I like being around her so I agreed to go on a date with her." His words came out in a rush, like the effect would be blunted the less intelligible it was. "I'm not planning it, she is. I thought that I should tell you since you've been so open with me."
"I'm not quite sure what the point of being open with you was if you're going to completely disregard everything I had to say," Fleur said. She seemed troubled by what Harry was saying; her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were lowered to the village's cobbled path.
"She doesn't seem anything like what you thought. I still don't understand what reason you have for disliking her so much."
"No reason beyond everything you and I have seen," Fleur retorted.
"I haven't seen anything that would make me suspicious," Harry said. He wasn't sure how true that was; it was more of a general feeling than an assessment of her behavior, but Fleur's fears seemed wildly overblown. Ginny was a fifteen year old girl.
"You may not but I have," Fleur said.
They walked in silence for a minute, neither sure of what to say next, before Fleur said, "I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life, Harry. You're free to do whatever you want. I just…thought I'd keep an eye out for you."
"She's just a teenage girl," Harry said. The idea of Ginny being a schemer became more laughable the more he thought about it. He didn't think Fleur would share his amusement.
"There's nothing more sinister than a teenage girl," Fleur said, but there was finally some levity to her words.
"I've been learning that," Harry agreed.
"I just hope that this goes better for you than your last relationship."
"Could it be worse? At least Ginny doesn't spend half her time crying."
"You certainly do an excellent job picking them. One girl who's constantly in tears and the other who's a ginger wolf in sheep's clothing."
"Maybe I should just have you pick my girlfriends."
"That would be the smart thing to do," Fleur said, nodding as if Harry had finally said something worth acknowledging.
They went into Dervish and Banges and Fleur continued to rib Harry about his incompetence with girls. She perused the store's selection of magical artifacts and seemed drawn to a particularly active Sneakoscope that was spinning wildly, the hinges holding it in place squeaking loudly enough that Harry had heard it before they even entered the store.
"I've never had one of these before. Mother wouldn't let me. She was convinced they would make me paranoid," Fleur said.
"My professor during the Triwizard Tournament had one."
"Didn't he turn out to be a patricidal Death Eater who had stolen a famous auror's face and locked him in a trunk?" Fleur asked.
"Yes."
Fleur moved away from the Sneakoscope. She looked to have lost her desire for anything in the store. They left a few minutes later to the disappointment of the store's owner who had sensed a sale.
"My big date with Ginny isn't the only interesting thing to happen recently," Harry teased.
"You lead an exciting life," Fleur said, without much enthusiasm.
Undeterred, Harry said, "I talked to Dumbledore. He said that he was pleased with how well the Dueling Club was running and told me that you have a job here for as long as you want one." Or as long as Dumbledore survived with that curse, Harry thought, though he didn't voice that particular qualification.
"That's an option," Fleur said. She didn't look as pleased as he had expected.
"I thought you liked teaching," Harry said, with a note of confusion.
"I do. But the Dueling Club isn't really teaching. Three times a week, for an hour or two, I help students learn how to fight and protect themselves. It isn't really teaching. I spend more time reading on my own every day than I do working. Dumbledore gave me what has to be the easiest job in all of Hogwarts. Filch spends more time working than I do. If I was to stay at Hogwarts I would have to be doing something; I can't spend my life wasting away in a castle by myself."
"You aren't alone," Harry objected.
"I have the occasional shallow conversation with other faculty when they aren't busy, which isn't often, but other than that I have nobody I'm close to here. Once you graduate I might as well be alone," Fleur said. "I need to find some way to fill my time."
"Maybe you could ask Dumbledore to increase your obligations, or even take over for Flitwick someday," Harry suggested.
"It could be years before Flitwick retires and I have no intention of filling my life with busy work until then."
If Fleur wanted something meaningful to fill her time with then perhaps Dumbledore's second request was exactly what she was looking for, Harry thought. Having only a dozen hours of work every week for the Dueling Club would leave her plenty of time to be an active member of the Order. And what work could be more meaningful than fighting against Voldemort?
"Dumbledore did mention something else," Harry began. "There's a group, The Order of the Phoenix, that's dedicated to fighting Voldemort. Dumbledore founded it. Most of the Weasleys, some of the teachers, and people who work in the ministry, are members. They do things that the ministry can't or won't do, in order to keep people safe.
"The idea is that Dumbledore knows what he's doing more than Fudge or Scrimgeour. Dumbledore asked me to sound you out, find out what you would think about joining. He thinks you have the talent and dedication to do well but he didn't want to ask you himself because he thought it would be presumptuous. He said that this country wasn't your home."
Fleur took a moment to respond before she said, "I may not love Britain, but it is my home now. And there's no greater threat than Voldemort. I'll talk to Dumbledore about his Order of the Phoenix. Do you know if Bill is a member?"
"I think he is but he's not all that active," Harry said.
"He never mentioned it to me," Fleur said. She seemed neither bothered nor surprised by her fiancé's secret.
"They do a lot of good," Harry said, a little uncomfortable with the idea he had told Fleur something Bill had never mentioned.
"You're a member?" Fleur asked.
"No, you have to be of age."
Fleur raised an eyebrow at that. "The one who's fought Voldemort on multiple occasions, saw his resurrection, led a forbidden training group and has more skill than most adult wizards isn't a member of the only organization dedicated solely to fighting him?"
Harry felt the need to defend Dumbledore. "They don't want anyone who isn't of age. It's too dangerous. If they let me join then they'd have to let Ron and Hermione join as well and they're worried that would set a bad precedent."
"They should be less concerned with precedent and more concerned with the war," Fleur said.
"It doesn't matter. I always end up in the thick of things anyway."
"Nobody could deny that. Well, I'll think about it. This would certainly give me something to do. It's foolish to think that Voldemort is a threat only to the British Isles. Was Gellert Grindelwald satisfied with Germany? Powerful men rarely achieve their goals and then rest peacefully for the remainder of their lives. If Voldemort isn't stopped in Britain then he'll have to be stopped on the continent."
"The Order will be glad to hear that," Harry said.
"Of course, this will give you someone on the inside willing to tell you everything that the Order is planning. I'm sure that thought never even crossed your mind."
For a moment, Harry thought about Sirius. He had always wanted to keep Harry in the loop, no matter what Dumbledore's orders were. Then he pushed the thought away. "Never," Harry said, adopting an innocent expression. "I'm offended the idea would even occur to you."
"Though the idea of spending more time with the Weasleys doesn't exactly appeal to me," Fleur admitted.
Harry supposed that it was too much to ask that Fleur would ever grow to genuinely like the Weasleys (other than Bill, of course). "They're good people fighting a war when most others are hiding their heads in the sand. Just give them time."
"You think that I'm too judgmental," Fleur accused.
"I think that we should always be aware of our prejudices when we're making decisions," Harry corrected.
"I hope, for your sake, that I am wrong. But I don't think that I am."
"You'll think about joining the Order then?" Harry asked, bringing the subject back into focus.
"It'll give me something to do," Fleur said, as if it was no great matter at all.
There was no doubt that Fleur would be a great asset for them. She was talented and charming. There were dozens of ways they would be able to utilize her. If she was committed to the cause then Dumbledore had just gained a valuable ally.
Their visit to Hogsmeade hadn't gone exactly as Harry had planned. The exchange between Hermione and Fleur combined with Harry's admission of interest in Ginny had given the trip a more combative feel than he had hoped for. Still, he thought, it was nice to get out of the castle. For all its beauty and mystique it could become stifling at times. Fleur seemed to like getting out into the open again as well.
"I think you're doing the right thing," Harry said.
"No doubt. This leaves me in a pole position to save your arse when you throw yourself headlong into some unimaginable danger," Fleur said.
"Now that you're there to save me I won't even think twice about throwing myself into those situations."
"Try not to get yourself killed until I arrive, at least. I would hate to have to find a new friend."
"You could try Ron. He's stopped stammering like a fool around you."
"And have Hermione even more upset with me than she is already? I think I'll avoid that. Finnegan has always struck me as a man who knows how to get things done."
Seamus had taken to sticking around after the conclusion of the Dueling Club sessions and talking to Fleur. Harry knew the other boy too well to assume that he just wanted to improve his spellwork.
"Careful, keep Seamus around too long and you might end up with more than a friend."
"From what I've seen most fruitful relationships start as friendships. None of mine have, but then again, almost none of my relationships have worked out." Fleur shrugged.
"Are you hinting at something?"
"Just keeping an eye on your friends."
"So I should be waiting for Ron and Hermione to jump into bed together is what you're telling me?"
"Yes, you should. The affection they have for each other is obvious; look past the surface and even you'll be able to see it."
"They haven't seemed that interested in each other since whatever happened between them on the train," Harry countered.
"Just the calm before the storm. The anticipation is building between them, growing to a crescendo, until they won't possibly be able to hold it back any longer. Love can't be bottled up or diverted; it's the worlds most single-minded and inescapable force."
"You see all and know all," Harry mocked.
"I'm only telling you what I see. If you'd rather close your eyes to the obvious and wait for the changes to hit you rather than adapting to them yourself then that's your prerogative," Fleur said.
They had completed another full circuit of the village. Fleur hadn't seemed interested in any of the shops. Harry had the impression that she would have gone into the bookstore if not for the likely presence of Ron and Hermione.
Other than that there was little to do in Hogsmeade. It was a village more notable for its quaint atmosphere than any specific attraction. Harry doubted that the town would exist if not for Hogwarts. The students and faculty were what pushed the towns little shops into the black.
"Time to head back?" Fleur asked.
"I think we've seen everything there is to see," Harry said.
They began the slow climb back to the castle. Fleur looked deep in thought. Harry didn't blame her. He had told her a lot during their time in Hogsmeade.
"It's good to have finally made a choice," she said, once they were nearing the gates.
"A choice?"
"To fight. Not just watch as this country gets torn apart."
"You've never struck me as someone capable of sitting on the sidelines," Harry said.
She rolled her eyes and gave him a slight shove in the ribs. "No, I guess not. I've made my choice. I'll join the Order. Voldemort will know my name before the end."
There was a slight ray of afternoon light hitting the path, glinting off of Fleur's hair, giving her face an imperial cast, like the statues of the English queens of old. Something stirred in him, a feeling terrifying in its depth and power. It couldn't be turned aside, but it could be ignored.
He hoped.
"I have no doubt about that," Harry said, giving Fleur a genuine smile.