Chapter Two

Harry pulled a dusty, ragged cloak off the rattling trunk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The moment he'd stridden into the room, the creature had woken and begun clattering against the sides of the trunk, waiting to be released. He realized how lucky he'd even been to find it here; Lupin's hands-on methods had been more unorthodox for the rest of Hogwarts' DADA professors.

Harry had closed all the doors and windows in the room, realizing that if he failed, the boggart would escape into the castle and perhaps scare a first year who didn't even know what the creature was. Then Harry thought of a happy moment—winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time—and undid the clasps of the trunk. If he let himself think any longer, the other memories would return as well.

The boggart slid out slowly, its form a ragged, filthy cloak enveloping the skeletal body. A glistening, bony arm emerged from the cloak, reaching toward Harry, and a rattling breath, sucking through an unidentifiable hole in its face, punctured the silence. Then Harry felt the inescapable cold freeze up his body. Harry thought of the memory and raised his wand—

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum—"

He felt his head swim with other shouts, the voice of his mother crying to keep Harry from Voldemort, her voice pleading, "No, take me! Please, kill me instead—not Harry—"

And the cold, unfeeling voice of Voldemort responding, "Step aside, silly girl! You can't protect him!"

Harry sensed that he was falling, the cold pressing into his lungs, and felt as though he was drowning and unable to reach the edge of consciousness. The shouts of his mother enveloped him, as if echoing in an empty hallway.

He didn't know how long he had been out, but when Harry came to, the boggart had snuck back into the trunk, probably bored with Harry's motionless form. Before it could sense that Harry had woken, he snapped the trunk shut and did the clasps. He had a pounding headache and a feeling of hollowness. The cracks between the closed window drapes revealed no rays of sunlight: Darkness had descended upon Hogwarts. Harry took out a chocolate frog he had hidden in his cloak pocket and slowly bit off a corner. But he felt no better.

So this was it. He really couldn't do it. He had faced a fake Dementor, a real Dementor, and no Dementor at all. And the silvery stag he expected each time failed to emerge out of his wand. Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, closing the door with a soft click. He returned to his sleeping quarters, readied for sleep, and soundlessly slipped into the cold bed. He was drained of emotion yet still could not sleep.

In his fitful dreams, he could only think of one thing.

Malfoy had to help him.

* * *

The next morning, Harry had only intended to take a single bite of breakfast and leave in search of Malfoy—who was not at the staff table—but before he could do so, McGonagall had risen at the head of the staff table. She clinked her goblet to make an announcement. The four House tables reluctantly ceased their conversations and turned to face the staff.

"If I may have everyone's attention," McGonagall began. "Please welcome the guests we will be housing in the next several weeks. They are Aurors from the Ministry of Magic, here to investigate the Dementor problem I'm sure many of you have already heard of."

The Aurors stood up during the announcement, and Harry could feel many pairs of eyes upon him. Hushed conversations began again and many of their gazes lingered even after they had sat back down. Finally, Harry tired of their glances and left the Great Hall to search for Malfoy.

It was Saturday, so there were no classes. Still, the Potions classroom was the first place he looked. He glanced about the dimly-lit classroom but found no one. He remembered when Dumbledore and he had visited Slughorn's home to persuade him to return to Hogwarts and found him in the shape of a very convincing armchair. Harry amused himself with the idea of Malfoy turning into a plush cream chair just to avoid him. As he looked around, the missing ingredients and broken potion vials that had still not been cleaned up surprised him; surely, Malfoy would have replaced them by now?

Harry proceeded to look about the Dungeons, wondering within its hallways, when he spotted the door to what he recalled was Snape's potion collection. He opened the creaky door and peered within.

Sure enough, Malfoy was reaching up to the top shelf to grab a potion when Harry caught him unawares, causing him to drop the vial. The glass broke against the cobblestone floor and Malfoy threw Harry a dirty look.

"Is this going to be a daily occurrence, Potter?" He scowled, pulling out his wand to fix the vial and restore its contents. "Since you've returned to Hogwarts, I can't find a moment to myself anymore."

Harry walked fully into the little room, closing the door behind him. He noticed that Malfoy's stringy blond hair was messier than usual. Malfoy placed the vial on a little desk tucked into a corner between the shelves and turned toward Harry, his arms folded.

"What do you want now?" he asked. "And don't even ask about the Felix Felicis. I already told you no."

Harry glanced about the dingy little room, unsure how to start, now that Malfoy refused again. "It looks like you already have some of your potion ingredients back."

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, I need to teach, don't I? Besides, I only restored the few things that were salvageable. The rest I still have to hunt around for."

"Why were most not salvageable?" Harry asked curiously. As long as Malfoy was willing to have a civil conversation, Harry might actually get somewhere.

Malfoy rolled his eyes as though he considered the answer self-evident. "Most ingredients have magical properties that get tainted in that kind of a flood. Take puffer fish eyes, for instance—those need to be handled carefully to begin with. The moment they hit the filthy floor, you can't use them. That's why so many ingredients are stored in special liquids, to preserve them."

"Well, if you're missing ingredients, why can't you put in an order of new supplies, or something?" Harry asked, attempting to lead the conversation.

Malfoy snorted. "Like it's that easy. The Potions funds have been dwindling for years now, especially after the war," his voice became bitter. "The Slytherin House has lost so much respect—no one trusts a former pack of Death Eater suppoters. We're treated like the scum on the shoes of the other Houses. And the Malfoy name is just a joke nowadays. I'm lucky to have even gotten this position, as you so kindly pointed out yesterday," Malfoy glared at him for a moment, then continued. "Anyway, the potion ingredients I need for my classes—those I can get through an order. But they don't take me seriously enough to provide some of the more expensive ingredients. They seem to think we deserved this prank."

Harry was surprised at the bitterness in Malfoy's voice. He hadn't realized the extent of the damage to the Dungeons until now. Before he could speak, Malfoy gave him a very piercing look, and continued, "Which is exactly why I can't help you. I don't have any ingredients in stock for such a difficult potion as liquid luck. Much less do I have the time."

Harry took a deep breath. It was obvious that beating around the bush was not going anywhere. "Malfoy, I don't know how to stress this enough, but— I really need this potion. I left yesterday thinking I could come up with some other solution. That maybe I could fix the problem myself." He paused to shake his head. "I have no options. I can't even tell anyone—"

"Potter, you're talking in circles," Malfoy snapped. "What do you need this potion so much for? It doesn't sound like you're just going to have a field day with it."

Harry placed his hands in his pant pockets and looked up at the grimy ceiling to avoid looking into Malfoy's sharp eyes. "You're right. I need this because…" He held his breath, certain that if this was the Malfoy from three years ago, he would burst into laughter at Harry's next words.

"Because I can't cast a Patronus anymore."

For a moment, Malfoy looked completely thrown. His eyebrows knit together in what seemed to be an expression of misunderstanding.

"You can't cast a Patronus?" he finally asked. "Why would you even need to produce a Patronus?"

Harry gave him a look of utter disbelief. "Why do you think? Haven't you noticed that this school is surrounded by Dementors? They've come in from Hogsmeade, and are in the passages between the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack, and our squad is here to—"

But by now, Harry noted that Malfoy looked truly lost. Harry slowly asked, "Are you—are you even aware why I'm here?"

Malfoy shrugged, his pale cheeks turning a little pinker. "To be honest, I just thought you came back to walk through the school again. See how everything was going. I didn't know you were here on Auror business. I suppose those Dementors are getting out of hand…" He paused to glance at the half-empty shelves. "I guess I've been so preoccupied with that flood. I hadn't even thought of anything else."

"And you weren't there for McGonagall's announcement this morning," Harry muttered to himself.

Silence hung between them for a moment, then Malfoy smirked at him. "So you can't cast a Patronus anymore? Such a shame. I remember those days in third year when you fainted at the mere mention of a Dementor."

Harry scowled at him. "That's really not the support I was looking for. Besides, you're the only person I've even talked to about this."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "You haven't even told Granger or her Weasel boyfriend?"

"No," Harry said tersely, ignoring the jabs.

Malfoy absentmindedly ran a hand over his hair, as though attempting to smooth it down. "And you think that Felix Felicis will help you cast it?"

"I thought it would help me remember some of my happier memories," Harry said. "Every time I try to cast it, whether in front of a real Dementor or imagined, I only remember things from the War and my mum screaming—"

"I already told you I don't want to know about your life stories," Malfoy interrupted impatiently. He began pacing about the tiny room, looking deep in thought. His robes rose behind his hasty steps, his face contorted in concentration.

"I could help you," Harry suddenly said.

"What?" Malfoy said, irritated at the interruption in his thoughts.

Harry stepped in front of Malfoy before he could continue pacing and got his attention. "You said you'd have to look for the ingredients yourself to do this potion. Could you find them around Hogwarts, maybe in the Forbidden Forrest or near the lake?"

"Of course," Malfoy said, looking as though that question was pointless. "I know several of the ingredients—Doxy eggs, red bat ears—they wouldn't be too difficult to find."

Harry beamed. "Then why don't I help you look for them?" He paused and then continued, "Maybe help you brew the potion itself?"

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "Are you suggesting we gather the ingredients ourselves? Hunt for red bats and cut off their ears? Wait for them to dry and use them for a potion?" The underlying question was unasked. You don't think that's a tad barbaric?

Despite the challenge in Malfoy's voice, Harry nodded. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Our Auror team is stationed here for as long as it takes to drive away the Dementors." His voice darkened, "We don't even know where they're hiding or how many there are."

Malfoy just pursed his lips, ignoring Harry's dark tone. "Even if this could be done, even if we could gather up all the ingredients and brew the potion—why would I even want to help you?"

Harry stiffened and felt his insides knot. And here he'd thought that Malfoy was seriously considering doing this for him. How could he have forgotten the years of animosity, pranks, and name-calling? Despite growing older, Malfoy had grown no less cold toward him.

Then Harry suddenly smiled at Malfoy, finding the answer.

"Because I saved your life."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. It was obvious that he knew what Harry was talking about. At the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry and his friends had been looking for the final Horcrux in the Room of Requirement, Crabbe had started a Fiendfyre in the room, nearly killing all six of them—Crabbe, in fact, had died there. And when Malfoy was whimpering in a corner of the room, unable to save himself, Harry had swept down toward him on a broomstick and flown them out of the collapsing room. His friends had saved Goyle in the same manner. Malfoy truly owed his present existence to Harry's unwillingness to let him die such a pointless death.

"I suppose you did," Malfoy finally said. He looked torn between wanting to thank Harry and clouting him for reminding him of it. "That's one thing I will never live down."

Harry continued to smile. "Great! So you must be willing to help me, then?"

Malfoy paused and got a closer look at him. Harry could just imagine what he looked like. Despite the temporary smile, he must've looked like he was haunted. His sleepless eyes had dark marks underneath, which the circular glasses couldn't hide, and his hair looked as though it hadn't even been combed this morning. His robes were hastily thrown on and his face appeared thinner than usual.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in frustration, and said, "Well, bloody hell, Potter. Fine!" In a quieter voice, he muttered, "What else have I got to lose in this school? Certainly not my reputation."

Harry looked like he was bursting with joy, as though he might even hug Malfoy out of gratitude. "I never thought I'd say this, but—thanks, Malfoy."

Malfoy snorted. "Not to rain on your parade, but this isn't going to be a cakewalk. If you're really serious about looking for all the ingredients ourselves, it's going to take a month or two just to find everything. Some of them have to be harvested at the full moon, for example. Others will just take a while to find. I don't even know how long the potion itself takes to brew."

At these words, Harry deflated a little. "Well, whatever it takes. This really is the only option I can think of."

"Why don't you want to tell the Aurors about your little problem?" Malfoy asked curiously. If the two were going to work together on this potion, they might as well be more cordial to each other.

Harry balked. "They'd throw me off the mission. I just finished my training not long ago, and Dawlish—our squad leader—isn't the type of guy who's impressed with me just for being Harry Potter. He wouldn't keep me here if I was useless. And Ron… he wouldn't understand. He produced his Patronus just fine." The hint of jealousy in his words was unmistakable.

"Well, then I suppose if we're really going to do this," Malfoy started, "I'm going to need to contact Slughorn."

"What for? I thought you'd just look up the potion in a book."

Malfoy smirked. "Potter, you're still as thickheaded as I remember. Slughorn has practically mastered this potion. We need his expertise if we're going to do such a complicated potion. If we brew it wrong, we'd waste months of time and ingredients we can't afford to lose, and could possibly poison you."

Harry shuddered at the thought. He had never really attempted a potion that was over his head before and was glad that Malfoy was thinking of these things. "Alright, when do we start?"

"Eager, aren't we?" Malfoy muttered, then considered, "I suppose we should contact Slughorn as soon as possible, find out the general guidelines to the potion, and start hunting for the ingredients tomorrow. I think some of the items I've salvaged may also come in handy."

Malfoy then turned to the little desk in the corner of the room, where he'd left the vial, and picked it up. "Now, before anything else, I still haven't had my breakfast, because I was so rudely interrupted in my morning routine," Malfoy glared at Harry.

"Morning routine?" Harry asked.

Malfoy paid him no attention as he uncapped the vial to scoop some goo out of it. He then proceeded to rub it into his hair and smooth it back. His hair obeyed instantly and no tendril fell out of place.

"What's that?" Harry asked, distracted. He had never really wondered how Malfoy's hair always seemed perfectly smoothed back.

Malfoy turned a little pink. "It's er…Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Very useful, as you can see. I'd advise you to look into it, but I'm afraid nothing will subdue your mop."

Harry didn't take much offense to that. He instead asked, "Why don't you have the potion in your sleeping quarters, then?"

Malfoy sighed, putting the capped vial into his cloak pocket. "As much as I don't want to blame everything on that flood—I lost my current supply when the water washed it out of my room and spoiled the contents. Thankfully, the supply in here wasn't badly damaged. I'll have to brew another batch soon. God knows I can't walk around with something like that," he glanced at Harry's hair.

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that Malfoy's insults were probably subconscious by now. Malfoy was striding toward the door when Harry stopped him, and asked, "What am I supposed to do while you're having breakfast? I'd really like to get started."

Malfoy looked about the room, spotted a large volume entitled Advanced Magicke Potions, and handed it to Harry. "Page 425, I believe." He immediately left the room without another word.

Harry turned to the page Malfoy had indicated and scanned the list of ingredients and directions. What he saw made the color drain out of his face.

When Malfoy had said it wouldn't be a cakewalk, he wasn't kidding.

A/N: Thanks for reading! All feedback is welcome!