A/N: Thanks again to all those who've been reviewing. :D

Chapter Ten

Before Harry knew it, several months had passed. He and Malfoy had gotten a good portion of the Felix Felicis done and were on rather good terms with one another. Every day, they spoke at length with each other to pass the time. Harry found out a great deal about Malfoy's experiences at Hogwarts; he was finally able to distinguish between Crabbe and Goyle, upon finding out that they had some personality after all. Harry revealed parts of his own life too and the time seemed to pass by much faster between stirring and adding in ingredients.

As the weather warmed and they sat all day in the stifling storage room, they began shedding the long robes and instead wore button-down shirts. Sometimes, Malfoy rolled up the cuffs on his shirt and the Dark Mark peeked from his left forearm as he worked on the potion. Several times, he caught Harry staring at the Mark, but said nothing. In fact, Harry found himself staring at Malfoy more in general, but the latter said nothing about that either.

One morning, Harry was breakfasting with Ron when a gray owl swooped into the Great Hall and flew toward the staff table. It dropped down in front of Harry and presented its letter. Ron looked on curiously as Harry opened it, but respected his privacy by not reading along with him.

Dear Harry,

It's definitely not good that you can't produce your Patronus. You know I'd like you to talk to Ron at least, if not the other Aurors as well. I'm not sure how effective the Felix Felicis will be. I know it's worked for you before, but six months is a long time. What if you encounter Dementors before then?

You're working with Malfoy? Well, now I know something's wrong. I'm only joking. If Malfoy is willing to help you, then I'm sure he has plenty of expertise as a potion-maker and it's probably for the best. Maybe you'll set aside your childhood rivalry, if only for a while.

I'd like to talk to you face to face. I'll use the Floo network to contact you in your sleeping quarters tomorrow at 10:00 PM.

With love,

Hermione

Harry folded up the letter and pursed his lips. Of course he wouldn't let the other Aurors know. Though he was glad that Hermione didn't think it too odd that Malfoy was helping him with the potion.

As Harry was finishing his goblet of juice, the Great Hall doors were suddenly thrown open and Dawlish burst through them, striding forward toward the staff table. His expression was grim and his lips were drawn into a thin line.

"Potter, Weasley, you two had better come with me," he said gravely.

There was no room for argument. Harry and Ron stood from the table and followed him. Many pairs of eyes followed them curiously as they strode quickly through the Great Hall and then down the hallways, in the direction of the Dungeons. But instead of heading down into the actual Dungeons, the path Harry now took every day, they took a different hallway. Harry recognized this as the area in which Myrtle's bathroom was located.

As they strode quickly down the corridor, Harry saw a throng of people hovering over something in the hallway. The floors were flooded and as they walked closer, Harry felt a chill pass over him. He became more anxious as he neared the circle of murmuring students and teachers gathered there. A few students turned to look at the Aurors as they approached; their gazes were horrified with what they'd seen. They were whispering amongst themselves—"What happened to her?", "Is she alive?", and "What did this? Is it still in the castle?"

"Stand aside," Dawlish ordered, pushing the bystanders aside to go through. "Make way, make way."

Harry and Ron jostled into the circle and Harry finally took a look at what everyone had been shockingly murmuring about.

Sitting limply against the wall was Mafalda Prewett. Her arms were at her sides, lying still and lifeless; her legs lay at odd angles to her body, one drawn up, bent at the knee and the other flush against the cobblestone floor, bent outward. Her wand was on the floor, a foot from her right hand, where she must have dropped it.

But what was most shocking about the still figure was her expression. She was as pale as if all color had fled her face and her mouth was slightly open, as though in silent scream. The vicious eyes Harry had grown to anticipate were open and devoid of emotion. She gazed forward, into nothingness, as her bottom lip quivered slightly. The serpent, symbol of the Slytherin House, stared fixedly at the onlookers from the top left part of her robes, etched over her heart. But the bright red hair reminded Harry that she wasn't just any other Slytherin—her likeness to Molly Weasley was unmistakable.

Harry looked away. Anger seized him like never before. Despite the insults and unkind words she had thrown at Harry, the image of her helpless body was burned into his mind. He couldn't shake himself of the guilt that he should have been here—it was his job to protect the castle from Dementors.

The whispering crowd behind him continued its hushed discussions. Suddenly, another figure rushed through the crowd and stopped to stand beside Harry and Ron.

Malfoy took in the sight slowly, as though unable to believe his eyes. "No," he said quietly. "How?"

"She's been Kissed," Harry said, although that much was obvious.

Malfoy's expression distorted; he looked pained and grief-stricken. He dropped down beside Mafalda's limp body and took her hand and simply looked at her quietly.

Ron gave Harry an incredulous look at Malfoy's reaction. "I take it he knew her?"

"Yes," Harry said shortly, without looking back at him. "And so did I."

The crowd parted again as McGonagall entered the throng of onlookers. She brought her hand to her lips as her eyes widened to take in the scene. "What-what has happened here?"

"It looks like a Dementor Kissed her," Ron said. "Though I don't understand how it got in the castle. And where the bloody thing is now."

McGonagall's lips drew into a thin line. "I will ask everyone but the Aurors to leave immediately. All teachers and prefects will walk their respective House students to their dormitories, where you will stay until further notice. Is this understood?"

The crowd immediately set into action and everyone left but the Aurors and Malfoy. Despite McGonagall's urges that Malfoy leave the scene, the latter crossed his arms and refused determinedly, saying he had as much right to be there as the Aurors, since the student was from his own House.

Finally, McGonagall turned toward the Aurors, her expression anguished. She asked quietly, "Dawlish, do you know how this happened?"

Dawlish shook his head grimly. "We have no idea how the Dementor even got into the castle, much less how it disappeared so quickly, before an onlooker could spot it. This is beyond all of us, Minerva."

McGonagall looked at Mafalda's body distraughtly as she spoke, "This is an enormously serious matter. We've had problems with the Dementors for years, but they have never attacked a student. We can't allow an incident such as this to occur again. Dawlish, I hope your team does all that it can to prevent another attack." Her gaze became more troubled. "I can't even imagine what to tell the parents of this child. Hogwarts is renowned as a school with the safety of its students in mind first and foremost."

The team of Aurors followed her gaze and absorbed the shocking sight before them.

Dawlish spoke quietly, "We've been interviewing everyone in Hogsmeade to understand what's going on. We've scoured every part of the castle to make sure the Dementors aren't breaking in. I don't understand where they could be hiding." He glanced at McGonagall, "Minnerva, be assured that we'll do our best to prevent another attack."

McGonagall nodded and, having nothing else to say, turned on her heel and left the hallway.

After she had left, Dawlish turned to his team and said, "The least we can do is patrol this corridor more strictly. We'll need to keep post at various parts of the castle if we want to catch these devils. We won't let another attack like this happen."

After Dawlish spoke more about their various options, most of the Aurors left the hallway. Ron glanced at Mafalda's body one last time before saying, "I'll be in my room, Harry. I think I'll send a letter to Hermione and see if she has any clues on what's going on." He gave Malfoy a suspicious look, perhaps not wanting to leave Harry with him, but left after another moment, not wanting to be near the ghastly image any longer.

Harry was left in the hallway with Malfoy, who was still kneeling by Mafalda. The puddle on the floor had soaked the girl's clothes. Malfoy didn't seem to notice the water as it seeped into his own robes. As Harry watched, Malfoy brought his hands to the girl's open eyes and closed them. What most scared Harry was that Mafalda was still breathing. She was as much alive as he and Malfoy. But her soul, the most important part of her—the part that had conversed with Harry crossly and heatedly, insulted him, and rebelled—was gone.

Harry placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Malfoy."

Malfoy was breathing slowly. "I should have been here. I was just down the hall. I could have stopped it—I could have thrown myself at the bloody thing and let it suck my soul out."

Harry crouched down beside him. "It's not your fault. There was nothing either of us could do."

"So we're working on this goddamn liquid luck for what?" Malfoy exclaimed. "So the few people I care about get destroyed? I don't know if you knew, but she was my best student. She never had a real parent—she looked up to me!"

Harry squeezed Malfoy's shoulder. "I know how you felt about her. We'll continue working on the potion, so that no one gets hurt in the future."

"This is the only student in the whole damn school that I cared about!" Malfoy yelled, his voice reverberating through the empty hallway. "I don't care what happens to the rest of those gits. I don't care if someone from the other Houses get Kissed. In fact, I think it's about time someone but the Slytherins got punished."

Harry dropped his hand from Malfoy's shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"No, Potter, I really do. I'm tired of watching my students get trampled on for no fault of their own, and Whitby goading us on without anyone calling him out on it."

"I understand that, but you can't honestly want someone else to get Kissed, whether they're in Slytherin or not. Look at Mafalda and tell me you'd like to see anyone else in this situation. It's worse than death."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. Then he sighed heavily. "No, you're right. I wouldn't wish a Dementor's Kiss on anyone. But, you know what, Potter? Whether you're helping me or not, I'm creating the poison. Because the next time I see a Dementor—I'm going to kill it."

Harry looked into Malfoy's gray, troubled eyes. His hair looked messier than usual and his mouth was set determinedly. Malfoy was infuriated beyond reason. Harry could see now how much Mafalda had meant to him, as a student and perhaps as an apprentice. They shared a similar, but perhaps friendlier, relationship that Malfoy and Snape had had.

Harry stood up and looked down upon Malfoy. "Alright, I'll help you."

He extended his hand toward Malfoy, who ignored it and gave him a suspicious look. "I don't believe it. You're really agreeing to this? After months of not saying a word about it?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I'm as much angry about Mafalda's death as you are." He considered it a death because, honestly, she wasn't truly alive anymore. "And everywhere I turn, I get doubts about the Felix Felicis. After seeing the damage these Dementors can do, I think you're right. I need to take risks if I'm going to be a proper Auror. And I'm going to trust you to make a poison and antidote that won't kill me."

Malfoy didn't quite smile, but his expression cleared a bit. "We still haven't decided who'll take the poison." He extended his arm out to grasp Harry's hand.

"I think that's irrelevant now," Harry replied grimly, helping Malfoy up.

Suddenly, another figure came running down the hallway, her robes billowing behind her. Harry noticed that it was Madam Pomfrey; she stopped short at the sight of Mafalda and then dropped down beside her.

"Poor, poor child!" Madam Pomfrey said heavily. Then, placing the girl's limbs in a more comfortable position, she picked her up with relative ease. Mafalda opened her eyes and made a few whimpering noises, but otherwise did nothing, allowing herself to be held, limp as a puppet.

"Do you need any help?" Harry asked, further disturbed by what had become of this child.

"No," Madam Pomfrey replied shortly. "Leave this child in my care. Although how much I can do for her, I don't know."

She cradled Mafalda and walked down the hallway, presumably toward the Infirmary.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who was staring at the quickly departing figures. Upon hearing Mafalda's soft whimpering, his face had closed. But as Harry tried to place his hand on Malfoy's shoulder, the latter turned and began walking toward the Dungeons.

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

But Malfoy refused to acknowledge him.

* * *

The next night, Harry sat in front of his fireplace and waited for Hermione's head to appear out of the cold hearth. He was considering what he'd told Malfoy—that he'd help him make the poison, and perhaps even take it himself to destroy the Dementors. Despite his prior disinclinations toward the idea, he now realized how important this mission was. An innocent child had died, and Harry would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to avenge her.

Suddenly, a pop sounded from the fireplace and Hermione's head appeared in green flames. Harry smiled at her.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "How good to see you! I've talked to Ron using the Floo network several times, but it's been a while since you and I have talked." Her voice became more somber. "I've heard about the Dementor attack."

Harry ceased smiling. "That's what scares me, Hermione. Even if I had been there, there was nothing I could have done. I've tried everything—I've tried producing a Patronus in front of Dementors, in front of a boggart—nothing works."

Hermione gave him a pitying look. "But Ron was fine? He doesn't have any problems?"

"No, he doesn't," Harry said bitterly. "I don't know if it was just my experiences during the War—"

"Of course that's what it is, Harry. But I didn't realize you would be so affected. It means there's no memory happy enough to outset the bad ones for you to produce a Patronus."

Harry sighed. "I know. Everything I come up with is blocked by my worst memories."

Hermione thought for a moment. "You mentioned you and Malfoy were working on Felix Felicis?"

"Yes, but like everyone keeps telling me, I don't think it will be wholly effective. But, Hermione—there was something else that Malfoy's come up with."

"Oh, really?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

"It's a poison of some sort. His explanation was a bit broad, but the basic gist of it is—a person takes the poison and lets himself be Kissed by a Dementor. The Dementor is fooled into thinking that it's feeding off of good memories, but instead receives the person's worst ones. Essentially, this kills the Dementor, because its system wouldn't handle it."

Hermione looked concerned. "That's an interesting idea, considering there's probably no real way to poison the Dementor, but—what about the person that takes the poison? Is it dangerous to him?"

"Yes. But Malfoy is also creating an antidote for it, so it can be administered quickly."

Hermione sounded even more worried. "Harry, that sounds very risky. You could get killed."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I know. But it's the best plan we've got. And I'm not going to stand by if more innocent students get Kissed."

"What if Malfoy doesn't know what he's doing?" Hermione asked anxiously. "What if he's just going to poison you and leave you to the Dementors? I wouldn't put it past him—this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about."

Harry felt offended, as though she had insulted him and not Malfoy. "Your letter indicated that you think working with Malfoy might be a good idea."

"Yes, on a potion that's been done before! On something that you could just follow directions to brew. Not on some idea Malfoy came up with and persuaded you to do. I'm a little surprised you're putting your faith in him."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You said yourself he's a skilled potion-maker. And in the past few months that we've been making the Felix Felicis, we've hardly bickered about anything. Besides, I hardly believe he's going to poison me when he insists he should take the poison himself!"

Hermione looked thrown back for a moment. She then said quietly, "I didn't realize how close you two have become."

"We're not—" Harry began, but realized that was pointless to deny. "In any case, I trust Malfoy to make the correct poison and antidote. I really think we stand a chance."

Hermione smiled slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt, Harry. I thought once the War passed, you'd stop attracting so many dangerous situations."

"I'm an Auror, Hermione. It's become a way of life." Harry gave her a small smile.

"Very well. I suppose I can't change your mind." She looked at him with concern. "Just be wary of Malfoy. I don't trust that he's fully gone back on his Death Eater days."

Harry opened his mouth, but then thought it was useless to argue. Malfoy himself had pointed out that the Dark Mark, whether active or not, always made people wary. "Alright. I'll keep an eye out."

"I know it might be useless to say, but do be careful, Harry."

With another pop, the green flames disappeared and Harry found himself staring at the cold, black hearth again.

Thanks for reading! (I hope this chapter wasn't too grim...) Please review!