A/N: Thanks again for all your reviews! Enjoy.

Chapter Eleven

In order to create any poison, Malfoy had pointed out, they would need Mandrake roots. So sometime a week after the Dementor attack, they went to Neville's greenhouse again and asked if he could spare a few roots. Neville had looked at Malfoy suspiciously, but seeing Harry's pleading look, relented.

"Alright. But be very careful when you pull them out. Mandragora's cries are fatal." Neville pulled on a pair of earmuffs and went to another part of the greenhouse to work on a very energetic bush that was trying to nip him.

Harry and Malfoy pulled on pairs of very thick kid gloves. Two pairs of bulky earmuffs lay next to the two pots of mature Mandrake roots they were about to pull out. Two small, sharp daggers also lay on the table by these items, to be used to cut the roots.

"You remember how to do this, don't you?" Malfoy asked. "I've done this about a dozen times in the past few years, so I'll know what to do, but I can't instruct you while we're wearing earmuffs."

They had also spelled the greenhouse to insulate sound. If someone accidentally heard the noise while wandering close by the classroom, it would be the last thing they'd ever hear.

"Well, we'll just pull them out, cut off the leaves, then cut the body up quickly so it stops crying," Harry said.

Malfoy frowned. "That's the general idea, I suppose. They'll try to bite too, and they're not as harmless as they look."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is anything I deal with harmless?"

Malfoy smiled. "True enough. Let's get started."

They put on their earmuffs and proceeded to dig up the plants. Harry was surprised at how well the earmuffs worked—as they dug the roots out, he watched as the distorted humanoid faces cringed and moved their lips to cry out, but heard nothing whatsoever. He supposed if he had heard anything, he'd probably drop dead right then, so he shouldn't have been so surprised.

Harry watched as Malfoy worked methodically. He was holding the part between the leaves and the roots and shaking the plant to rid it of soil; he then placed the plant-creature carefully on the table, where it squirmed like a newborn child. Malfoy then used a little water bottle with a curved and narrow end to splash the roots and clean it further. The plant squeezed its eyes shut and flailed its arms about more forcefully. Harry turned back to his own plant and did the same, cautiously pulling the roots out and shaking them free of excess soil. He then placed his Mandrake on the table, washed it down, and watched Malfoy again.

Malfoy was now cutting off the leaves of the Mandrake with a sharp dagger. The creature immediately writhed and twisted, opening its mouth wider to scream. Malfoy held the midsection of the plant with his left hand and swiftly cut the plant in half. The creature suddenly stopped flailing and lay still. After examining the procedure for another moment, Harry did the same with his Mandrake, feeling a bit remorseful as he cut it in half; he had to remind himself again that it was a plant—it would have certainly been much easier if it didn't have human features.

They chopped up the roots into cube-sized portions—Malfoy worked quickly and precisely, hardly stopping, while Harry wasn't accustomed to the method and worked slower and more awkwardly. After finishing with the roots, Malfoy picked up handfuls of them at a time and pushed the ingredients into a small pouch.

Being absolutely sure that the Mandrakes would not cry now that they were cube-sized, Harry and Malfoy took the earmuffs off their heads. Malfoy's hair got caught in the band for a moment, and several of his carefully slicked-back tendrils fell out of place, sticking outward in a ridiculous fashion. Harry smiled at the sight. Something in his stomach quivered.

Malfoy scowled and attempted to smooth down his hair again, but it appeared that only the Sleekeazy's potion could do anything to smooth it down effectively.

"We should get going if we're going to start this new potion," Malfoy finally said, not bothering to fix his hair anymore.

Harry thanked Neville for allowing them to get the Mandrake roots and they left the greenhouse. As Harry and Malfoy walked back toward the Dungeons, Harry inquired about the new potion they would create. Harry was certain now that he'd made the right decision to create the poison and the antidote. They would need a full-proof plan if they wanted to defeat the Dementors and prevent another attack. Also, they still had no idea how many Dementors actually resided outside the castle and how they'd even managed to enter Hogwarts.

"You mentioned that the ingredients for the poison wouldn't be difficult to get. But what about the antidote? How does that work?" Harry glanced at Malfoy as they walked.

"Well, it's rather simple, really," Malfoy began. Every time he spoke about Potions, his voice took on the tone of a teacher, flowing leisurely and knowledgeably. "I'm going to be following Golpalott's third law for creating an antidote."

Harry gave him a confused look. "Golpa-what's third law?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter. Sometimes I wonder why you went to school, if not to learn anything. Golpalott's law states that, 'the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components.'"

Harry thought about this. "So we have to find an opposite for every ingredient in the poison—and something else? Something besides every ingredient that's an antidote to each ingredient in the poison?"

"Yes. We have to essentially find the opposite of every ingredient as well as an item that will represent the poison itself, which will be beyond the sum of the components."

Harry raised one eyebrow. "And you've found the ingredient that's beyond everything else?"

Malfoy nodded. "It will have to represent memory, because that's central to our poison."

"Do you know what all the ingredients will be—for the poison and for the antidote?" Harry asked, wondering how much Malfoy had already thought about this potion. They hadn't spoken about it in months and Harry had only agreed to do the poison last week.

Malfoy hesitated, then said: "I know all the ingredients. I know all the procedures. I've planned everything. All that has to be done is the potion itself."

Harry stopped walking abruptly. He gave Malfoy an incredulous look. "So these past few months, even though I wasn't going to help you—even after I disagreed wholeheartedly—you continued planning all this? You've thought of everything?"

Malfoy had stopped in the middle of the hallway as well. He pursed his lips. "Yes. And in fact, I already have a good majority of the ingredients for it. Abercrombie came in handy, like I told you—"

"But why?" Harry interrupted. "Why did you do all this work even when you knew I wouldn't help you?" Harry paused and considered it further. "I mean, really, you've been doing my job more than I have been."

Malfoy didn't say anything and simply looked at Harry.

Harry sighed. "I guess, what I really don't understand is—why are you getting so wrapped up in all this? I only asked for help with the Felix Felicis. And now—now you're willing to poison yourself to kill these Dementors!"

Malfoy seemed unsure how to reply. He gave Harry a long look before saying, "Potter, I've tried to explain it before. I want the Wizarding world to recognize me for something other than being a Death Eater. I want to discover a method to effectively kill a Dementor—firstly, to improve my reputation in this godforsaken school, and secondly…" He paused there and looked stoic. "To prevent something like a Dementor attack from happening ever again."

Harry could see that it would be a while before Malfoy had accepted Mafalda's death. Though Malfoy usually tried not to show any inner turmoil, it seemed that, lately, the façade was slipping in front of Harry.

Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching them from the direction of the Great Hall, striding toward them. Harry watched as Malcolm Whitby rounded the corner and saw them standing in the middle of the hallway. He looked surprised to find Harry and Malfoy there, but after the initial shock, his lips curved into a rather unpleasant smirk. He approached them more slowly.

"Harry, I'm surprised to find you, of all people, in the company of this vermin," Whitby said, glancing at Malfoy with a look of disgust. Malfoy returned this look with ferocity.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "While Malfoy's not the most pleasant company at times, I could think of someone worse to be around."

Whitby's eyebrows flew into his dark blond hair. "Really, Harry, I'm even more surprised at your attitude. I would think that the Boy Who Lived—our Savior, as some would call you—would be a little less trustworthy of a Death Eater."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Malfoy's hand slip into his pocket, presumably to pull out his wand. Harry glanced back at Whitby. "Former Death Eater," he corrected. "I'm a little surprised that these prejudices aren't behind us yet. Has Malfoy done anything Death Eater-ish in the past three years?"

Whitby scowled. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater—that's what I say. I wouldn't consort with any of the Slytherin lot if I were you, Harry. They're sickeningly tied to their pureblooded ways. They only breed with each other and produce hateful, ill-mannered children. Of course, I would know, since I deal with their lot in my classes every day."

Harry couldn't have been more disgusted with this man. He noted that Malfoy was almost bursting with anger as his fingers twitched over the hawthorn wand.

"They're only kids, Whitby," Harry replied. "What you put them through is shameful. Expecting them to do sixth year material, giving them detention for no reason, not allowing Hogsmeade visits? I would have expected better from a Hufflepuff, of all Houses."

Whitby looked flabbergasted. "What I put them through? Come on now, Harry! Some harmless detention? Taking away a few Hogsmeade privileges? I hardly think that counts as barbaric behavior on my part."

Malfoy seemed as though he'd heard enough. "Harmless detention? You've harassed my youngest students about their not knowing how to conjure! You've taken away Quidditch rights and broomsticks! I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you've performed an Unforgivable or two on them."

Whitby turned white, and then snarled, "You have no right to question my methods. You, a Death Eater, were allowed to return to teach out of pity! Your students are worthless scum—they're the products of interbreeding from generation upon generation of pureblooded bigotry!"

Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it directly at Whitby's nose, looking dead serious."No more bigotry than I hear retching out of your mouth."

Whitby looked down his nose at the wand and appeared to pale. Malfoy wasn't one to pass up on curses, after all, so he had good reason to be afraid.

Harry could tell that Malfoy would do something regrettable if Whitby said anything else. Harry stepped forward and pressed his hand down on Malfoy's right arm. Malfoy glowered at Harry but didn't relent. "Leave it, Potter. He deserves anything I curse him with and you know it."

Harry pressed harder and said, "He's more trouble that he's worth, Malfoy. You don't want to give yourself a worse name than you already have by cursing him."

Malfoy seemed to consider this and finally dropped his hand to the side.

Whitby narrowed his eyes and smirked, realizing he wasn't about to be hexed. Gaining confidence, he said, "I suppose it's that insufferable Mafalda that has your knickers in such a twist, Malfoy. She was a good student of yours, wasn't she?"

His question went unanswered, as both Harry and Malfoy stood tensely. Malfoy was clutching his wand edgily, as though reconsidering drawing it back.

Whitby smirked. "Yes, she was an excellent Slytherin. Proud, big-mouthed, nosy, and intolerable. She made all my classes difficult. And she wasn't even that good at Transfiguration—"

"You bastard!" Malfoy yelled, his hands fisting. "She was brilliant at Transfiguration! She'd learnt cross-species transfiguration by second year and self-transfiguration by third! In fact, I taught her most of it because she never learned anything in your bloody class! You were always too busy giving her detentions for asking too many questions!"

Whitby looked enraged for a moment, but then his features smoothed into a particularly nasty leer. "Well, wasn't that an accomplishment? And what does she have to prove for it, Malfoy?" He smiled. "A soul-less body."

That struck one of Harry's nerves. Malfoy stepped forward.

Whitby's smile grew. "Yes. Nasty little Mafalda went and got her soul sucked up. I must say, my class won't miss her. I couldn't be more pleased with the way this has turned out. It's almost as if the Dementors want to punish the Slytherins—"

Whitby's statement was cut short when Harry rushed forward and in one blow, punched Whitby in the face. Whitby went sailing to the floor, unprepared for the attack. Harry stood over him, ready to hit him again if he dared say anything else.

"Potter—what in Merlin's name--?" Malfoy started, his voice more alarmed now than angered.

Whitby was staring at Harry with an astounded expression on his white face. "H-harry? You? Why do you care?"

"I knew Mafalda," Harry glowered at the man lying at his feet, whose nose was slowly swelling and bleeding from one nostril. "And while she was, as you said, insufferable, she was also a great witch. You and your methods disgust me. There's nothing worse to me than someone who turns his back on what he stands for— you sure as hell the worst Hufflepuff I've ever met."

Whitby got up slowly, as though unsure if he should expect another attack. Malfoy watched him with repulsion. Harry turned on his heel and strode toward the Dungeons, not bothering to see if Malfoy followed him. But sure enough, he heard Malfoy's footsteps behind him, hurrying to catch up. Harry threw open the storage room door and entered the dimly-lit room.

"You know, a simple curse would've done the job," Malfoy said behind him. "He'd just wanted to get a rise out of us. It's not the first time he's said those sorts of things."

Harry sat down at the little desk and ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't believe he'd just attacked the man.

"Although, after all that talk of reputation and him not being worth it—if anyone was going to punch him," Malfoy continued, sitting down opposite Harry. "I would've least expected it to be you."

Harry sighed heavily and glanced at Malfoy. The latter looked grim and pale. Whitby's words had obviously affected him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"I never knew," Harry said slowly. "I never knew he was so cruel. He has no reason to be so vicious to a little girl who died."

"Maybe he doesn't have a reason to be malevolent toward Mafalda," Malfoy began, "but he does have reasons to hate Death Eaters."

Harry looked up sharply. "What?"

Malfoy glanced at the rows of potion ingredients. "From what I've heard, Whitby's lost his entire family to Death Eater activities back in the War. His wife was tortured with the Cruciatus and then killed with the Avada Kedavra. His children were killed as well."

Shock and revulsion swam in Harry's stomach. He placed his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He was tired of everyone being so complex—not entirely wicked, not entirely good. He'd hated Whitby for being so insensitive and callous about Mafalda and the rest of the Slytherins. But he could see how so much grief and suffering could cause a man to become prejudiced. And Malfoy—he had been entirely fiendish and immoral up until the end of the War, when it was revealed that Malfoy had deep ties to his family, and who now faced a hateful community who still considered him a Death Eater. And who was now helping Harry defeat Dementors and showing that he could care about others under precise circumstances.

"Potter?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry raised his head and looked at Malfoy. The latter returned his look with concern.

"I just—I know what it's like to lose your entire family to a Death Eater. Or rather, Voldemort himself," Harry finally said, not knowing how else to describe his reaction.

Malfoy was staring at him with an intense expression. He reached out his hand, bringing it toward Harry's forehead. He paused and Harry's heart quickened. After another moment, Malfoy brushed his bangs out of the way and touched Harry's scar. His fingers felt cool again, just like the time by the lake. Harry found the touch bizarrely relaxing.

"I wonder what it must be like not to have parents," Malfoy said slowly.

Harry shrugged slightly, blushing at Malfoy's gesture. "It's definitely not the greatest thing in the world. Especially when you grow up with the kind of legal guardians I had."

Malfoy pulled his hand back from Harry's forehead and raised his eyebrows. "And what kind did you have?"

Harry found himself telling Malfoy about the Dursleys. About the way he'd grown up not knowing he was a wizard, and what importance he held to the Wizarding world. How they'd treated him like a house elf, locking him up in a cupboard and making him attend to everyone at all times. How wonderful it was when Hagrid showed up to that rickety house on the island before his first year to offer him a whole new world. It still felt strange, telling Malfoy these sorts of things.

"And you never knew?" Malfoy was bewildered. "That whole time, you never knew that you were Harry Potter?"

Harry laughed. "No. I suppose I didn't know I was Harry Potter."

"I was quite annoyed that time on the train, when we first met—I mean, I know we'd really met in the robes shop, but I didn't recognize you then," Malfoy said, looking lost in memories. "I assumed you were a pompous prick because you didn't want to be my friend."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So I was a pompous prick? Who was it that insulted my friends and acted like everything was beneath him? I hardly think I qualify."

"I guess I was a little insufferable." Malfoy shrugged, as though that excused it.

Harry scoffed. "A little by a long shot."

"Well, I'm being nicer now, am I not?" Malfoy crossed his arms. "I've hardly made jokes about Granger, the Weasel, or the oaf."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose it's an improvement."

Malfoy got up to check on their Felix Felicis potion, which was milky blue and frozen over; it had been in that state for two weeks now, and in another week should turn jade green in color, when they'd have to unfreeze it. Another two cauldrons sat next to the Felix Felicis potion, both empty at the moment. Since the Mandrake root was imperative to starting the poison, they had waited until they'd acquired it to start the potion and its antidote.

"You said you have all the ingredients already?" Harry asked, standing up to walk toward the three cauldrons. "And you have all the procedures written?"

Malfoy nodded absently as he perused the shelves for something.

"How long will it take?"

Malfoy turned to face him, having pulled a vial from the shelves. "Maybe a month or so. Not quite so long as the Felix Felicis, at least."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he heard footsteps outside the storage room door. Malfoy paused to listen as well. They heard young students' voices speaking in nervous tones. It sounded as if they were striding through the hallway in a hurry.

Then, a male voice sounded: "I don't bloody know where he'd be! I just know he's always hanging around Potter these days!"

Malfoy and Harry exchanged looks. Then, decisively, Malfoy strode toward the door of the storage room and threw it open. The students' voices immediately ceased and Harry heard their footsteps backtracking toward Malfoy's storage room.

"Professor Malfoy?" Harry heard a young girl say quietly. The voice sounded familiar. Harry followed Malfoy into the hallway and saw the two third-year students who had been friends of Mafalda's—Tracey Higgs and Graham Pritchard—standing in the middle of the corridor, looking particularly tense. At the sight of Harry, Graham crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes; Tracey's fear-stricken face became more hopeful.

"What's going on?" Malfoy demanded. "Why are you looking for me?"

Graham looked at Malfoy evenly. "Hestia Paddock has gone missing."

"We haven't seen her since dinner last night," Tracey added. She bit her bottom lip and gave Malfoy a worried look.

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted. "She's been gone for a whole day? No one's seen her?"

The two students nodded slowly.

"Who's Hestia Paddock?" Harry asked, not understanding the significance of the exchange, other than the fact that a student was missing.

Graham rolled his eyes and muttered, "Figures. You Gryffindors are always stuck in your own House and never give a damn about the goings-on of anyone else."

"I haven't been at Hogwarts in three years," Harry snapped. "I don't even know students from my own House."

"Hestia is a first-year Slytherin student," Malfoy said, answering Harry's question. "She was a pureblood, like Mafalda. So of course this will go unnoticed by the other Houses, especially those with a grievance against Death Eaters."

Harry caught the unspoken jibe at Whitby. "What do you think happened to her?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Graham said indignantly, as though they were missing the main point. "The Dementors have her."

Malfoy looked at Graham sharply. "I hardly think you can just jump to that conclusion—"

"It's true," Tracey interrupted. "Hestia wasn't ever a troublemaker. She hardly wanders off on her own and she's quite a sensitive girl. In fact, I think yesterday Whitby gave her detention and she left dinner crying. She does that every time he picks on her—the first time he did that, I remember finding her, crying her eyes out, in a bathroom stall."

"In that case, what if she's just hiding out somewhere and still crying?" Harry suggested. "Maybe she didn't want to face Whitby again today?"

Tracey shook her head. "She's usually over it after a couple of hours. We haven't seen her at any meal today. And other first years said they haven't seen her all day."

Harry exchanged a worried look with Malfoy.

"Well, keep an eye out then," Malfoy said. "I think it's a bit early to jump to any conclusions, though."

Graham and Tracey didn't look as though they agreed, but after a few more exchanges, the two students left, heading toward the Slytherin common room. Harry was left out in the hallway with a very pensive-looking Malfoy.

Harry gave him another apprehensive look. "Do you really think another Dementor might have attacked?"

Malfoy pursed his lips. "If so, where's the body? Last time it happened, the Dementor just attacked and disappeared. This situation is quite different."

"I agree," Harry began, "but I have a strange feeling that the Dementor might have wanted to appear less suspicious this time."

"What?" Malfoy asked, startled. "You're talking as if the Dementor is some kind of serial killer. As if it plots and schemes and considers the consequences of its actions."

Harry looked grim. This is exactly what Hagrid had warned Harry of—Dementors being as smart and cunning as the next human criminal.

"Yes, Malfoy. I think that's precisely what it does."

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