Dear Readers, Enjoy this one, even if I'm slow. x
16 – Out of Order
"We shouldn't be doing this. If they catch us listening to their meetings..."
"Then they'll realise you've taken an interest in their cause."
"And you think that's a good thing? They're terrified of spies, Tom."
"They've never been suspicious of you before."
Harry shifted uncomfortably where he stood, holding back a retort. He was attempting to rest his weight against a doorframe without making a sound, listening to muffled voices that were audible through cracks in the Burrow's kitchen door. The Order of the Phoenix was gathering. He spoke only in hisses to Tom, who stood beside him in the shadows like a ghost.
"You've been listening onto these meetings since the age of fifteen, have you not?" Tom asked softly, his attention fixated on Harry's discomfort. "They were never suspicious of it."
"That's different," Harry reasoned. "I was with others... The Order had just started, anyway."
Tom didn't seem convinced that it made a difference. Harry ignored it. He slowed his breath, trying to remain as still as he could; every movement muffled the sound of the Order. He was separated from the kitchen door by a small hallway, but didn't dare get any closed than this.
A chair screeched back in the kitchen. There were voices, louder this time, speaking hurriedly. Someone had arrived. It wasn't until a familiar voice spoke alone, assuring the Order he was alright, that Harry recognised Lupin. His voice faded in and out, broken and serious.
"... I face you all with very little news, I'm afraid... as the war goes on... my kind don't seem to know much about these things..."
Clenching his teeth, Harry eyed the metal latch to the door and thought bitterly of a pair of Extendable Ears Ron had hidden up in his bedroom. He didn't suppose it would be worth dragging Ron and Hermione into this for better hearing – not if it risked them letting the Order know about his spying. They might get scared. They might, also, learn information that he didn't want them to know. He breathed in the smell of dust and wood, feeling irritated.
"What are they saying?" he whispered. "Can you hear?"
"It's not important," Tom told him softly. "They're merely speaking about the Malfoy family."
Harry turned to him at once. "That's important! Do you know any magic?"
Tom was surprised, but after a moment he nodded once, reaching out a hand. Harry passed him Dumbledore's wand, only momentarily aware that if they were caught now, it would taken as clear evidence for his involvement in Dumbledore's disappearance. Tom concentrated on his work, moving his hands through the air slowly, creating some sort of spell. When he was done, he indicated that Harry should listen at the door again.
It was as if slices of the air had been amplified. Harry could hear everything, from the sound of someone pacing to the sound of others leaning back in creaky chairs. It felt like he was standing amongst the Order, listening to the heels of their boots press against the wooden floor, their fingertips tapping faint rhythms on the table. There was the sound of breathing, someone's dry hands rubbing together distractedly, and the familiar creak of Charlie's leather jacket. Harry had no idea that Charlie was in the room until now.
It was Lupin who was pacing. Harry figured this out when he heard him sigh in time with boot-clad footsteps. He, however, wasn't the first one to speak. Tonks was contradicting something he had said.
"Podmore hasn't heard a thing," she told him. Her voice was so clear, it made Harry jump. Tom laughed quietly beside him. "There hasn't been any news from the Ministry, either."
Someone turned around on the left of the room, setting down a glass.
"You mean, we've lost track of her completely?" asked Mrs Weasley.
"I'm afraid so."
"But what about the boy?"
No one spoke for a moment. Mrs Weasley's concern seemed unsettling to the rest of them. Goblets clanked against the soft, damp rings of alcohol indented into wood. Harry turned to Tom, looking for reassurance that this wasn't bad news, but his dark eyes shone with caution.
"There's no telling how he'll react, but there's still hope, Molly..."
As much as she tried, Tonks didn't sound reassuring. Mrs Weasley hadn't moved.
"The Ministry has surely noticed Narcissa's absence," said Lupin. "Are they not investigating her disappearance?"
"They're more concerned about her son, if I'm honest," Tonks answered. "It's no surprise."
Harry's heartbeat quickened painfully. He waited.
"We're probably better of without the Ministry's help from now on, anyway," said Charlie wisely. "We'll only have an advantage if the Death Eaters stay out of the Ministry, but we know there are more spies in there now than ever. It's only a matter of time before they gain information from the Aurors as soon as we do."
"You may be right," Tonks agreed heavily. "We nearly got ourselves in a mess, hiding Draco's whereabouts. It's difficult to look for clues on where Narcissa Malfoy ran off to, especially when half the Aurors can't find a single shred of information. We're better off looking for her ourselves, in the Order."
The witches and wizards sitting around the kitchen table were reluctant to pitch any further ideas. Harry could only imagine the furtive glances some of them must have cast the others, unsure how to react, how to respond, and when to keep fighting.
"What should we tell Draco?" Mrs Weasley asked eventually, her voice determinedly strong.
"We'll tell him the truth," Lupin answered, "that we are still searching for his mother. There's no point in scaring him with stories of the old war. We won't stop searching until we find out what happened."
Harry thought, at first, that Lupin had succeeded in calming Mrs Weasley down, but the floorboards creaked softly beneath her as she turned away. Then came the sound of her sniffing faintly. Harry was rooted to the spot, transfixed to her grief. Her voice shook when she spoke.
"You can't have forgotten what the first war was like, Remus. There's only one explanation for disappearances..."
Nobody said a word. Harry waited, expecting some quick reassurance, some indication that death wasn't inevitable, but nothing came. He knew she had lost her brothers during the war. He didn't understand why no one was helping her. Mrs Weasley was normally so calm and optimistic; it filled him with dread to realise that behind closed doors, she was terrified of another boy having their family ripped from them.
"This is not the first war, Molly," said Kingsley Shacklebolt calmly, the first one brave enough to speak. "We are stronger now. We know what to expect from these same wizards causing the same terror. Narcissa Malfoy may have disappeared, but there is one thing we know for sure: she fled because she's wise. She's fighting for survival."
Harry gripped the edge of the doorframe, leaning closer.
"What matters is that we keep Draco safe," said Lupin, speaking to everyone. "He won't take the news lightly, but I'll do everything to assure him there is hope..."
"Don't doubt that, Remus," added Tonks seriously. "There is still hope."
To this, there was no reply. Harry's breath brushed against the wooden door, the only audible sound.
"Voldemort is angry with the Malfoys," Tom hissed beside him.
Harry turned his head away slightly. He didn't want to hear it. He concentrated harder on the Order. Nobody spoke.
"Narcissa was right to run, naturally," Tom carried on, "yet it surprises me that the Order care to contact her..."
Harry wished they'd keep talking. He responded to Tom's Parseltongue reluctantly.
"Neither of them support Voldemort, Tom. They're trying to unite Draco with his mum..."
"To what avail?"
Harry's eyes narrowed critically, but after a moment, he wasn't sure the answer was obvious. He shook his head lightly, staring into space.
"I don't know... To thank them for not supporting the Death Eaters, I guess."
Tom considered this slowly. He didn't look confused, nor did he ask what Harry was thinking, but he was interested. He watched for signs of emotion on his face and seemed intrigued by his worry.
Harry couldn't bear to wait for the Order any longer. He had learnt everything he needed to know tonight and he had no intention of listening in to more bad news. There was no telling where Narcissa had fled to, nor how much danger she was in.
"Come on," he murmured, straightening up. "Let's go, before they come out..."
He moved away from the door, heading up the stairs as quietly as he could. Tom followed in his shadow. It was a moment before Harry noticed he was smiling in unnatural ecstasy, his reddened eyes gleaming.
"We should relish in the accomplishment of our eavesdropping," Tom hissed, "for tonight, we have gained access to the Order's secrets..."
Harry slowed for a moment, but didn't respond. He averted his eyes from Tom's maddened grin and did his best to ignore him. There was no reason for him to be happy over discovering the Order was struggling to help the Malfoys; it wouldn't help him in any way. All this meant was more misery for Draco.
Upstairs, on the landing in front of Ron's bedroom, Harry heard the sound of soft talking and realised Hermione must still be awake. He didn't bother gesturing to Tom that they should stay quiet, but headed into the yellow light of Ron's room anyway, acting as if he hadn't done anything wrong.
"There you are," said Ron restlessly. Both he and Hermione turned to stare up at him. "Where've you been?"
"I needed a glass of water," Harry lied, stepping further into the room and pausing to allow Tom in. He avoided their eyes.
"Isn't the Order downstairs?" Ron asked, confused.
Harry closed the door slowly, hesitating. "That's why it took so long."
They didn't question it. Harry knew they must be curious, however. Glancing around the room, he noticed then that there were books piled up and strewn across the bed between Ron and Hermione. It looked like Hermione had been reading out passages from a large, dusty leather-bound book.
"What have you two been up to?" he asked.
"We were reading up on Horcruxes," Hermione explained promptly. "I've already read all about them, of course, but Ron thought it would be good to look over the text again, to make sure I haven't missed anything."
"Like you would," Harry murmured, making his way over to his camp bed. He fell heavily onto the mattress, exhausted. "This isn't the sort of thing you forget easily, anyway."
"I thought it best to be cautious."
Wordlessly, Tom took a seat beside Harry, who buried his face in his hands.
"Some of the stuff in here is horrible," Ron added, as if any of them needed reminding, "but we're trying to focus on how to destroy Horcruxes more. That part's way better."
"Why?" Harry asked blearily.
"Well, it's great knowing there's a way we can actually get rid of Voldemort's shattered soul. I don't think –"
"No," Harry interrupted, letting his hands drop to his sides, "I mean, why do you care about how to destroy a Horcrux?"
Ron fell silent, glancing at Hermione, bemused. She turned to look at him and for a moment, she was utterly lost for words.
"This is what Dumbledore wanted," she said. "This is what we're supposed to do, Harry."
"Did Dumbledore tell you that?"
She didn't answer, but stared, her lips slightly parted. Harry hated taking his anger out on them, but he couldn't help himself. He felt overwhelmed by the news he had learnt and by the unavoidable future. Anger overruled his better judgement.
"We shouldn't even have these books," he said. "They're no use to us."
Ron's face contorted and he looked like he was about to say something cruel, but Hermione shot him a warning glance. Lost somewhere between worry and compassion, she was caught up in trying to make sense of Harry's behaviour. Eventually, she settled for compassion.
"We need these books, Harry," she told him seriously. "It's important that we at least know how to contribute to destroying Horcruxes, in case we're ever in a situation that calls for it. We'll only have a year to study Voldemort's past and Horcruxes once we go back to Hogwarts, so –"
"Once we get back to Hogwarts?" Harry repeated, bemused. "What makes you think I'm going back there?"
Again, he stunned the both of them, who gaped at him with increasing disbelief. Ron spoke first.
"You're not going back?"
"Of course not," Harry snapped. "You saw what happened with the Death Eaters invading the school last year. McGonagall barely wants the school to be reopened."
"It's Malfoy's fault that Death Eaters got in and attacked us in the first place," Ron said angrily. "There's no way he's getting back into Hogwarts, so that won't happen again."
"But what makes you think Hogwarts is safer now than it was then?" Harry asked. "Better yet, what makes you think Voldemort will hold back until the end of the year before trying to get to me?"
"Harry –"
"Do you think he cares whether or not I've passed my NEWTs before he tries to kill me?" Harry carried on sarcastically, his temper rising. "Do you think he'll hesitate for one minute before attacking the school with me in it now Dumbledore's gone?"
"Hogwarts is one of the safest places in Britain for us to be, Harry," said Hermione seriously, desperate to be understood. "I know you're scared, but there's no reason to be like this. Just because Dumbledore has gone away, doesn't mean the worst has happened. He's going to come back. We're going to be safe at Hogwarts."
Immediately, Harry stood up. He couldn't take the ignorance behind their hope, or the way they stared at him as if he didn't know exactly what was going on in the world. They spoke about Horcruxes as if there was time too hunt them slowly, as if they might be able to find more of them from the safety of Dumbledore's wisdom in the walls of Hogwarts Castle.
"You don't know what it's like out there!" he shouted before he knew what he was doing. "You don't know what's waiting for us outside of the Burrow – we can't just go back to Hogwarts, Hermione! We can't finish our education or act like normal people without a care in the world. There's a war going on to have me killed and we're all a part of it now!"
The pain he saw in her face made his throat burn and his eyes sting, but he didn't care. As much as he resented Ron and Hermione for the way they had treated him and the choices they had made in the past, he couldn't let them carry on thinking they were safe. He had no choice but to tell them exactly how he saw the world, because the fear that this horrible reality inspired within him was the only thing giving him a chance of survival.
In desperation to get away, Harry moved across the room to the corner by the door. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, aware he was being watched, aware of their fear and judgements.
"It's useless," he murmured, feeling Tom pass close by. His fingertips clutched at the doorknob, his back to Ron and Hermione. "If you want to stay safe – either of you – I don't suggest going back..."
"We'll stay with you," Hermione whispered at once. It pained him to hear her broken voice. "Whatever happens."
Harry held back a retort, his eyes clenched shut. He shook his head. There was nothing left to say. He left the bedroom, ending the discussion.
Darkness surrounded him on the landing outside Ron's bedroom, comforting him almost as much as Tom, who stood close, letting him pass. It didn't matter to him whose sleep he disturbed when he fled down the stairs, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. His chest burned in sickened regret for the choices he had made and his head span as if the world was speeding up around him in frenzied wrath. On the ground floor of the Burrow, he headed for the living room.
"What is the matter with you?" Tom asked curiously when they slowed to a stop. Neither of them sat down. Harry couldn't help himself from turning this way and that way, closing his eyes tightly, gripping his own skull.
"They don't understand what happened," he hissed, scared of choking on his own words. "None of them do..."
It was only in that moment that he realised how risky it was to keep Ron, Hermione, and the Order ignorant of Dumbledore's death. Who knew what kind of disadvantage they'd be at because of his mistake. He couldn't get his head around it, but turned in circles, trying to calm his mind, trying not to think, trying to avoid it all...
"We are safe," Tom told him softly. "Not a single soul knows about Dumbledore's death. Not the Order, not the Death Eaters. We are safe..."
Harry sat on the very edge of a couch, unable to stand on his shaking limbs. It came as a surprise to him when he felt the weight of the couch shift. Tom sat beside him. He couldn't bring himself to look at him, until he felt a soft hand on his own.
"Why does it have to be this way, Tom?" he murmured.
He didn't answer at once. Harry felt broken, as if he may fall apart if he didn't stay in a contorted position, closing is eyes, tempted to run his hands through the roots of his hair. Tom's cold hand stayed securely on his own, preventing him from it.
"The Order are strong," Tom whispered. "Dumbledore was strong. Once the war begins beyond these walls, furthermore, the Death Eaters will be strong too... Yet through all of this, I shall remain by your side. Your friends will go to school. This is how it will be."
Harry looked up at him then, his eyes prickling. He did everything he could to not cry. Tom's dark eyes were on him, shining crimson in the soft light. It was only when he reached up a cold hand to brush away a strand of Harry's hair that he felt safe. They were in this together. He closed his eyes.
"Will they be safe?" he asked. "Ron and Hermione?"
Tom didn't lie, to his surprise. He didn't pretend.
"They'll be responsible for themselves. As will everyone."
Harry tried to take this as good news. Hermione was smart enough to protect them, surely.
"And what about us? We won't go back to Hogwarts..."
Tom squeezed Harry's hand softly. He didn't look frightened. If anything, there was something close to a smile on his face.
"Together," he whispered, "we cannot be defeated."
– X –
The next morning dawned late and grey. Harry was the first to wake up, which had become a usual routine, and since he couldn't stand laying in bed, full of guilt, he forced himself to get up, get dressed, and head down for breakfast. Early summer sunlight should have crept above the horizon to warm the Burrow's eastward windows and garden in its radiance, but all Harry saw through the clean windows he passed was a sea of grey cloud high above trees swaying slowly in the cold, bitter air.
He was greeted by the smell of cinnamon and coffee in the kitchen, which momentarily warmed his senses. The only people awake so far were Ginny, Draco, and Mrs Weasley.
"Good morning, Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley greeted kindly upon seeing his arrival, casting him a kind smile he didn't deserve. "Would you like some breakfast?"
A truthful answer would be 'no', but Harry couldn't bring himself to decline. He nodded politely, murmuring his thanks as he pulled back a hard wooden chair and took a seat. Ginny sat across from him with a bowl of steaming porridge at her fingertips. Her brown eyes focused in on him, the luminance of her flaming auburn hair and freckles startling even in the bleak light of day.
"Here you are, dear."
Mrs Weasley set a plate of plain toast in front of him. It's all he felt like eating.
"There's also coffee in the pot," she told him, "freshly brewed. If you need anything else, I'll be in the living room."
"Thanks..."
She smiled once more, but when she turned away, Harry thought he saw a shadow of mourning cross her face. It reminded him of the conversation the Order had had last night. He thought it over slowly and concluded that the look in her eyes and the stilled, quiet atmosphere of the kitchen meant Draco had been told about his mother's disappearance.
A strained moment passed in the kitchen when she left, accompanied only by the occasional clunk of a spoon against a bowl from Ginny. She wasn't interesting in starting any conversations, to Harry's relief, and she had stopped starting at him, finally, but it didn't change that fact that they were three very different teenagers facing three very different lives. Harry realised just how strange it was that nobody but Ron and Hermione spoke as friends anymore.
Keeping his eyes down, he tried to eat his toast, but found it difficult. His mouth was dry and no amount of coffee helped him or made him feel awake. He wanted to understand how Draco was reacting to the news of Narcissa's disappearance, but he was reluctant to stare too much. He felt guilty for his burning interest, and felt that if he looked at anyone too directly today, they would see what he had done by the light that had fallen from his eyes. So, he stuck to glancing up in surreptitious curiosity every now and then.
From a series of nervous, uneven glances, he was able to get a clear idea on what Draco was going through. The first thing he noticed from the way he acted was that he hadn't touched his bowl of porridge. The heat evaporated in wisps of steam, going unnoticed, despite Draco's downcast eyes. Harry thought at first that he may have been given the news this morning, except there were no signs of grief on his face, no indication that he had been crying. Unless, Harry realised with a sinking sensation, he was still in a state of shock.
Harry hated to see the pain Draco showed and the way he paused with that mournful expression on his face, but he was transfixed. Despite his better judgement and the knowledge that it was Voldemort, and no on else, who had set the Malfoys up for failure, he blamed himself. It felt cruel, suddenly, that he had dragged Draco here, stuck under the Order's watchful gaze, confined to a bedroom that was not his own, with the world outside rapidly changing. He had no control over what happened to him and what was happening to his family...
"'Morning," said a groggy voice behind Harry, making him jump. Ron had arrived. Worse than this, he had caught Harry staring at Draco and he didn't look pleased.
"'Morning," Harry mumbled back, hastily raising a piece of toast to his mouth.
"What're you up to?" Ron asked, not wholly lighthearted enough to hide his sudden mistrust.
"Trying to wake up."
Ron said nothing, but remained where he was standing. Harry reached for the pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup. He heard the sound of lighter footsteps. Hermione was awake.
"Good morning," she greeted them all cheerfully.
Harry nodded at her as she took a seat next to him. She drew in a deep breath, sighing pleasantly and reaching for the coffee he had just put down.
"How are you all?" she asked.
"I'm good," Ginny answered, smiling at her.
"Fine," Harry murmured.
"Fantastic," answered Ron heavily, "assuming it's a good day to actually support the Order."
His words dragged forth heavy awkwardness. Harry glared at Ron, dropping his toast back onto his plate. Hermione glanced from Harry to Ron to Draco, pausing in her pouring. Draco glanced at her grimly and – without a word – stood up. In seconds, he was gone.
Hermione put her mug of coffee down with a heavy clunk to glare at Ron.
"What was that?" she demanded.
"What?" he asked, mocking innocence. "I'm only saying!"
She shook her head, bearing her teeth. Her good mood had evaporated. Harry thought he was safe from this argument, but Ron immediately turned on him rather than face Hermione himself.
"What're you speaking to Malfoy for, anyway?" he barked. "He's bad news."
"Who says I was speaking to him?" Harry asked scathingly, soon adding, "and if I were, what makes you think that's any of your business?"
"We're your mates," Ron stated. "We're supposed to protect you from trouble like him."
"Speak for yourself," Hermione told him. "I think Harry can speak to whomever he wants."
Ron tutted loudly, glaring at her. He moved across the room to fall into a seat next to Ginny, who diverted her attention from him, glancing up at Hermione in a half-apologetic gesture. Ron's tempter didn't cool, even when he began making himself a pile of breakfast. Harry watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowing.
"What's your problem?"
Ron glanced up at him unkindly and spoke through a mouthful of half-chewed food.
"He's my bloody problem. 'Shouldn't even be allowed near the Order, never mind in my house."
"He has as much right here as I do."
"You're my mate, though."
Harry couldn't say he agreed. He took a swig of burning coffee.
"You've got to stop trusting him, Harry. I'm telling you. It'll be the death of you."
Harry scowled. "Hilarious."
"I'm being honest! I really think he's still a Death Eater. Still passing on information."
"You also thought Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater at Hogwarts," Harry pointed out flatly, anger boiling within him. "Until he was – then you thought he had to be passing on information now."
"But he is!"
"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Hermione.
"He bloody is though!"
They both ignored him this time. Harry pushed away his plate of half-finished toast for good, feeling sick with anger. He drew in a deep breath, standing up.
"Where are you going?" Ron demanded.
"Away from you."
He didn't pay attention when Ron scoffed at him. He headed out the door, storming down the hall. Just as he was about to inquire where Tom was, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around, expecting Hermione. It was Ginny, however, who had followed him, her face alight with concern.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine..."
He glanced back down the hall, thankful that she had shut the door to the kitchen. Her pale face was illuminated in the diffused daylight that leaked through the nearest window, but it wasn't nearly as pale as Tom's face, which was visible towering over her shoulder. Harry felt suddenly nervous.
"Ignore Ron," Ginny told him flatly. "He's just been a prick for no reason, lately. He doesn't mean it."
Harry nodded stiffly, hoping she wasn't just being kind. It made him feel strangely comforted to hear this from her.
"It's not really me I care about, though," he murmured honestly. "It's just the way he deals with Malfoy. It's only getting worse..."
"I know."
He couldn't tell whether she cared about Draco's well-being or not. He was tempted to ask and to tell her about Narcissa's disappearance, but it felt too cruel, in case Draco didn't want people to know. He bit the inside of his lip instead, ignoring Tom, who paced past Ginny to stand beside him.
"You should speak to him," Ginny said. "Draco, I mean. He doesn't seem well, lately."
"I'm not sure he'd listen."
"True... but it could mean a lot to him to know not everyone here hates him."
She had a valid point. Harry didn't know how to express this to her. He was about to speak, until she blissfully smiled at him, taking a step back to end this conversation.
"That's all I wanted to say, anyway. I'll see you around, Harry."
"See you around..."
He was left dumbfound by her understanding, but comforted nonetheless. Rather than head back into the kitchen with her, he decided to make his way upstairs. At first, he was reluctant. Because, as he expected, he found the door to Percy's bedroom open. Malfoy was inside, organising something on his desk, his back to Harry.
Harry paused in the hallway, staring for a minute. With Tom at his shoulder, he struggled to decide whether it was rude to stick around. But Draco could have closed the door if he wanted to, he realised. He decided to speak.
"Can I come in?"
In annoyance or nerves, Draco tilted his head towards his voice, but didn't turn around.
"What do you want, Potter?"
"I wanted to talk."
"To gloat, you mean?"
Harry took a step further into the room, not caring he wasn't invited in. "No."
Draco said nothing. He turn to look at the window, completely away from Harry now.
"I know why you're upset," Harry said seriously. "I heard about your mother."
Draco didn't move. Harry cursed himself mentally for saying all of this so bluntly. He didn't know what else to do.
"I – I'm sorry that happened," he managed. "I hope she's alright."
Still, Draco didn't say a thing. His blond head bowed for a moment, his eyes cast down to the papers in his hands. His fingers clawed. Harry took this as a sign that he should leave. He backed away, mumbling a few lame words, suddenly regretting starting this conversation.
"I'll see you around, anyway..."
He turned away, not wanting any further interaction. It's the least he could do, to give Draco some privacy. On his way up the stairs, he cursed himself for his bluntness and felt oddly stressed, both because he blamed himself for what happened and he knew it was risky to let others know he was gaining information from the Order. He wished he could have done more than show up just to remind Draco his mother was missing and that people knew.
In the slow, stressful days that passed in the Burrow, nothing seemed to change. Ron was watching over him aggressively while Hermione stood by his side, only occasionally paused to show anger towards his bias hatred of Malfoy. Harry wanted so badly to be alone with Tom, to gather his thoughts about what was happening with the Malfoys, Dumbledore's disappearance, and his own safety, but there was no time. Any time he spent alone with Tom, he would push forward books on the Dark Arts, telling him it was essential that they read up and stay prepared.
Although Harry listened out for Order meeting over the next few days, staying up late and waking up early just to be sure he didn't miss any, he found that they didn't seem to have any big plans. There were death reports, inquiries about who's loyalty rested with the Order, and talk of gathering followers together to keep an eye out for Death Eater movements across Britain, but aside from this, no plans were being made to fight Voldemort. No one was chasing Death Eaters for information. The Order of the Phoenix put all of their efforts into defending themselves while they desperately awaited Dumbledore's return.
Nervously, Harry watched out for signs of the Order growing suspicious of his connection to Dumbledore's disappearance and found that no one yet suspected him. The more time he spent at risk of being named a suspect, the more terrified he grew in solitude, and his only distraction was to keep an eye on Malfoy. He noticed that although Malfoy met new people like Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley, and although he didn't connect with any of them, his usual haughtiness was gone. His spirits plummeted and his usual pride faded, until there was nothing left but worry on his face.
Almost a week passed before Harry spoke to Draco again. It was during a hissed conversation about the latest spell-book he was reading with Tom that someone knocked on Ron's half-open bedroom door.
Harry slammed the book in his hands shut with a muffled thunk, twisting around just as Malfoy's blond head became visible in the doorway.
"Can I come in?"
Harry's heart skipped a beat; he ducked down to stash the book underneath his bed.
"Yeah – er, come in.."
Draco pushed the door open. He didn't meet Harry's awaiting gaze, but scanned the room instead, as if to make sure they were alone.
"I heard Weasley and Granger heading out... I thought I might find you here."
"Right, yeah," Harry said distractedly, positioning himself at the very edge of his camp-bed in a vain attempt to conceal the book at his heels. He felt sick with nerves. "It's about the only time they've been away... What did you want to talk about?"
Draco didn't answer at once. Harry hoped he didn't hear his voice shaking. He became aware of Tom out of the corner of his eye, who stood up from Ron's bed slowly, examining Draco. Harry didn't feel the weight of the bed shift when he sat down, but he saw Tom nevertheless push the book back further underneath the camp-bed with the heel of his boot, unfazed.
"Were you busy?" Draco asked him suddenly.
"No," Harry lied.
Draco's eyes swept the room once more. "What were you doing?"
"I – I was about to go out. I don't fancy being stuck inside all day."
Draco nodded distractedly, standing very still. Harry pressed his lips together firmly, feeling strained.
"Do you want to sit down?"
The answer seemed to be 'no', but Draco considered it, tapped his fingers together restlessly with one hand, clenching a fist momentarily.
"I don't know how you can stand it here," he muttered. "It's an awful place..."
"I've been in worse situations."
Draco's gaze snapped up, alight with curiosity. Rays from the pale sun setting low behind wisps of foggy cloud outside caught in his irises, lightening them up. It was the first time he had looked directly at Harry in what felt like weeks. He showed a desperate interest and seemed to want to know, suddenly, what Harry's life had been like before Hogwarts, but he didn't ask. He looked terrified at the idea of his life changing now his parents were gone.
Blinking and turning away suddenly, Draco scowled at Ron's bed. It was the closest way to distract himself. He sat down on the very edge of the mattress.
"How did you find out about my mother?" he asked bluntly. His drawling tone was flat. "Who else knows?"
This, clearly, was his reason for being here. Harry struggled for words.
"Nobody," he said. "I was the only one who heard about it."
"And who told you?"
Draco was demanding as he always was, but there was audible fear in his tone too.
"I..."
When Tom didn't interject with any suggestions, Harry supposed he could tell the truth.
"I heard it from the Order."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "They told you?"
"No," he said hastily. He didn't dare mention he'd been listening at doors. "I sort of just..."
Draco waited. He was nervous and clearly didn't know how to ask Harry what he knew in any kind way. So he was defensive. His restlessness told Harry everything he needed to know.
"They don't tell us anything," Harry explained, "least of all me. But I found out anyway. It was an accident – no one else knows."
Draco stopped demanding more information, but glared nonetheless. He was assessing the situation, deciding whether or not to trust Harry. This was clear not through his thoughts – he had become too good an Occlumens for Harry to read – but through the way he wove his pale fingers together in his lap.
"What's bothering you?" Harry asked him quietly. He meant it seriously.
"Who says I'm bothered?"
Harry didn't need to answer. He waited. He wanted to calm Draco down.
"What else did you hear about my mother?" Draco asked him. "What did they say?"
Harry's heart sank. This is what he wanted to know. "I didn't hear anything you didn't hear. Not that I know of, anyway."
Draco winced. He struggled for a moment, making Harry wonder how many questions he was burning to ask and what information he was looking for, exactly. Draco may have been scared. He certainly looked it. The only thing that seemed to calm him down was the fact that Harry hadn't given any signs to indicate he'd heard worse news about Narcissa.
"I don't know what's taking the Order so long to find her..."
Draco's normally haughty, irritated demeanour was dulled, weakened by fear of the real world. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to deal with this. He clenched his jaw shut for a moment, swallowing to sooth his dry throat, and glancing at Draco's downcast expression reluctantly.
"They're doing everything they can to look for her," he said truthfully. "They won't stop until they have an answer for you."
It wasn't enough, clearly. Malfoy's face contorted in anger as if he wanted to demand better information, but Harry had nothing to do with the situation. Draco glowered at the corner of the room, barely holding in how he really felt.
"They're the best at what they do," Harry told him calmly. "They were a huge part of defeating Voldemort in the first war and they'll be a huge part in defeating him this time too."
"Don't..."
"What?"
"Don't say his name..."
The pain it inflicted in him made a cold shiver tear through Harry's abdomen. Draco had been trained to fear his Lord. That terror ran deep.
"Sorry," Harry murmured. "I didn't think–"
Tom stood up slowly. Harry would have ignored it, regularly, but his expression was blank and he seemed to be listening, suddenly, to something downstairs. Harry's eyes flickered up. He saw a slight tilt in Tom's attention and in his eyes, which shone in caution.
"We have to go..."
"I..."
Harry was stunned, struggling to react. Draco glanced up at him. He caught Harry turning away from Tom.
"Is something distracting you?"
"I, er..."
He waited. Harry's mind was on the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket.
"We have to go," Tom repeated. "The Order is gathering."
"I have to go..."
Draco winced, looking suddenly unkind. His expression turned into a scowl. "Why?"
Harry shook his head, standing up. It took everything to keep his eyes off of Tom, who stood expectantly in the middle of the room, waiting to go.
"Say your friends requested your company."
"Erm... I was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione."
"I'm surprised they aren't too busy with each other," Draco sneered, visibly offended.
"Yeah, well..."
"We haven't any time."
Harry started moving across the room, overwhelmed. "I'll speak to you later..."
He left Draco in Ron's bedroom, not even seeing him out of it.
With Tom, Harry tore down the staircase, slowing his footsteps only when he hit the second landing. His heart beat faster than the breaths he drew in and he felt suddenly alive with anxious expectancy. Tom stood close by and indicated they should head down toward the kitchen.
Harry withdrew his wand and the Cloak on his way down, throwing it over his shoulders.
"Why is this meeting important?" he hissed to Tom, who didn't crouch, but stood tall beside him.
"There are many witches and wizards gathering," Tom told him. "Tonight must be important..."
"They haven't said anything interesting in days."
"Listen, nonetheless..."
Harry did what Tom suggested. They were right outside the kitchen door. The amount of voices audible through cracks in the old wood made Harry nervous. If anyone came out of the kitchen, he'd have only a few seconds of warning before they made it down the hall...
"The wand, Harry."
Tom's long, delicate fingers were outstretched by his arm. Harry rummaged in his robed for Dumbledore's wand and passed it over. Tom thanked him quietly and began amplifying the sound past the door once more.
"There's been another attack."
Whoever said these words spoke them in urgency. That much was obvious from where Harry stood, crouched beneath the Cloak, waiting with baited breath.
"What are we going to do about the security here?" Remus asked them all next. "There are Death Eaters swarming several locations, including this house, searching for Harry. What can we do to hold them back?"
Harry pressed his lips together, a sinking sensation in his stomach. Tom's eyes gleamed in the shadows, resting on him in intent curiosity.
"The Ministry is helping to keep this place safe," said Kingsley sedately, "as well as our other headquarters."
"But without Dumbledore, we can't be sure we're safe for long," Lupin reminded them all. "There's no telling when the Ministry will be overwhelmed with Death Eaters infiltrating it."
"There's still time," said Kingsley. "There will be signs when the Ministry begins to weaken."
"There are already signs."
Harry tried to silently ask Tom what this meant, but his expression was serious and gave no indication of comfort.
"How much longer will our defences last?"
"Assuming Death Eaters are as far into the Ministry as we fear, it could be as little as a few weeks."
Nobody was glad to hear it. Lupin didn't say a thing. Harry felt an impending sense of dread he couldn't shake off.
"What's going to happen?" Mrs Weasley asked faintly. "Will we be safe until Harry can return to school?"
It was too much to take. She sounded so confident that Harry would be back at Hogwarts soon, safe for another year. He hated himself in that instant for the pain he was going to cause her.
"Dumbledore left us all clear instructions," said Lupin in a low voice. "Harry was meant to return to the Dursleys until his seventeenth Birthday..."
He was scared. Harry heard it in the seriousness of his voice, the way he didn't dare to speak his daunting thoughts too loudly, as if that might make it better. Every moment Harry stayed here summoned the Death Eaters more strongly. It was scaring the Order.
"You can't seriously consider going through with that?" asked Mrs Weasley indignantly. "The boy has been abused there all his life – they're Muggles, Remus, they can't protect him from Death Eaters!"
"It's what Dumbledore instructed."
"But none of us know why he instructed it!"
"Harry is an underage wizard. Since the Ministry is at risk of falling any day now –"
"Then he should be here when it falls, so we can protect him!"
The determination Mrs Weasley showed to protect him pained Harry like nothing else had. She didn't understand that he couldn't be here forever, nor in the safe walls of Hogwarts. Every moment he stayed under her roof increased risk of Voldemort breaking through the Ministry's protection to destroy everything and everyone who dared to protect him...
"Does anyone know where Mad-Eye is?" asked Tonks on another note. She was somber and restless. "I haven't heard a word from him in a week."
"He passed me information on Yaxley yesterday," said Kingsley. "He will be trailing him now."
"Is Mad-Eye still looking for clues on Dumbledore's whereabouts, then?"
In an instant, Harry froze.
"Yes. There's been no news..."
The voices fell silent. Harry gripped the edge of the wooden doorframe, pressing himself closer, but no sound escaped from cracks by his ear. Mad-Eye was the one searching for Dumbledore...
"Stay calm," came a hiss by Harry's ear.
Tom had moved closer. Harry tilted his head towards him, numb with disorientation.
Still, the Order didn't speak. Someone picked up a glass and drank from it.
It seemed painfully obvious that Moody would be the one on this case, but it paralysed Harry with coursing terror that spread like poison through his veins. Mad-Eye was the best Auror the Ministry had had throughout the first Wizarding War. He was a legend for uncovering secrets and hunting Death Eaters. If he was the one chasing Dumbledore's trail...
"Now isn't the time to panic," Tom hissed.
Harry shook his head, unable to answer. Say when Mad-Eye will be back, he thought desperately. Tell me how much he knows... He closed his eyes to listen harder to the conversation and to avoid Tom's wary eyes.
The Order was mumbling on. They gave more information and repeated news they'd heard, but Harry couldn't understand a word of it anymore. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, dizzying him. He stared into space, thinking about what would happen the minute Moody suspected he was connected to Dumbledore's disappearance. He knew the Order was already curious – the only thing stopping them from a direct inquiry was that they were sympathetic to how Dumbledore's absence affected him. They didn't want to scare him.
"...and Harry alone knows where he and Dumbledore went that night," someone was saying, their voice low. "If we asked him where they travelled to and why –"
"Then we would most certainly be breaching Dumbledore's trust, Podmore," came Lupin's response. "We must adapt; find a way to Dumbledore without risking that Harry spills vital information to whatever operations he was running prior to his disappearance."
A cold hand slid over Harry's. He flinched, momentarily amazed Tom could be felt, and realised he had reached for the door's latch. All he wanted was to hear the Order speak. His head span wildly and his heartbeat escalated in panic.
"We should go," Tom hissed by his side.
Without a word, without even thinking, Harry turned towards him. They both knew what all of this news meant. Moody would be tracking their trail. Death Eaters were already attempting to penetrate the Ministry's magic to kill him in his bed, risking the lives of everyone staying at the Burrow. The time had come for Harry to think about where he would go from here.
"What are we going to do, Tom?" he whispered.
There came only one response. "We'll wait..."
– X –
That night, Harry couldn't sleep. He spent well over an hour pacing Ron's bedroom. He couldn't sit down, couldn't clear his head. Tom watched, commenting soft observations every now and then, seeming grave but otherwise level-headed. Harry couldn't take what was happening. He felt a frantic desire to get as far away from the Order as possible.
"What can we do to prevent this?" Harry asked desperately. "How are we going to get out of this, Tom?"
"I've only one answer for that..."
"Reading books isn't enough!"
Tom rarely agreed. He sat back on Harry's bed, running his fingers along the spine of a large text on Transfiguration.
"I will teach you magic," he said gently, "but first, we must know the proper defences..."
In an attempt to make at least some progress in defending himself, Harry eventually gave in to Tom's request, moving across the room irritably and picking up an old book, but he wasn't pleased to. Nothing he did could calm his panicked state of mind. Tom talked him through the magic inscribed on the pages with subtle, soothing calmness. From that very night, they began doubling their usual training.
Harry was starting to get obsessed. He stayed up late reading under the covers in the light of his wand when he knew Ron was asleep and woke up in the morning with a mind immediately set on squeezing in an hour of reading before breakfast. Tom took up the habit of sitting by his side every day to make comments on the work in his hand and offer advice. In a week, Harry got through two of the huge books waiting for him at the bottom of his trunk.
There wasn't a more important time than now for Harry to remain cautious about studying the Dark Arts, but through his haste to get things done, he began taking higher risks and putting off more tasks just to be alone with his books. He was terrified of the day Lupin or Tonks or someone else would come knocking on his door, asking about Dumbledore. He failed to foresee that before this happened, someone else came barging into his bedroom. It was Hermione. She hadn't knocked.
"There you are," she said, clutching a bag over one shoulder, "I thought you may have been here with –"
There was a heavy thunk as a book fell in the middle of the room. Tom had been holding it. Hermione had seen it floating. To make matters worse, Harry scrambled up in the bed, closing another Dark Arts books in his hands.
Hermione's lips were parted. Her brown eyes focused in on the book on the ground, where it had fallen on its pages, some of them slipping out. There was a photograph of the most horrific Transfiguration.
"What were you reading?" she asked slowly.
"It's nothing," said Harry quickly, springing up and hurriedly piling together pages of 'Disambiguation of Drastic Deformation'.
"What were you reading this for?"
Her quiet voice shook. This was the only thing warning Harry of her alarm, because he didn't dare to look at her face. His skin burned in embarrassment and nerves.
"They're from Dumbledore," he lied. "To – to educate me."
She wasn't convinced. Watching him, she stood perfectly still, as if terrified he may do something irrational. Any trust she may have felt for him fell to pieces in that moment. Harry could sense it.
"You've never mentioned these before, Harry. Not even when I showed you the books on Horcruxes..."
"Yeah, well, Dumbledore gave me these personally, didn't he?"
Harry didn't even know what he was saying. He tone was all over the place. He just wanted her to go away. Grabbing the nearest rucksack, he threw the books inside to busy himself and to conceal the title of a slightly worse book still. Tom stood by his shoulder, watching over him.
"Did he ban you from showing Ron and I?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Yeah," Harry answered. It was all he could say. "It's just to prepare me for what's out there..."
"And what about us?"
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You'll be safe at Hogwarts..."
She didn't respond at once, but seemed conflicted.
"Right," she whispered. "Well, I should probably find Ron..."
Harry nodded once and let her go. She couldn't leave fast enough. He was aware how badly he had fucked up, especially as Tom, too, was grave.
Harry made a point of going downstairs early for lunch soon after, to keep an eye on Ron and Hermione and to make sure they didn't worry about him, but he had to force himself. He was terrified. The rush of fear he felt and the crushing anxiety that followed it kept him on edge all day and awake all night. As soon as Ron was asleep, he decided to go downstairs, to clear his head.
It was upon heading down to the living room with Tom at his heels that Harry found Draco was wandering the house too. He mustn't have been able to sleep. They met crossing the hall.
"What are you doing up?" Draco asked him.
"I could ask you the same."
Harry didn't mean it harshly. Draco seemed to assume as much. It was just habit. Harry would have gone on to mention he had somewhere to go, but Draco was staring at him oddly. He blocked the hallway, pausing.
"What is it?" Harry demanded quietly.
"What are you up to, Potter?"
He meant it sternly. His narrowed eyes were curious.
"Why would I be up to anything?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He was holding something back.
"Granger and Weaselbee seem concerned about you," he said slowly.
Harry knew that tone. He knew that look. His mouth was suddenly dry. "Yeah? How's that?"
"I overheard them talking. They seem convinced you've been reading into dangerous subjects..."
Something in his grey eyes told Harry he was convinced something bad was happening. Worse than this, he wasn't gloating. He wasn't mocking. He meant to understand what Harry was thinking.
Harry wanted to deny it, but his mouth felt very dry now and he knew he couldn't fake calmness. So he turned to anger.
"Yeah?" he asked, laughing coldly. "What sort of subjects?"
Draco didn't answer. He was serious. It's the worst response he could have given. Harry felt suddenly self-conscious and lightheaded with nerves. If word was getting out that he was reading up on the Dark Arts, what might the Order do about it? He cringed at the thought. What would the Weasleys think of him?
"Where did you hear that, anyway?" he demanded, angry now.
"I'm not the only one who listens at doors, Potter."
Harry thought immediately of Narcissa and realised Draco was keeping an eye on everything in the Burrow to make sure no one was hushing up the truth about the war. It only made sense. He should have foreseen this.
"So, what are you up to, Potter?" Draco asked him again. He hadn't turned his attention away once during this conversation.
"What makes you think I'd tell you?"
"Granger and Weaselbee aren't as close to you, anymore."
Harry glared, but found he didn't have a response. This was the truth. Ron and Hermione were scared.
"They don't act like they used to around you," Draco mentioned. "I'd be surprised if they even knew you spoke to me at all. Whatever you're up to, it's scaring them off."
"Why are you saying this?"
"Because it's true, Potter. Don't let them abandon you on their terms. You should know what's happening."
Harry wanted to laugh in disbelief, but couldn't manage it. "They're my friends."
Draco wasn't convinced. Nor did he gloat about it. "I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you..."
Without another word, Harry glared and barged past Draco. He didn't want to hear him talk anymore. Draco seemed to think that's all he needed to say, because he didn't follow Harry, didn't bother talking to him. Harry tried to ignore him as soon as he left, but it stuck at the back of his head. Even through wondering who else knew about his new fascination with the Dark Arts, he worried that Draco's opinion had been more of a warning than anything. So he decided to keep an eye out for changes in Ron and Hermione's behaviour. What he found the next day put his suspicions to rest.
It was just after dinner, at around nine O'clock at night. Harry had spent the day worrying what Ron and Hermione thought of him, so he planned to do what Draco did and eavesdrop on their conversation that night. With the Cloak in his pocket, he headed up to Ron's bedroom from the kitchen, expecting to find Ron and Hermione there, but on his way up he spotted two figures sitting on the porch outside, looking at the setting sun. It was Ron and Hermione. They were sitting close together, hands clasped, Hermione's head on Ron's shoulder.
Harry realised in that moment how close they'd become in the time they'd spent alone. He realised, too, how peaceful they looked on their own, without him hanging around. Through all the pain he inflicted and the worry he infected them with due to his distance and strange behaviour, they found each other. It was all they needed. It was probably all they ever wanted, as well.
In a strange daze, Harry turned away from them. He headed up the stairs. He knew what all of this meant.
"What is the matter?" someone hissed behind him. It was Tom. He sounded worried.
"They've given up on me..."
Tom was concerned, but Harry didn't stop to talk here. They needed to be alone first. He was heading straight for Ron's bedroom.
"Potter?"
Only then did he stop. Percy's bedroom door was open and there, standing on the landing in front of him, was Draco. Harry wanted so badly for him to go away. It showed on his expression.
"What happened?" Draco asked him.
"Nothing's happened..."
"Potter, if you honestly think you can hide your irritation from me –"
Harry wasn't listening. He moved forwards, attempting to get past him. "Clear off, Malfoy..."
"Don't be bitter with me, Potter. I'm trying to help you."
"What if I don't want your help?"
Draco's expression was cold. "You should take my advice while you can."
Harry wanted to ignore him, but something about his tone made him pause.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
By this point, a shadow had fallen across Draco's face. He turned away slightly, opening up the hallway a little more.
"You have two good friends, Potter. Don't throw that away. Not when you'll need all the help you can get..."
Harry had no idea why Draco would give him this advice, no matter how cruel. It gave him a horrid sense of foreboding.
"What's gotten into you, Malfoy?"
Draco didn't answer. Harry watched him closely; his expression turned suddenly sour.
"Keep your friends close, Potter..."
With that, he strode past Harry and Tom, down the wooden staircase. Harry had no idea what was bothering him. He didn't see him again that night.
It wasn't until the next day that Harry learnt what had changed. From under the Invisibility Cloak, he had Tom snuck down to the Burrow's kitchen in the hope of hearing more information on the Order of the Phoenix. What surprised Harry, however, was that Lupin had already arrived at the house early. He wasn't in the kitchen, but in the living room instead, where the door had been closed. He was speaking to Draco. This told Harry everything he needed to know.
Narcissa Malfoy had been found dead. Lupin explained this as calmly as he could in the quiet living room, but no amount of reassurance could lighten the pain the news inflicted. Harry stood frozen underneath the Cloak, unable to take in anything that was said, but knowing the meaning of the words that washed over him. Despite the Order's attempts to outsmart the Death Eaters in their search for Draco's mother, they had failed to gain the upper hand. It was a brutal fight. Even the Ministry and the Daily Prophet knew what had happened.
"You promised me!" Draco shouted, his broken voice echoing through the hall. "You said you could find her – you said you could save her!"
Lupin didn't attempt to deny it. He knew this pain. It was clear from his shaking voice.
Draco fled from the front room after only a few minutes. Harry didn't look up to see his face. He knew his eyes would be red, his face contorted in a pained, shocked look of anguish. He stayed crouched beneath the Cloak, half-wishing he hadn't overheard this conversation. As if that would make it go away.
When Harry eventually decided to move, he started by glancing towards the staircase Malfoy had fled up. There was no way he'd dare to go up there. It was too early, too soon. So, feeling dazed, he staggered to his feet a little, turning towards Tom's whisper that they should listen to the Order speak. It wasn't a good meeting. Harry spent the whole time transfixed to the way everyone in the Order shamefully addressed the fact that they had failed to keep Narcissa alive.
When it became too stressful to listen any longer, Harry headed back to Ron's bedroom. He barely spoke about it, but Tom seemed to understand. It was nearly midnight and the Order hadn't made any obvious progress in their other projects. To his dismay, Percy's bedroom door was open and there, sitting in the end of his bed, his back to Harry, was Draco. Harry stopped walking and he knew Malfoy heard his footsteps, but he was temped to carry on, to not say a word. Guilt got the better of him.
"Draco?"
There was no response. He didn't know what he expected. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say.
"I... I know how you feel," he managed. "Losing someone."
Silence. Harry forced himself to carry on.
"I know what you're going through and..."
He wanted to say that he knew how much pain Draco was about to feel. He wanted to say that although it feels like it's going to last forever, it won't. Because death is natural. But the words never came. There was only one thing he could say.
"Our mothers died to protect us... That's more than most people have."
Draco's head bowed at once. He held his face in his hands, his fingers clawed on his hairline. Harry understood he should leave. The only reason Malfoy didn't tell him to go away, doubtlessly, was he feared the way his voice would crack and fall under the anguish he felt. Harry left. He made his footsteps obvious, closed the door, and didn't say a single word.
The next morning, he awoke feeling strange. It was early and the sun was barely up; all he saw outside was a pastel whirl of purple, yellow, and white. Ron was asleep. The room was perfectly quiet. Harry would have drifted off to sleep again, if he didn't feel suddenly wide awake, driven by a sense of foreboding. He reached for his glasses. Staggering up, he grabbed his wand too, trying to make as little noise as possible getting out of bed. He needed something to drink, or at least to wash his face, to get up. He was stuck wondering whether last night had been a horrid dream.
On his way down to the bathroom, after slipping from Ron's room, something caught his eye. There was light shining through Percy's bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. This – Harry realised in his groggy state of mind – meant that Malfoy had to be awake. So, with a sudden conviction that this is what he sensed, Harry knocked on the door. There came no response. He knocked again, pushing the door open wider. Still, no one moved, no one spoke. Harry headed into the room, brow furrowed, looking around.
Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. The curtains were open, soft sunlight filtering in. The bed had been made. There, sitting neatly on a pillow, was a note. Harry's heart started racing. He moved forwards at once.
He couldn't keep his hands stable when he fumbled to unfold the parchment. There was a design on the front of it, the Malfoy Family Crest. Unable to think why, he read the message inside, which was scrawled in rushed, slender handwriting:
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Don't follow me. Don't tell them where I've been.
Harry's eyes slid across the single line of writing once. He paused and read it again. It didn't make more sense. A third time, he felt sick. Draco had given up; that wash is first thought. To join the Dark Lord, or to look for his mother in futile hope, or to run on his own. Whatever the reason, it terrified Harry. The war had turned brutal. He didn't know how Draco was supposed to survive on his own...
Footsteps made a sound behind him, but didn't fret. He knew it was Tom. Some part of him, subconscious or not, had asked for company, because he couldn't deal with this alone. He kept staring down at the thick piece of parchment, believing – not in vanity – that it was written specifically for him. Don't tell them where I've been...
"What's happened?" Tom inquired softly.
Harry tried to shake his head. His throat felt sore. "He's run away..."
It was only then that he realised the room had been cleared out. There were none of Draco's school supplies around, no books, no clothes, no trunk at the end of Percy's bed. There was only an empty ink-pot on a dresser and the note in Harry's hands.
Looking up seemed to have broken some kind of curse. In the light of the early morning sunrise, Harry examined Percy's room and realised then just how unfitting it was for Draco. He must have felt he didn't belong here. In a house of a family he had hated for years, in a bedroom of someone he didn't even know. He must have felt that – especially after Order meetings – he wasn't meant to be here. His choice to leave filled Harry with a sudden sense of rightness, despite his belief that the world outside was too dangerous to survive in alone. Draco had lost everything. Nobody could save him but himself now...
"I suppose it is no surprise," Tom observed.
Harry could only whisper his response. "Why's that?"
Tom straightened up, doubtlessly glancing out across the garden over Harry's shoulder.
"You are either the safest or the most dangerous wizard to be around, as the Chosen One," Tom explained. "Draco would not have wanted to take that risk..."
Especially after the Order's terror, Harry realised. It wasn't easy to realise. It made him feel oddly lonely.
Tom didn't say another word. Nor did Harry make a response. He didn't even mind it when Tom reached for the note in his hand, gently taking it away and placing it back on the pillow. Harry didn't feel like he could have willingly done it himself. It stopped him from obsessing over the question of where Draco had gone, where he was going, and what would happen to him now. Harry turned away from the room. From there, he kept walking.
He felt no desire to wake anyone up or start a panic about Draco's whereabouts. The least he could do, knowing Draco's state of mind, was give him a few hours' head start in front of the Order. This was his decision, after all, his life. Harry really couldn't bring himself to interfere. He trusted Draco wasn't stupid or brave enough to go after the Death Eaters and Voldemort alone. He had a feeling Draco might try to avoid the war altogether, to get as far away from the Order and Death Eaters as possible. They were the two most dangerous groups, alongside the Ministry. Anyone smart enough to survive the war would first of all avoid them.
Harry lay in bed, but didn't sleep. All he could think about was the amount of men and women, witches and wizards, dying from the early dawn of this war. Things were already getting terrible. Everyone knew it. He knew it from the way the Order's spirits were plummeting, the way they tried to protect Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Draco, and him from the inevitable death of people they cared about. Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, Harry felt as if this was the last moment of peace he'd have for a very long time. So for hours, he lay where he was, waiting, glad that Ron could sleep a few more hours without being disturbed...
Later that day, when the Weasleys discovered Draco's note, there was an immediate change in the Burrow. Everyone who didn't know about Narcissa's death waited in alarm to understand where Draco had gone and why. Fighters from the Order were called in at once and – to no surprise – a meeting was called by midday. Stories flooded in and out about nobody being able to chase Draco's trail. Even Aurors, even distant spies, hadn't heard a word. But surprisingly, Harry felt distanced from their panic. If the Order couldn't find Draco, he might have had a chance at hiding from the Death Eaters too. It calmed Harry down to believe it.
By nightfall, no progress was made in finding Draco, but everyone knew about Narcissa Malfoy's death now. Ron and Hermione were eager to talk it over up in Ron's bedroom, but Harry wasn't interested. He hadn't even told them that he was the one who discovered Draco's note. He hadn't mentioned he was listening in to Lupin breaking the news, or how Draco's crying still haunted him. Instead, he stayed silent. With the Cloak in his pocket, he headed downstairs to listen to the next Order meeting. It was going to be important. Without thinking, he was drawn to it.
"The Order will doubtlessly relate other plans to their search for Draco," Tom hissed calmly, following Harry into the darkened hall. "Then we shall know what they're up to."
Harry let him speak, but didn't join in. He was trying to get the Cloak out of his pocket, feeling paranoid that someone was watching him. He could already hear chairs moving in the kitchen and the faint 'crack' of witches and wizards Apparating into the garden. He was just about to head into the hall between the living room and kitchen, when suddenly someone spoke.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Harry jumped back, reaching for his wand. He felt embarrassed the moment he did, because it was only Ginny, but his heart was hammering in his chest.
"Ginny! What are you doing here?"
"The same thing you are, clearly."
Harry couldn't tell if this was a trick. He glanced at the door behind her. "Yeah?"
She straightened up slowly, giving him a pointedly casual look as she stepped from the shadows.
"It's important to stay on top of these things," she said. "Even if Ron and Hermione don't care about Malfoy."
"So, you're curious about what the Order has to say too, then?"
She stared at him seriously. "I'm scared. For all of us."
Harry tried to nod, as if this made sense. He still felt nervous. He wasn't sure how much he could trust her, even if he wanted to believe that she understood him. There was nothing he could do but swallow a few times, trying to shake it off.
"Yeah, well..."
Ginny was rummaging for something in her pocket. She withdrew two Extendable Ears, passing Harry one. He felt relieved, suddenly, that he'd be able to hear without asking Tom for help.
"Thanks."
He was about to put the ear on, before he noticed Ginny staring at him. She looked concerned, distracted.
"What's wrong?" he asked her.
"Nothing," she said slowly. "It's just... have you noticed Ron and Hermione lately?"
"What about them?"
"They're getting close now, aren't they?"
"Oh. Yeah, I suppose..."
Harry had no idea why she mentioned it. She looked worried and even winced, as if it was somehow a strain to talk about it.
"I guess this was always going to happen," she murmured.
Harry couldn't tell why she as bothered. He supposed she might have felt bad for him being the official third-wheel now. He wasn't sure. Nor did he particularly care. It wasn't relevant.
"Are you ready?" she asked, changing the subject.
He nodded. The voices in the kitchen were getting louder. As they put the Extendable Ears on, feeding them underneath the door, Harry realised the Order had thankfully forgotten to put up defences in their rush to share information on Draco. When Harry's hands were free, he reached for the Cloak and draped it over Ginny and himself, glad, suddenly, that they could stand together as friends.
"...indicates that the Malfoy Manor is in use," came Lupin's voice, "but Draco is most certainly not inside."
"Unless he decided to join up with the Death Eaters again," Bill suggested.
"Why would he?" asked Tonks. "He'd never go back to them after what they did to his mum."
"People have done stranger things," Bill murmured darkly.
Nobody argued with either of these points. Harry glanced furtively at Ginny, who seemed to be trying to make sense of it.
"Zhis is not what I expected from zuh boy."
Harry recognised the last voice as Fleur's. She sounded shaken, but solid in her attempt to express her feelings. He could picture her shaking her head, her arms folded as usual.
"He must be trying to avoid the war," Tonks explained.
"Do you really think there are Death Eaters inside the Manor, then?" asked Charlie.
"It's been confirmed, yes," said Lupin.
"Some of us should keep an eye out for movements."
"It's already being done."
"Do you think it's enough?"
"We'll only know with time."
At this, they all fell quiet. Harry felt as if they were waiting for something. It was a moment until he realised he was right. There was a roar of flames that made him flinch and the sound of people moving.
"Professor McGonagall – "
"There'll be no need for that, Mr Weasley," said McGonagall promptly, referring to Charlie. "I can stand well enough, thank you."
Harry felt a burning rush of anxiety mixed with hope. If McGonagall was being called down from Hogwarts, there must be something important going on up there.
"What's the news?" asked Tonks eagerly.
"Has the boy contacted you?" Mrs Weasley inquired.
"No, I'm afraid he hasn't," McGonagall explained, "but progress is being made. If we can't find Draco by morning, I suggest we start a full-scale search across the country. I've already contacted the Ministry, as Kingsley doubtlessly informed you all."
"You don't think the Ministry will tip off the Death Eaters?"
"I'm sure the Death Eaters will be prepared enough as it is for signs of their most wanted enemies wandering the streets alone."
"What can we do in the meantime, Professor?"
McGonagall drew in a great breath, sighing. Harry listened to her every word.
"I'm afraid we're doing all we can... We must search the obvious places first, hopefully to gain at least some clue on Draco's whereabouts. Moody is already leading the search."
"And what about Snape?" asked Charlie.
Harry froze. This was the first time someone had mentioned Snape since his death.
"I doubt Severus will reveal Draco's disappearance, despite your concern, Mr Weasley."
Blinking, Harry shook his head once. Was McGonagall making a dry joke?
"He already knows too much," Charlie argued. "It's dangerous, Professor. How can you trust him, knowing he ran from Hogwarts with the Death Eaters?"
The whole world seemed to stop. Harry was convinced he had heard Charlie wrong. He reached a hand up to his ear, his brow furrowed, his heart racing. Forgetting Ginny, who was crouched beside him, he turned to look at Tom, searching for an explanation.
Tom was standing very still. His face shone with more terror than Harry had ever seen him express before, and in that moment, he realised exactly what was happening. Snape was supposed to be dead. Snape was supposed to die after making the Unbreakable Vow, after failing to be the one who killed Dumbledore...
"Dumbledore believed in the loyalty Severus expressed," McGonagall explained, what felt like a hundred miles way. "It is our duty to carry on trusting him."
Harry's heart beat so fast, it pained his chest. He was dizzy, trying to stay still, full of so much fear that he could have sprung up at any moment to leave the hallway blindly, to get out of here as fast as humanly possible. He shook so much that Ginny turned to look at him, her burning gazed fixed on his blood-drained face. She looked suddenly frightened.
"Harry," she whispered, "what's wrong?"
He tried to shake his head, tried desperately not to be sick. A shadow told him Tom had moved closer. Through the Cloak, he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.
"Harry?"
He didn't know whether to move, where to go. Ginny wouldn't stop staring at him. She started standing up, grabbing his other arm. He felt torn and restless, unable to think. Snape and Mad-Eye would both be on his trail. Snape and Mad-Eye, overlooking both Voldemort's reign and the Order of the Phoenix's plans, tracking Harry's movements, keeping an eye on him...
"We must get away from here," Tom hissed by his ear. He had moved closer. Harry didn't dare look back at him.
"Harry," Ginny whispered again, "what's happening?"
It was in that moment that Harry felt Tom escape the shadow of a physical form and go right back into his ghostly state of being. Something numb spread from his arm, moving up his chest. As gently as he could manage, he tore his arm from Ginny's grasp, stepping away. He removed the Extendable Ear. He felt Tom possessing him, spreading from his chest to his neck. He felt Tom's arms around him, moving in, taking full possession of him.
Ginny said something in a desperate whisper, but he could no longer hear her. He moved away, gripping the Cloak close to him, staying invisible. He felt Tom in his head, blinding him. His own panic faded to a dull hum, being replaced by an equally as deep but nowhere as physical sense of fear. Tom had total control of his limbs. From his disembodied point of view, he walking them straight upstairs, pausing at nothing, full of terror that shook Harry to a stop.
He was murmuring words to himself. What he was saying, he had no idea, but he had only one goal. To get out of here as soon as possible. Because, as Tom explained to him in his own head, if Snape was alive, Dumbledore might be too. If Snape was alive, it meant they could have the most dangerous man in the entire wizarding world whispering theories into Lord Voldemort's ear...