Chapter One Hundred and Two - A Visit from Padfoot
Draco sat alone in the common room. It wasn't that the common room was empty. There were plenty of students studying, chatting, or otherwise going about their day. Still, Draco was by himself. He had a textbook open on his lap, but he wasn't reading. His eyes gazed passively at the roaring fire across from his seat, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.
"Is it true you're the new Slytherin chaser?"
His smile fell as Pansy Parkinson approached. In the past, Draco would have held court in the common room following the Quidditch tryouts. Pansy would have been among the crowd of adoring onlookers as he recounted every twist and turn of his aerial acrobatics. But that was all in the past, and the scowl that replaced Draco's smile showed that Pansy's betrayal would not be soon forgotten.
"Yeah," said Draco, slowly rising to his feet. He began collecting his neglected study materials while Pansy dithered by his side.
"I always thought you were a fantastic flier," she added, her simpering tone an approximation of how she sounded when she used to flirt with him. "But I thought you'd've tried to get your seeker position back from…"
"Potter's a better seeker than I am," Draco said, turning for the first time to look Pansy in the face, as if daring her to contradict him.
Pansy paled as she met his thorny gaze, though she set her mouth in a firm line and spat, "I don't know what's gotten into you, Draco. First this row with Crabbe and Goyle, now you're sticking up for Potter? What's happened to you?"
"Draco!" interrupted a friendly voice from across the room.
He turned, surprised to see that it was Daphne Greengrass who called to him. Her friend Tracey Davis sat by her side, biting her lip as she watched Draco and Pansy argue. From the smile on Daphne's face, you would think she hadn't noticed anything unusual.
"Come sit with us!" Daphne called again when Draco merely stared, "You're good with potions right? Can you help us with Snape's essay?"
Draco spared one last glance at Pansy, shrugged, and accepted Daphne's invitation. It was clear Pansy wasn't welcome in their small group, and she stalked away, fists clenched at her failure to ensnare her former favorite.
Harry watched the scene unfold from the shadows of a recessed corner. Curled up in a plush black armchair, he was able to keep an eye on Draco without being observed himself, with the one exception of a mermaid, who hovered curiously outside the window next to him.
After the tryouts that morning, Harry had pulled Warrington aside. He had asked him not to tell Draco, or anyone else for that matter, that it was Harry who fought for Draco's position on the team. Warrington, who had nothing to gain from unnecessary gossip, merely shrugged and allowed Harry to have his own way.
Harry was glad that Draco didn't know of his involvement, but that didn't stop him from worrying about Draco's precarious position in Slytherin House overall. He continued to watch him a few minutes longer, until he was satisfied that Daphne and Tracey had Draco under their kind supervision. Once the trio seemed completely engrossed in their essays, Harry was free to return to the task at hand.
On the small table placed beside his chair was a half-written letter. Harry hadn't received any news from Sirius or Remus all week. He knew that their business with the Order made communication difficult. Any of their letters could be intercepted, whether by the watchful Ministry or by agents of Lord Voldemort. Still, it was strange for him to receive no news at all, and he was anxious to know how Sirius's recovery was going.
He had resolved to take matters into his own hands. Picking up the creased bit of parchment, Harry re-read what he had scrawled so far:
Dear Padfoot,
Hope you're feeling better. The first week here has been lousy. We've got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She's nearly as nice as your mum.
Harry paused. He felt as though there was so much more he wanted to tell Sirius, but he couldn't find a way to fit it all in a letter, much less one he had to write in carefully worded code. After further consideration, he added:
Cousin Cissy may be interested to know that we have a new chaser. We're excited to have Junior on the team.
Harry paused again and heaved a heavy sigh. It wasn't his best composition, but he didn't know if Draco had any communication from his mother since the start of term. As a governor of the school, Mrs. Malfoy might fear her husband's influence too much to risk writing to Draco herself. Harry read and re-read his letter, twirling his feathered quill between his fingertips. Finally, he resolved to keep his message short, and concluded with:
We're all missing our biggest friend. We hope he'll be back soon. Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
Satisfied that nothing of real value would be gained from reading this message, even if it was intercepted, Harry sealed the note and retreated to his dormitory, leaving Draco in the care of Daphne and Tracey.
Harry was out of bed early the following day. It was a beautiful morning. He kept his eyes trained on the blue sky as he walked the many stairs to the Owlery. It was tempting to take his broom out for a bit of solo practice, but he had promised to meet Blaise and Millie in the Chamber of Secrets later that morning.
Practicing defensive magic in secret had been his idea, but after a grueling week of classes and homework, he felt he deserved a break. He was busy weighing his options when he nearly tripped over Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat. She looked up at him with her lamplike eyes, hardly disturbed by the near-collision, and mewed peevishly.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" Harry called after her as she dashed around a corner out of sight. He had the distinct impression that the cat had been following him, or was at the very least lying in wait for someone to pass by. He wasn't sure what gave him this idea, but Mrs. Norris was usually not far from Filch, and the last thing Harry needed was a lecture from the caretaker over some offense he had not caused. Harry picked up the pace, hoping to finish his errand before any more unexpected encounters took place.
It didn't take long for him to locate Hedwig's snowy white form among the other owls. She fluttered down helpfully upon seeing Harry, and after accepting an affectionate pat, extended her leg for his letter.
"This is for Sirius," Harry explained as he tied the small roll of parchment to her leg, "But I want you to take it to the post office in Diagon Alley. He'll pick it up there."
Hedwig blinked her large amber eyes at him slowly. Harry took this to mean that she understood.
After bidding her a safe flight, Harry remained in the tower a few minutes more. He knew he should head down to the common room. Millie and Blaise must be up by now. Perhaps they were already headed to breakfast. But the temptation of the beautiful autumn day was too much to resist. Harry leaned against the stone parapet of the tower, staring out across the grounds toward the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
Suddenly, a dark, winged figure shot above the treeline, circling in a great arch before diving back down. It was one of the skeletal horses again. The sight of it in broad daylight, even at this distance, gave Harry the creeps. He found himself wishing for Hagrid again when the Owlery door swung open behind him. Harry turned, startled by the sudden intrusion, and saw that it was only Cedric Diggory, holding a package in his arms.
"Oh… Good morning!" said Cedric, clearly as surprised to see Harry as Harry had been surprised to see him.
"Hello," Harry said. Their greeting felt awkward, and Harry was sure it wasn't just because Cedric hadn't expected to find anyone there. The last time they'd spoken had been during their wand-making class, and Harry wasn't keen to revive that particular conversation.
He tried to sidle past Cedric, but was stopped when he said, "Actually, it's rather lucky meeting you like this. I've been wanting to talk to you."
"About what?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.
Cedric shifted the box in his arms uncomfortably. "Well… It's about the tournament…"
"Look, I'm sorry for hexing you when we were both so close to the Cup. You can have the prize money if you want. I haven't even touched it since…"
"This isn't a shakedown!" interrupted Cedric, clearly offended that Harry would assume such a thing, "I'm not mad that you beat me, Harry. It's what happened after that…"
Harry's mind flashed back to the graveyard. The torture, the frantic escape, Professor Moody's death…
"I don't want to talk about it," he said flatly.
For a moment, it looked as though Cedric would relent. But he was determined, perhaps even a little stubborn, for he set his shoulders and declared, "You said as much last year. I wanted to respect your feelings, but Professor Moody is dead, and you were the only witness to what really happened!"
"What really happened?" Harry countered angrily, "What? You've been listening to the rumors? You think that I'm responsible? That I'm some kind of murderer?"
"No! Harry, I didn't say…"
"But that's what the rest of the school thinks, isn't it? They all think that what Dumbledore said was just a cover-up… That I had something to do with…"
Before Harry could say more, the door behind Cedric burst open again, and Filch ran forward, panting heavily.
"Got a tip!" he said between gasps. "You're trying to place an order for dungbombs!"
Harry and Cedric both goggled at him. For a moment, it wasn't clear which of the two boys he was accusing, but of course his bulging eyes predictably fixed on Harry.
"That's ridiculous," he coolly responded, "Who told you that?"
"Anonymous tip," said Filch with an unconvincing sniff.
"Did that anonymous tip come on four legs with a tail?" Harry asked, feeling rather testy about being questioned by two people this early in the morning.
"Harry's telling the truth," Cedric rejoined, "I was here when Harry posted his letter. It wasn't an order for dungbombs."
"A likely story," muttered Filch, "How do I know you're not in league with Potter?"
Cedric's chest swelled with indignation, causing the badge on his chest to catch the light. Its reflected radiance shined into Filch's eyes, causing his bulging eyes to squint.
"I happen to be Head Boy," Cedric replied haughtily. "If I suspected Potter of any wrongdoing, I'd have deducted points from his house and reported him myself."
Filch, realizing there was nothing more to be gained by standing there and demanding to see a letter that was long gone, retreated in angry disappointment, muttering threats that Harry didn't bother to attend to.
"Thanks," Harry said when he and Cedric were alone again. He was impressed. He hadn't expected Cedric to lie to a staff member, even if it was only Filch.
It was this small gesture of camaraderie that softened Harry more than any reasoning from Cedric could have done. He found himself more willing to believe Cedric when he said, "I don't think you've done anything wrong, Harry. But I do think you do know more about what's been going on… Please, I just want to know… What exactly are we facing here?"
Cedric's father worked for the Ministry. That alone gave Harry enough reason not to trust him. But Harry didn't think Cedric was dishonest. If anything, he thought he understood what Cedric must be going through. With only his father and the Daily Prophet supplying his information, Cedric wasn't getting the full story. It must have been frustrating. Almost as frustrating as living in Grimmauld Place, but being unable to join the Order.
"Fine. I'll tell you," Harry relented before glancing pointedly at the door through which Filch had disappeared, "But not here. And not now."
"When?" Cedric asked, both anxious and clearly excited.
"We'll meet in Hogsmeade," Harry promised, "The first break we get. At the Three Broomsticks."
They shook hands on the deal, and Harry left Cedric to post his package.
He felt strangely relieved at the prospect of talking openly with Cedric, though he was glad he had given himself some time to prepare. The mere thought of retelling his story filled him with dread, but at the same time, bringing Cedric into his confidence would provide him with another much-needed ally. He resolved to talk the matter over with Blaise and Millie. No doubt they would give him advice on what he could safely share with the Head Boy.
He made his way to the Great Hall, where he found Hermione and Neville already eating breakfast with Blaise and Millie. This was a common enough occurrence to no longer evince surprise, but what shocked Harry was the sight of Draco. He was sitting across the room at the Gryffindor table, placed comfortably between Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas, looking a bit shy but intensely pleased to be admitted among them.
Shaking his head at a world turned upside down, Harry noticed that Hermione had a copy of the Daily Prophet propped in front of her.
"Anything good about me in there?" he asked.
"Good? No…" replied Hermione absently, her eyes still flicking rapidly over the headlines.
"How can you keep reading that when it's been publishing such lies?" Millie asked.
Harry didn't think he would have asked the question in such a harsh tone, but he certainly sympathized with Millie's feelings. After all, Hermione had made derisive comments about the Quibbler. He wondered what made Hermione feel differently toward the Prophet.
"It's good to know what the enemy is saying," Hermione explained, "We might get some idea of how they'll act next."
Millie looked properly impressed. "I think you've been spending too much time with us. You're sounding more like a Slytherin every day."
"From you, that's a compliment," Hermione replied. Her search of the paper yielded nothing of interest, however, and she pushed it away with a sigh.
"Hold on," Millie said, snatching up the discarded pages.
"What is it?" Neville and Blaise asked in unison, leaning toward her to see what she had spotted that somehow evaded Hermione's notice.
Millie looked grave as she passed the paper over to Harry, her finger pointing to a particular article. It was a small passage, barely a couple of paragraphs long, but the headline announced an arrest at the Ministry of Magic. Harry recognized the name of Sturgis Podmore, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, who had been apprehended for trespass early in the morning.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, "I saw the headline, but it didn't seem important."
"Do you know him?" Neville inquired.
Harry struggled for only a moment, but he reasoned that if he was committed to telling Cedric everything about Voldemort, then surely he could confide in Hermione and Neville.
"He works for Dumbledore," Harry whispered, leaning close to his friends to avoid being overheard, "We met him this summer when he… When he would visit Sirius."
He tried to keep the information about Order of the Phoenix on a need-to-know basis, but even with this limited information, Hermione saw how troublesome this would be for the headmaster.
"But what was he doing at the Ministry?" she wanted to know, "Did Dumbledore send him there?"
"At one o'clock in the morning?" Blaise asked incredulously, noting the time of his arrest in the article, "Not bloody likely."
"He could have been manipulated," suggested Millie, "If it was another of You-Know-Who's followers who caught him first, he could have been under the Imperius Curse."
"But why would someone like that want Podmore to break into the Ministry?" Neville asked. "What were they trying to find?"
Their speculation led nowhere. After batting ideas back and forth until they grew absurd, Hermione suggested they take a break from sleuthing and form a study session in the library. Harry, Blaise, and Millie shared a guilty look between them. They had planned to visit the Chamber of Secrets that day.
Hermione recognized the looks on their faces immediately.
"What are you up to now?"
"It's nothing," Harry said quickly, "Just… I've got a lot of work to do for Professor Nobilis. It's not something I can really do in the library so…"
Blaise nodded his head in agreement, "That's right. And I have an essay due for Muggle Studies."
"But I could help with that!" insisted Hermione, "My parents are muggles! Who better to help you with your essay?"
"Harry was raised by muggles," Blaise observed, "I can just ask him."
"I thought Harry was going to work on his wand-making assignment?" Neville asked innocently.
Their lie was falling apart quickly, and Hermione looked unconvinced. She looked angry and hurt when they parted ways after breakfast, dragging a disconcerted Neville along in her wake. Harry was sorry to disappoint her.
"Wouldn't it have been better to invite Hermione and Neville?" Harry suggested as he and his friends made their way down to the Chamber. "It's not like they'd rat on us. We could invite Nell, too. Make it an even number for dueling practice."
"We're already taking a risk as it is," said Blaise, "Plus, you don't know Hermione wouldn't tell a teacher. She's a prefect, remember?"
"I'm a prefect," Millie reminded him.
"Yeah, but you're one of us."
"Hermione's one of us," said Harry defensively.
"She's a Gryffindor," Blaise retorted, "And you can say what you want, Harry, but when it comes down to it, I'll trust myself to the two of you before I trust an outsider."
After the excitement of the Quidditch trials and his long practice with Blaise and Millie, Harry was exhausted when he finally sat down to homework that evening. He tried to focus on his books, but as the common room ebbed and flowed with the traffic of other students, the text seemed to swim before his eyes. In moments where they were relatively alone, his mind drifted to thoughts of Quidditch, imagining what his first practice with Draco would be like. At other times, it was simply more interesting to watch the other Slytherins as they went about their activities. Crabbe and Goyle sitting at another table, chewing the ends of their quills to tatters as they fretted over an assignment. Omnivora Pandey, signing merrily with her older brother near the windows for an audience of curious merpeople. Colin Creevy, who joined them a moment later, eagerly whispering to Herb some gossip he'd heard about something called a "Skiving Snackbox."
"We should probably try to get more homework done during the week," Blaise said with a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and stared across the room at Daphne Greengrass, obviously trying to capture her attention. But Daphne seemed determined not to notice him, and continued her conversation with Tracey, talking loudly of how nice she thought Draco was when they studied with him the day before.
"He's not at all as proud as people say," she commented, "Unlike some people I could mention…"
Blaise scoffed lightly and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, muttering to himself, "Does she think that'll make me jealous?"
"Are you jealous?" asked Millie, her face still buried in an astronomy textbook as she scratched out an essay for Professor Sinistra.
"Of Draco? Never," Blaise said calmly, "If she wants to waste her time with D.E. Junior, she's welcome to."
Despite his assurance, Blaise continued to stare fixedly at Daphne until she and Tracey finally left the common room, heading toward the girls' dormitories as their daylight hours bled into night. The crowd in the common room began to thin again. It was half-past eleven when Millie finally pushed her essay away, yawning loudly.
"Finished?" Harry asked. He'd given up on his homework ages ago and had been reading a book on Quidditch by the fire for the last hour.
"It's as good as it's going to get," Millie replied, pushing the essay across the table for Blaise's inspection before joining Harry on the sofa. "You're welcome to copy off me, Harry. So long as I can cheat off your potions assignment."
"You're welcome to anything you want," Harry replied with a sigh, "But I'll get the rest of the work done on my own… somehow."
"Don't be stubborn, Harry!" called Blaise as he poured over what Millie had written, "We can at least check over each other's work, can't we?"
Harry shook his head, amused, but resigned. A part of him longed to go back to his old habit of trading homework with his friends. They played to their strengths, Blaise taking Charms, Millie with Defense Against the Dark Arts, and so on. But they had been enrolled in different electives since third year, and Harry had learned the hard way that it was better for him to learn some things on his own. Plus, Millie and Blaise wouldn't be able to sit the OWL exams for him. He'd have to master the material himself, or risk pulling a terrible score and disappointing his guardians.
He began staring into the embers of the dying fire. Millie's yawn had proven contagious. He was about to suggest turning in for the night when he blinked, his attention drawn again to the fireplace. He thought he saw something in the flickering flames, but surely it was just the product of an overworked mind. He yawned again, and once more saw something flash into sight, only to vanish a moment later.
Harry was on his knees and crouched before the fire in an instant. He was sure it hadn't been his imagination this time.
Millie remained on the sofa. He heard her voice behind him, asking in a rather amused voice, "Er, Harry? Whatcha doin' down there?"
"I think I just saw Sirius in the fire," Harry replied.
It sounded crazy when he said it aloud, but Blaise merely called over his shoulder, "Tell him I say hello."
Harry wasn't sure if Blaise was teasing him or not, but Millie rose from her seat and joined him on the floor.
"Sirius? Are you sure?"
"Well, I mean it looked like him, but I suppose… Maybe I'm just tired."
"He's probably just using the floo network," Blaise called again.
A moment later, Sirius's head was gazing at them from the glowing flames in the grate. He was grinning widely, though Harry noted with some alarm that his face was drawn and pale. He looked as he did when Harry first met him, after his grueling escape from Azkaban and weeks living on the run.
"Thank goodness!" he said, his voice as strong as ever, "I was worried that you'd already gone to bed!"
"Sirius!" cried Harry, delighted with the surprise, though he was worried what it foretold of trouble, "What are you doing here?"
"Hedwig delivered your letter this afternoon," Sirius explained, "I'm sorry for not writing, Harry, but I didn't know if it would be safe…"
"And this is better?" Millie asked, though she had a small smile on her face, "You might have been spotted."
"Yes, well… I had been checking every now and then… to see if you all were alone. I think a girl, first-year by the look of her… She might have seen me. But I just popped out again. Don't think she realized anything was amiss!"
"But why take the risk?" Harry asked, a note of anxiety popping into his voice, "Is everything ok? Is Remus alright? Is it the locket again? Are you feeling any better?"
"I assure you, I'm doing just fine," Sirius said reassuringly. He certainly sounded in good spirits, but the contrast between his hale and hearty voice and his worn appearance was concerning. Harry certainly didn't think he looked any better than before. If anything, he looked worse. He resolved to direct his next letter to Mrs. Zabini. Hopefully she would give him a more faithful account of his godfather's wellbeing.
Although seeing his godfather in this way hardly set Harry's mind at ease, there was some comfort in sharing all his worries for the start of the new term. Not the least of these was Professor Umbridge. Having a Ministry goon prowling the halls, seeking a reason to sack Dumbledore was bad enough, but her teaching style was an even greater concern.
"She's not a favorite here, either," Sirius replied grimly, "You should hear Remus talk about her."
"Do they know each other?" Harry asked, recalling Umbridge's comments about "half-breeds" during class.
"Not personally," Sirius replied, "But she drafted some anti-werewolf legislation that's made it very difficult for him to find work."
Harry thought of Remus's wardrobe. He'd assumed Remus preferred soft, comfortable clothing, but perhaps the reason so many of his clothes were patched and worn was due to straitened circumstances. He felt another flash of anger toward Umbridge, and his dislike of her deepened even further.
"What's she got against werewolves?" Blaise called. He had turned fully around in his chair, and was now listening to their conversation with interest.
"Scared of them, I expect," said Sirius, "And it's not just them. Apparently, she loathes all of what she calls 'part-humans.' She tried to have all merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Then there's the push to restrict centaur lands, not to mention the banishment of giants to even smaller territories… All in all, she's a "witches first" sort of politician."
Blaise sneered, "That certainly explains a few things."
"Tell me about her classes," Sirius prompted, "I'm sure Remus would love to hear all about it."
"She doesn't teach at all!" Harry complained.
"All we do is read from the stupid textbook. Which is horribly out-of-date, by the way," Millie added.
Sirius's head bobbed up and down in the fire as he nodded his head. "That sounds about right from what we hear. Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."
"Combat?" Harry repeated incredulously, "What does he think we're going to do? Form an army of child soldiers?"
"That's exactly what he thinks," Sirius replied, "He thinks Dumbledore is using his influence over the school to form a private army, one he could use to overthrow the Ministry."
"But that's insane!" Blaise cried, abandoning both his chair and his essay to throw himself fully into the conversation.
"Yep," Sirius concurred, "But that's how paranoid Fudge has become. He thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power, including lying about Voldemort and staging disappearances to support that story. It's only a matter of time before he tries to bring Dumbledore in on some trumped-up charge…"
The mention of charges reminded Harry of the article they had seen in the Prophet.
"What about Sturgis?" he asked tentatively. "Was he framed as well? Or was he in the Ministry on Dumbledore's orders?"
He assumed that Podmore had been apprehended while on business with the Order, but he wasn't sure Sirius would tell him what he really wanted to know.
Predictably, Sirius merely replied, "You aren't in the Order, Harry. You know I can't talk about that."
"So that's a yes," said Harry, "You'd have denied it if the Order wasn't involved."
Sirius smiled wryly at him and said, "If you put half as much effort into your studies as you do in worrying about the Order, then you'll have no trouble with the OWLs this year."
Harry, Blaise, and Millie all groaned in unison.
"Don't remind us!"