The Essential Ingredient

Chapter 3: Un Cambio de Corazón

"Oh, it won't be that bad, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry glared at her. "I still can't believe you talked to McGonagall about me."

"Checkmate," said Ron, as one of his pieces moved forward.

"And now I've got to deal with Malfoy for hours every day," he grumbled.

"Checkmate," Ron repeated, a little louder.

"Fine, you win. I don't feel like playing anymore, anyway." Harry stood up.

"Where are you going?" Ron called after him.

"I've just remembered that there's something I want to talk to McGonagall about," he replied over his shoulder. In truth, he wanted to be left alone for a little while. He headed to the library and found a desk in the back that was somewhat concealed behind the shelves.

It all went back to that stupid dream. If he hadn't listened to it, Dumbledore wouldn't be dying, nobody would be bothering him with stupid taunts, he wouldn't be having nightmares, and he wouldn't have to have private lessons and study sessions with Malfoy. Harry sighed, feeling extremely frustrated. It was Sunday, and his new schedule would begin tomorrow. And, what cheer, he'd get to see Malfoy. He scowled to himself glumly.

Harry wondered whether McGonagall had spoken to Dumbledore about his new schedule for his classes. How ironic it was, Harry contemplated, that everyone had been, during what was now termed "the Dark Years," unable to bring themselves to say the name "Voldemort;" and now he himself could hardly say the headmaster's name without choking and stuttering on it.

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes closed, hoping that whoever was coming would pass and leave him be. The footsteps grew louder and louder, closer and closer, until they stopped quite suddenly. Harry let his eyelids flutter open.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he said angrily.

"Nothing at all, Potter," Draco drawled lazily. "It's just that you happen to be sitting in my chair at my table."

"The library's for everyone to use, so bugger off and find another table. I got here first." He glared at the blond, hating every single one of the fine silvery hairs on his head.

Draco only offered a nonchalant shrug. "If you want to be childish like that, fine with me." He turned away.

Harry stood up, sputtering. "You're the one who's being childish, Malfoy!"

The blond raised an eyebrow, looking back at Harry. Draco said nothing and watched him with mild interest for a moment before smirking. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Potter."

Staring after him, Harry sat down once again, feeling irritated, and wondering if he, in fact, had truly been the childish one.

* * * * *

The next morning, Harry trudged through the hall to the classroom that had been assigned to Lupin.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said pleasantly as he stepped into the classroom and pulled out his chair. Malfoy was already there, and sat at his own desk, his slender fingers lazily twirling a spotted quill.

"Good morning, professor." Harry smiled, ignoring Malfoy's presence.

Lupin held out sheaves of parchments to Harry and Draco. "Professor McGonagall asked me to assign you these. This packet consists of two pages of work for each of your classes, and you are to complete them using your usual texts. Tonight your lessons will be History of Magic, Potions, and Herbology. Tomorrow evening, you shall have Transfiguration, Astronomy, and then you'll be taking Defense Against the Dark Arts with me."

"With you!" Harry exclaimed, grinning.

The professor's lined face broke into a smile. "Yes, Harry."

Harry noticed that although Malfoy did not look particularly happy with this news, he didn't look too disappointed either.

"The night after tomorrow," Lupin continued, "you will have whatever other classes you chose to take, such as Arithmancy or Divination." He raised his mug and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "You may begin. You must turn in the two pages assigned for each class to your respective teachers at your lessons, so I suggest you start with the work that has been given for tonight's lessons. I shall be in and out of the room, so in the event that you have a question, I'll be available to answer you."

Professor Lupin stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will be back in precisely half an hour." He smiled at Harry and left.

Harry opened his History of Magic textbook and dipped his quill into his bottle of ink, poising the quill above the paper thoughtfully. The first item on the page said: Compose two to four paragraphs concerning the laws that were written and enforced by the Ministry of Magic in 1827. What were the main purposes of these laws? What major events forced the Ministry to make them? Minimum length: two and a half inches. Harry yawned and shut his textbook. He would save this for later; might as well get the hard stuff done first. He reached for his Potions textbook, and flipped through the pages of the packet until he found Snape's assignment.

The first item at the top of that page said: State the nine properties of deer tongue, and explain why the Ministry of Magic banned the use of this ingredient in the seventeenth century. Describe four potions that originally required it, and give a detailed list of ingredients that are often used to substitute for it. Must be at least eight inches long. Harry groaned inwardly as he read this, and flipped the pages to the back of the book to search in the index for "deer tongue."

"Death; Debrisanum Potion; Decimus Powder; Dedranumb, Essence of; Dedranumb Weed; Deer Fur, Essence of; Deer Hooves; Deer-Rythoeling Potion," he whispered aloud as his finger moved down the column of words. He sighed. Deer tongue wasn't in the book. How in the bloody hell was he supposed to write an eight-inch-essay about deer tongue if it wasn't in the book?

I'll save that for last, Harry decided. He flipped through the pages. The work assigned for herbology was pretty easy; he would do that first. The entire assignment was only: Create a sketch of a healing plant of your choice. Label the parts of the plant, and on the second provided piece of parchment, write a short paragraph about the conditions in which this plant will grow. Five sentences minimum.

He spent fifteen minutes drawing a rough pencil sketch of a dwarf-conifer and describing the appropriate conditions and environment in which it could be found. He completed all four parts of the history assignment by writing in large script and paraphrasing several passages directly from the book. And now...back to Potions.

He glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. The blond was busily scribbling away on his parchments. Harry guessed he was working on the Potions assignment from the length of his writing.

Harry opened his mouth, and then shut it once more, feeling sheepish. At last he gave up and cleared his throat loudly. The Slytherin had no reaction. Harry cleared his throat again, letting out a small cough as well. Still no reaction.

Finally, he let go of all pretenses and said, "Er, Malfoy?"

The arrogant blond raised his head. "What?"

"Er, what are we supposed to do for the first part of the Potions assignment?"

"You answer the questions, of course," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms out. "Did you even bother to read it?" As he stretched, his shirt rose up slightly above his midsection.

"No," Harry said absentmindedly, staring at the pale, muscular skin of Draco's stomach. "I mean, yes. Yes, I did read." What the hell was that? he thought to himself, feeling a little alarmed. Since when did he have a habit of staring at the midsections of other males?

Draco smirked, lowering his arms and picking up his quill again. "So what don't you understand? Or are you just having trouble thinking?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said angrily.

"You're the one who asked me," Draco shrugged.

"Well, you didn't help any," said Harry angrily. "I should've known you wouldn't."

"Fine, I'll help you," Draco said conversationally, and causing Harry to feel quite suspicious. "Don't know what deer tongue's for? Is that the trouble?"

Harry remained silent, feeling peevish and resentful.

"Deer tongue," the Slytherin said, capping his ink bottle, "is a very delicate ingredient. It has many special properties..."

Great, Harry thought to himself, letting Malfoy's voice drown out in his own thoughts. I've now been reduced to taking lectures from Malfoy.

"...and was usually used by men to attract lovers. Are you listening to me, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, stifling a yawn. Now here's an interesting situation. Since when is Malfoy my teacher? Well, I suppose it's better than Snape. Harry was immediately horrified by this thought. Scratch that. Nothing is worse than having to endure Malfoy for hours every day.

"Potter, I'm not going to waste my breath if you aren't going to listen."

"Like you'd really help, anyway," Harry retorted.

Draco feigned a wounded look. "I'm sitting here telling you about deer tongue because you asked me, and this is the kind of thanks you give me?"

"I didn't ask you for help. You just started talking at me."

"Well," Draco said, rolling up his parchment, "in that case, I shan't be bothering you anymore."

Harry rolled his eyes and reread the first part of the assignment several times. He gave up.

"Alright, Malfoy. I do need your help."

Draco threw him a smug look before speaking. "As I was saying, deer tongue was a very key ingredient. It was used mainly from the seventeen to eighteen hundreds. There were various things that it could be used for, such as healing potions, cheering droughts, mixtures for better concentration, many types of potions to do with love, et cetera. But for the most part, it was used by men to attract lovers."

"Hang on," Harry said rather defeatedly, "lemme write this down." If he ever had to take notes off Malfoy again, he would Avada Kedavra himself. "...Cheering droughts...mixtures...for...better concentration...What else did you say?"

"It was mostly used," Draco repeated, "by men to attract lovers."

"...Used...by...men...to...attract...lovers."

"Of the same sex," Draco added.

"Of...the...same...s--what?" Harry looked up, raising his eyebrows.

Draco cleared his throat, and repeated in a louder voice: "Of the same sex."

"Yeah, right, Malfoy. Are you going to help or not? I'm not going to take bullshit from you if you're just going to pull my leg."

"I'm being serious." Draco peered, unblinking, into Harry's green eyes.

"You honestly think I'm going to believe that Snape would assign us something about an ingredient for guys to attract male lovers?"

"Have it your way," the blond shrugged. "If you don't believe me, don't ask for my help."

Harry angrily tore off the strip of parchment and discarded it in the wastebin. He refused to ask Lupin for help while in the presence of Malfoy, so instead he made up something for deer tongue that sounded alright; it was based off a passage about raccoon tongue, although he knew very well that he probably got a zero for that part...as well as every other part of the Potions assignment. For the rest of the day, he refused to speak to the blond Slytherin, and he was quite exhausted by the end of History of Magic.

He trudged up the stairs wearily, finally reaching the Gryffindor common room, where Hermione and Ron were waiting for him.

"Well, how were your lessons?" Hermione asked him.

"Alright," Harry managed to mumble. "I reckon I didn't do too bad on that Potions thing that Snape gave us."

"Quidditch practice, tomorrow night," Ron reminded him.

"Yeah...wait, what?" Harry squinted his eyes through the firelight of the common room.

"We've got Quidditch practice, remember?"

Harry groaned. "But I've got Transfiguration, Astronomy, and then Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow night! How on earth will I fit in Quidditch practice?"

"Maybe you could skip a class," Ron suggested.

"No, I don't think that would be a very good idea," Hermione said with a frown.

Harry sighed. "I'll talk to McGonagall tomorrow morning."

* * * * *

"No Quidditch!" Harry exclaimed angrily as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. "I can't play Quidditch anymore, because of my stupid schedule!"

"What?" shouted Ron, spilling his pumpkin juice. "McGonagall can't do that! Look how badly Gryffindor did when Umbridge banned you from Quidditch! You've got to play, mate!"

"Maybe it's better this way, Harry," Hermione said. "At least you'll be able to concentrate on your schoolwork more."

Harry shot her an angry glare, and refused to speak to her for the rest of the morning. It was her fault, after all, that he had to spend most of his time with Malfoy, and even more her fault that he could no longer play Quidditch.

It was with much bitterness that he flung open the door to Lupin's classroom and walked in, throwing his things to the floor and slumping into his seat.

"Having a bad day, Harry?" Lupin asked him kindly.

"I can't play Quidditch anymore," he replied angrily, kicking the leg of his desk.

"Neither can I," Malfoy drawled, twirling his quill in his fingers. "But you don't see me throwing a temper tantrum."

Harry glared at him. "Sod off, Malfoy."

"There are more important things than Quidditch, Harry," Lupin told him. "It may not seem that way now, but you'll adjust to your new schedule soon enough. And then, given some time, perhaps you will discover for yourself...something that you care about far more than a sport played on broomsticks."

Harry did not respond to this, and he was unsure of whether he was feeling better or worse.

Lupin smiled at him and stood up. "I'll be leaving you now, I've got to speak with Professor Snape, and then I'll be off to...run some errands. I'll be back in...an hour, shall we say? Remember, you've got those assignments to work on. And do try to get along in my absence." He took his briefcase with him as he left the room.

As the door closed, Draco stood up slowly. He went to Lupin's desk and lowered to crouch on the ground, reaching his arm under the oak desk to collect something. Harry watched as the blond retrieved a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Lupin's dropped something," Draco said, peering at the parchment with interest.

A very unusual feeling flared up within Harry, a wave of anger that seemed rather pointless to him but spilled over all the same; it boiled his insides and turned his face a deep shade of red, his eyes darkening with rage. He rose from his seat, extending his arm. "Give that here."

"No. I found it, didn't I?" Draco returned to his seat, the parchment still in his hand.

"It's not yours to read," Harry said, the strange feeling dumping itself straight into the pit of his stomach. He felt, all of a sudden, quite ill and quite furious. He swallowed and strode to Malfoy's desk. "Give it to me." His fist was tightly clenched, and he could feel his hand shaking.

"No."

"Malfoy, you do not have the right to read that!" His voice was trembling with rage.

"The stupid werewolf shouldn't have dropped it, then," Draco said, holding the parchment out of Harry's reach.

Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at Draco's forehead. "If you don't give me that right now," he said in a low voice, "I am going to hex you."

Draco turned his head to see the wand pointed directly at the spot between his eyes. Before Harry knew it, the blond had snatched his wand away and slipped out of his chair. Harry tumbled over the desk, landing at Draco's feet. Malfoy stood above him, pointing his wand at him.

"Petrificus Tota--"

With a good kick to the shin, Draco was on the ground. Harry pulled himself up. His wand was far away on the other side of the room, where Malfoy had flung it when he fell. The blond rolled onto his stomach to pick himself up, but Harry, in all his mounting anger, connected his foot to Draco's stomach.

Draco gasped in pain and clutched his side. He reached up and gave the edge of Harry's robes a good tug, causing him to trip and also fall to the ground. Malfoy viciously slammed his elbow into Harry's shoulder.

"Accio parchment!" Harry snatched up Draco's wand and cried as he rolled away from the blond.

"Give me that," the blond snarled, rising from the ground.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, and Draco froze in his steps, falling down backwards.

Harry allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath. Sweat dripped from his chin, and he panted as he slipped into his chair. Curiosity caught the better of him, and he allowed himself to peek at the first sentence that was scrawled on the parchment.

"To Healer Priston. The Order has discovered a new symptom of Albus Dumbledore's illness. Often, the headmaster is found to be murmuring in his sleep. This sleep talk usually begins just after midnight, and ends shortly after one in the morning. The pattern of his muttering seems to be that it only occurs during the nights of the week preceding each full moon. It is difficult to determine what it is he says, for often he speaks in multiple languages. The Order would like to observe him during the nights, for there have been occasions on which it seems that the headmaster has been trying to tell the Order something important. We would like to request a special room in St. Mungo's where Dumbledore can be monitored during those weeks when he murmurs in his sleep.

"I would also like to speak to you about Harry Potter. We have been watching him at Hogwarts, and it appears that he does not show the same symptoms as did Albus Dumbledore, prior to his coma. However, we do not know if we can be sure of his safety, for we were told that it is possible that his blood still contains traces of the Magic. Our nurse has given him the Draexious Potion, which I myself brewed. Due to its side effects, we deemed it unsafe for him to be among other students. We hope that this will be..."

Harry would have continued reading, but at that moment, Draco stirred on the ground, and he had only time to glance at the signature on the bottom of the parchment that read Severus Snape before he stuffed it into his pocket and the blond's eyes fluttered open.

"Where's the parchment?" Draco said, staring at Harry through squinted eyes.

"I don't know," Harry lied. "I couldn't find it after I stunned you."

"Liar." Draco glared at him and rose from the floor, brushing his robes.

"It wasn't meant to be read by you, anyway," Harry said.

"So what?" Draco argued. "It involved me; I had a right to read it."

"You had no right at all--wait, what do you mean it involved you?"

The Slytherin turned his head to look at Harry, his eyebrows raised. "Apparently you didn't read enough of the letter."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, annoyed, and dropping all pretenses. "That letter was about me, not you."

"It was a report that Snape made to St. Mungo's on behalf of the Order--"

"The Order?" Harry repeated suspiciously. "And how would you know about the Order, Malfoy? Been spying much?"

"Of course I've been spying," Draco replied nonchalantly. "That's my job, isn't it?"

"And you're talking like all you're doing is giving me the weather report!" Harry raised his eyebrows. Something was...odd. Was Malfoy...? No, Harry said to himself. It wasn't possible.

"Well, it isn't as if that's news to you, is it?" Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry's. He stared for a moment. "You mean you didn't know?" He sneered. "It's no wonder you've been like that."

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" said Harry, losing his patience.

Draco smirked and returned to his seat, not replying.

Harry, who was thoroughly exasperated, also returned to his seat and decided to spend the rest of the time ignoring Malfoy and finishing his assignments. Lupin returned, after a while, and remained in the classroom, looking through some papers while Harry and Draco worked in silence. Soon it was lunchtime, and Harry packed up his books to head to the Great Hall.

"See you, Professor," Harry said, heading for the door. There was a clatter, and Harry looked down to see that he had dropped his wand. He bent to retrieve it, and felt something brush against his sleeve. It was Draco, and he had picked up the wand before Harry's hand had even extended to reach for it.

"Careful with that, Potter," said Malfoy, holding out the wand, giving Harry a half-smirk.

Harry took his wand, shot an angry glare at Draco, and left.

* * * * *

He heard a loud rumble in his stomach as he slipped into his seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

"How was your morning?" Hermione asked him brightly.

"It was...interesting," Harry replied. "And my shoulder is bruising nicely, but besides that--"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione scowled, "you didn't have a duel with Malfoy, did you?"

He shook his head. "I didn't," he said, which was somewhat the truth.

"No," Ron said with a triumphant grin. "It was a fist fight, wasn't it?"

"I suppose you could call it partly that," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's reproachful look, "but forget about the fighting for a moment, and listen. Before Lupin left us, he apparently dropped a parchment under his desk. Malfoy saw it, and as soon as Lupin left, he went to pick it up and read it."

Hermione made a disapproving noise. "Is that what you were fighting over? A stupid little piece of parchment? Harry--"

"Listen," he interrupted impatiently, "will you forget about the fighting for a minute? When Malfoy picked up the parchment, I had this really strange, overwhelming feeling that I had to stop him from reading it. It was the strangest thing I've ever felt. Anyway, I got the parchment from him, it's right here--"

He reached into his pocket only to find that the wrinkled piece of parchment was no longer there. Immediately it dawned on him.

Harry groaned in frustration. "Damnit! Malfoy must have taken it from me! And I didn't even get a chance to finish reading it..." He explained to Ron and Hermione the little bit of what Snape wrote that he was able to read, and then hurried back to Lupin's classroom. The rest of the day passed without incident, and Harry successfully ignored Draco's numerous attempts to irritate him.

* * * * *

Professor Lupin was not in the classroom when Harry opened the door the next morning. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of leafs of paper scattered around the room and Malfoy making planes out of pieces of parchment and then bewitching them to fly around the room. As Harry stepped into the room, one particularly large plane zoomed towards his head, and he ducked to avoid being poked by it.

"Finite Incantatum," Harry said, pointing his wand at the flying pieces of parchment, and glaring at Draco for making a mess of the parchments.

The blond shrugged. "Evanesco!" The leafs of paper strewn on the ground disappeared. "We got our homework papers back." He pointed at the small bundle of rolls of parchments on Harry's desk.

The first bit of writing that caught Harry's attention as he neared the desk was a large 23/85 in red that peeked out from beneath a ribbon circling a roll of parchment. Harry didn't need to untie it to know that it was his Potions assignment.

"Damnit," he cursed irritably. He didn't need to look at Malfoy's smug face to know that the blond had already seen his grade.

Draco smirked. "Nice big twenty-three, eh? That's a twenty-seven percent, you know?"

"Yeah, thanks for helping, Malfoy," he retorted angrily.

"Hey, it was your fault you didn't listen to me. I was telling the truth."

Harry glared at him. "Uh-huh, sure you were."

"Have a look at this, if you don't believe me," Draco said, holding up his roll of parchment, where there was an obvious and large red 85/85 in the corner.

"What!" Harry reached to snatch the parchment from Draco disbelievingly, his fury growing. As his hand closed around the end of the roll, his knuckle brushed against Draco's thumb, and the small touch sent shivers up his arm and down his spine. He froze involuntarily, trying to hold onto the quickly fading and pleasant shock of the light contact, his hand still holding the end of the roll.

"Potter?" Draco said, looking at him uncertainly.

"What?" replied Harry very vaguely. "Oh." He recovered himself, avoiding Draco's eyes, and unrolled the parchment, skimming the paragraphs of neat and loopy cursive penmanship. Sure enough, everything that Draco had told him about deer tongue was true. It was used by men to attract lovers, and it had several very...unusual results when consumed.

"I was telling the truth," Draco repeated.

Feeling suddenly quite infuriated, Harry flung the roll of parchment back at Draco, who dropped it in surprise.

Harry sat down and began to read chapter six of his History of Magic text, pretending to ignore Draco. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Draco shrug and sit down in his own seat. The two did not share any conversation for the rest of the hour. Lupin returned from wherever he had been, and ushered Draco off to see Professor Snape, leaving Harry to spend his time alone in the room with a new packet of assignments. He spent the rest of the day practicing a new Transfiguration spell.

* * * * *

Weeks passed in similar episodes. Harry and Draco argued often, and on occasion, broke into fist fights or wand duels. But as they spent more and more time in the other's company, they grew accustomed to each other, and soon Harry found that he didn't really mind Draco's acquaintance, if acquaintance it could be called. The two were almost...civil. Almost.

Harry had nearly forgotten about the spell; he'd grown very accustomed to the physical hypersensitivity. And as he no longer had to endure the taunts and jeers of his fellow students, and he could now tolerate Draco's presence, he rarely experienced any strong, exaggerated emotions of hate or anger. It was like he was living in a world of indifference.

One morning, as Harry stared lazily out the window, his thoughts drifting, he began to wonder exactly why Malfoy shared his schedule. He knew, of course, that the students had also been giving the Slytherin problems similar to his own, but he didn't quite understand their given reason for it. And he had been very curious about it, of course, on many occasions.

Harry chewed on the insides of his cheeks, pensive and silently debating whether or not he could ask the question and get a real answer. On one hand, now that the mutual anger and hatred between them had dissipated, perhaps Malfoy would be more willing to give him a somewhat substantial answer. But on the other hand, Malfoy could still detest him as he always had, and then after refusing to answer the question, he would begin to wonder why Harry was thinking so much about him.

But as these thoughts ran through Harry's head, he couldn't help but wonder even more about the situation. At last, when his curiosity was so strong he could no longer help it, he blurted out, "Malfoy--"

He paused, and the blond looked up sharply, almost startled. They had exchanged no words for almost the entire hour, and the name pierced the air like a newly sharpened dagger.

"What?"

Harry hesitated before saying, "Why are you taking lessons separate from everyone else?"

Rather than the sneer Harry had expected, Malfoy stiffened, losing his composure in front of Harry for the first time since they began their private study sessions, and his already cold gaze became even icier, his silver eyes crystallizing with what seemed like anger.

"Why are you taking lessons in private?" His voice was dangerously low with a sharp edge that Harry easily detected. "Surely you didn't think you were so far above everyone else that no one could have similar troubles."

It was the old Malfoy Harry had known: the hateful, arrogant Slytherin. "We're in different situations." He was beginning to regret his question. He was becoming furious, and he wasn't quite sure why..."You--"

"Perhaps, Potter, we're not so different as you think," Draco interrupted, looking upon Harry with disdain and impatience.

"Look," Harry said very angrily, "the reason why I have this schedule is because you took it into your mind to tell the whole school about the spell that Pomfrey put on me--"

"I took it into my mind?" Draco repeated with disgust. "You flatter me. As if I would do something like that."

"Of course you would!" Harry exclaimed with a strange rage that did not quite seem to be his own. "Who else could it have been?"

"Well, it figures that you'd be so shallow-minded to immediately give me the blame. It was Mavros Blakrith, who happened to be in the infirmary at the same time you were. You probably didn't see him, he was lying in a bed and his curtains were probably drawn--"

"Liar!" Harry shouted, although he wasn't very sure why he did - a part of him really did believe Draco, as much as he didn't want to. Perhaps he just needed someone to be angry at... He bit his lip thoughtfully, and flashes of what Pomfrey had told him about the potion ran through his head, a reminder of his hypersensitive emotions and senses. He looked up to see Draco staring at him, stunned by his strange outburst.

The blond recovered, and his pallid features hardened. "Well, if you don't believe me, I have no reason to answer your question." He turned back to his work, picking up the gray quill in his slender fingers.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to the Slytherin, and for the first time in his life, he was in earnest to gain Draco's trust. He knew not why, for he was not sure if he trusted the blond himself. "I shouldn't have said that. I-I couldn't help it. I do believe you." He really did feel sorry, and he didn't understand why he was having such strange mood swings. It must be the potion, he said to himself.

Draco stared at him with obvious surprise at the apology. Harry had never before seen him so exposed, without the sneer and the conceited attitude. Without it, the Slytherin was rather the opposite of how he usually seemed, and his innocence touched Harry, causing him to almost feel warmth toward the other boy.

But his coldness soon returned, and even though it was not as strong as it was before, it disappointed Harry. "I suppose," Draco said icily, "that you want me to answer your question now that you've been such a saint and apologized. Well, if you absolutely must know, everyone thought that I could have prevented what happened to Dumbledore, and because I didn't, they began to think that I betrayed him." He looked away as he said this.

"Wait, I don't understand," Harry said, his eyebrows knitting together. "Why did they think you could prevent it?"

"Because," Malfoy replied after a moment, and Harry could swear he sounded like he was choking on the words, "I knew about the Cage."

"But of course you knew...your father designed it, after all..." Harry regretted these words the moment they were out from behind his teeth. It was rude and it was and uncalled for; what on earth had possessed him to say that without thinking?

Draco threw a sharp look at him. "You still don't get it?" he said disbelievingly. "How dense are you, Potter? After all this time, you still don't know?"

"If you're going to tell me something, then just say it," said Harry, clenching his fists in irritation.

"My father disowned me, Potter," Draco spat bitterly, his eyes black with with a mix between hatred and anger, and Harry couldn't tell if it was directed at him. "He kicked me out of Malfoy Manor."

Harry stared at him. "Why?"

"Haven't you got a head? Even you can't be that stupid! Didn't I tell you that my job was to spy?"

"You mean..." Harry began slowly. Could it be? He didn't believe it. "You mean you weren't spying for Voldemort? You were spying...for the Order? For Dumbledore?"

"Congratulations, Potter," Draco said in a sardonically bored voice. "It took you long enough."

"It never occurred to me--I didn't--"

Harry cut himself off. Of course Draco had reformed. It made complete sense, with the way he'd been acting lately. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"I never thought you would do that," Harry said in a quiet voice.

The blond did not reply to this, and turned away from him again. Harry found that he was unable to work for the rest of the afternoon; he was too distracted by what he had learned, and also troubled by the overwhelming effects of the potion, which was now causing his jumbled thoughts and feelings to turn into a headache.

* * * * *

As the days passed, each one almost no different than the other, Harry realized that he had begun to look at Draco with a new respect for him. In time, he actually began to admire the blond Slytherin. He marveled at the courage the other boy must have had to defy both the Dark Lord and his own father. Harry knew, now, that Draco's bitterness and arrogance must be an aftereffect of the horrible things he must've gone through, and he learned to pity the blond. Harry began to wonder if Malfoy and Snape were much different.

He also noticed the small things that he had never observed before. Such as the way Draco twirled his quill between two fingers whenever he was deep in thought, and the way he always wrapped his quills in a silk cloth before putting them away to keep them in good condition and prevent them from snapping. He grew fond of how Draco's fine, blond hair had a habit of falling into those silver-crystal eyes, and often Harry caught himself staring at the Slytherin. Harry wondered frequently, when this happened, why he was looking at Draco this way. He had never before experienced such fascination with other males, and now it bothered him. But try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from staring involuntarily out of the corner of his eyes for hours every day while he pretended to pore over his work.

It was on such a day, as Harry watched with a strange fascination the steady rhythm of the quill twirling around and around between Draco's fingers, that Snape entered Lupin's classroom with a terribly worried face that Harry had never before seen.

"Remus," said the professor urgently, vexation leaking involuntarily from his voice, "Come quickly."

Lupin stood. "What is it?"

"Dumbledore," Snape replied shortly. "He's having a magical seizure."

"How--" Lupin cut off and nodded mutely, gathering a few items and following Snape out the door and down the hallway. He said not a word to Harry and Draco; it seemed that in his rush he had forgotten them.

The two students sat silently at their desks for a moment, each deep in thought of what had occurred only seconds ago. It was quite a few long-lasting minutes before Harry spoke.

"We've got to do something," he said, turning to Draco. For some reason, he suddenly felt like he could trust the blond with anything in the world. Maybe it was the fact that he now knew Draco had reformed and had been working for Dumbledore, or maybe it was the fact that he no longer hated him. Whatever it was, it compelled him to ask the other boy for help. "We've got to...I dunno, stop this somehow."

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Why us?"

"What d'you mean, 'why us'? Don't you realize that we're the only ones who really know what's going on? The rest of the school is scared out of their wits; they think that Dumbledore'll probably attack them or something. They think he's gone mad. We're the only ones who can do anything!"

"Potter," Draco said, sounding rather bored, "use your head for a moment. Do you honestly believe we can help Dumbledore if none of the teachers can?"

"The professors all think he's going to keel over and die any day now, they haven't got any hope," Harry said angrily. "At least we've got the determination to help!"

"But--"

"Fine, Malfoy. You don't have to help if you're so reluctant. I, however, plan on doing everything in my power to keep Dumbledore alive."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't have to sound like a lame Muggle superhero. Of course I'll help. "

Harry was about to reply angrily before his mind actually comprehended Draco's last statement. Relief sank into his stomach, uncurling it; he hadn't even realized how tense he had been. He didn't understand why it mattered so much, why he wanted so much for Draco to help him. Of course I'll help. The strangeness of the tone and the shock of hearing the Slytherin say those words was enough to render Harry speechless.

* * * * *

Author's Note: Be sure to check out my website at www.airiviel.vze.comand my discussion group at groups.yahoo.com/group/AirivielFiction!