Sins of the Father

Chapter Five -- A Modest Proposal

***

Dedicated to Moon, for being a loffly boo, and for comforting me in a time dorky need.

***

The Death Eater was only a few yards away. His hood had fallen back from light blond hair of medium length, though his mask was still in place. Harry could see the resemblance to Lucius Malfoy. But the set of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the way he moved through the crowd were all wrong.

"It's not him," said Harry.

But Malfoy did not appear to have heard. He took another step forward, this one less hesitant than the last. "Father," he whispered again.

And then he was running, a cry of desperate joy tearing itself from his lungs as he charged across the cobblestones. He took no heed of Harry's alarmed protests. And he did not see the quick movement of the Death Eater's wand, now leveled at his heart.

Harry's reaction was instantaneous, if unconventional. "Accio Malfoy!" he yelled, whipping his own wand out of his pocket. It was as if he had pulled on a string attached to Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy did not fly through the air as a broomstick would have, but he jerked suddenly backward, dodging the curse he hadn't known was coming.

He stumbled, confused, allowing Harry time to run up beside him and grab his arm with both hands. The Death Eater chuckled and turned away, unconcerned. But a moment later, Malfoy recovered sufficiently to renew his struggle toward the gathering crowd.

"It's not him!" Harry said again, grunting as Malfoy tried to worm his way out of his grasp. "Draco, your father's DEAD..."

"You don't know that!" Malfoy cried, pushing against Harry's chest with his free hand. "You don't understand, you weren't there!"

"There's nothing to understand! They're DEAD!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Malfoy sobbed, pulling away so desperately Harry thought he might break his own arm. "I WANT TO GO HOME!"

Harry barked out a laugh. It was enough to stun Malfoy into turning back to look at him, his grey eyes wide and startled. "'Home?' You mean want to go with the Death Eaters?" said Harry, incredulous. "They just tried to kill you!"

"No...no, you don't understand....He must not have recognized me, I..." He swallowed, furiously blinking back tears. "They're my friends...my father's friends...."

"They don't care about you," said Harry, his voice low and harsh. "They're not your friends. Friends take care of each other. Friends are there when you need them. Where were they when your parents died? Where were they when all your mates were pulled out of school?"

"But..."

"I'm who's here right now, Malfoy. I'm the only one bothering with you. I'm the one trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. I'm the one acting like a friend's supposed to. And I say we need to get the hell out of here."

The boys regarded each other, each trying to size up the other's intentions. Harry was sure that Malfoy was about to sock him in the jaw or make another suicidal attempt at escape. But he seemed amazingly calm.

"That's the second time today that you've called me your friend," he said quietly. "I'm beginning to think you might actually be so misguided as to mean it."

But there was no chance for Harry to respond. Because while their personal drama had unfolded, the square had filled with men in robes and masks. And at that moment, one of them noticed the scar on Harry's forehead.

"POTTER!"

Every head within hearing turned.

"GET THE BOY!" someone yelled, and the mob surged forward.

"Shit," said Harry.

There was nowhere to run. There was nothing to hide behind. Death Eaters closed in on every side, wands raised, the beginnings of curses on their lips.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the hexes he'd learned for the tournament last year. "Impedementia! Stupefy!!"

Nothing happened. His spells were shrugged off with what seemed a minimum of effort, and the robed figures continued to advance.

Malfoy pulled out his wand. "Infligo!!"

One Death Eater staggered slightly. But another had hurled his first curse, and only Harry's Seeker reflexes got him out of the way in time.

"That was the worst curse I know, " said Malfoy, backing away. "We can't fight them."

"Maybe we can rush the line..."

"There's too many of them."

"You could get away, it's me they want."

"Death Eaters don't need a reason to kill."

Then Harry remembered his shopping. Boggling at his own stupidity, he pulled his new broomstick out of its bag and tore away the wrapping. Malfoy followed his lead, and moments later they were straddling the handles, kicking off from the ground, dodging curses and hands as they sped away into the night sky.

Harry had never seen Hogsmeade from above before. He supposed that on most nights, the view would have been a peaceful one, little houses and narrow streets lined with gas lamps. But more than lamps lit the town that night. Hundreds of torches flickered into existence, and the sea of masks glowed with reflected light.

"They can't follow us up here?" Harry asked. He seemed to have a knack for underestimating dark wizards.

"Not without brooms," said Malfoy. "We should go, before they can get their hands on any."

The flight back to Hogwarts passed in silence. Harry wished he could enjoy his first ride on the sleek and powerful Shooting Star, but his mind was elsewhere. He was confused by his fierce show of loyalty toward Malfoy. He was dismayed by his inability to defend himself. And he was ashamed at having run away.

When they reached the gates of the school, Harry stopped, hovering above one of the large, stone boars. "The Weasleys will be looking for me," he said. "Maybe we should..."

"I can make it back to the dungeons on my own," said Malfoy shortly.

"Will you...? I mean, are you...?"

"I'll manage," said Malfoy. And without another word he turned in the air and streaked off toward the rear of the castle, black robes billowing behind him.

***

Hogwarts was in chaos. Students poured into the entrance hall, huddled in panicky groups, unsure of where they should go or what they should do. Many of them were hurt, cradling twisted arms or sucking on burnt fingers. Separated friends tried to find each other in the crowd, calling out to be heard about the rumble of frantic conversation and muffled sobs. And weaving through it all were the professors, doing their best to take control.

McGonagall, who was standing near the front doors with a list of names, spotted Harry almost immediately.

"Potter!" she said, rushing over. Her hair, usually twisted and pinned into an immovable bun, had begun to come loose in a halo of black wisps. "Oh, thank goodness! We'd thought..." Her voice caught. "Well...it doesn't matter. You look well enough."

"Have you seen Ron and his father? Or Hermione" Harry asked. "Do you know if they got back all right?"

A smile ghosted across her thin lips. "Mr. Weasley is in my office, waiting for you. I believe Miss Granger and young Mr. Weasley are with him. Go on, I'll be along as soon as I've gotten this mess sorted out." She turned back to the crowded hall and tapped her wand to her throat, muttering, "Sonorus."

As McGonagall's magically amplified voice began to call out instructions, Harry hugged his new broom against his chest and pushed his way through to the stairs. The lower steps were crowded with younger students, drawn out of their common rooms by the stories of early arrivals. Tiny Professor Flitwick was on the landing, his head between the railings, casting cheering charms down into the milling crowd.

The door to McGonagall's office flew open almost before Harry could knock, and he was pulled into the familiar embrace of the extended Weasley family. Hermione, her eyes red and her face streaked with dried tears, hugged him so hard he thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen. Ron and the twins peppered him with questions about where he'd been and what he'd seen and how many Death Eaters he'd managed to hex. Ginny, pale and shaken, kept asking if he was hurt or if he needed anything.

"We're glad to see you're all right," said Mr. Weasley, who looked harried and tired but nevertheless relieved.

"Were a lot of people hurt?" asked Harry, having finally been released by Hermione.

"Burns, some trampling, a barely-missed curse here and there...No fatalities, thank goodness." Mr. Weasley ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Though to be honest, it was the worst Death Eater rally we've seen since the war ended."

Hermione balked at this. "But the World Cup..!"

"That looked much worse than it was. No one was attacked aside from the Muggle family that owned the camping grounds, as unfortunate as that might have been. The Dark Mark was alarming, but ultimately didn't mean anything. And the mob wasn't organized enough to signify some larger purpose. It was their twisted idea of an after-match party." Mr. Weasley shook his head, frowning. "No, the attack on Hogsmeade was much worse. All of those Death Eaters Apparated to the town center within minutes of each other. Nothing spontaneous about it.

"You see, there are charms in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening. Charms to prevent mass-Apparating, charms to alert us to certain types of curses, charms to contain groups of a certain size within closed areas. And none of those charms were intact tonight."

"I thought you said it was only the Muggle-repelling charms that went down," said Fred.

"Bad job of it, too," said George. "Load of incompetents."

"We were wrong," Mr. Weasley sighed. "I should have seen this coming...the dismantling of those charms was too inept for it to have been an accident..."

"So they were obvious about it on purpose," finished Hermione. "So you wouldn't think to check for damage to the other charms."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "This will look very bad for the Ministry. It's going to take every man we have to clean up the mess, and after the Muggle disaster last week..." Another sigh. "I'm sorry, but now that I know you're all safe, I'm going to have to go back to London. Tell Professor McGonagall that I'm sorry I couldn't wait for her."

The Weasley children protested, reminding him that he'd promised to stay for dinner, but in the end they had to admit that keeping his job was more important. A note of apology was left on McGonagall's desk, and after many hugs and well-wishes and reminders to be careful, Mr. Weasley left.

"I don't get it," said Ron as they trudged down the hallway from McGonagall's office to the Gryffindor common room. "What's the big deal? So what if they planned it ahead of time? I don't see how that makes it so much worse. There wasn't even a Dark Mark this time."

"Because the mob at the World Cup had no point, Ron," said Hermione. "They weren't after anything but their own, warped amusement. But this was organized. And if the Death Eaters are organizing, that means they have a purpose again."

"Voldemort," said Harry.

"Exactly."

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who looked very put out. "I suppose you all want in, then?"

"Busy night?" asked Fred.

"Horrifically."

"Snicker-snack," said George, and she swung aside, grumbling mutinously.

The common room was packed. Every single Gryffindor, it seemed, was anxiously milling about. Those who had been in Hogsmeade were being interrogated by those who hadn't, and everyone was doing their best to piece together what had actually happened. Several of them looked as if they had already been through the hospital wing, shiny with newly-healed burns or gingerly flexing mended limbs.

"Harry!" called Seamus, spotting him from across the room. "You OK? I heard they were after you."

"M'fine," said Harry. He turned to his friends, hefting the broomstick still gripped in his hand. "I'd better go upstairs and put this away."

Ron blinked, as if seeing him properly for the first time that night. "Harry....What is that?"

"A Shooting Star Mark Two," said Harry quietly. "I bought it today, just before..."

"You bought a new broom?" Fred grinned, then called out to the rest of the room. "Oi! Look here! Harry's got himself a new racing broom!"

Harry might as well have announced the untimely death of the Dark Lord himself. Aches, pains and anxieties melted away in the face of this new development, and moments later Harry was surround by excited faces asking if they could have a look.

"I've heard about these," said Angelina Johnson, eyeing it hungrily. "Supposed to knock the socks off the Firebolt line...even better than the Thunderclap, and that's saying something."

"There was a two page spread on it in Which Broomstick," murmured Alicia Spinnet, gently running her fingers over the gold lettering on the handle. "The national teams've been passing on it, but that's mostly just for sponsorship reasons."

"It's gorgeous," Simon Branford whispered, his over-large eyes wide with admiration.

"This'll get us the cup, for sure," said Geoffrey Stebbins. "Slytherin won't stand a chance."

And so on. Almost an hour passed before Harry managed to escape into the boys' dormitory, and even then it was only after promising to come back down for a proper celebration. Tired through to his bones, he trudged up the winding stairway and into the room he shared with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean. He slouched over to the trunk at the foot of his bed, opened it, placed the Shooting Star next to his Firebolt, closed the trunk again, and sat down on the floor. He could have happily stayed there all night, too, if the worried face of Ginny Weasley hadn't appeared over the edge of his bed.

Harry would have yelled in surprise, if he'd had the energy to. As it was he just made a sort of startled choking noise.

"I need to talk to you," she said urgently, her freckles standing out sharply against her pale face.

"About...about what?"

"Hogsmeade," she said.

Harry turned around to face her and leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. "What about Hogsmeade?"

"I saw you," she said softly. "I saw you with him. At the store."

Harry swallowed hard. "Oh."

"I haven't told anyone about the broom he borrowed. And I won't tell them about this, either. But..." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "I want to know what's going on, Harry. I know it's none of my business..."

"I'm just looking out for him," said Harry, staring down at his trainers. "That's all."

"But why?"

"Well, he needs someone to, doesn't he?"

"We've all had bad things happen to us, Harry. That doesn't mean we can't take care of ourselves."

"I know that," said Harry, shaking his head. "But we have friends to help us, or at least to be there while we figure things out on our own...And Malfoy doesn't even have that anymore. Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy and Millicent and everyone are gone. That whole crowd he used to lord over all left and went to Durmstrang. And now there's a professor out for his blood and a Muggle-born girl trying to get him expelled and a Quidditch captain who hates him, and...well, no one can deal with that on their own. At least, they shouldn't have to." He looked up. "Right?"

She swung her legs over the end of the bed, resting them on top of his trunk. "Is he your friend?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want him to be?"

Harry picked at his laces. "I don't know."

She grinned crookedly. "You don't know much, do you?"

"Ha."

Ginny leaned forward, arms folded across her knees, strawberry plaits slipping over her shoulders and falling alongside her face. "Do you really think he's changed?"

"I don't know," he said, a little sheepishly. "He seems to be trying, at least. In his own, slightly evil way."

Ginny looked thoughtful, twisting a tuft of hair around her finger. "I suppose so...but I'm still worried. What if he hasn't changed at all? What if he's planning something awful, and being nice so you won't expect it?"

"You mean like spying for Voldemort?" said Harry, recalling their conversation on the Hogwarts Express. It was his turn to look slightly superior.

"Well, he could be!" she said indignantly, blushing to the roots of her hair. "It's entirely possible!"

"If he's a spy, then I'm a Death Eater."

Ginny grinned, despite herself. "What if -"

"I thought you were coming back down?" Ron had appeared in the doorway, holding half of a raspberry tart. He blinked at his sister. "What're you doing up here, Gin'?"

"I just...came looking for Harry..."

"Well you'd better hurry up," said Ron, "or all the food'll be gone."

Obediently, Harry and Ginny followed him down to the common room, where the food was in no danger of disappearing any time soon. Fred and George had made a run to the kitchens, and the mention of Harry's name had resulted in a barrage of edibles. Cakes, pies, tarts, pasties, puddings, sausages and whole roasted chickens covered every available surface, and every-so-often a house-elf would creep in with another plate, depositing it on an end table before scampering out of sight again.

Dean Thomas had created a colorful banner that read, "Gryffindor for the Cup," and featured a pride of lions devouring several large, green snakes. Lavender and Parvati insisted to anyone who would listen that Professor Trelawney had predicted this during their last lesson, though Harry could remember nothing but a mention of his own, fast-approaching death. Colin Creevy and his little brother, Dennis passed out Malfoy's old "Potter Stinks" badges, which they'd finally managed to enchant to say, "Potter Rarely Stinks." And the twins, having dealt with the food problem, put on a sort of miniature play in front of the windows, with Fred playing the part of Harry and George pretending to be a bumbling Draco Malfoy. They kept trying to get their hands on Neville Longbottom, whom they had apparently decided was the Snitch.

It was a terrific party, and lasted well past midnight. What had started as a celebration of Harry's recent purchase slowly evolved into a much-needed escape from the realities of their situation. Excuses for merriment had been few and far between since the first of September, and all of them felt that this rare opportunity should be exploited to the farthest extreme. McGonagall must have agreed, as she did not reprimand them even once.

But it had been a long day for everyone, and as two o' clock rolled by there were more yawns than conversation. One by one, the Gryffindors surrendered to exhaustion and went upstairs to bed, murmuring their good-nights.

By two thirty, only Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were left. The chilly night air had driven them to a squashy couch in front of the fire. It was slightly too small for four people, but it was the warmest spot and no one wanted to move. The girls sat on the ends, and as Harry and Ron tried their best not to wind up in each others' laps they pressed themselves closer to Ginny and Hermione. Hermione didn't seem to mind, and she let Ron settle comfortably against her side, his head on her shoulder. Ginny, however, sat stiff as a board, hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared fixedly at a clock on the mantelpiece. Whether this was due to nerves or discomfort, Harry couldn't tell.

As soon as the sound of footsteps on the stairs had disappeared entirely, Hermione opened her eyes. "We need to talk," she said, her voice muffled slightly by Ron's hair. "About what happened in Hogsmeade." She glanced at Ginny, a small frown creasing her forehead. "I'm sorry, Virginia, but maybe you should..."

"I know, I know, go up to bed so you can talk." Scowling, she started to rise.

"No, wait," said Harry, pulling her back down next to him. "We should let her stay. Maybe she saw something the rest of us missed?"

Hermione and Ron both looked skeptical, but after a moment Hermione shrugged and went on. "Well, we were separated between when we left the hotel and when we arrived in McGonagall's office. I think we should all take turns recounting what happened to us during that time."

Ginny sighed, her body relaxing slightly against Harry's.

Ron and Hermione, it seemed, had just been leaving Zonko's when a crowd started to gather outside of Gringott's.

"A least fifty Death Eaters," said Ron, completely awake again now that they were at the good part. "Maybe a hundred of 'em, with torches and everything."

"I didn't recognize most of the spells," said Hermione, "but very few of them seemed deadly. I'd say they were trying to scare us more than hurt us."

Then the lamps had gone out, hexed by one of the Death Eaters, and in the sudden darkness the crowd began to panic. A handful of adults Apparated away, leaving hundreds of scared and confused students to fend for themselves. Most of the teachers, it seemed, had been taking their afternoon tea at the Three Broomsticks.

"But then we heard my Dad yelling over the noise," said Ron. "And we followed his voice, but the crowd was so thick and we were trying to move against it - "

"Ron was knocked over, and he would've been trampled if Mr. Weasley hadn't been right there - "

"He pulled me up again, and then he did some kind of spell so that no one could get too close to us - "

"A Boundary Charm - "

"And we just pushed our way through the whole mess until we got to the town hall. It wasn't much better inside, either, because no one knew what was going on or where all the Death Eaters had come from - "

"There're dozens of charms to stop this sort of thing from happening, and none of them were in place, and no one knew how to get them back up again because they couldn't even figure out how they were taken down in the first place - "

"And then the Aurors started Apparating in from London! Only a few of them came straight to the Town Hall, but the Ministry wizards Dad was talking to said they were coming in all over Hogsmeade, trying to keep the Death Eaters from joining up at the center of town - "

"As long as they were in smaller, isolated groups they were easy to deal with, but if they all came together into a huge rally...and of course, the Aurors were trying to evacuate Hogsmeade at the same time..."

"There was a wireless set up in the mayor's office, where we were, and reports started coming in from the different Auror teams. They'd scared off some of the Death Eaters, but one of the groups had gotten too big to control - "

"It was in Walton Square, right near Quality Quidditch supply," said Hermione breathlessly. "And we heard that you'd been spotted, and that they were shouting your name, and oh Harry! We were so worried! We thought you might have been...oh, it was awful!"

"But I'm OK," said Harry, feeling guilty for worrying them so much. "I got away before they could curse me."

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath, letting Ron pat her arm awkwardly while she calmed down. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Harry expectantly. "What happened to you?"

So Harry told them about going to pick up a few Potions supplies - which he really had done, fearing their reaction if he returned without a bag from Slug and Jiggers, as that had been his excuse for running off - and then wandering over to Quality Quidditch Supply to look at brooms. He recounted his conversation with the clerk - mostly for Ron's benefit - and the way the Death Eaters had filled the square in moments, his failed attempts at fighting them off and his narrow escape on the Shooting Star.

And then it was Ginny's turn. "I went to Honeyduke's," she said, "because my friend Annabell had said they were giving out free samples this weekend, and I ended up talking to Simon Branford about Quidditch practice next week. And that got me to thinking about how I needed a broomstick servicing kit like Harry's, since my Cleansweep is looking a little under-the-weather - "

"You're lucky it's still in once piece," said Ron testily. "It's older than you are."

"Yeah....well..." Ginny swallowed. "Anyway, I thought I should go by the broom shop. But I'd been talking to Simon for a pretty long while, and by the time I'd reached the store Harry was already leaving...by himself..." she added, glancing at Harry. "But I was too far away for him to notice me. And when the Death Eaters came I was still on the far side of the square from Harry, and I couldn't see what was happening to him....But they they started shouting his name, and I...well, I ran away..." She hung her head, fingers twisting together. "I didn't know what else to do."

"That was helpful," Ron grumbled. "So glad we had you here to pass on that vital information."

Ginny wilted.

"Did you notice anything else?" asked Harry softly, turning to her. "Anything unusual?"

"Well....um..." She pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. "I mean, I could be wrong....but I think I recognized one of them...one of the Death Eaters...when his mask slipped..."

"Who?" asked Hermione, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I can't imagine why he would have been there. I know Dumbledore thinks he's all right and - "

"Spit it out," said Ron.

"Professor Snape," Ginny whispered, looking up with wide eyes. "I think it was Professor Snape."

A long, heavy silence followed, broken only by the settling of logs in the grate.

"It couldn't have been," said Hermione finally.

"I know, I'm sorry, I must have just been imagining things," said Ginny, sounding strangely relieved. "I mean, he's horrible, but he's not a Death Eater - "

"Actually, he is," said Harry flatly. "Or at least, he used to be. He has the Dark Mark. He showed us when I was in the hospital wing after the Tournament. And right after that, Dumbledore told Snape that he knew what he had to do, and he left...you see, he used to be a spy. And I think that's what he's doing, now. Pretending to be a Death Eater so he can get information for Dumbledore."

Ginny looked completely dumbfounded. Hermione and Ron were staring at Harry, open-mouthed. He guessed they hadn't expected him to share quite so much with Ron's little sister.

"So you're right," he finished lamely. "It probably was Snape."

"Harry, this is really important," said Hermione, recovering. "We need to tell Dumbledore ."

"I'm sure he knows already - "

"We need. To tell. Dumbledore. If he already knows, then there's no harm done, but if he doesn't..."

"Yeah, I mean, what if Snape really did go back to You-Know-Who?" said Ron. "Dumbledore wouldn't know unless we told him."

"And you should also write to...to..." Hermione glanced at Ginny. "To your godfather...."

Ginny frowned. "You have a godfather?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Sirius. He was my father's best friend."

Ron choked.

"That's funny," said Ginny. "For a second there, I thought you were going to say 'Sirius Black.'" She laughed. "But that's ridiculous, isn't it? Him being a wanted murderer and all."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all fidgeted silently.

"Unless....it is the same Sirius...." she said slowly.

Harry coughed, trying to ignore the looks the Hermione and Ron were giving him. "Well, see...it all started when he and my dad were at school together..."

An hour or so later, Ginny Weasley was considerably better informed than she had been that afternoon.

***

When Harry came down to breakfast the next morning, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. They turned around in unison as he walked up to the table, identical "we need to talk" looks on their faces. Harry noticed, with no small amount of irritation, that they were sitting much closer than was necessary.

He sat down without a word, pouring milk and cornflakes into his bowl and pumpkin juice into his goblet.

"Harry, I think you should go talk to Professor Dumbledore during lunch," said Hermione quietly.

"I told you, he probably already knows..."

"That doesn't matter. You should tell him. If you don't, I will."

"Why don't you, then?"

"Because I'm not even supposed to know about Snape! It'd be better if you did it, Harry. You were there when everything happened. And Ginny would have an aneurism before she even opened her mouth."

"Besides," said Ron, "you know he'll just call you up to his office anyway. May as well get it over with."

"OK, fine, whatever," said Harry. He looked up and past his friends. "Hey, Ginny! Over here!"

Ron groaned as Ginny bounded across the room, grinning broadly as she plunked down into the seat next to Harry.

"Good morning!" she said brightly. "Did everyone sleep well?"

"Well's can be expected, given that we didn't go to bed until five," Ron grumbled.

"You know, I don't feel tired at all! I'm so excited about...well, you know...our talk..." Ginny giggled. "I could've stayed up all night!"

"Well, that's nice for you," said Hermione, stifling a yawn.

"In fact, I've got so much energy this morning, I thought I'd go out and fly a few laps before classes!" Ginny went on, bright as a button. "Anyone want to go with me?"

"Nah, I have to finish my Potions assignment," said Harry. "Soon, though. Want a chance to get used to the new broom."

Ginny grabbed a muffin and stood up, beaming at him. "Well, I'll see you later, then!"

"Have fun, Gin'."

And she was gone again, as quickly as she'd come.

"Is there any particular reason," said Ron, "why you chose last night as the best time to spill your guts about Sirius to my sister?"

"They're my guts," said Harry defensively. "I can spill them to whoever I want to."

"Well, that's true," said Hermione, "but you did sort of put us in an awkward place. Because while I do like Virginia, she's very...well, she's a lot to take sometimes..."

"Yeah, and I don't care if you two want to get cozy on your own time," said Ron. "But I don't want her hanging around. It's irritating."

"She is a bit much to take, sometimes," said Hermione. "Your secrets are your own to tell, Harry, but it's not fair to expect us to include her in everything...not so quickly."

Harry glowered into his cereal. "Well maybe if you two weren't sneaking off to snog all the time, I wouldn't have to look for other friends."

Neither Ron nor Hermione had an answer for that.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Harry sighed. "I just felt bad, leaving her out of things. Especially since practically everyone else in your family knows, Ron."

"It's all right, Harry," said Hermione. "And we're...we're really sorry, too. For going off without you all the time. It was very unkind of us."

"Yeah," said Ron.

"'S all right," said Harry.

Hermione nodded, the situation apparently resolved to her satisfaction. "Now, we have Defense Against the Dark Arts first today, and it only takes five minutes or so to get there. So, Harry, you should have just enough time to write a letter to Sirius about what happened."

"Actually, I already did," said Harry, pulling a folded bit of parchment out of his pocket. "Last night, before I went to sleep."

Hermione took the note and opened it, Harry and Ron looking over her shoulders.

Dear Sirius,

There was some trouble in Hogsmeade this weekend, but I'm all right. Got a new broom. I was going to lend the Firebolt to Ginny so she can practice, is that all right?

Harry.

She looked up from the letter. "Well, that was rather understated."

"Ginny gets the firebolt?!"

"I'll make her promise to let you use it," said Harry, scooting back his chair. "Anyway, I actually do have some work to finish, so..." He took the letter back from Hermione and tucked it in his robes.

"Don't forget to mail that," said Hermione.

Harry stood, looking out across the Great Hall toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy was in his usual spot at the end near the entranceway, a perimeter of empty chairs separating him from his housemates. Harry tried to catch his eyes, but Malfoy refused to look up from his breakfast.

"Harry?" Ron frowned up at him. "You OK?"

"Fine," said Harry, giving up on Malfoy. "I'll see you at lessons."

***

As they filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry and the other students saw that one of the desks had been moved to the front. There were several feet of open space on each side, and a circle had been chalked on the floor around it. Figg stood just outside of the line, arms crossed, greying copper-colored falling loose over her shoulders.

They found their seats, whispering among themselves.

"I bet she's planning to use us as target practice," said Ron.

A few nearby Slytherins caught this, and leered unpleasantly at Malfoy. If a target was going to be involved, there was little doubt as to who it would be. Harry eyed Figg over the top of his textbook, trying to figure out if she looked especially murderous.

"I'm sure that all of you are aware of what happened in Hogsmeade yesterday," she began, rolling a bit of chalk between her fingers. "However, I doubt very much that more than a few are aware of why events unfolded as they did."

She turned to the Gryffindor side of the room. "Miss Granger, I understand you were in the company of Arthur Weasley that afternoon. Could you please explain to the class what it is that normally prevents large, spontaneous gatherings of dark activity from occurring?"

Hermione explained about the various protective charms Mr. Weasley had told her about, blushing furiously but looking very pleased.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Two points to Gryffindor." Figg favored her with a rare smile. "Now, on this particular occasion, those charms had been dismantled. But that does not make them any less valid as a form of defense. The fault lay with the wizards monitoring the Hogsmeade Charm Grid, not with the charms themselves.

"Today's lesson will cover the basics of defensive charms. At the end of the period, one of you will sit in that chair," she pointed to the desk at the front of the room, "and we will test the competence of the charms protecting it."

The lesson was far more intellectual than Harry would have expected from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Much of the period was spend furiously scribbling notes as Figg explained how to construct a few, simple charms. At least, she said they were simple. There wasn't anything simple about them, as far as Harry was concerned. Far more Arithmancy was involved than he would have liked, and the theoretical basis behind it all was extremely convoluted.

Figg's behavior bordered on civil for most of the lesson, much to Harry's surprise. She was kind to the handful of students who dared to ask a question, and ignored Malfoy entirely. But her sadistic streak reemerged when it was time to test their new skills. She chose Neville Longbottom to cast the spells, and Malfoy as the unfortunate occupant of the chair. He sat down in it with his eyes closed, probably making peace with himself in the face of certain death. Figg looked extremely disappointed when her Hiccoughing Hex bounced off the perimeter of the circle.

A deep frown signaling the return of her usual bad mood, Figg dismissed the class. "Read pages four hundred through four hundred seventy-five, and turn in six inches next class on how you would use Contego to defend your home."

Everyone had packed up their bags and started to leave when Figg's voice cut through the chatter. "Except you, Malfoy. You're to stay behind so we can discuss your detention."

Malfoy gaped at her incredulously. "For what?!"

"For reinforcing Longbottom's Barrier Charm," Figg sneered. "Don't ever think that I'm not watching you, Malfoy." She glanced up at the rest of the class, who were staring at her openly. "Did I tell any of you to stay?" she snapped.

The room emptied very quickly after that, and Harry was caught in the tide of Gryffindors, the heavy door closing behind him with a thud.

"What a terrific lesson!" said Hermione, glowing with enthusiasm and hugging her notebook to her chest. "I had no idea Professor Figg was so well-aquainted with Charm Theory! I wonder what she used to do before she started nannying for you, Harry..."

But Harry's attention was elsewhere. A gang of Slytherins were chuckling nastily further down the hall. He recognized one of them as the girl who had barged into the Gryffindor common room last week. She seemed to be the center of attention, commenting loudly on how Malfoy was finally getting the kind of "special treatment" a pureblood snob like him deserved.

Harry felt an irrational urge to punch her in the face.

His next lesson, Divination, did not promise to help his mood in the slightest. They had started the long-awaited, much-dreaded unit on Hepatoscopy, and the hot, soupy, perfumed air of the tower classroom was laced with the stench of rotting meat.

"I realize that this form of truth-seeing is seldom used anymore," Trelawney murmured, her voice dewy and vague. "However, I have always found blood to be a strong receptor for the vibrations of the future. Though it may lack the elegant simplicity of crystal gazing, the deep humanity of palmistry, the cool objectivity of the stars, it seems to me a skill worth knowing. For the truths revealed by flesh are often the most profound."

"I can't believe we have to do this," mumbled Ron, poking the disemboweled corpse in front of him with the end of his wand. "It's cruelty to animals, isn't it?"

"They're probably not real chickens," said Harry. "I bet McGonagall conjured them up."

"Real or not, they still stink," said Lavender Brown. She and Parvati looked considerably less enthusiastic than was usual for a Divination lesson.

Trelawney floated between the tables, occasionally bending down to examine a carcass or offer a few words of advice. Every so often she would glance in Harry's direction with a forlorn expression, no doubt having seen his demise in the entrails of someone's bird.

"Oh, no," Ron moaned. "I think she's headed this way. Quick, help me think of something horrible I can see in these chicken guts."

"Aren't the guts horrible enough?" said Harry, wrinkling his nose. "I dunno, make something up. As long as it involves me and a load of misery, she'll be happy."

Ron dragged out his copy of Unfogging the Future and scanned through, running his finger along a section titled, "Hepatoscopy and the Approach of Death." A few moments later the jangling of bracelets announced Professor Trelawney's approach.

She leaned down close to them, her eyes misty behind jeweled spectacles. "Well, my dears...how are you progressing?"

"Oh, we're great," said Harry quickly.

"Yeah," said Ron. "We've seen all kinds of stuff."

"Really?" She pulled a stool up to their table and settled herself down onto it, the gauzy fabric of her robes hissing softly as she moved. "Tell me...what is it that you see? What secrets have the fates revealed to you?"

"Er," said Harry, staring at his chicken. He felt vaguely ill. "I see...I see the Grim. He's ah...he's with a werewolf..."

"Perhaps Death is following Mr. Lupin," Trelawney murmured sadly.

"No, no I think he's just visiting," said Harry lamely.

Trelawney shifted her attention to Ron. "And you, Mr. Weasley?"

"Oh, you know, gobs of misery," he said. "Harry's going to have a really nasty time of it. That bit of liver's telling me he should beware red-headed women and snakes...and the left kidney says he's likely to die in a fire." More poking with the wand. "And I could be wrong, but I think those lower intestines are strongly suggesting that Malfoy's gonna catch the snitch."

"Not bloody likely," Harry grumbled under his breath.

"Can't help what I see," said Ron, grinning crookedly. "The chicken never lies."

Trelawney sighed, a bangled hand fluttering to her brow. "Such are the burdens of the Inner Eye, my child. The truth is not often what those around us wish to hear." She rose, spindly limbs pulling a tasseled shawl more closely around her shoulders, and drifted off to another table.

Ron and Harry burst into sniggering laughter as soon as she was out of earshot.

"'Red-headed women?'" Harry snorted.

"It was the first thing I thought of! Better than your Grim, at any rate..."

"The Grim is an old standby!"

"Only if that means you use it in every single assignment."

Before Harry could remind him of his own abuse of divination conventions, Lavender and Parvati burst suddenly into excited chittering.

"Oh! Oh, Professor!" cried Lavender, her face lighting up with excitement. "Oh, I think I see something!"

"What, a maggot?" muttered Ron.

Trelawney leaned down obligingly, adjusting her glasses. "I thought this looked kind of like a cannon ball," said Lavender excitedly. "And this looks a little like an upside-down Eiffel Tower. But I can't figure out what that would mean..."

"It is a cauldron," Trelawney murmured. "And a knife. And that...that, I fear, is a skull..."

Lavender and Parvati both gasped. "But what does it mean?" Parvati whispered.

"I fear for the safety of our Potions master," said Trelawney, eyes half-closed, her voice raised just enough to carry. "Professor Fletcher, it seems, has fallen out of grace with destiny."

A hush fell over the tower room. Lavender stared down at her bird with a horrified expression, as if she were somehow responsible for Fletcher's untimely end.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, too quietly for anyone but Harry to hear. "If your death omens meant anything, Harry'd be a goner ten times over by now."

"More like a hundred," said Harry. But he couldn't help feeling a little uneasy, all the same.

"What about this little twist in this vein thing here?" Parvati was asking, looking up at Trelawney with reverent eyes. "What does that mean?"

"That is the aorta, Miss Patil," Trelawney murmured. "This bird speaks of a tormented love."

Ron and Harry shared a smirk. And as she went on about romance between rival houses as if her vision were a Shakespearean tragedy, Harry's fear for Fletcher's safety gradually faded away. By the time Trelawney had moved onto another table, he and Ron were back to their usual, irreverently uninterested selves.

Harry's lighthearted mood did not last much past the second floor, however. As he and Ron descended the main stairway toward the Great Hall, with very little on his mind aside from how best to get the stench of chicken innards out of his clothes, Hermione called to them from behind. Harry looked back in time to see her trotting across the landing, a gigantic Muggle Studies textbook under her arm and an inky quill stuck behind her ear.

"So have you decided what you want to say to Dumbledore, Harry?" she said briskly, stuffing the book into her rucksack as she walked.

"Er...yeah..." said Harry.

He managed to dodge Hermione's inquiries with noncommittal, monosyllabic replies; and Ron was helpful enough to keep changing the subject back to their inane Divination lesson. Harry stared fixedly at the chair he planned to sit in as they entered the Great Hall, trying his best to pretend the staff table didn't exist. He wasn't sure why he was so reluctant to approach the headmaster -- he just knew that he would rather eat a bucket of flobberworms.

They sat down near Dean and Seamus, who were busy finishing their star charts for Astronomy, and Harry asked them as many questions about polar constellations as he could think of. Hermione, meanwhile, became more and more obviously agitated. She kept glancing between Harry and Dumbledore, her head swinging back and forth like she was watching a table tennis match, stopping only to check her watch and frown at the time.

"You are going to talk to him....aren't you?" she said finally. "Harry, this is important..."

"I know!" Harry muttered. Dean and Seamus had left for the Astronomy Tower, leaving him without a plausible excuse to linger. "I know...I just...it feels weird..."

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron, not unkindly. "If Harry doesn't want to go up there, he shouldn't have to."

"But this isn't just about Harry! It's about Professor Snape..."

"Who's a slimy, ugly git."

"Maybe so, but if Dumbledore trusts him then he's got to be all right, doesn't he?"

"Dumbledore trusted Lockhart, too, and look what that got us. Backfiring memory charms and a load of swooning girls."

"I did not swoon!"

"You said it, not me."

"Oh, honestly!"

"Hermione's right," said Harry suddenly, forcing himself to look up. Dumbledore sat at the center of the high table, his wizened head tilted slightly as he listened to Professor McGonagall. "If something's going on with Snape, Dumbledore should know about it." He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the table.

Harry stared at his feet as he walked down Gryffindor table toward the end of the hall, running through possible conversations over and over in his head. What was he going to say? How much did he want to tell him? Would Dumbledore even care?

When he finally raised his eyes again, he started a bit to see Dumbledore calmly watching him, his conversation with McGonagall apparently finished.

"Do you need something, Mr. Potter?" asked McGonagall briskly.

Harry withered, his eyes still locked with the headmaster's, his mouth hanging stupidly open. All his careful opening words were lost to him under the weight of that pale, blue gaze.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Harry?" said Dumbledore softly. "Anything at all?"

Harry blinked, the familiar words calming his nerves and brushing the cobwebs aside. This was something he could do.

"It's about Professor Snape," he said.

"I see...Perhaps we should go to my office, then?" He smiled at McGonagall. "If you'll excuse me, Minerva."

As they ascended the golden spiral staircase, it occurred to Harry that he spent much more time in the Headmaster's office than was usual for a student. But before he could reflect upon it further they were seated on either side of Dumbledore's desk, a tin of sweets and a bag of what looked like Floo powder between them.

"Now, Harry....you were saying?"

"I'm sure you already know this," said Harry quickly, wanting to get it out before he lost his nerve. "But Snape was in Hogsmeade yesterday. We saw him..." He swallowed. "We saw him with the Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded very slowly, his face unusually stern. "And why did you decide to share this with me, Harry?"

"Because I know that he used to be your spy," said Harry, "and that you sent him back to Voldemort last spring. But I didn't know if he was....if he was still on your side."

"Did Professor Snape do anything to suggest otherwise?"

"I don't know...I couldn't tell..." Harry shook his head. "But he was there, he was definitely there. And when the others came after us...after me....he didn't do anything to stop them."

"I suspect he decided you would be able to manage on your own," said Dumbledore, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"So...so you told him to be there?"

"Not precisely."

"Then he's gone back to Voldemort..."

"No...no, I don't believe he has." Dumbledore sighed deeply, his eyes fluttering closed before he spoke again. "I trust Severus Snape implicitly, Harry. He has earned my faith in him time and time again, though I may not always agree with his methods or his motivations." His eyes opened again, unusually fierce behind the half-moon spectacles. "What I am about to tell you is not trifling information. I trust you to share it wisely, if at all. And I trust you not to ask me any more questions when I have finished.

"You're right, Harry -- I did ask him to return to his former position, hard as it was for both of us. As such, his situation is a delicate one. Voldemort and his Death Eaters are not stupid people; it has been very difficult to stay in contact without their noticing. And before you came to speak with me today, our knowledge of his whereabouts had been several weeks out of date." A faint smile. "For that, Harry, I thank you most sincerely. Severus is a dear friend of mine, you see, and we all worry over our friends."

Dumbledore stood, purple silk and long white hair whispering as he moved. "I believe it's time for your next lesson, Harry. You can go."

Not knowing what other choice he had, Harry got up from his chair. As he turned to leave, he saw Dumbledore reach for the bag of Floo powder. And just as the heavy office door clicked shut behind him, Harry thought he heard a sudden roar of flame, and a muffled word that could have been "Arabella."

***

Ginny was waiting for him on the pitch that evening, her hair pulled into an untidy bun and her trousers crumpled by battered old shin guards. It was close to sunset, and her eyes shone with excitement in the dim light.

"Madam Hooch says we have to be in by the time it gets properly dark," said Ginny, hefting her broom. "But I thought we could at least get a few laps in before then, right?"

Harry grinned, sliding the canvas bag he was carrying off his back and onto the damp ground. He crouched down next to it, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Actually, I thought we might start with your Seeker training," he said slowly, opening the bag. He pulled out a small, familiar wooden box.

"Is that the Snitch?" Ginny murmured, leaning over to get a better look. "But Harry...it's a professional grade ball....I'll never be able to catch in on my broom..."

"I know," said Harry. "That's why I brought this, too." He unzipped the bag the rest of the way and pulled the edges apart. Lying along the bottom was the Shooting Star. And next to it...

"Your Firebolt?" Ginny reached slowly for it, thin fingers brushing the handle as if she was afraid it might burn her. "Oh, but Harry...I couldn't possibly..."

"Just think of it as a long-term borrowing," said Harry, grinning at the unguarded excitement on her face. "It's not like I need it, right?"

"But..." She lifted the broom, handling it as if it were made of glass. "Shouldn't you be giving this to Ron? He's your best friend..."

"I told him he could have a go on it when he wants to, but you've got to practice on a decent broom if you're going to be any use as a reserve." He stood up, the box in one hand and his broom in the other. "So....ready to catch the Snitch?"

Ginny nodded quickly, her grip on the Firebolt tightening.

"You've got about ten minutes before it gets too dark. I'll wait until we're both in the air to let the Snitch go. If you can't catch it before the sun sets, I'll do it for you so it doesn't get lost. OK?"

"OK."

"Let's go, then," he said. And in a single, fluid movement he mounted his broom and kicked off of the ground.

The cool, wet air slid over his face and pulled at his clothes and hair, swirling around him as he left the earth behind. And in that moment the world below was forgotten, and there was nothing left but the girl flying next to him, the wooden handle between his knees and the wind roaring in his ears.

"Ready?" he called, reluctantly coming to a halt high above the center of the pitch.

Ginny grinned at him, carrot hair already coming loose and tangling around her face. "Ready!"

He pulled the box out of his robes, undid the catch and tipped back the lid. As soon as there was room enough, the tiny golden ball whizzed past his fingers.

Ginny had obviously never ridden a decent broom before. Her first movements were exaggerated and barely controlled, a result of having learned on less responsive models. It was just what he had expected, given what he'd seen at tryouts a few weeks before. What surprised him, however, was how quickly she recovered.

She had definitely been practicing. The gangly awkwardness was nearly gone; long limbs that had tangled with each other so recently were tucked neatly into place, legs pulled close underneath her and elbows held tight against her sides. Her brows knitted as she scanned the gathering darkness, narrowed eyes passing over him as if he didn't exist.

Harry wondered if that was how he looked when he played. Certainly Malfoy was never so focused, always as worried about keeping an eye on Harry as he was about finding the Snitch. There was a single mindedness to Ginny's expression that the other Seekers he'd played against seemed to lack.

Then a glint of gold caught his eye.

"There!" she cried, exalted. And in a streak of red hair and brown jumper she dove, her body pressed flat against the Firebolt and her arm reaching out toward the tiny spark of movement.

She closed her fingers around the quivering wings with a wordless shout of triumph. Harry checked his watch. It had taken just under five minutes. Ginny careened toward him, grinning so widely her cheeks must have hurt, and almost ran him down in her eagerness.

"How did I do? Was that all right? Did I catch it fast enough?" she said, her words tumbling together. "Oh, Harry, this broom is fantastic!"

"You were great," said Harry, smiling. "The broom just helped."

"Can I have another go at it?"

"Better not...it's getting too dark..." Harry gently took the Snitch from her and put it back into its box. It didn't put up much of a fight; Harry suspected it wasn't used to being squeezed quite so hard. He pocketed the box. "How about we take those laps, now?"

"Sounds wonderful," said Ginny, and she followed him into the first, lazy loop around the pitch. The sun had gone down entirely by then, and Harry could only just make her out against the treetops. For a time they flew in companionable silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the calls of night birds.

"I told Dumbledore about Snape," said Harry quietly. "I said that I was the one who saw him...I figured you wouldn't want to get called up to his office."

"Thanks," said Ginny. She tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, hiding her face with her hand. "I hope...I mean....did he sound happy to know?"

"Yeah."

"That's good..." She lowered her hand to the broom handle again, but did not turn to look at him. It was several more laps before she spoke again, and when she did it was so softly that Harry couldn't hear her over the wind.

"What was that?" he said.

"How's Draco?" she said again, louder this time, though she sounded embarrassed for asking.

"Dunno," said Harry. "I haven't talked to him."

Ginny looked up finally at that. "You haven't? Not since Hogsmeade?"

Harry shrugged. "Just didn't get around to it yet. I'm sure he's fine."

She stared at him. "Harry, it's been days. Aren't you worried about him?"

"Well, yeah, a little..."

"But you haven't talked to him? Not even a note or anything?"

Harry shook his head.

Ginny sighed. "All right...you said you wanted to look out for him, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that doesn't just mean saving him from angry mobs. You said yourself that he's all alone, now. I don't know exactly what happened on Sunday, but I can't imagine he's very happy about having his Dad's old friends try to kill him."

"Suspect not," said Harry.

"So he's going to need someone to talk to. And he's not exactly the sort to admit needing help, is he? So you'll have to go to him."

"And do what?"

Ginny smiled a bit. "When I'm at the Burrow, Mum sits me down at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a plate of biscuits until I tell her what's bothering me."

Harry tried to picture sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Malfoy and chatting over baked goods, but could think of no outcome more likely than Ron coming in and hitting them both about the head. The Slytherin common room fared no better.

"I'll think of something," he sighed. "Assuming he'll even talk to me."

Ginny laughed. "Are you kidding? He's been following you around since you were eleven. I'd be more surprised if he didn't talk to you."

Harry wished that he shared her conviction.

***

The next morning, Harry walked to the owlery after breakfast with a short note in his pocket. As Hedwig fluttered down to him from her perch, he took it out and read it over once more.

Malfoy,

Meet me at the bottom of the basement stairs in the north wing after lessons are over.

Harry

"Seems straight forward enough," he said to Hedwig, refolding the letter and tying it to her leg. "Think he'll show up?" She hooted softly in reply, nipping at his fingers.

The Gryffindors and the Slytherins had two classes together that day -- Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts -- and Harry spent most of both of them sneaking glances at Malfoy. Malfoy, however, refused to look at him at all. He stared silently at his textbook while Figg lectured them on charm breaking, and he stared silently at his feet when Professor Grubbly-Plank brought out a pair of Fwoopers. By the time Care of Magical Creatures was dismissed, Harry had completely convinced himself that Malfoy had Incendioed his letter upon delivery.

When last period finally ended, and Harry left his friends and classmates behind to make his way through the north wing and down the basement stairs, he told himself that he would wait for ten minutes before giving up and going to dinner. The corridor he descended into was wide and well-lit, with brightly colored paintings of food lining the walls. And studying a cheerful still life of pomegranates, his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his hands in the pockets of his robes, was Malfoy.

He turned at the sound of Harry's footsteps. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek and his lip was spilt and swollen. "Why did you want to see me?" he asked. "What's even down here?"

Harry's answer was to walk over to a gigantic painting of a bowl of fruit and tickle the pear. It squirmed, giggling squeakily, and with a pop it turned into a large green door handle. Harry grabbed and turned it, and the painting swung aside.

"Coming?" he said. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as he followed Harry through the door.

There were still four, long tables in the vaulted room beyond, though only two of them were laid out for dinner. One for the Ravenclaws and Slytherins, the other for the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors - just as it was in the Great Hall above them. Elves in tea towels emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest scurried back and forth around them, carrying roasts and pies and heaping plates of potatoes.

"Are these the kitchens?" Malfoy asked, watching the activity with vague interest.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Hermione found her way down here last year."

"Nice that she's useful."

"It's odd, though," Harry went on, deliberately ignoring the jibe. "Usually Dobby would have pounced me by now..."

Malfoy looked up at this. "Dobby? Why does that sound familiar?"

"It should...he used to be your house-elf." Harry sighed. "I guess it must be his day off."

"I hope you didn't intend for this to be a family reunion," said Malfoy coolly. "Much as I appreciate the thought."

"Is there something we can be doing for you, sirs?" squeaked a voice somewhere behind them.

Harry turned. They had crossed the room by then, and were standing in front of the hearth, a massive construction that dwarfed them easily. One of the elves had broken off from the dinner preparations and was looking up at them expectantly. Harry suspected it was a "he," but knew from past experience that it was never a sure thing with elves.

"Um...yeah," said Harry, hunching down a little. "Could we maybe get some dessert?"

The elf's eyes traveled up to his forehead. "Oh, of course, sir! Anything for Harry Potter, sir!" He bowed so low that his overlong nose almost touched the ground, then hurried off toward the ovens. A few moments and much elvish chattering later, a table and two chairs had appeared. They were shortly followed by a heaping plate of oatmeal biscuits, a chocolate cake, several puddings, and two icy glasses of milk.

"Looks like your fans are everywhere, Potter," said Malfoy. He carefully soaked one of the biscuits in his milk.

Harry flushed. "They...they just like being helpful." He glanced at Malfoy's injured face. "What..?

"Bludger."

"Ah..." Harry took a bite of his cake. "Well. How have you been?"

"Fine."

Another bite. "Because, I mean...after what happened in Hogsmeade - "

"I'm fine," Malfoy repeated, more firmly this time. But something in Harry's expression must have made him reconsider, because he sighed and said, "Honestly, Potter, I'm all right. Yes, it was....strange...being chased by those Death Eaters. I've never actually seen so many of them together like that. My father sent me into the woods before the riot at the World Cup." He sipped his milk slowly, biscuit crumbs clinging to the sides of the glass. "His friends used to visit the manor sometimes, but they were never masked. And they made me leave the room when they were going to talk business. So really...I hadn't seen anything like that before." He put the glass down on the table. "But I'm fine."

Harry blinked. That had to have been the most substantial thing Malfoy had ever said to him.

"What about you?" Malfoy asked, helping himself to the puddings.

"Oh! I'm...well, I'm fine." Malfoy grinned a little at this. "I'm just annoyed at having run away like that, I guess."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?'"

"I mean why do you care? There were something like sixty of them and two of us. They're powerful dark wizards and you're not."

"Neither are you."

"No, but at least I'm a novice dark wizard. And the worst curse I know didn't do a thing against them."

"And that doesn't bother you?" said Harry incredulously.

"Not especially." Malfoy put down his fork and looked straight at him, grey eyes half hidden by fringe. "I know what my strengths are. Fighting angry mobs of Death Eaters isn't among them. We can't all be saviors of the Wizarding World."

"But that's just it!" said Harry, scowling fiercely. "I don't see how I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort if I can't even take care of his stupid minions."

Harry was surprised to see Malfoy flinch at the name. "Voldemort," he said slowly, as though he was tasting something both unfamiliar and unpleasant. "I know you were raised by Muggles, but....to just say it like that...like it's nothing..."

"Well, I..."

But he forgot what he was going to say, then. Because a long, pointy, familiar-looking ear chose that moment to poke itself out from behind the hearth.

Dobby. Harry opened his mouth to greet him, but the elf stuck his head out the rest of the way and shook it frantically from side to side. He pointed at Malfoy, then at his fist, before punching himself rather dramatically in the jaw. With a sharp squeak of pain he disappeared behind the fireplace again.

Malfoy, apparently desensitized to the sounds of suffering, did not look up from his pie. "You what, Potter?"

"I'll...be right back..."

When Harry came around the side of the fireplace, Dobby was picking himself up off the floor, his huge, green eyes somewhat unfocused. It had apparently been a very solid punch.

"Dobby, what is it?" Harry whispered.

"Young Mister Malfoy," Dobby hissed. "He is sitting at your table!"

"I um...I noticed that Dobby..."

"He is a BAD WIZARD! The Malfoys is wanting nothing but evil things! They is trying to kill Harry Potter! Dobby knows they is!"

"Dobby, look, you -"

"Harry Potter should not be sitting with them! Harry Potter should not be trusting them!"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Dobby..."

"I can hear you, you know," said Malfoy dryly. He turned in his chair and leveled them with a cool gaze. "I think I remember this particular servant, now. He was always shutting his fingers in the door. Pity he seems to have lost the habit."

"Dobby is not being your servant any longer!" said the elf with surprising ferocity. "Dobby is a free elf. And if Mister Malfoy is thinking of doing something to Dobby's friend...to Harry Potter...he should stop thinking it right now."

The two of them stood their ground for a long moment, tiny elf and teenage boy both fixing each other with narrow looks. It would have been comical if not for the glint of something dangerous in Dobby eyes. Then, with a huff and a few mumbled words about checking on muffins, Dobby spun on his heel and stomped off toward the ovens.

"I'm sorry," said Harry once the elf was gone. "I don't know what got into him...he's not usually so..."

"Obnoxious? Incomprehensible?"

"...Combative."

Malfoy chucked a bit at this. "You don't know much about house elves, do you, Potter? There's a reason the old wizarding families bound them all into servitude."

"Because they were convenient, free labor?"

"That, too...but more importantly, they're dangerous if left to their own devices. Elf magic is very powerful, and not easy to defend against. You've noticed how they can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts? Not even my father can...could...do that." Malfoy frowned. "Dumbledore's a fool for letting this one run lose."

"Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

Malfoy swallowed audibly, took a slow breath, and said, "You're right. Of course he does." He pushed back from the table and stood. "I should go. Morag will wonder if I don't show up for dinner, and I'd rather not have her sniffing around."

"But..."

Malfoy paused in gathering up his books. "But what, Potter?"

"Well. I mean...Ron and Hermione are off snogging all the time. So I've been kind of..."

"Bored?"

Harry risked a sideways glance. "Yeah."

"And you want me to distract you from your misery?"

Harry shrugged as noncommittally as he could manage. "Figure I shouldn't have to suffer alone."

"Glad to be of help." Malfoy picked up his rucksack and turned to the door. His back betrayed no emotion when he said, "Look...I have a pass for the restricted section. That's where I learned most of the curses I know. If you want, I can teach a few of them to you. I could explain them without the books, but you'll learn them faster if you read up on the theory, first."

"I remember your curses as not accomplishing much," said Harry.

"And I remember you trying to stop Death Eaters with Impedementia." Malfoy did not look back as he strode across the room. "I'll be in the Library after classes on Friday."

Harry nodded, instantly felt like an idiot for doing so, then said, "All right," just as the fruit bowl painting swung back into place.

***

Not feeling especially hungry, Harry decided to skip dinner entirely and go straight up to Gryffindor Tower. He settled into his customary chair near the windows with a textbook and a handful of biscuits from the kitchens, and was most of the way done with his Potions reading when his housemates returned from the Great Hall. Hermione, Ron and Ginny were at the head of the crowd, and had crossed the room in the time it took Harry to close his book.

"Harry!" said Ginny. "You've got a letter!"

"It was an express owl," said Hermione, holding out a tightly rolled parchment. "It must be urgent."

"Who's it from" asked Ron, leaning closer.

Harry took the letter, broke the red wax seal and unrolled it, glancing down at the signature. "It's Sirius," he murmured.

Harry,

I wish I didn't have to say this in a letter, but there's no time to arrange a meeting. Dumbledore told me about Hogsmeade, and now there's something I need to take care of. I'm sorry, but I can't be more specific here.

I'll be gone for at least a week. If you need anything, write to Moony -- he'll be expecting it.

I won't lie to you, Harry. Things are not going to get better. I know you can take care of yourself, but I would hate for something to happen to you because you weren't prepared. I want you to go and talk with Arabella Figg. Tell her I sent you. She's a horrible old bat, but she can teach you what you need to know.

Be on the watch, Harry. I'll write again as soon as I can.

Sirius.

"Professor Figg?" said Ron skeptically. "Why her?"

"Well, she is the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher," said Ginny.

"But she's been living as a crazy Muggle cat woman my whole life!" said Harry. "Why would Sirius send me to her?"

"Because she used to be an Auror," said Hermione quietly. The others stared at her. "I looked it up. She worked under Moody during the war. But...I don't know why Sirius would send you to her..."

"Why?"

"Because she was one of the Aurors who arrested him after...after Pettigrew escaped..." she said. "She's part of the reason he never had a trial."