Harry Potter and the Rogue Countercurse

It was one of those pleasantly lazy days where no one felt like doing anything in particular - which was good, because there was nothing in particular to do. Ron had suggested the idea of a picnic by the lake and Harry and Hermione had enthusiastically agreed. Hermione had packed them a lunch in a basket, Harry had supplied the blanket, and Ron had brought along his chess set.

Hermione had agreed to play the winner of the boys' game, which turned out to be Ron. Ron promptly squelched Hermione in the next match, leaving her feeling sulky and Ron feeling annoyingly superior.

"Sure you don't fancy another match?" asked Ron hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm quite sure."

"You just don't like losing at anything," announced Ron.

"Well, it wouldn't be so bad if you didn't gloat endlessly-"

"I do not gloat!" said Ron, offended. "Do I, Harry?"

When Harry made no reply, Ron and Hermione turned around to look at him. Harry was absently playing with his shoelaces and staring off into space.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Erm...Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

Harry glanced up quickly at his friends. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound offhand. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking."

Ron raised his eyebrows and Hermione bit her lip.

"Harry," she said slowly... "Are you sure you're all right? I mean, if there's anything you wanted to, you know, talk about...we're here for you."

Harry closed his eyes; he didn't want to tell them, but at the same time he did. The truth was that, in all this time, he had yet to tell his friends about the prophecy. He knew he should have - long ago. They had fought with him, they had been there - they deserved to know the truth. But somehow, every time he opened his mouth, he found the words impossible to say. Ron and Hermione had been careful not to ask him touchy questions about what had happened last year, and he wasn't at all sure how to start a conversation about the prophecy.

Of course, it didn't help that he himself had been able to think of little else lately.

Sometimes it felt like a drum was beating the words into his skull. Every time he walked, the words seemed to fall in place with his steps - "KILL or be KILLED. KILL or be KILLED. THRICE de-FIED him. THRICE de-FIED him. BORN as the SEV-enth month DIES."

He had also taken to observing Neville Longbottom more than he ever had before. He could not help but wonder how different the world would be if Voldemort had chosen Neville instead of him. It would be Neville carrying this weight on his shoulders, not Harry. It would be Neville who would have to save the wizarding world. But Neville was blissfully unaware of Harry's thoughts, and went about his life as usual - hunched shoulders and botched potions and melted cauldrons.

Harry felt awful hiding the prophecy's contents from his friends. And he knew that each day he put it off, the worse it would be when they did find out. But he could not bring himself to say it. He couldn't. And he could only hope that, when the time did come, they would understand.

Harry opened his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "It's not that I haven't wanted to talk to you lately. It's just that it's difficult for me to... well, to sort everything out. To sort out everything I've been thinking. So it's even harder to talk about stuff...like..."

"Sirius?" asked Hermione in a small voice.

Harry gave her a grim smile. "Yeah. Stuff like that."

"We miss him, too," said Ron's voice suddenly.

Harry stared over at Ron, who was averting his eyes. Ron's shoulders looked tensed, as though he were ready to stand up and leave at any moment. Harry was surprised.

"I know," said Harry. "I know you miss him. I didn't think it was just me - that's not what I - I never..."

Ron met Harry's eyes this time. "I didn't mean it to come out like that. I wasn't trying to accuse you or anything. It's just...we've all been through a rough time, and...and..."

"And you're glad that it's over?" suggested Hermione.

Ron's face darkened suddenly. "I wish it was over," he amended. He cast a sidelong glance at Harry. "But somehow I doubt it."

The three friends lapsed into an uneasy silence. Harry inwardly resolved to tell his friends the truth - soon, he promised himself. Hermione fidgeted.

"Maybe we should go back to the castle," she said tentatively.

"Yeah," said Ron. "It's almost dinner time."

Hermione gaped at him. "I packed a very large lunch - of which you ate at least half!"

Ron grinned. "I know. I'm still hungry though. I'm always hungry."

Hermione and Ron kept the light banter going all the way back to the castle. Harry was grateful, for he wasn't sure if he had the energy required to engage in normal conversation. He allowed his mind to drift, and he found himself thinking about Voldemort's plans. He knew it was stupid to worry - there had been no new information, there was nothing he could do as of yet. But he had felt his scar tingling several times throughout the last month - and Harry knew for a fact that that was not a good sign. He had, however, practiced Occlumency with all his might over the summer and as a result there had been no more visions.

When the trio reached the castle, they trudged up the stone steps to the entrance and wiped their feet on the door mat (the mud on the mat vanished as soon as they did.) Upon stepping inside, they were greeted to the very last person they wanted to see - the Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch.

Filch glared at the three Gryffindors then cleared his throat. This had no measurable effect, for his voice was just as dry and raspy as ever when he spoke: "'Eadmaster says you're to go to his office."

Harry was surprised. "All of us?"

Filch glared again. "Think you're smart, eh? I'll have none of your lip. Just get to his office or else." Filch stalked away, looking not unlike his cat Mrs. Norris did when she hunted small animals.

"Er..okay," said Harry. He turned to Hermione and Ron. "What d'you reckon? Do we all go?"

"Well," began Hermione, "If Professor Dumbledore didn't specifically say, I expect Ron and I should just go ups-"

"Yeah, we'll come with you," said Ron suddenly. Hermione looked at Ron in exasperation, but did not seem to want to fight about it.

They quickly made their way to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore, they found, was waiting outside the gargoyle that guarded the entrance. He looked up when he saw them and smiled.

"Good afternoon," he said calmly.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," the Gryffindors replied.

"I expect you're wondering why I've called you here," said Dumbledore. He paused for a moment and stared at Harry, then cleared his throat. "I have recently received some information that I think is vital for you, Harry, to hear. I have asked you," and here he indicated Ron and Hermione,"to come because I know that Harry will need your help and support through these next few months. You have both proven yourselves to be responsible individuals - as are all of our Prefects - but more than that you are Harry's most loyal friends."

Hermione and Run both flushed slightly pink.

"As for you, Harry," continued Dumbledore - "well, I shall say nothing more until we are in my office, except to tell you that there is someone inside who is most eager to see you again." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily.

Harry's heart leapt painfully - Sirius! he thought wildly. Sirius! It made no sense, but somehow Harry knew... he just knew..

"Professor..." said Harry. His voice was dry. He tried again. "Professor.."

Dumbledore gave Harry a thin smile. "Harry," he said softly. "You know that no spell-"

"- can wake the dead," said Harry harshly. Hermione looked at him in mute sympathy.

Harry looked away from her, and from everybody. He felt disgusted with himself.

Dumbledore looked at Harry kindly, then said, "Let's go up then, shall we?"

Harry nodded, still looking at the ground. Dumbledore turned to the stone gargoyle and said clearly, "Pepper Imp."

The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Dumbledore led the trio up the spiral stone staircase and to the door of his office. Dumbledore opened the door and Harry, who in his anger had forgotten about the visitor, found himself looking across the room at none other than his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher - Remus Lupin.

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Draco read the letter for the third time.

His father's instructions were most precise. They left no room for interpretation. When the instructions were carried out, Draco would be able to count himself both a thief and an abductor.

Draco set the letter down and closed his eyes. His mouth spread slowly into a grin. Oh, this was too cool...

He, Draco, would be of great use to the Dark Lord, and Potter... Potter would pay.

Potter would pay for sending his father to Azkaban. He would pay for all the times when he had insulted Draco, taunted him, gotten him into trouble.

Draco folded the letter excitedly and locked it in his trunk. He was almost bursting with energy. He couldn't wait to put the plan into action. He couldn't wait...to tell someone.

He had to tell someone. If he really could have had his way, he would love to tell Potter. He would love to taunt him with this, to tell him that it was coming, that there was nothing he could do to stop it. But of course he couldn't. He supposed he would have to settle for Crabbe and Goyle.

He poked his head out of his dormitory, and bellowed his friends' names.

They came trudging along the corridor, looking tired and confused. They were a few yards away when suddenly, Draco heard a voice call his name.

'Draco? Draco, what is it? I heard you shouting -"

Draco groaned. "Not now, Pansy."

"But Draco..." she said plaintively. "I want to know what's wrong."

Draco sighed. She was hopeless. Pathetically hopeless. But she was also bloody persistent.

"Come in, if you must," he said to her. She followed Crabbe and Goyle into the room. Crabbe sat down on Draco's bed, Goyle sat in an armchair, and Pansy settled herself onto the floor.

"What is it?" asked Goyle.

Draco pretended to be engrossed in examining his impeccably-kept fingernails, on the pretext of looking casual. "I've just received instructions from my father. Instructions regarding a certain...plan...to be implemented by a certain Dark Lord we know..."

Crabbe furrowed his brow. "I only know one, I think. Is it the same one you're thinking of?"

Draco closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 'YES, Goyle.'

Crabbe's eyes widened with surprise. "You're going to help You-Know-Who with a plan? What sort of plan?"

Draco explained the contents of the letter. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy listened in rapt attention. "So you see," said Draco with a flourish, "I just have to carry out the instructions, and I will be - what did Father say? - oh, yes, 'richly rewarded'."

Goyle frowned. "Richly rewarded - how?"

Draco waved a hand. "He was sort of vague on that. But the Dark Lord has all sorts of things at his disposal. Money, clothes, women..."

"Women..." said Goyle, drooling all over his robes.

Draco nodded. "He's got millions of women all lining up to shag him. Of course," said Draco with a smirk, "so do I. Half the girls at Hogwarts want me. I've always had girls throwing themselves at me, begging for it. Even," and he jerked his thumb at Pansy, "her. Isn't that right, Pansy?"

Pansy snapped her head up in surprise, and looked at Draco. Just as suddenly she looked away. "Oh. Yeah. I - I guess I did."

Draco smirked again. "Nothing to be ashamed about. Everyone knows I'm irresistible." Pansy still wasn't looking at him. Draco sighed. "Look, you can quit with the offended virgin act. We all know you've had more than your fair share of extracurricular activities."

Pansy sucked in a breath quickly. She stood up, still carefully avoiding Draco's eyes. "Look, I - I just remembered I have to go...study..for a test."

"What test?" asked Draco, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pansy squirmed. "Uh.. Charms. I - I've been doing really badly lately, and I - "

"Pansy," said Draco calmly, "leave if you want to leave. It was your idea to come in here. "

"Right," said Pansy quickly. "It's just that I forgot about the Charms test until now, so -"

Draco sighed loudly. "Pansy, just leave. Stop making lame excuses, and leave. Go. I honestly don't care."

Pansy nodded, and slowly turned to leave. Draco immediately turned to Crabbe and Goyle and continued talking about the contributions he would bring to the Death Eaters' circle. Had he not been so wrapped in talking, he might have heard Pansy whisper a soft reply to his last comment:

"I know..." she said under her breath. She glanced back at him, then shook her head. " I know you don't." Then she stepped out of the room, and closed the door quietly behind her - so as not to disturb Draco any more than was necessary.

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