A Cord of Three Strands

A Cord of Three Strands

By Cindale

Chapter 8

"Out of Bounds"

"Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:12

"Mr. Potter, a word?" Professor Shacklebolt said as the bell rang, signifying the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Harry smiled a goodbye to Ron and Hermione and hurried to the front of the classroom.

When the room was empty, the professor looked up at Harry with a serious expression. "We need to supplement our lessons about magical combat with a discussion of your specific experience. I think it would be beneficial to your training if we analyse your experience at the Department of Mysteries during our session tomorrow night."

Harry's heart sank; he had been trying to forget that night for months. But he couldn't help being grateful to Shacklebolt for warning him. He swallowed hard and answered, "Okay." The professor looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded his dismissal.

Harry left the classroom quickly and headed to the library to meet Ron, as was their custom on Mondays. He pretended to study, but he kept reading the same paragraph over and over in his Charms text. Thankfully, Ron didn't notice his preoccupation; he was too involved in finishing his Potions essay for the next day. Harry really didn't feel like discussing his conversation with Shacklebolt.

As they walked to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron talked about Quidditch tactics while Harry nodded and pretended to listen. He served himself some food without really noticing what it was and proceeded to eat it without tasting it. He didn't notice Hermione enter until she spoke.

"What's going on with Malfoy?" she asked as she sat down in her usual spot next to Ron.

"What do you mean?" Harry said, his curiosity piqued enough to pull him out of his reverie. He and Malfoy had been carefully ignoring each other ever since the "incident" in the changing room three weeks before. Harry's gaze was drawn to the Slytherin table, but Malfoy was not there; he had been absent from many meals lately.

Ron's face darkened in anger; he obviously believed the Slytherin had been harassing his girlfriend. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Hermione said with a nervous glance at Ron and a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just now, on my way here, I was trying to adjust my book bag, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. I ploughed right into him. There wasn't really anyone around, so he could have easily hexed me, or at the very least called me nasty names. But when I apologized, he avoided my eyes and walked away." She paused and regarded the sunny blue sky above. "You know, the weirdest part is that he actually looked a little ..." She looked at Ron and bit her lip.

Harry felt he would burst if Hermione didn't finish. "What did he look like?" Ron and Hermione both turned to stare at him as he leaned back a little, crossing his arms in an effort to convey only casual curiosity. He shrugged and said, "I just wondered."

Hermione bit her lip again. "Well, I thought he almost looked afraid - but that's silly, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ron said, as Harry nodded in agreement. "Too bad though - now I don't have an excuse to hex him."

Harry forced a laugh at that, but inside he was desperately curious. He had wondered about the fearful glances Malfoy had given him right after the "incident", but at least he understood them to some extent. What surprised him was to hear that the Slytherin seemed afraid of Hermione as well. That didn't make sense at all.

*******************************************

For the first time, Harry was dreading his training session with Professor Shacklebolt. The memories from the Department of Mysteries were still painful, and Harry avoided them as much as possible.

When Harry arrived in the classroom, he immediately realized it was worse than he had anticipated. Professor Shacklebolt was waiting on the floor next to a Pensieve. He knew he would have to hash through his memories aloud with the Auror, but he didn't know they would have Professor Shacklebolt's memories of the battle to literally walk through as well. At least Shacklebolt had only been there during the second part of the battle, and he had been busy duelling when Sirius had fallen through the veil.

"Hi, Harry," said the professor with a cheerfulness that sounded a bit false. "I thought it would be easier to analyse things if we had the most realistic visual aids possible."

"Okay," Harry said, trying to hide his reluctance. "I-I can fill you in on what happened before you got there."

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then widened again as he realized what Harry meant. "No, Harry. The Pensieve is for you. We're going to look at the battle from your point of view." Harry felt the blood drain from his face and saw the Auror looking at him strangely. "Do you want Remus here - for moral support?" he asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head firmly, "it would be painful for him, too. I-I can handle it."

"Are you sure? We can postpone this."

Harry finally realized the expression on Shacklebolt's face was one of compassion. The idea of needing that level of concern from the professor annoyed him for some reason. He was determined to show the Auror that he could handle the memories just fine, so he looked him in the eye and repeated, "I can handle it."

"Okay, then," said Shacklebolt, "the number one rule to remember in combat is to refuse to let your emotions cloud your judgement." His eyes were serious, yet Harry felt as though he had passed some sort of test.

The Auror stood and pulled out his wand. "The incantation for the Pensieve is 'Memoria Extractus' - you say that while pointing your wand at your temple." He demonstrated the same wand motion Harry had seen Dumbledore and Snape perform. "You also have to concentrate on the specific memory you want to extract. I understand you are partially familiar with this process?" Harry nodded. "Good. While your memories are in the Pensieve, they will only be available to you in that form - they're no longer in your head. But anyone can view them in the Pensieve. That's why very few people use them - they're a potential invasion of privacy."

Shacklebolt nodded toward the Pensieve expectantly and Harry knelt beside it. He focused his thoughts on the events at the Department of Mysteries, pointed his wand at his head, and muttered the incantation. It felt as if the inside of his head was being tickled as he pulled out the silvery strands and put them into the Pensieve.

"Is it all in there?" Shacklebolt asked.

Harry tried to recall the memories, but everything after the thestrals landed at the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic was a blank. However, he could remember Sirius falling through the veil and the events after that point. He gave a sigh and said, "No." He performed the incantation again, and grimaced as he pulled out the uncomfortable memories, which flickered across his eyes like an old movie reel. When his memories resumed in Dumbledore's office after the battle, he said, "Okay. It's all in there."

"Do you know how to get in?" the professor asked, kneeling on the floor beside the Pensieve.

"Yes," Harry answered. Shacklebolt grabbed Harry's shoulder, as if to guide him, and together they leaned their heads over the side of the Pensieve.

Harry watched himself and his five friends descend from the thestrals' backs and cram themselves into the Muggle telephone box. He had never watched himself inside a Pensieve before; it rather reminded him of the time he and Hermione had gone back in time three hours to save Sirius and Buckbeak.

"Thestrals," Shacklebolt breathed beside him. "I've never ridden one before. You'll have to tell me about it later." Harry nodded in agreement as they walked over to the telephone box to listen. "First mistake I see," the professor said as the six friends sank into the ground. "You announced to whoever was listening your names and the purpose of your visit. So much for stealth."

Harry looked around in alarm as the ground, buildings, and sky began to fade away. "Er - shouldn't we be in the telephone box?"

"We'll go down shortly," Shacklebolt said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry felt a gentle pulling, not unlike a Portkey, and he suddenly found himself looking into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He followed himself and his friends as they passed by the fountain and into the lifts.

"Didn't you wonder why the place was deserted?" asked Shacklebolt.

"Actually, I did," said Harry, "b-but I didn't think too much about it. I was focused on trying to sa - I was focused on something else."

"Logic would dictate that something is 'off' here. It's not very late - there should still be a few people milling about, there should probably be someone at the security desk. When you've had some experience as an Auror, you will develop a sense about these things. Right now, even without the logic, this just feels wrong to me. It's too perfect - quiet, no one around - understand?"

Harry nodded. He noticed the professor had said when he'd had some experience, as if his becoming an Auror was inevitable. That assumption cheered him somewhat.

The professor continued to make occasional comments as they followed the group into the Department of Mysteries and watched them face the Death Eaters. When the chase began, they found they had to run to keep up with "Memory" Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Harry couldn't help but wince when Hermione was hit with the purple light and again when Neville was kicked in the face. He felt the familiar anger with himself; if he hadn't been fooled by his vision from Voldemort, none of his friends would have been hurt.

They followed as "Memory" Harry led Neville and Hermione out of the Time Room, watching as they met up with the others and were discovered by the Death Eaters. When his memory self led the Death Eaters from the room, Harry wanted to stay and see if the others were all right, but as before, the room began to fade around him and he felt himself tugged into the Death Chamber.

Neville was standing beside "Memory" Harry, facing the Death Eaters with blood still dripping from his nose. When Neville was under the Cruciatus Curse, Shacklebolt said, "I knew Longbottom's parents. He's just as courageous as they were. I wish they could see him." Harry smiled to himself and resolved to repeat that comment to Neville.

A few moments later, the Order members ran into the room. Harry tried to watch Shacklebolt's battle with two Death Eaters, but his eyes were unwillingly drawn to Sirius's ill-fated duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. He wanted to look away, but his gaze was frozen on Sirius as he watched him fall through the veil all over again. He felt the professor's eyes on him, but refused to glance in his direction. Instead, he forced himself to think about Ron's latest Quidditch strategy, and soon felt his heart slow as the tension eased out of his body.

As his memory self ran from the room to confront Bellatrix Lestrange, Shacklebolt moved to follow, but Harry grabbed his arm to stop him. "Aren't we finished? When you lot arrived, the battle was pretty much over for me."

The professor shot him an annoyed look, but then his features softened. Harry found himself wondering if he could use the Auror's sympathy to his advantage. He hadn't liked watching Sirius die again, but he definitely didn't want his professor to see him casting an Unforgivable Curse, so he tried to look as miserable as possible. "Okay," Shacklebolt finally agreed.

When they were once again sitting on the floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Shacklebolt simply looked at Harry for a long moment. Harry stared back at first, but couldn't hold the professor's intense gaze for long. Finally, the Auror said, "Well, Harry, I have to say overall I'm impressed. You were outnumbered two to one, and even though you were all underage, you managed to hold your own for quite some time. You're already developing a feel for assessing situations - for example, you knew as long as you held on to the prophecy, you had leverage."

"But I should have never been there in the first place," Harry said in a bitter voice.

"True," agreed the professor, "but that's not your fault, Harry - you were deceived. You'll learn discernment through experience - there's really no other way." Harry felt a little frustrated at these words; he hadn't had the luxury of experience last spring.

*******************************************

Despite his Occlumency training, Harry had trouble clearing his mind over the next couple of days. His sleep was fitful and full of nightmares, and during the day he struggled groggily through his classes and homework. He considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a potion for dreamless sleep, but he knew that the crutch would only hinder him in learning to control his mind.

Two nights after reliving his memories in the Pensieve, Harry awoke drenched in sweat and trembling. As usual, the nightmare had started from the moment Sirius fell through the veil, progressed through Harry's attempt at an Unforgivable Curse, and ended with Voldemort's possession of his body.

When his body stopped shaking, he silently got up, put on his dressing gown and slippers, pulled his invisibility cloak over himself, and headed down to the common room. A few students were still lingering near the fire, scribbling on homework, and Harry realized it wasn't quite midnight. He slipped silently out of the portrait hole, hoping no one would notice the door seemingly opening of its own accord.

As he roamed the halls, he forced himself to concentrate on the Quidditch practice earlier that evening, and the dream's images gradually faded. He realized he was headed toward the kitchens, and that he was actually hungry. He couldn't help a small chuckle at the thought that despite the nightmares and lack of sleep, his stomach still worked.

He eagerly started down the broad stone corridor and then froze as he caught sight of a pale figure huddled on the floor. Malfoy was sitting with his back pressed to the wall, knees drawn to his chest, and seemed to be shivering slightly. The Slytherin looked up, apparently hearing his quiet footsteps, and Harry's breath caught at the complete vulnerability in his enemy's expression. He inched closer as Malfoy looked around, searching for the intruder. Harry was shocked to see that his face was marred with bruises.

The Slytherin finally put his head back down on his arms, which were crossed on top of his knees. Harry turned to head back to the Gryffindor common room, but his stomach growled audibly.

"I know someone's there," Malfoy said, his voice muffled by his arms. "Show yourself or move on!"

There was no way Harry could get to the kitchen without being detected since Malfoy was sitting in front of the painting that hid the door. Perhaps he could find some chocolate in his trunk to quiet his stomach, but the paintings of food surrounding him seemed to mock him. He thought a meat pie would taste particularly good and his mouth started watering.

Harry weighed his options. Almost four weeks had passed since the "incident" in the changing room, and Malfoy hadn't so much as hexed him. He realized he was beginning to believe Dumbledore's assertion that the Slytherin no longer presented a threat to him. He shrugged to himself and pulled off the invisibility cloak.

"The way I see it, Malfoy," Harry said, ignoring the Slytherin's stunned expression, "you have three choices. You can turn me in for being out past curfew, but you'll get in trouble as well; you can pretend I was never here; or..." He took a deep breath, "...you can join me." Harry knew the Slytherin would be curious. If he could get him to go to the kitchens with him, he wouldn't be likely to tell and risk getting into trouble himself.

Malfoy recovered himself quickly and shrugged. "I'll turn you in. I don't care if I get in trouble. It would be worth it to get you into trouble."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't think you will."

"Watch me," said Malfoy with a snort, standing with obvious pain.

"No," Harry repeated. "I think you'll come with me, because I'm going to the kitchens to get a snack, and you weren't at dinner tonight, so I'll bet you're hungry."

Harry looked into the grey eyes. Malfoy was obviously trying to act indifferent towards him, but Harry saw the flicker of curiosity. He studied the bruises on his face; it appeared the Slytherin had been thoroughly beaten. His robes were torn in at least two places, and one of his fingers was swollen. Harry realized he was staring when Malfoy said, "I know I'm devastatingly handsome, Potter, but this is getting..."

"Who did this to you?" Harry interrupted.

"Well, some say God created all humans, but I think it's just because my parents are so good looking," said Malfoy, deliberately misunderstanding.

"The bruises," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Are you going to try to tell me you ran into a door?"

"No," said Malfoy, his face hardening into a closed expression before he looked away. He crossed his arms and said, "Not that it's any of your business, but I tripped and fell - flat on my face."

"Weren't your goons there to protect you, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his tone taunting.

"I don't need them - I can take care of myself!" Malfoy seemed to be trying to shout this, but his voice lacked enthusiasm.

"Yeah, right," Harry said with a derisive laugh. "It looks like you could have used them today." Malfoy glanced at him and looked away again. Something clicked in Harry's mind as he noticed the defeated look in the grey eyes. "Unless - they did this to you, didn't they? What did you do to make Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum so mad at you - take away their candy?"

Malfoy raised his head to glare at him, and Harry was relieved to see the expression of loathing. For some reason, Harry was finding it difficult to hate Malfoy when he appeared vulnerable, and he had hated Malfoy so long that anything else felt uncomfortable.

"This is all your fault, you know," he said in a voice that made Harry reach into his pocket and put his hand on his wand.

"Of course," Harry said in a sarcastic tone. "Everything that happens to you is my fault. I was put on this earth..."

"All your fault!" Malfoy repeated louder. He took a step toward Harry, balling his fists at his sides. "If it wasn't for you, I could have hexed them!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. He casually pulled his wand from his pocket.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about! I'm only allowed my wand in class - because of YOU!"

Understanding dawned on Harry, and he smirked at the punishment Dumbledore hadn't mentioned. He made a show of putting his wand back in his pocket as he drawled. "Oh, right. It's all my fault. My fault that you took my wand, interrogated me, and then flew into a murderous rage when you didn't like the answers. My fault you tried to kill me."

A flicker of fear went through Malfoy's eyes at Harry's last words. He looked up and down the hall, presumably to check for anyone within earshot. His eyes narrowed as he looked back at Harry; he almost looked puzzled. "You didn't know I didn't have my wand, did you?" Harry shook his head. Draco gave a snort of bitter laughter. "You stupid Gryffindor! How did you know I wouldn't try to kill you again?" He took another step toward Harry. "How did you know I wouldn't succeed?"

Harry shrugged and thought about that for a moment. "I don't think you really want to kill me, Malfoy," he said in a quiet voice.

"Dumbledore told you that, did he?" Malfoy said, taking another step forward. "Well, let's get one thing straight, Potter. Just because I don't want to end up in Azkaban like my..." He paused and swallowed. "Just because I don't want to end up in Azkaban doesn't mean I hate you any less."

"Good! Because I hate you, too!" Harry barked. He looked into the grey eyes, only inches away, which were actually reflecting confusion instead of hatred. That made Harry feel discomfited, so he looked away. "But right now I'm too hungry to care. Get out of my way, Malfoy!"

The Slytherin made no motion to move, so Harry pulled his wand. "Get out of my way or I'll make you," he threatened.

"Oh, I'm impressed, Potter," drawled Malfoy, standing his ground. "Very brave of you, threatening a chap without his wand."

Harry shrugged, pocketed his wand, and gave Malfoy a hard shove. The other boy obviously hadn't expected this because he stumbled away from Harry and almost fell. But before he could recover, Harry had tickled the pear in the painting Malfoy had been blocking and started opening the hidden kitchen door. Malfoy's answering shove from behind took Harry by surprise and sent him reeling into a table filled with baked goods, his fall cushioned by a very large chocolate cake.

The Slytherin's howls of laughter grated on his ears as Harry struggled to his feet, sputtering and wiping frosting from his face. He picked up the rest of the cake and threw it at Malfoy, but the other boy ducked and caught it only on the shoulder. Harry was disappointed to miss his face, but at least he had stopped laughing.

Malfoy balled his fists and took two steps toward Harry, but froze when a high-pitched voice said, "Harry Potter! Master Malfoy! Harry Potter and Master Malfoy both came to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy to see you both, sirs! I is not knowing that Dobby's two favourite humans are friends."

The house-elf had finally replaced his tea cosy with a proper cap, which had holes for his huge ears. He was wearing the maroon jumper Ron had given him last Christmas with a pair of bright blue shorts and mismatched socks. He bowed so low the brim of his hat hit the ground, but luckily it was held in place by his ears.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy as he addressed Dobby. "Sorry about the mess, Dobby. I - I slipped and fell."

"No worries, Harry Potter sir! Dobby will have this cleaned up in no time, sir." The house-elf produced a cloth and gave it to Harry, who began to wipe his face. "Harry Potter and Master Malfoy should get a snack while Dobby cleans their robes," Dobby said, holding out his arms. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket before removing his dressing gown and draping it over Dobby's arms. He stuck his wand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. After hesitating a moment, Malfoy took off his school robe and gave it to Dobby. He was still dressed underneath, wearing a white tee-shirt and black slacks. "Yes, that's right, sirs. Dobby will clean them. Have a snack, sirs!" the house-elf repeated as he disappeared though a nearby door.

"Be careful with that - it's silk," Malfoy called after the house-elf, causing Harry to roll his eyes again.

Harry plucked his invisibility cloak off the floor where he had dropped it when Malfoy shoved him. He checked it for cake crumbs and then folded it reverently. When he finished, he looked up and saw Malfoy watching him with an unreadable expression.

"How long have you had it?" he finally asked. "I know you had it in third year - you used it to sneak into Hogsmeade."

Harry couldn't help a smile as he remembered throwing mud at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle from under the invisibility cloak. "I've had it since first year, actually. It was my father's."

"Comes in handy, does it?" Malfoy said with a glitter of envy in his eyes. Harry shrugged in answer, wandered over to the cupboards, and began searching for a meat pie. The voice behind him continued, "It would be too bad if it was confiscated, wouldn't it? I'm sure it's against the rules to have one."

"Most of the staff knows I have it," Harry answered in a casual tone. "Go ahead - telltale if you want." He turned to look at Malfoy and felt satisfaction at his angry expression. "Are you going to eat or not? Here's some meat pies..." He pulled one out and showed it to the Slytherin. "...and you're standing right in front of all the puddings."

Malfoy gazed at him for a long moment and then sat on the bench beside the table, pulling a large chocolate tart over to him. He looked around and demanded, "I need a fork!"

Harry had spotted the dishes and cutlery while searching for the pies. He pulled out a plate, fork, and spoon and laid them on the counter. Then he pulled his wand from his pocket and banished the lot across the room to Malfoy. "Lazy," he muttered under his breath.

Sitting on the counter, which was closer to the ground than those in the Dursley's kitchen, presumably to accommodate the diminutive house-elves, Harry bit into the pie, not bothering with a fork. He couldn't help an audible, "Mmmm," as the flaky crust and juicy filling filled his mouth. He ate slowly and silently, relishing the taste and textures, feeling his whole body relax as the rumbling in his stomach was calmed. He tried to ignore the fact that his childhood enemy was doing much the same thing across the room.

Finally, he finished the pie, licked his fingers, and began to search the cupboards for pumpkin juice. He found a flask and filled a goblet. As he raised the glass to drink, his eyes caught Malfoy's across the room. He sighed, set the goblet on the counter, and filled another. This time he didn't banish it since he didn't trust himself not to spill the contents. Instead, he carried it over to the other boy, along with his own, and sat down at the table across from him.

"Good tart?" he said conversationally.

"Yeah," Malfoy mumbled, giving him a sulky look. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and finally said, "Want some?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but he only summoned a fork and plate and helped himself to a large piece of the tart. His hunger had been mostly sated by the meat pie, so he wasn't as enthusiastic in his appreciation of the tart, but it still tasted good. After a few bites, he realized the Slytherin had stopped eating and was watching him, rather like one would look at something they had never seen before. "What?" Harry asked in a defensive tone.

"I don't understand you," Malfoy said in a quiet but intense voice.

Harry gave a snort of derision and said, "Well that's quite an understatement."

"Why haven't you told anyone?" he asked, ignoring Harry's comment.

That question required some thought. Harry almost said, 'How do you know I haven't?' but that was too obvious; if Harry had told anyone, Malfoy would probably be in St. Mungo's or Azkaban. He finally told the truth. "Dumbledore convinced me not to."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You've proven you're not afraid to break rules." He shook his head and then bored his eyes into Harry's. "No, I think you're waiting for just the right moment. Either that or you're going to blackmail me. Whichever it is, I wish you would just get it over with."

Harry laughed, causing the Slytherin's face to redden with anger. "Blackmail? What could you possibly have that I would want?"

"Money, of course," spat Malfoy. His face was still red, but Harry saw the anger in his eyes fading into confusion.

"Money? You've got to be joking! I've got more money than I could ever spend." Harry's laughter choked as he thought about the sources of his wealth.

"You're lying! If you had money you certainly wouldn't dress like - like you do," Malfoy said, gesturing wildly at Harry with his fork. Harry's face flushed as he looked down at his pyjamas, which were covered with pictures of televisions and radios and were at least two sizes too large.

"I don't get out to shop much!" he shouted. He was embarrassed about his clothes, but didn't know what he could do about it since he wasn't allowed to leave Hogwarts or the Dursley's.

"Then what do you want, Potter? Tell me! Let's get this over with!" Malfoy demanded.

Harry looked into his eyes and realized the other boy was completely serious. It explained a lot; he had been wondering why the Slytherin had appeared to be afraid of him. His mind whirled, wondering what to say to his enemy, wondering how to convince him that he had no intention of blackmail. It was disconcerting for Malfoy to be afraid of him; he was hoping they could go back to the familiar animosity.

He shook his head and started to open his mouth, but before he could speak, Dobby came bustling into the room, bearing their freshly laundered robes.

"Harry Potter! Master Malfoy! Dobby sees you got a snack, sirs. Very good!"

Harry stood, took the offered dressing gown, and put it on. "Thank you, Dobby," he said.

"Dobby is so happy he got to help Harry Potter and Master Malfoy. Dobby is being very glad that Harry Potter and Master Malfoy came to see him," the house-elf said, tears of joy threatening to leak from his eyes. He turned to Malfoy and asked, "Does sir want Dobby to bring him breakfast tomorrow?"

Harry slipped back through the door while Dobby and Malfoy worked out the details for his next meal. He realized that Malfoy hadn't been starving himself after all; it sounded as if the house-elf and the Slytherin had an ongoing arrangement.

As he ascended the stairs to the seventh floor, he thought about the strange conversation he'd had with Malfoy. He'd never spent that much time with the Slytherin before, and it shocked him that, aside from the shoving, neither of them had tried to hurt the other. It bothered him that Dumbledore had taken the Slytherin's wand; had the old man been lying when he said he was certain Malfoy wouldn't try to kill him?

By the time he reached the common room he had decided to confront Dumbledore first thing in the morning. He pulled off his dressing gown and crawled into bed, but it was a long while before sleep overtook him.

**********************************

The next morning, Harry woke before his roommates and dressed stealthily, so as not to awaken them. He slipped out of the dormitory and made his way down to the hidden entrance to the headmaster's office, his stride quick and full of purpose. After several attempts, he discovered the password, "Sugar Quill", and ran up the steps instead of waiting for the moving staircase to transport him to the top. When he reached the door, he knocked and entered when bidden.

"I thought you were sure he wouldn't try it again!" Harry said without preamble.

Dumbledore had his back to him, gazing out the window. At Harry's words he turned to face him, an incredulous expression on his face. "I know Mr. Malfoy did not try to kill you with a curse," he said. "I would have been alerted - there are wards in the castle and on the grounds to detect Unforgivable Curses."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest defiantly, "not because of the wards, because you knew he didn't have his wand. You made me think you trusted him!"

"Harry, I have never lied to you, nor will I ever. Mr. Malfoy was not confident of his self-control, so I thought he would feel more comfortable if he were temporarily deprived of his wand. He protested rather loudly, but eventually accepted it as a condition of his remaining at Hogwarts."

"I don't think it makes him feel more comfortable," Harry muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore gave Harry a long, unfathomable look and then said, "Have a seat." He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. Harry hesitated a moment, then uncrossed his arms and slouched over to the chair, plunking himself down. The headmaster looked at him in a satisfied sort of way and sat in the chair behind the desk. He leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on his hands, and said, "So tell me, Harry - how did you know Mr. Malfoy didn't have his wand?"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "He - sort of - told me."

"Are you telling me," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, "that after all these years, you and Mr. Malfoy finally managed to have a civil conversation?" Harry was quite annoyed at the amusement in the headmaster's expression.

"Well - it was more of an argument," Harry said after puzzling for a moment. "But it was almost civil."

The headmaster's amusement seemed to grow, and Harry felt his discomfort growing at the same rate. "Well, that seems to be a step in the right direction, anyway," said Dumbledore. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward even more. "Do you think I should return Mr. Malfoy's wand?"

************************************

After breakfast Saturday morning, Harry trudged up the marble stairs behind Ron and Hermione. The entire Great Hall had been buzzing about the Hogsmeade weekend. He didn't mind so much that he was missing a visit to the village, but he resented that the situation with Voldemort was once again singling him out from the other students. At least he wouldn't be alone; Ron and Hermione weren't allowed to go either, but that didn't make Harry feel much better since he was the cause of their restriction.

As they reached the portrait hole, Hermione gave the password. Ron turned to Harry and said, "Cheer up, mate! We can spend the day together."

"Yeah," agreed Hermione. "We need to get started on that Transfiguration essay."

"No way!" said Ron. "We're not working on homework today. We're going to have fun - more fun than we would if we cou-- than if we went to Hogsmeade." Harry forced a smile at Ron. He was grateful for his friend's attitude, but felt extremely guilty; if it hadn't been for him, Ron would be going out on his first real date with his girlfriend today. Hermione started to say something, but Ron cut her off. "If you want to do homework, fine, but I'm going to get the cards. Harry and I are playing Exploding Snap."

Hermione shrugged and slumped in a chair by the fireplace. Harry was a little surprised that she had given in so easily, but figured they would pay for it with nagging from her tomorrow.

He flopped in a chair and watched sullenly as students left through the portrait hole for Hogsmeade in twos and threes. His eyes narrowed as he watched Neville leave the common room with a giggling Lavender clinging to his arm. He noticed Neville's back was straighter and his head was held higher than before. It seemed the formerly bumbling boy had gained a bit of confidence in the last few months.

"She really likes him," Hermione said. Harry looked at her and saw that she was also gazing at Neville and Lavender. "She started hanging around with him to make you jealous, but then when he and Ginny broke up, she realized she really liked him. She says he's thoughtful and funny, and really smart in certain subjects."

Harry shook his head. He wondered how Neville could stand to be around the silly girl. Of course, he didn't have the secrets Harry did, so he supposed his roommate might get along with her better than he had.

"Okay - who's in?" Ron asked loudly, bounding down the stairs and holding the deck of cards up with one hand.

The three friends played Exploding Snap for a while, and then Hermione watched Harry lose to Ron at chess. During the last few minutes of the game, Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole and sat down silently to watch. Harry was a little surprised; he had forgotten she was forbidden to go to Hogsmeade as well.

After Ron had said the inevitable 'checkmate', Ginny finally spoke. "I'm bored."

"Yeah, me too," said Hermione. "Ron and Harry won't let me study."

Ron glared at his girlfriend and Ginny shrugged. "I really wanted to go to Hogsmeade. I tried studying in the library, but I couldn't concentrate. I actually have some money, and I can't go and spend it!"

Harry looked away, feeling terrible that he was causing grief to someone he considered a friend. He was sure Ron and Hermione were feeling the same, but just not saying anything. He wished, not for the first time, that the ground would just open up and swallow him so that his friends wouldn't have to be in danger. He mumbled, "Sorry, Ginny."

"Why?" she asked. He looked at her face and saw only puzzlement reflected there instead of the accusation he expected.

"You could go to Hogsmeade if it wasn't for me."

To his surprise, Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, Harry, get over yourself. It's not your fault. Ron and I would be targets with or without you. Our parents openly support Dumbledore and most of our family is in the Order. You need to quit feeling guilty for stuff and put the blame where it belongs - on Voldemort!"

Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. He knew she was right, but he couldn't seem to help feeling guilty. Ginny stood and stretched. "I'm sick of being indoors - I'm going flying. Anyone else?"

"Yeah - I'll get my broom," said Harry, his spirits lifting immediately. Flying was a brilliant idea. Harry hadn't had time to fly just for fun since school started; the only times he flew were during Quidditch practices.

Ron gave Hermione a sad, but chivalrous look, clearly wanting to go, but not wanting to leave her behind. Hermione hated to fly. "Go on, Ron, get your broom," Hermione said. "I'll bring a book down to the pitch." He grinned like a little boy and followed Harry up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were flying high above the Quidditch pitch, laughing and throwing a Quaffle back and forth. Harry had left his guilty feelings on the ground and was enjoying himself immensely. Hermione was sitting far below on a bench, but it was clear she was only pretending to read. Apparently Ron noticed this, because after a while he landed in front of her, pulled on her arm and pointed to his broom, apparently trying to persuade her to fly with him.

"A Galleon says she does it," Ginny said in a playful voice, hovering in the air next to Harry.

"She won't," Harry said, thinking he knew Hermione much better than Ginny did.

Hermione put the book down and stood up, putting her hands on her hips and appearing to tell Ron off. But then, to Harry's surprise, she climbed on in front of Ron. He put his arms around her to grab the broom handle, and took off slowly, flying low to the ground. For some reason, the sight of them flying together made Harry feel warm and cheerful. The mixture of fear and enjoyment on Hermione's face and the pure delight in Ron's expression were a pleasure to watch. Even though they annoyed him sometimes, he was glad his best friends were dating; they made each other so happy.

"Pay up!" Ginny said, holding her palm in front of his face and breaking into his reverie. He smiled up at her and reached into his pocket, but something behind her caught his attention. "What is it, Harry?" she asked, turning her broom around for a better look.

Hundreds of dark shapes were approaching the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was too far away to make out exactly what they were, but their movements seemed too smooth for walking. It was as if they were gliding ...

"Dementors!" Harry shouted. "Get help, Ginny!"