A Cord of Three Strands

A Cord of Three Strands

By Cindale

Chapter 19

"Quidditch and Quarrels"

"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:12

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DIGGORY NAMED MINISTER OF MAGIC

The Wizengamot named a new Minister of Magic yesterday. In a surprise move, Amos Diggory will replace Cornelius Fudge, who died in Friday's Death Eater attack at the Ministry.

Amos Diggory has worked for the Ministry of Magic for twenty-three years, both in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which he has headed for two years.

When asked about You-Know-Who, Minister Diggory said, "This Ministry will stand against anyone who threatens the stability of the wizarding world. This threat must be eliminated. All who support You-Know-Who will be exposed and imprisoned."

Minister Diggory's son was killed under questionable circumstances two years ago during the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Minister refused to talk about his son's death, but he seemed to have some concerns about the safety of Hogwarts students. "I would definitely question the judgement of a man whose hiring decisions have caused the injury and death of his students," he said of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. "This administration may need to address the current headmaster's continuing ability to protect the school."

There are, of course, rumours that Dumbledore believes that You-Know-Who is after Harry Potter, trying to finish what he started fifteen years ago. There are also reports that Ministry Aurors have actually been used to protect the Boy Who Lived. Ministry Diggory said, "I will certainly investigate these allegations. If valuable resources are being wasted on protecting a child, it will certainly be stopped. During a time of war, we can't afford to be frivolous. Aurors need to protect everyone, not just those who think they are celebrities."

Many Ministry insiders believed the new Minister would be Amelia Bones. When asked, however, she said, "I've never had any desire to be Minister of Magic, and I refused to let my name be considered. Besides, with You-Know-Who running loose, we don't need some dunderhead running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No, I'm needed right where I am."

Harry had been stewing about the article in the Daily Prophet all day. He tried desperately to tune out Ron and Hermione's debates and speculation about the new Minister of Magic since they only caused him more annoyance. His friends finally gave up trying to include him, and he could see them whispering intently to each other when he crossed the common room to go to his defence lesson with Professor Shacklebolt.

Harry's anger toward the new Minister rose in his chest as he descended the stairs. He knew Ron and Hermione assumed that he objected to the Minister's comments about his protection, but what really made him angry was Diggory's attitude toward Dumbledore. It was obvious that the new Minister blamed Dumbledore for Cedric's death, which Harry thought was unfair. Harry knew very well that the headmaster was literally dying to protect the students, and it irked him that Diggory didn't appreciate that.

As Harry approached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the door opened and Blaise Zabini walked out with a nervous expression on his face. His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned up into a smirk as soon as he saw Harry.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same thing," said Harry a little bitterly, remembering Ginny. "I have business here since I'm Shacklebolt's assistant."

"Well, your business is yours, and my business is mine, Potter," said Zabini, taking a step back. "Good night." He walked around Harry and headed toward the dungeons.

Harry rolled his eyes at Zabini's back and headed into the classroom, but he was surprised to see the professor walking toward him in his cloak, as if he was leaving.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Shacklebolt as he approached. "I have to leave for a little while. Maybe Remus ..."

"Full Moon," Harry interrupted.

"Right, well, I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Auror or Order?" Harry murmured as Shacklebolt moved to pass him.

The professor's eyes darted nervously toward the door and he said, "I can't tell you that, Harry." He hurried to the door and disappeared.

Harry looked around as if hoping someone would materialize out of thin air to conduct his training. He had been looking forward to taking out some of his frustrations in mock combat. Without thinking, he pulled out his wand and twirled it in his fingers, wondering if he had the skill required to repair the desks he felt like smashing.

After a few minutes of struggling to cool his boiling emotions, Harry decided to get his broom and try to release his anger by flying, but far away from the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherins were practicing. He hurried upstairs to Gryffindor Tower and managed to cross the common room without attracting the attention of Ron or Hermione; he was in no mood to be questioned. His luck ran out, however, as he descended from the dormitory with his Firebolt and his cloak.

"Oi, Harry!" called Ron. Harry sighed and walked over to him; he had no doubt his friend would follow him if he didn't answer, and he couldn't explain his presence in the common room so that everyone could hear.

"I thought you had defence lessons," said Hermione, only briefly glancing up from the parchment she was scribbling on.

"Looks like you're skiving and going flying with Malfoy again," said Ron with an accusing glare.

"I'm SICK of hearing about Malfoy!" Harry hadn't meant to shout, but it seemed as if something in him had broken and allowed his anger to bubble up to the surface uncontrolled. "I DON'T NEED YOU TWO BABYSITTING ME! What I do is my own business - NOT YOURS! So BUGGER OFF!"

Tears sprang to his eyes as he climbed through the portrait hole. He knew he had been grossly unfair to his friends, but he just couldn't stand it any more. Minister Diggory disregarding Dumbledore's commitment to Hogwarts, everyone whispering and pointing at him after the article came out, Malfoy possibly being a spy, and even his crush on Ginny: he felt that if anything else happened he would literally explode, and Voldemort would no longer have to worry about the prophecy.

"Harry!"

His heart froze and his stomach clenched. If he ignored her, maybe she would go away. He quickened his pace, practically running down the stairs.

"HARRY!"

Three more flights of stairs and he would reach the entrance hall. He ran a little faster, his Firebolt bouncing on his shoulder.

"HARRY! YOU STOP THIS INSTANT!"

She sounded so much like Mrs. Weasley that he stopped in surprise and turned, allowing her to catch up. "Harry James Potter, you are the most selfish, egotistical bastard I have ever met!" His anger suddenly evaporated, leaving a cold hard stone in his stomach and a pebble lodged in his throat. "Ron and Hermione care about you so much - what is your problem? They didn't have time to provoke you - you had only been standing there a few seconds! How dare you talk to them like that! You need them, but you certainly don't deserve them!"

Suddenly flying wasn't appealing at all; nothing was. Harry wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and pour his anguish into his pillow. All that mattered was that Ginny hated him, and he didn't think he could stand it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking down at the ground and blinking furiously. He tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Everything is NOT about you, Harry Potter!" said Ginny.

Harry felt a small spark of anger, but forced it down, realizing that Ginny didn't know. "I wish that were true," he said, chancing a look at her. Her face was flushed with anger, but her eyes looked confused.

"So now you're starting to believe your own press? I'm disappointed, Harry. I thought you were above that." She searched his face for a moment, then rolled her eyes and turned to go.

He couldn't stand to let her walk away thinking such horrible things about him. He couldn't stand for her to hate him. "Ginny," he said quietly, catching her hand to prevent her from leaving. She glanced at their joined hands, but did not pull away. "I - I have to ... Remember the prophecy?"

She glanced around, presumably to ensure no one was in earshot, and took a step closer, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "The one in the Department of Mysteries? It was destroyed."

"Yeah," he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper, "but Dumbledore is the one who originally heard it. It says I have to kill Voldemort or be killed by him. I'm the only one who can."

He watched as her expression changed from confusion to horror, and then softened into sympathy. "Oh Harry!" she said as she flung her arms around him. He encircled her waist with his free arm and held her as she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Harry - I didn't know."

"I know - it's okay," he said into her hair. His heart soared with the bliss of holding her, and he completely forgot why he had been upset a few moments ago.

After several moments she drew back, tears shining in her eyes. "You don't have to do it alone, Harry," she whispered. "Let us ... Let your friends help you."

A lone tear trickled down the side of her face, and Harry lifted his hand from her waist and brushed it off with his thumb, very touched by the depth of caring in her eyes. He settled his hand on her shoulder, gently cupping the side of her neck with his fingers. All awkwardness and nervousness were gone; all he could think about was how beautiful she was and how soft her lips looked. He lowered his head slightly and paused to gauge her reaction, but her eyes were sparkling with invitation. His eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord as he lowered his head further...

"There you are, Potter! Just the man I wanted to talk to." Harry's hand automatically went to the wand in his pocket as he let go of Ginny and turned toward Malfoy.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" said Harry, more than a little annoyed at being interrupted. Was it possible that Ginny actually liked him? He realized he might never know as she threw an angry glance at Malfoy and hurried up the stairs.

Harry began to follow but Malfoy said, "Let her go, Potter - you can snog her later. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About the fact that you've been avoiding me all week."

"You're imagining things," Harry said, but his voice sounded unconvincing even to himself. He turned to follow Ginny up the stairs but the Slytherin's voice once again held him back.

"Okay - if you're not really avoiding me, then come and talk to me right now."

Malfoy's voice was mocking, as if he were issuing a challenge that he knew wouldn't be met. Harry felt his blood heating to a boil, the automatic reaction if anyone, especially Malfoy, challenged him. "Fine," he said, and followed Malfoy into an empty classroom.

The Slytherin raised his wand as soon as the door was closed and Harry drew his own wand in panic, quickly throwing up a shield.

"Someone is extremely paranoid tonight!" said Malfoy after he had cast a silencing charm around the room. He pocketed his wand and held up his hands. "I've had plenty of opportunities to hex you before - what makes you think I'm going to do it now?"

"I don't know - you tell me!" said Harry, still brandishing his wand.

"I'm not the one who's suddenly gone psychotic. You've been avoiding me for a week and barely spoken to me in Potions. Why?"

Harry lowered his wand and looked away. "I told you you're imagining things, Malfoy. Besides, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," said Malfoy, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "But I refuse to let you publicly humiliate me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Malfoy, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Harry sighed. What if Malfoy wasn't the traitor? If he wasn't, he probably deserved an explanation for Harry's behaviour. If he was, then maybe Harry could get him to admit it. He would have to be very careful what he revealed, though. Harry took a deep breath and said, "It looks like there's a student at Hogwarts helping the Death Eaters."

Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise. "And you think it's me. Damn you, Potter!" Harry had never heard Malfoy curse before, and when he looked into the silver eyes full of hurt and anger, he wondered if he had actually hurt the Slytherin's feelings.

"What am I supposed to think, Malfoy?" Harry muttered, looking away from those accusing eyes.

"Why does it have to be me?" said Malfoy, unfolding his arms and balling his fists at his sides. "Why not Crabbe, Goyle, or Nott? They certainly have the connections."

"Why not you? Why, Malfoy?" said Harry, the volume of his voice rising with every word. "What am I supposed to believe? Tell me why I should believe it's not you."

"You know I won't talk to you about it, Potter," Malfoy said in a dangerously even tone, despite Harry's shouting.

"That's not good enough any more, Malfoy. I defended you. I told them I didn't think it was you." Harry hesitated, but was desperate enough to get at the truth that he ignored his conscience. "You owe me."

There was no mistaking the hurt in Malfoy's eyes this time. "I thought we were past that, Potter," he said in a bitter tone as he turned away.

"I'm not talking about that," Harry lied quickly, trying not to let his remorse show on his face. "I'm talking about the fact that you owe it to me to tell me I didn't lie to them. You owe me the truth."

"The truth could get me killed, Potter." He looked up at Harry with narrowed eyes. "Wait a minute ... Who's been questioning you, anyway? Who suspects me?"

"I can't tell you that."

"You stand there demanding the truth and yet refuse to name my accuser?" said Malfoy, his cheeks turning pink with anger. Harry just stood there and looked at him for a moment, trying to decide what to say. He agreed with Malfoy that it was unfair, but he didn't know how to give him any more information without betraying the Order.

Harry was shocked when Malfoy finally spoke. "The Order of the Phoenix."

"What?" Harry said, feeling a little bit of panic in his stomach.

"Don't bother to deny it," said Malfoy. "The whole wizarding world knows it exists - they just don't know exactly who the members are."

"Why would the Order of the Phoenix bother with me?" asked Harry, shifting uncomfortably.

"That's not good enough anymore, Potter," Malfoy said, throwing Harry's own words back at him.

"That's unfair," said Harry. "Have you been interrogated about me?" Harry knew he was exaggerating, but he sensed that Malfoy was close to giving in. He wanted to know; he needed to know. "Look I don't want to suspect you," he said, a little surprised that he was being so candid with the Slytherin. He took a deep breath and continued, "I-it's ... important to me."

Malfoy's head snapped up and he looked at Harry with a piercing gaze, as if trying to gage his sincerity. "I'm important to you?"

"No," Harry lied, furious at himself for letting his guard down momentarily. "I mean that it's important for me to know that the people I hang around with aren't going to curse me when my back is turned."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment with a wounded expression. "Damn you, Potter," Malfoy said again. "Can't you just trust me?"

Harry wondered if he could; it would be so much easier. "I want to," he said honestly. "But for five years you gave me every reason to expect you to hurt me. A few Seeker scrimmages and civil conversations aren't enough to make up for all that. Give me something else, Malfoy." Harry paused for a moment and then as an afterthought added, "Please."

Malfoy turned and walked over to a window, apparently intent on the scenery outside. Finally, without turning around, he said, "All right, but this is just for you. Not for the Order of the Phoenix, not for your little Gryffindor tag-alongs. Only you. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Harry, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. He forced an even tone and continued, "I won't repeat it. You know I can keep a secret."

"Yes, I know," said Malfoy to the window. Harry could see his shoulders moving as he took a deep breath. "You're not going to like it..."

"What?"

"The truth is," said Malfoy, "I don't completely agree with either side. All I want to do is survive. I will do whatever it takes to stay out of the whole thing. I would leave Britain before I would help either side."

Malfoy stopped, and Harry waited a few moments, expecting something more. The Slytherin remained silent, and Harry finally said, "That's it?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it. You expect me to declare loyalty to one side or the other. I won't - I can't. I am loyal only to myself."

"What a lonely, selfish way to live."

"I don't need your approval, Potter," said Malfoy, turning around to face Harry, "and I could do without your righteous attitude. You wanted the truth - you should appreciate my honesty. What you don't understand is that if I was to openly declare my position, it would be seen as disloyalty toward the Dark Lord and I would be killed."

"But Dumbledore could protect you ..."

Malfoy interrupted Harry with a derisive snort. "Dumbledore is far too trusting," he said. He seemed to want to say something else, but apparently changed his mind. Harry wondered if he was thinking of Snape; of course Malfoy would know the Potions Master was a Death Eater, but wouldn't know of his loyalty to Dumbledore. "Look," he finally said, "I know I'm being watched closely. Just ... don't tell anyone what I said. Don't even let on that I've given you any reason to trust me." Harry found himself wishing he could reassure Malfoy about Snape, but that was out of the question. Besides, he knew there were probably people other than the Potions Master watching Malfoy.

"Now who's being paranoid?" Harry settled for saying, and he gave the Slytherin a small smile.

Malfoy almost returned the smile. "So, do you trust me?"

Harry thought about that. For some reason, he believed Malfoy was sincere in what he had said, even though there was still a tiny voice in his head asking if he only wanted to trust him. He still wasn't sure Malfoy wouldn't sell his loyalty to the highest bidder, or if he could be threatened into submission by Voldemort.

"I believe what you said," Harry conceded, "but I still don't think I trust you. You haven't declared any loyalty to me or my side at all."

"I can't," said Malfoy in a slightly pleading tone. "I can't," he repeated, but this time he drew himself up to his full height and raised his head in an arrogant pose, as if remembering that he had no reason to be ashamed of his position.

"I guess that will do," said Harry.

"It will have to." Harry nodded, and then Malfoy spoke again. "Going flying?" he asked, gesturing toward Harry's Firebolt.

Harry had almost forgotten he was carrying the broom. "I was going to, but it's getting late now."

"Nah - come on - let's go for a few minutes."

Harry and Malfoy flew around the castle a few times before parting ways. Harry hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, craving the solitude of his bed waiting behind its curtains. He didn't believe Malfoy was helping the Death Eaters, and his instincts told him to trust the Slytherin, but he was afraid of being betrayed. He decided he could continue to study and fly with Malfoy, but he wouldn't be giving him any information about the Order or the prophecy any time soon.

He heard the dormitory door open and close and he grabbed the covers quickly, pulling them over his fully dressed body.

"All right, mate?" said Ron's voice from outside the curtains. "You rushed through the common room in a hurry."

"Yeah, I'm just really tired," said Harry. Then he remembered why he had left the dormitory in the first place and his face flushed a bit. "I'm sorry about yelling before," he said, meaning it sincerely.

Ron poked his head through the gap in the curtains and smiled. "It's okay. We know you're under a lot of stress. We try not to bug you too much - we just want you to know ..."

"I know," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks, Ron." Ron's head disappeared and Harry listened for the door to open and close again. He rolled out of bed, changed into his pyjamas, and cleaned his teeth.

His thoughts turned to Ginny as he crawled back into bed, this time to go to sleep. He had almost kissed her, and she didn't look as though she would have objected. Maybe Ron was right; maybe she did like him. The thought certainly appealed to him, and he wondered if he should approach her and try to finish what he had begun. He allowed himself to imagine for a few moments what the kiss would be like, and was glad no one could see the huge, dopey grin on his face.

Harry remembered what he and Ginny had discussed, however, and his smile disappeared. She deserved better, not someone who would eventually be killed or be a murderer. It would be unfair and selfish of him to ask her to be a part of something like that.

She seemed to like him, however; even after he had told her about the prophecy she had seemed to want him to kiss her. Maybe he should let her make the decision for herself. Yes, that was the thing to do. He would wait and see how she acted toward him, whether or not she still seemed to want to be with him now that she had heard about the prophecy. Harry fell asleep relatively quickly after coming to two reasonable conclusions about Malfoy and Ginny, two subjects that had troubled him greatly.

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It rained almost every day during the last week in April, culminating in a horrific thunderstorm on Walpurgis Night that kept Harry awake for hours. May didn't start off much better, and the almost constant rain was not conducive to Quidditch practice. Ron was beginning to get frantic about their last Quidditch game against Slytherin.

"We can still beat Hufflepuff and Slytherin to the cup if you catch the Snitch, Harry," said Ron one morning at breakfast after he had given the enchanted ceiling his morning scowl. "Ravenclaw is out of it."

"I'll catch it," said Harry, forcing confidence into his voice. He knew for a fact that he could outfly Malfoy under almost any circumstances, and he didn't want to express even the slightest doubt in front of Ron since Ron already felt uncomfortable about the two Seekers practicing together.

"Yeah, mate, I know you will. But if you don't see it right away, we'll have to score some goals, because Slytherin certainly will. We have to beat them by at least eighty points to get the cup."

All Harry could do was hope that he saw the Snitch early in the game. The Gryffindor Chasers had been playing better in the few practices they had managed to have between rainstorms, but Harry knew Slytherin's Chasers were superior.

Thinking of Gryffindor's Chasers naturally caused him to think about Ginny, and his stomach clenched slightly. He glanced down the table where she was talking and laughing with some other fifth years, and then returned his gaze to the remainder of his breakfast, which suddenly looked unappetizing. Ginny had treated him indifferently since that night when they had been interrupted by Malfoy. He wasn't sure what he had expected; it was possible that in some secret part of his heart he had hoped she would have approached him to finish what they started. At least she could have been a little friendlier. Harry could only assume that she had decided she didn't like him any more once she heard about the prophecy, but that thought was very disappointing, not just because he wanted more from her, but because he had hoped she would have been able to overlook it.

The Quidditch talk was temporarily suspended by the arrival of the mail. Harry was surprised when a school owl landed neatly in front of him and held out its leg.

"Who's that from?" said Ron around a mouthful of kippers as Harry examined the tiny scroll.

Harry,

This parchment is charmed so that it can be read only by the recipient. It will appear blank to everyone else. Please come to my office tonight instead of going to your Defence lesson with Professor Shacklebolt. Tell no one.

Professor Dumbledore

Harry shrugged and handed the parchment to Ron. "Must be a prank," he said and held his breath as Ron inspected it.

"Probably from Malfoy," said Ron in a derisive tone.

"Honestly - why would he send Harry blank parchment?" asked Hermione, rolling her eyes. She took the scroll from Ron and set fire to it with her wand. Harry watched the ashes float to the table, a little stunned that Hermione took such drastic action. "Well," she said defensively, "it could be some Death Eater trick full of Dark Magic!"

"What if it's Dark Magic that's activated whenever someone sets it on fire?" asked Ron.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Harry quickly as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. "It was probably just a mistake. Did you two ever finish your Charms essays last night?"

Having successfully changed the subject, Harry was free to consider what Dumbledore wanted to see him about so secretly. He wondered if the headmaster had discovered the identity of the traitor. Harry and Malfoy had slipped back into their friendship of sorts after they had had the discussion about Malfoy's position in the war, except, of course, that they rarely went flying because of the rain. Harry believed that the Slytherin was telling the truth when he said he wanted no part in the war, and most of the time he was successful in ignoring the little voice in his head that said, "Yes, but ..."

The stone gargoyle in front of the entrance to the headmaster's office sprang out of the way as Harry approached that evening. Harry hurried up the tower stairs instead of waiting for them to spiral him upward, and found the door ajar.

"Come in, Harry, and sit down," said Dumbledore in a jovial tone, which eased Harry's trepidation a bit. Harry glanced around; there was no one else in the room, but a few of the portraits were watching with interest. "Tea?" the headmaster asked as Harry sank into a chair in front of the desk.

"No thanks," said Harry.

Dumbledore nodded, poured himself a cup, and said, "Have you heard of King Solomon, Harry?"

"Who?" said Harry, wondering where this was leading.

"King Solomon was a king of ancient Israel about three thousand years ago. He is said to be the wisest man who ever lived. He once said:

'Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'"

The headmaster paused, as if waiting for Harry to say something. Harry finally said, "That's a nice sentiment, sir."

"Yes it is, isn't it?" the headmaster agreed. "Apparently Dofflemeyer thought so. He developed a protection charm based on that very quote about two thousand years later." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly and looked at Harry intently. "It's called the Trilixicis Charm. It requires three people to cast, but when active, no magic can get through the shield it creates."

"Are you suggesting I use this charm to defeat Voldemort?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement.

"No," said Dumbledore. "The shield can't help you in that way. I am suggesting that you have the shield at your disposal to enhance your protection against Voldemort until you are ready to ..." To Harry's shock, Dumbledore faltered. Harry couldn't remember the Headmaster ever being at a loss for words before.

"I want to do it as soon as possible," said Harry. "I don't want to meet him again without killing him." Now Harry was surprised at himself. How could he speak so casually about becoming a murderer? Maybe he had finally become angrier about what Voldemort was doing to the wizarding world than about the ugly fate that had been thrust upon him.

"I hope you can, Harry," Dumbledore said in a quiet but intense voice. "However, I still think you should be prepared to use the charm for defence. You may find some other way to use it to your advantage."

"Okay," said Harry with a shrug. "What do I do?"

"The first step is to determine who your spell casters will be."

"Will they be in any danger?" asked Harry, thinking of Ron and Hermione, but not wanting to endanger them.

"The casters will be encircled by the shield along with you, so it will not be possible to harm them with magic while they are casting the charm."

"But won't they become targets if they're protecting me?" asked Harry.

"That is possible," said Dumbledore, "but I believe everyone who would qualify is probably already a target of Voldemort's. Also, we would keep secret the fact that you have the shield available to you, as well as the identities of your spell casters."

Harry nodded as he considered this, running the headmaster's words through his mind again. "Qualify?" he said. "How do people qualify?"

"Your spell casters must be people who love you enough to protect you with their lives," said Dumbledore. Harry's heart leapt to his throat, and his expression must have betrayed his feelings because the headmaster continued, "I seriously doubt they will be required to actually sacrifice their lives. But they must be committed to you to the degree that they will not falter when casting the spell, enough that danger to their own selves is a lesser consideration."

Harry thought Ron and Hermione might possibly be willing to do this for him, but who else cared about him to that degree? Remus's face drifted through his mind, and he realized that he probably loved the man as much as he would have loved a parent. Maybe Remus would be the third spell caster.

"So do I need to ask people about this?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "Tell no one." He paused and looked briefly at something over Harry's shoulder, possibly one of the portraits. He rested his elbows on his desk and formed a triangle with his hands, leaning forward so he could rest his chin on the tips of his fingers. "Whenever magical people interact, they exchange tiny bits of magic, almost too small to be measured. The amount of magic exchanged is based on the intensity of emotion toward the other person. For example, it is very likely that you would exchange more magic in your interactions with Ron Weasley than with Terry Boot."

Harry hadn't known that, and he wasn't sure whether it was comforting or slightly frightening. Either way, it didn't seem to be helpful. "What good will that do me if it can't be measured?"

"I said 'almost', Harry," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape has brewed a potion that will enhance the foreign bits of magic in your aura, and with a rather tricky charm, we should be able to measure it in your blood."

"Snape knows about this?"

"Professor Snape, Harry. And yes, he is the only person besides the two of us."

"How do you know he won't tell Voldemort?"

"Harry, I know you will find this hard to believe, but Professor Snape wants to see Voldemort's demise just as much as you do, perhaps more." Harry gave a derisive snort but didn't bother arguing. "I can give you the potion today, and then we should be able to determine the identities of qualified spell casters within a fortnight. You will need to interact normally with your classmates and teachers until then."

Harry gave a firm nod and said, "Let's do it."

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Over the next two weeks, Harry was so caught up in Quidditch practices and strategy plotting with Ron that he managed to forget about the Trilixicis Charm most of the time. The rain had finally abated and the practices lasted so long that on one occasion Harry thought the team might plot mutiny against their captain.

The morning of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match dawned bright and fair. Harry gazed up at the sky at breakfast, thinking that the sky was so blue and the few puffy clouds so white they looked like a painting.

Ron kept murmuring things like, "Good visibility," and, "Not much wind," as he paced up and down the aisle between the Gryffindor table and the wall, hovering over the rest of the team as they ate. Hermione had given up admonishing him to eat and had settled for shooting him occasional worried glances.

Finally, Ron said, "Let's go," and the seven team-mates shuffled down to the Quidditch pitch. No one spoke as they changed and sat on the benches to await last minute instructions from their captain. Ron was pale and his hands were trembling slightly as he spoke.

"This is it. You know what to do. Ginny, Katie, and Andrew, you score as much as possible, but don't forget to watch out for Crabbe and Goyle. Jack and Stacey, you focus on preventing their Chasers from scoring. Harry ..."

"Don't worry - I'll handle Malfoy," Harry interrupted.

"Are you sure you can play Seeker against your friend, Potter?" asked Jack in a derisive tone.

Harry glared at Jack, but was surprised to see everyone else, even Ron, watching him expectantly, as if waiting to see how he would answer the Beater. "I play to win - I don't care who it is," said Harry in clipped tones, annoyed that he had to defend himself. He swallowed before he continued, determined not to show any doubt. "Besides, he can't beat me."

"Don't get overconfident, Harry," said Ron, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm sure if he can manage it he'll have a few tricks up his sleeve."

"I would expect nothing less," said Harry with a smirk.

"Okay," Ron said, clapping the palms of his hands together. "Now don't panic if they score a few goals. We have to win by at least eighty points to get the cup, so we can afford to let them get a little ahead, but not too far ahead."

"So we can't let them get more than seventy points ahead," said Ginny.

"Right," said Ron. "Okay - time to go!"

Ron paled further as they made their way out of the changing rooms, but his eyes were narrowed and his mouth hardened into an expression of determination. Harry allowed his gaze to linger on Ginny for a few moments; her mouth was set into a firm line and her eyes held only a trace of trepidation. She caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile, and it suddenly seemed that the most important reason to win the game was so he could see that smile again.

Ron reluctantly shook hands with Adrian Pucey when commanded by Madam Hooch, and then all fourteen players kicked off toward the impossibly blue sky. Harry caught a smirk on Malfoy's face as they ascended and shot back one of his own.

The Slytherin Seeker paused a moment and then flew in the opposite direction as Harry. Harry wondered what Malfoy was doing; in the past, the Slytherin had always followed Harry around, forcing the Gryffindor to look for the Snitch for both of them. He must have realized there was no way he could outfly Harry, and that his only chance was to get a head start toward the Snitch.

Harry thought about Malfoy's strategy for a few moments and decided to stick close to the Slytherin, just in case he happened to see the Snitch before Harry. As he flew toward Malfoy, however, he was blocked by a monstrous body that shouldn't have been able to lift off the ground. Goyle was brandishing his club as if he intended to pretend Harry's head was a Bludger, wearing an idiotic smile. Harry looked past the hulk at Malfoy, who grinned at him over his shoulder and sped away.

Harry cursed under his breath as he scanned the rest of the game below. Just as he suspected, Crabbe was busy hitting Bludgers toward Gryffindor's Chasers and protecting Slytherin's Keeper as Ginny tried to score. Apparently the Slytherins had enough confidence in their Chasers and Keeper to devote a Beater entirely to their Seeker. It was a risky strategy, but Harry had to admit that in this particular situation, it made sense. Harry would either have to find a way around Goyle, or hope he saw the Snitch before Malfoy did.

The score was twenty to ten in favour of Slytherin. At least Gryffindor had scored. Maybe Slytherin's strategy would benefit Gryffindor if their Chasers and Keeper only had to worry about one Beater. That is, if Harry caught the Snitch.

Harry searched for the elusive gold ball for almost an hour, trying to stay clear of Goyle but watch Malfoy at the same time. The score continued to climb for both sides, albeit more slowly for the Gryffindor team. When the score reached one hundred ten to fifty, Harry began to feel nervous. If Slytherin scored two more goals they would win the cup even if Harry caught the Snitch.

Suddenly Harry caught sight of something shiny and turned toward it, flying as fast as he could. He lost sight of it as he neared the stands, but by this time he had attracted Malfoy's attention and the Slytherin was speeding toward him. He looked around frantically, trying to determine where the Snitch had gone while Malfoy sped past him and continued toward the other end of the pitch. Harry began to follow but then something shiny in the direction of the stands caught his eye and he automatically flew toward it.

Harry looked anxiously around the stands, but didn't see the Snitch. Finally he saw the glint of sunlight on metal once more and zeroed in on it, only to realize it was Zabini holding a mirror. Zabini looked up with a smirk and yelled, "Sorry, did this distract you? This wind is murder on my hair!" The Slytherins around him laughed and Harry realized Malfoy had had several minutes to follow the Snitch on his own. A gasp from the crowd made Harry turn quickly, certain he was going to see Malfoy holding the Snitch triumphantly over his head.

Instead he saw a Bludger slam into the back of Malfoy's broom. The Slytherin was reaching for something in front of him, presumably the Snitch, so he wasn't holding on properly and apparently hadn't seen the Bludger coming. His arms flailed helplessly as he tried to get a grip on his broom but he was falling too quickly.

Reacting without thinking, Harry zoomed to the ground just as Malfoy's descent was suddenly arrested and he floated slowly to the ground. Harry looked around and caught sight of Dumbledore just above them in the stands, pocketing his wand.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, holding out a hand to help Malfoy to his feet.

Malfoy's face was bright red, and Harry realized he was angry when he refused his hand and pulled himself to his feet, stomping past him to retrieve his broom.

"I was so close to finally beating you!" Malfoy shouted over his shoulder. "I hope you're not upset that Vorlavitz will be stealing some of your glory as House Hero!"

"Well, at least you lost the Snitch fair and square!" Harry shouted to Malfoy's back. "Distracting the opposing team's Seeker from the stands is a dirty trick, and probably illegal!"

Malfoy reached his broom and picked it up, turning to Harry before he mounted. "I can't help it if Zabini is a bit vain," Malfoy said, his anger fading into his familiar smirk.

"I'm telling Madam Hooch!" said Harry, balling his fists at his sides and stomping toward Malfoy.

"You can't prove anything," said Malfoy, his grin widening.

"I'll have to tell Stacey she missed!" yelled Harry. "She should have hit you in the head!"

"You know, that's a good idea for Goyle," said Malfoy calmly. "I'll have to pass that along."

Harry continued toward Malfoy until he was only a foot away. He wasn't thinking about his previous hatred for the Slytherin, he wasn't thinking about the possibility of Malfoy working with the Death Eaters, and he wasn't thinking about the fact that he had known Malfoy would do whatever he could to get the advantage. All he could think about was his feeling of betrayal by a friend, and all he wanted to do was to beat his "friend" until he was unconscious.

"I know you want to hit me, Potter," Malfoy whispered. "Go ahead - do it."

Harry took another step toward Malfoy, but then caught sight of Madam Hooch approaching from behind Malfoy. Harry forced his anger down, realizing that if he attacked a member of the opposing team, Slytherin would get at least one penalty shot, maybe more, and there was a possibility that Harry would not be allowed to finish the game. Without Harry, Slytherin would undoubtedly win.

With this realization, Harry's anger toward Malfoy flared again, but he mounted his broom and kicked off, channelling his anger into flying furiously.

The game had continued while the Seekers were on the ground, and now the score was One hundred twenty to fifty. Gryffindor could not allow Slytherin to pull any further ahead, and Harry felt almost panicked in his urgency to catch the Snitch. Goyle had resumed his role of keeping Harry away from Malfoy, but Harry stayed as close to the other Seeker as he could manage without getting his head bashed in.

As the minutes passed, Harry occasionally glanced at the game and the scoreboard as he searched for the Snitch. Millicent Bulstrode, Slytherin's Keeper, was apparently tiring and missed blocking a few shots, allowing Gryffindor to close the gap in score. However, Pucey and Crabbe had developed a strategy in which they shot a Bludger and the Quaffle toward the goalposts at the same time, forcing Ron to choose between missing a block and being knocked off his broom.

Finally, when the score was one hundred eighty to one hundred, Harry saw a glint of gold just behind Malfoy. If he caught the Snitch now, Gryffindor would win the game and they would tie for Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup, and he decided that might be the best Gryffindor could hope for. He sped past a stunned Goyle and a surprised Malfoy and wrapped his fingers around the fluttering ball, finally ending the game.

Harry held the fluttering Snitch above his head as he descended to the ground amid cheers from both the Gryffindor stands and the Slytherin stands. He punched the air as he landed, but Ron was shaking his head.

"They won the cup," said Ron.

"What?" said Harry. "We should have tied for it!"

"Slytherin scored another goal just before you caught the Snitch," explained Ginny as she landed. "They beat us to the cup by ten points."

"It's my fault," said Ron.

"No, it's not," said Harry. "Don't talk like that. This team was terrible at the beginning of the year and your strategies and training made us decent. You've done a lot for this team, and I refuse to let you blame yourself!" Although Harry was disappointed, he couldn't help acknowledging that Slytherin was the superior team overall and probably deserved the Quidditch Cup, but he didn't think this was the time to point that out to Ron.

Ron stared at him for a moment as if stunned, then broke out into a small smile as Ginny threw her arms around her brother. "Thanks, Harry," he said quietly as the rest of the team landed and began congratulating Harry on his catch.

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

Malfoy was waiting for Harry outside the Great Hall after dinner that night. "Good game," he said quietly. Harry rolled his eyes and told his friends to go on without him. Ron gave him a doubtful look, but headed up the stairs with Hermione without protest.

"Are you here to apologize for cheating?" Harry asked as soon as Ron and Hermione were out of earshot.

Malfoy looked truly surprised. "Why would I do that?"

Harry stared at the Slytherin, shaking his head in astonishment. "Then I have nothing to say to you," he said, turning to follow his friends up the stairs.

"Wait, Potter," said Malfoy, falling into step with him. "You're going to stop talking to me over Quidditch?"

"This isn't about Quidditch, Malfoy," said Harry, stopping to face the Slytherin. "I thought we were friends, but you betrayed me." He froze as soon as the words left his mouth, stunned that he had actually called Malfoy his friend. Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't comment on the word.

"You thought I would just let you win since we don't hate each other?"

"No," said Harry, "but I expected you to play fair."

Malfoy looked genuinely puzzled. "So my taking advantage of the opportunity would have been okay if we still hated each other?"

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You don't get it at all, Malfoy." He turned and ran up the stairs, but Malfoy followed him.

"I think I 'get it' better than you do," said Malfoy. "This is about Quidditch - it's about winning - it's about Slytherin House, and you're trying to make it about you and me. Not everything is about you, Mr. Boy Who Lived."

"You know I hate that title," said Harry, turning to glare at Malfoy before quickening his pace.

"No, I don't know that at all. You expect quite a lot out of your friends, Potter. You expect your friends to mindlessly follow Dumbledore like you. You expect your friends to adhere to some arbitrary standard of fair play that you set. Is there a written exam, too?"

Harry could feel his cheeks flaming and his eyes flaring as he stopped and turned to the Slytherin. "I don't recall asking you to be my friend, Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded slightly as he glared into Harry's eyes. "No, you didn't," he said, "you just assumed. And therein lies the problem." Malfoy turned on his heel and ran down the stairs. Harry stared after him for a moment, and then hurried up the stairs, trying to outrun his tumultuous thoughts.

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

Harry didn't speak to Malfoy at all over the next couple of days. He caught the Slytherin looking at him reproachfully a few times, and he was beginning to regret his anger. He couldn't help wondering if Malfoy had a point about his expectations of his friends. One of the things he liked about the Slytherin was his disregard for his fame; he had to admit it was refreshing for someone besides his established friends to want to associate with him instead of the Boy Who Lived. Besides, it seemed petty to be cross over a Quidditch game when his anger would be better directed toward Voldemort.

Monday at dinner, Dumbledore caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at him. Harry had almost forgotten about the Trilixicis Charm. He understood from Dumbledore's gesture that he wanted him to go to his office that evening, probably while Ron and Hermione were at their prefect meeting. He had thought he might try to talk to Malfoy that evening in the library, but that was now out of the question; maybe he could arrive early for Potions Tuesday morning.

When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, the headmaster directed him to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Harry gritted his teeth to avoid flinching as Snape removed blood from his arm into a small vial. He was sure the Potions Master was purposely making the process painful; he didn't remember needles hurting so badly when he had gone to a Muggle doctor as a child. When he was finished, he gave Harry a small cloth to daub at his wound, handed the vial of blood to Dumbledore, and left the office without a word.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore called after him, and then walked over to a black cupboard on the other side of his office and pulled out the Pensieve. He seemed to be murmuring to himself as he carried it carefully to his desk and placed it exactly in the centre. Drawing out his wand, his chanting grew louder as he waved the wand over the Pensieve and briefly touched the tip to the contents, which Harry suddenly noticed were black instead of the usual white. He said the incantation twice more, ending each time by touching his wand to the black, swirling substance.

Finally Dumbledore looked at Harry and his eyes cleared as if he were coming out of a trance. "Are you ready, Harry?" he asked with a slight smile.