Music of Destiny

Chapter Five

"And that concludes our little meeting." Albus Dumbledore beamed at the two boys in front of him and at the many Hogwarts teachers standing around the room. They all wore expressions of varying degrees of resigned disapproval on their faces. All except the two students sitting frozen in their seats - they alone wore identical looks of mind numbing, disbelieving shock and the beginnings of indignant outrage.

"You can't be *serious*," Draco said flatly. "This is insane!"

"You both brought it upon yourselves, you know. " That was Remus, a slight smile on his face.

"Yes, but I wouldn't even wish him upon Dudley! This isn't punishment, it has got to be - to be - "

"Child abuse," finished Draco, not waiting for his glaring nemesis to speak. "Honestly, Potter, with smart mouthed Granger as a pet, you'd think you'd be more articulate."

"She's smarter than you will ever be, Malfoy, and I spend my time doing more worthwhile things than memorizing lame insults and comebacks, or preening and talking to myself in the mirror," retorted Harry.

"If my insults and comebacks are so lame, Potter, then why do you always take the bait, get angry and get into trouble? Surely that makes you even worse than I am. And I do NOT preen! Some of us are naturally attractive, unlike walking trash dumps like you."

Harry shot to his feet, Draco a second behind him. "You little - "

"Boys, boys!" Dumbledore cut in. "This will not do. Please sit down, Harry, Draco - "

Draco turned his glare on Dumbledore. "With all due respect, Sir, I do not want to be called by name." *Especially not by such a muggle-pampering fool like you,* he added silently.

Dumbledore's smile did not waver. "Oh, yes, how forgetful of me. I apologise, Mr Malfoy. Now, sit and calm down, before I let you go. No fighting in the school, though it is a rule you both have broken many times, is it not?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

The boys, plonking themselves down on their chairs, remained silent, though Harry muttered "Prat" out of the corner of his mouth, which was retaliated by a "Git" from Draco.

"Now, if you're calm, you're free to leave." Dumbledore looked the two boys over, doubting even his own decision at the murderous looks in their eyes. "Or rather, to leave with escorts. Minerva, Severus, please send your respective students back to their dormitories. The rest of you may all go."

Professor Sinistra and Hagrid left, the former not sparing a last glance at her charges and the latter giving Harry a worried and sympathetic look, which Harry didn't see, too busy glaring. Remus Lupin sighed and said to no one in particular, "I'll just nip up and ready the room, it should be done by tomorrow" before leaving.

Professor McGonagall sniffed disdainfully. "Disgraceful conduct, Mr. Potter. A shame. Let's get you back to the Gryffindor tower now, shall we?" Harry rose from his chair and strode out after his teacher.

Draco pushed himself regally from his chair and said coolly, "Good day to you, Professor," before following the grouchy Potions master out.

Dumbledore chuckled, watching them go. "Things are going to become much more interesting, Fawkes... yes, much more interesting."

+++++

"Stupid smarmy insolent self-absorbed arrogant wimpy brainless playboy narcissistic egoistic selfish damned BRAT!" seethed Harry as he stormed up to the Gryffindor tower, having left Professor McGonagall a few corridors back. "And damn the teachers and Dumbledore too!" It said a lot for how furious Harry was that he didn't even have to say the password to the Fat Lady - she took one look at his face and swung open with a muffled "eep".

The common room fell silent, as Harry climbed in. it appeared that everyone had been waiting for him; the room was packed full and there were even people sitting on the steps to the dorms. Food and juice had been brought back from the kitchens, most probably courtesy of Kelly, a fourth-year, and Kenny, her fifth-year brother. The Leroy siblings were the protégé of the Weasley twins, and did their best to live up to the high standards set by their idols.

The silence was so thick, Harry could practically feel it pressing him down. It was Hermione who finally broke it, saying tentatively, "Uh Harry, you look like you need to cool down a little. Here, have a drink - "

"I don't want a bloody drink," hissed Harry. "One outburst doesn't exactly make me a party animal." He started cutting a path though the crowd, who parted like he was Death wielding a scythe. In a way, he was - anyone who didn't get out of his path would die.

Expecting to escape to the dorm safely, Harry was slightly startled to hear Ron shout, "You could be more polite, you know!"

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face Ron, who was red in the face, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger. "Yes, I know, but *you all* aren't worth the trouble - "

There was a satisfyingly squelch-y sound that echoed through the entire tower.

And everyone stared disbelievingly at their respected, dignified, composed Head Girl and Gryffindor Prefect, favoured by all the teachers, top in the school, friendly and patient, kind and gentle. Who, right now, wore a look of grim satisfaction with a touch of a devil's smirk, and an air of fed-up determination. And who was cleaning her hands off with a simple cleaning charm. Her *cream-smudged* hands.

"And where did the cream come from?" one might ask.

And the answer, dear readers, is the large, extremely fluffy cream custard pie that was slowly sliding down Harry's face, dripping onto his robes, and generally delighting in making a mess out of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Right. I've had it with you, Harry. Your wall is crumbling, and you're scared to show it, so you resort to anger," Hermione observed with an air of a professional psychologist. "But see, that anger leads to you insulting everyone who cares about you. I've been doing some thinking, ever since this afternoon, when you threw that tantrum. And after I talked with Professor Lupin in the morning, before we went to look for you."

Ignoring Harry's outraged glare at being accused of having a 'temper tantrum' like any five-year-old, she went on, "And my decision is, instead of feeling all this gloom and despair, I'm going to *do* something, like I should have a long time ago. And that means taking a firm stand."

Ron smiled wryly. "Yeah, Herm never was one to stand aside and watch. Thinks she can solve all problems by herself - and if she can't, well, the library surely can. But the point is, maybe we've been too passive. This isn't like us; not like her, not like me. I don't know why we didn't see it sooner." He went to stand beside Hermione, looking calmly at Harry, who had, at some point, cleaned his face off. His clothes were another matter. The Gryffindors all held their breaths, watching this confrontation in suspense - or it might have been because they were trying hard not to laugh at how ridiculous Harry looked.

"So." Harry's voice was deadly quiet. "You're saying you won't put up with my actions any longer."

"Yes." Their gazes were calm, level. They had matured a lot, especially Ron, in these past years. No longer was Ron the hot-tempered violent teen he once was, nor was Hermione the rule-abiding bookworm; their personalities had rubbed off each other, and now Ron thought things through before charging forward (at least most of the time) while Herm was more relaxed, and had learned to enjoy herself. Harry was surprised they hadn't gotten together yet. More than that, he was surprised that they had managed to put up with him for so long - and that he had managed to hold them off. It was getting near impossible, though. Sooner or later, one simple look from any one of them - Herm or Ron, who were like his siblings; or Sirius or Remus, who had become like fathers to him - would be all it took to smash his walls down.

"Good. You're finally acting like yourselves. Babying me, pitying me, fawning over me - you made me sick, all this time. But it doesn't matter what you do, does it. Because you will never get anything out of me. I will never let anyone get that close." He sneered a little; pained by the way his friends flinched from him. Good Lord, he was turning into *Malfoy*! Pushing that horrifying thought aside, he firmed his resolve by continuing, "So try all you like. Though let me warn you, you're doomed to fail from the start."

This time, when he went up to his dorm, nobody stopped him. He locked the door with a multitude of locking spells, then cleaned his robes with a cleaning spell like Hermione had used. Then, grabbing his broom, he mounted up and flew out of the window. Time to vent some of that anger.

Five minutes later, a figure could be seen zooming around the Quidditch pitch, savagely slamming bludgers with the beaters' club. His movements were erratic, but still had a natural grace. The setting sun illuminated his thin figure and wildly blowing hair. He didn't have much strength to wield the club, but with his seeker abilities he never got hit.

Finally, when it was too dark to see properly and especially after he had to do a silly loop in mid-air to avoid a bludger, Harry wrestled the balls back into the crate, thinking back on that move he had had to do just now. If anyone had seen him then, he would have had to hide for eternity to avoid the embarrassment. The thought brought back a memory, of a time long ago when he had enjoyed Quidditch, enjoyed flying with all his heart, not just trying his best to catch the snitch so that he didn't let his house down like he already had in other matters...

~~~ "Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy, as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the bludger. ~~~

He had won then, even with that bludger intent on his life, he had still won. At least he wasn't totally useless. He allowed himself a brief smile - that had been fun, humiliating Malfoy like that, back in second year. Malfoy, the one constant in his messed-up life. The seas may turn to blood, the skies may turn to ash, but Malfoy would always be there with that glint in his eye and that bloody smirk.

Harry growled in frustration, remembering the events of the afternoon. He didn't care about the locking spells on his dorm - Hermione would definitely be able to undo them, they weren't *that* advanced. Even so, it would take her some time, but by now she ought to have done it.

No, what had gotten him all riled up was the prospect of having three bloody lessons paired with Malfoy and two paired with his cronies! Having the Slytherins for DADA, Potions, CoMC, Transfiguration, and Astronomy only left Ancient Runes, Herbology, Charms and History of Magic with the relatively safe Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. It was too much of a coincidence. He shouldn't have dropped Divination, the only 'safe' class with just Gryffindors in it, though he was getting higher marks in his two new classes than he had ever gotten in Divination.

But he hadn't mentioned that to the Headmaster, no, not even when he had announced that Harry and Malfoy would be paired together for three of their lessons (and two more with Malfoy's lapdogs, Zabini and Parkinson - everyone knew that Crabbe and Goyle were just 'bodyguards'), not even when he had told them of their detention for three straight weeks. That was because it had been all he could do to keep a passive face and stare at the Headmaster, and not break down and spill all of his secrets, his worries, his troubles, and his pain.

The kindly old wizard had gazed at him with those piercing blue eyes, silently questioning while reassuring and soothing. Like always, it felt like the Headmaster could see into his mind, but he knew he was just being ridiculous. It didn't lessen the feeling of having his mind cross-examined, though. Harry respected the wizard, and trusted him, but he wished people would just leave him alone.

Especially Malfoy.

It was *his* fault that they had gotten into trouble in the first place. They were having a relatively normal conversation when he had to start insulting Harry. It would have been a crime not to insult him back, and things had gone downhill from there, to say the least. Harry winced as he recalled the pained look on Professor Lupin's face, the terrified victims, and the grueling interrogation the teachers had put he and Malfoy through. Since when did you start researching these spells? Do you know any spells that are even more advanced than the ones you used? Where do you get the information? Has learning and practicing the spells been hard? How hard? How did you keep yourself from being found out? And what the hell were you thinking?

The clincher had been when the old wizard sat back and with an amused twinkle in his eye - an *amused* twinkle! What was so amusing about all this, he wanted to know - and told them he approved fully of Professor Lupin's plan to stick them in the same small bloody prison of a room to do a boring stuffy old *project* together, and that they had to stay in there *every single minute* of whatever free time they had, at least until they had learned not to kill each other or finish the project, whichever came first. Harry rather thought it would be the first option. What was it Dumbledore had said? "You should have had detention for an entire year, not only three weeks, but we're letting you off on the account that to you two, doing all this work together is more effective than detention," were his exact words.

Of course, he was right. Harry would have preferred detention, when at least it would be over soon enough and they could ignore each other for the duration of the detention. But for this, he had to actually *co-operate* with Malfoy, and be *civil*, so as to get any semblance of work done. Judging by this afternoon, it was impossible. Voldemort-ass-kisser that Malfoy was, he would probably try a hundred ways to kill the Gryffindor by the end of the week. Not that Harry would sit back and let him, though.

Through the seething mist of anger that clouded his head, a little voice piped up, "But you know you deserve this, Harry. You know that you deserve a worse punishment than this." And as the freezing wind stabbed like ice shards into his skin, Harry realized that was the plain truth. He had directed his anger at Malfoy, but in truth he was just denying the real source of his fury - himself. He was furious at losing his own self-control, for hurting all those innocent students, for forcing Professor Lupin to endure that kind of pain that he should have never had to endure more than once a month. Even Professor McGonagall had flinched from him, however slightly, and she was the stoniest teacher he knew (Snape couldn't be counted as stony, just plain cranky).

He had been stupid, and thoughtless, and reckless, and downright irresponsible. And after he had sworn to never do such a thing again! Harry set his mouth in a thin, determined line. He would see this through. He would ignore everyone, especially Malfoy. How he would do that, with Herm and Ron both unable to keep their nose out of his business (though he was secretly glad and warmed to know he had such wonderful, loyal friends, and yet he was in this fix precisely because of that) and having to see Malfoy every day, he didn't know. But he would.

It was dark. Time to go back to the dorm, and make off with his 'night kit' - flute, Cloak, yadda yadda. Harry allowed himself a small smile as he thought about last night. He forgot the disastrous day he had had, mind wandering ahead of him to the night that awaited. Would his Friend still be there? It was a bit silly calling the other person his Friend, but then, what was he supposed to call him or her? Pianist? That was a good name, actually, except that 'Pianist' didn't hold much meaning in it, unlike Friend, but then it was because his Friend was a Pianist that they had actually met, so Pianist actually suited his Friend quite well -

Oh, great. Not only he was talking to himself, he was *rambling* to himself. Not a good sign. Enough with this self-dissection, already. Harry turned his broom and headed back to the Tower. Hopefully no one would be there, so he could avoid a scene. Maybe, when this was all over, when he didn't have to worry about his loved ones being targeted, he could apologise. Provided they would even listen to him after all that he had done, though. Or maybe he was destined to be forever alone...

He seriously hoped not.

+++++

"Take it easy, Draco. You know where to find me if you need to talk."

Draco watched as Snape, without waiting for a reply, turned on his heel and strode off, cloak billowing around him. The young Malfoy shook his head, privately amused, thinking, *Always have to make a dramatic exit, eh, Professor?*

He schooled his features back into their expressionless mask and faced the hidden entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Opening his mouth to speak the password, he shut it with a snap and grimaced. *Maybe the reason why Snape didn't stay around is because he didn't want to hear the password. Lord knows, I don't want to hear it either, let alone speak it aloud.*

He remembered that time in the beginning of his fifth year, when he had called a Slytherin meeting...

~~~~~ "Something has to be done about our dratted password. It's so predictable, so stereotypically Slytherin. The only reason we haven't been invaded, so to speak, is because either they're too honourable, which is unlikely considering those Weasel twins, or they're even more stupid than we give them credit for." Draco didn't need to say who 'they' were - the Slytherins gathered in the common room all knew who their unofficial leader was talking about.

"I think it's the latter," someone called out, but the wave of laughter was cut off by Draco's icy glare.

"Think it's funny, do you? If someone came in and saw all *this*," a wave of his arm included the entire Slytherin dorm, "what do you think would happen to us? We have already had a few cases of people guessing the password correctly, but luckily we have managed to chase them off. So far."

The room fell silent. He had a point.

"Our passwords - basilisk, banshee, dementor, kedavra, unforgivables, and so on - are so painfully obvious and *expected*. It's like saying, 'we're evil and predictable, come defeat us now'! *Please*. So, we need to change it. Any good ideas?" Draco surveyed the cluster of fools in front of him and doubted it.

"Since they expect our passwords to be evil, why not make them good?" a sixth year suggested.

"That's still predictable. For example, Granger, for all we insult her, is smart. Your idea is good, but still obvious once you think about it, and that mudblood does nothing but think. And study. Which is also why all of you should buck up in your work. But back to the point."

There was a short, thoughtful silence before a third year piped up, "Why don't we make the passwords stupid?"

Draco gave him a scathing glare. "Stupid? What do you mean, stupid?" The third year was reduced to violent head-shaking and frightened squeaks. But then Draco sat up straighter. "Hmmm... that might work. Stop shaking and shut up, will you? Thank you. As I was saying, 'stupid' might work - we could make our passwords so nonsensical and weird that nobody would think of them."

"Not a bad idea," mused Khaddar, one of the more imposing seventh years. There was a chorus of agreement throughout the room. "Stupid it shall be."

"Who will decide the passwords?" wondered Millicent.

"We can rotate. Every week, each year will come up with a suitable weird password. Is that okay?" Blaise asked.

"Fine. First years, get to work, and set the new password by this evening," Draco ordered. "This meeting is over, shove off." He was pleased at the satisfactory way the meeting had turned out.

Little did he know what he was getting himself into... ~~~~~

Sighing, Draco wrenched himself from his memories and glared balefully at the wall. Making sure no one was about, he quickly chanted, "Twinkle little bloody star, how I wonder what you are; up above this hell so high, twinkling like Dumbledore's bloody eye."

The entranced revealed itself, and Draco suppressed a shudder as he went in. Currently, the unofficial theme for the password was 'nursery rhymes'. *Muggle* nursery rhymes. At least the fourth years who had come up with this week's password had a bit of originality in them. The week before that, the dratted second years had made everyone *sing* the password. The entire rhyme of 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'. Whoever had come up with these songs had definitely been mentally deficient. The second years had quickly corrected the password, though, after some... hints... from the senior students. *Painfully* obvious hints.

Draco felt a smile bubble up inside him, but his expression was as cool and unruffled as ever. He looked around the room - the people doing their work glanced up and then quickly glanced back down, with a little flinch. Draco blinked. It was like they were afraid of him... then he mentally smacked himself. Of course, after that incident in the corridor that had landed him with punishment lessons with Potter... he was surprised that no one was scuttling out of the room at this very moment. Perhaps his house trusted him a bit more than he had originally thought.

No doubt the clueless, naïve Gryffindors only saw the bright side of it, and were celebrating the 'return' of their boy hero. He almost pitied Potter - his housemates were so self-absorbed, they only saw what they wanted to see, only saw the *good* and the *positive*. It was only a matter of time before they got killed for their naiveté. Draco was proud of his Slytherins - they considered every aspect, and knew enough to respect his powers and his privacy, knew that he could kill them with one flick of his wand, knew enough to leave him alone.

Draco opened his door. Ok, scratch that. His entire house *excepting* the two people who never seemed to give up. They were like the Gryffindors in that sense - stubborn till the end. And very thick when they wanted to be. This seemed to be one of those times.

Pansy, on the other hand, waved a hand distractedly, peering into the mirror. Satisfied, she twisted around in her chair and gave him a proper greeting. "Draco, took you long enough."

"Out," Draco ordered curtly as he pointed a commanding finger at the open door. "Out, out, OUT! Before I hex you into oblivion."

"Oh, come on, Draco. You might scare everyone else, but you don't scare us. We know you, and we know you wouldn't do that to us," Blaise said dismissively. Draco growled. The worst thing was, he was right. He would never hurt Blaise and Pansy. Or Vincent and Gregory, for that matter - they were dumb, but they respected him and were loyal to him. It was just that he couldn't trust them. Those two were hopeless at keeping secrets, unlike Blaise and Pansy, and even then he didn't tell these two everything.

Tracey Davis poked her head around Draco's still open door. "Everything alright - YEOW!"

"Go away!" Draco yelled through the door that he had just slammed into Tracey's face. Blaise, Pansy, Vincent and Gregory might be safe from him, and he usually hesitated before hurting a fellow Slytherin (for about half a second's hesitation, mind you, he wasn't *that* nice and he had a reputation to keep up, after all) but right now he had no patience left to deal with that gossip of a Davis.

"That must have hurt," commented Blaise from his comfortable position on the bed, as the sound of Tracey's anguished yells penetrated the formidable door. "I think her nose might be broken."

"Everyone in Slytherin knows healing spells, she'll be fine," assured Pansy. "So. To business. First things first: it's already dark, where the heck were you?"

"Snape's office." Draco said curtly, as he strode around to his cupboard, roughly pulling it open and yanking out a thicker, yet no less elegant robe than the one he was currently wearing.

"Professor Snape sure kept you a long time," commented Pansy. "Compared to all the other times he's pulled you in for a talk."

Draco shrugged off his robe, leaving it in a careless pool on the floor. "This time he had more to talk at me about."

"Talk *at* you? Oh. He was yelling at your reckless, unthinkable, brainless stupidity, right?" Blaise stood and helped Draco into the heavier robe, seeing how he was struggling with it.

"Better than trying to counsel me and get me to open up to him," growled Draco, slightly calmer now, soothed by Blaise's methodical fastening of his robe. Blaise had a narcissistic streak that rivalled Draco's - even Pansy's vain primping fell short of theirs. Blaise and Draco were the ones who usually acted as the fashion experts, making sure that when they went out, all five of them - including Crabbe and Goyle - were looking their best. Not that they could do much with the two significantly larger boys, though. There were some things even a critical eye for fashion couldn't fix.

"You have to admit, though, that that display was quite impressive." Pansy watched as Blaise finished the last fastening and began fussing over the rest of the robe, smoothing creases and brushing off specks of dirt. "Been training in secret? Didn't know you were *that* powerful."

"Don't piss me off. I've already been interrogated and scolded all afternoon. And then they tell me I've to partner Potter in almost every single lesson I have, dammit!" He was almost yelling at the end of his little rant, venting off some frustrated anger. Blaise had stood back, arms folded, a shadowed look in his purple eyes, while Pansy remained unmoving in her chair, eyes never leaving Draco's face.

Draco sighed. He wasn't like that idiot of a Potter, he knew true friends when he saw them and he knew better than to push them over the limit. Though Potter's Dream Team seemed to have no 'limit' to speak of, his Slytherin friends were more human and didn't have that self-sacrificing martyr spirit. And he liked them that way. It had to be extremely tiring to act like you were perfect, every single moment, when you were just as human as everyone else.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Stress, you know? What with yesterday's meeting, and today's spectacle in the hall and corridor, and then getting lectured and punished afterwards, you can see why I might be a bit tired."

Blaise and Pansy stared at him for a while longer, before breaking out into small smiles. They could tell when he was being sincere, and this was one of those rare times he bothered to apologise. Blaise stepped forward again and rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, concern in his eyes. "You really should rest, get some sleep. Pansy will act the jealous girlfriend again and I'll back her up, so that no one will bother you."

"Really appreciate it, but no thanks. I want to go out again." Draco squeezed Blaise's hand reassuringly, before walking over to his desk and pocketing his piano, shrunk down to miniature size. He held Pansy's shoulder briefly, to reassure her like he had Blaise, before walking to the door and getting his Firebolt, yet another show of money from his *dear* father. "Don't stay up, I'll be out all night." Then he was gone.

Silence. Then, "Doesn't this situation look awfully familiar?"

"Yeah. We've been in it for the past few months."

"When will he learn to stop walking out on us?"

"Actually, it's more like when will he learn to trust us enough to stop walking out on us."

"But we've to admit, he's been much more relaxed this time. Less wary. He even apologized!"

"Yeah. I'm worried about him staying out late every night, and last night he didn't even come back till dawn! Yet he seems better, somehow! It doesn't make sense."

"Draco has always defied logic."

"Yeah, I guess."

"We should go back too, Pansy. He's old enough to take care of himself."

"I know, I know... but he's like family."

"The thing is, he might not have much in the way of families. I mean, look at *his*. Maybe he doesn't know what a family is supposed to be."

"When he opens up to us, hopefully sooner than later, let's show him what it's like."

A sad smile. "If it's not too late."