Snakes and Lions

In the Great Hall, that evening, Harry looked around to see who had stayed. There were more students than usual, but that was still not very many, and the long house tables had been replaced by short ones with space for twelve students at each. None were close to full. At the Gryffindor table sat Harry, one seventh-year girl, Linda Talbot, and one second-year boy, Davey McDoughal. Hufflepuff had two third-years that looked barely familiar, but Ravenclaw had a full six people, all fourth year or above, who seemed coolly comfortable with each other. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, with one scared-looking first or second year boy, sat at the Slytherin table.

Harry surveyed each group several times. If his correspondent had stayed, he or she was somewhere in this room. Harry began to evaluate the remaining students, eliminating the ones who could not have written the words in the chamber.

Crabbe and Goyle he dismissed as too stupid, and the first- and second-year students as too young. No Hufflepuff, Harry judged, would have his correspondent's disregard for rules. He was certain Linda, the remaining Gryffindor, would not wander around the school at night. That left all the Ravenclaw students - two girls and four boys - and Draco Malfoy. Harry decided he didn't want to think about that last possibility, right now. Perhaps he should investigate the Ravenclaw students.

As he lay in bed, however, in the otherwise deserted sixth-year boys' dormitory, his thoughts returned to Malfoy. Malfoy's father certainly was a terror, and his friends - at least, Crabbe and Goyle - were idiots, so those facts fit, but the attitude seemed wrong. Harry had never heard Malfoy speak ill of his father, or any other member of his family, before. Indeed, he tended to bring up his father to bully others ... Harry frowned. That fits, actually, he thought. But his family - he used to make fun of me for not having a family - I can't imagine him saying he doesn't want his own.

Quite suddenly, Harry remembered Malfoy, during their first year, saying loudly and insincerely how sorry he felt for people who couldn't go home for Christmas, because nobody wanted them. For a moment, Harry thought of Ron and Hermione, enjoying the merry chaos of the Burrow, and a wave of self-pity swept over him.

You told Ron you'd be fine, he scolded himself. It's not his fault if you lied.

He forced his thoughts back to Malfoy. Yes, that was what Malfoy had said their first year, but then, the second year, he had been here, himself. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had assumed it was because he was the Heir of Slytherin, but they had been wrong. Why had Malfoy been at school? Was he there to keep an eye on the plot, or had his family just not wanted him, that year?

The next night, there were no new messages in the Chamber. Harry, with mixed annoyance and relief, considered the possibility that his correspondent had gone home after all, though five days ago he had written "... I'm staying." Harry wondered if he should re-seal the Chamber. Under his message from the last day of exams, he added:

By the end of the next day, Harry reluctantly eliminated one of the Ravenclaw girls as someone who would not go anywhere as dirty as the tunnel that led to the chamber of secrets, and all of the Ravenclaw boys as simply too unimaginative to find anything so far from the library. This, he noted apprehensively, left the other Ravenclaw girl and Malfoy.

On December 23rd, he lay in bed, considering this.

Over holidays, he had planned to try to meet his correspondent. It seemed clear he had merely to violate the alternating-day rule and he stood a good chance of surprising the other. But if it was Malfoy, did he want to?

I can go down there quietly, he thought, leaving my cloak on until I see the other person. If it's the girl, there's no problem. But what if it's Malfoy? What do I want to do then?

I could ignore it, never publicly violate the schedule, and be sort of friends with him, in writing, as if I didn't know.

I could stop writing to him.

I could take off the cloak anyway, and see what he does. He's probably as horrified as me, if it's him. He may be lying in bed now, thinking, what if it's Potter?

Draco Malfoy, Harry remembered, had tried to make friends with him, the first time they met. He had gone about it in entirely the wrong way, trying to sound important, confiding plans to extract presents from his father, and warning Harry against the "wrong sort", but he had done so, nonetheless, and without knowing who Harry was.

Of course, ever since Harry had refused to be friends with him, during their second encounter, he had been perfectly horrid.

Dumbledore, Harry thought, gave people second chances. He was famous for it. On the other hand, what reason did he have to give Malfoy a second chance? Some vague expressions of unhappiness and fear? But then, if there was some good to Malfoy, what chance did he have of finding it, when they were enemies?

The next morning, Harry wandered aimlessly through the school. He thought he had best go down to Hogsmeade in the evening, after Honeydukes closed, take what he wanted and just leave money. He had decided he wanted butterbeer, but wasn't actually sure where to get it, other than for drinking in The Three Broomsticks. Perhaps, he decided, he could ask Dobby. Fred and George had found some way to get bottles of the stuff.

On his way downstairs, he saw Albus Dumbledore, just inside the Great Hall. Harry slipped in through the door. No one else was in the huge room. The headmaster appeared to be surveying the twelve Christmas trees, all hung with gold stars. The enchanted ceiling was a flat slate grey, but everything below it glittered with Christmas cheer. Dumbledore swung round.

"Harry! We missed you at breakfast, this morning. Are you enjoying your holidays?"

Harry glanced down. "It's a bit quiet," he admitted.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"I've grown accustomed to seeing you with young Mr. Weasley, or with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. It requires practice to enjoy having the run of the place to oneself."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure he understood. Did Dumbledore mean he would learn to do without friends? He looked at the giant, glittering evergreen in front of him, and sighed.

"What makes people friends, sir?"

He thought it was an idiotic question as soon as it left his mouth, but Dumbledore appeared to seriously consider the matter.

"That depends, Harry, that depends. There are as many ways for people to be friends as there are for them to be lovers." He looked up at the nearest tree. "Perhaps more ways. Shared interests, complementary interests, sympathy, even just inexplicable love. Nor is that all."

"Ron just ignores me, now," Harry complained.

"Ah yes. He is in love with Miss Granger, is he not? It's hard to lose a friend to true love." Dumbledore sighed. "I recall when my daughter married. Suddenly, I had no one to play checkers with in the morning. I was compelled to take this job as Hogwarts Headmaster, so that I had available players."

Harry laughed out loud.

"You realize I don't believe that for a minute."

"And why not, young Potter?"

"I'm told you had your choice of this or Minister of Magic."

Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. "There was never any contest, Mr. Potter. Ministry of Magic people play only wizard chess."

Harry grinned. A checkerboard, he noticed, was sitting out on the Gryffindor table. Either he had overlooked it, earlier, or it had just appeared. "Would you like a game of checkers, professor?" he asked.

"I could not imagine anything better."

At first, Harry played with great concentration. He did not have much practice at Muggle games, and Professor Dumbledore was a superb strategist. Ten minutes in, most of the pieces were still on the board, and Harry could see that Dumbledore's next move would leave him unable to move without being captured.

Suddenly, Dumbledore jumped three of Harry's pieces, exposing two of his own and opening up the middle of the board.

"Sir?"

"Your turn, Harry."

"But - why did you do that? You could have -"

"I did that because it was too fun to miss." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his half-moon glasses, and Harry grinned in response.

After that, both Harry and Professor Dumbledore played recklessly, taking any possible capture. In two minutes, only three of Harry's pieces and four of Dumbledore's were left, and every remaining piece had been kinged. They met in the middle for foolish duels, and Dumbledore won.

Dumbledore sat back. "Very satisfying," he said. "It is so rare that I encounter an opponent who understands how to play."

Harry looked down and smiled. Dumbledore was clearly commenting on his ability to play, rather than his ability to play checkers. He looked up.

"Another game, sir?"

"Something different, I think."

"Exploding Snap?" Harry suggested daringly.

Professor Dumbledore was properly silly about playing Exploding Snap. He patted his eyebrows nervously after a particularly exuberant explosion. Harry felt more relaxed than he had in days. On impulse, he asked:

"Professor? When do you decide to give someone a second chance?"

"Sorry?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"Someone like Professor Snape. Someone you know has done bad things. You're famous for giving people second chances. How do you know when to do it?"

"Ah." Professor Dumbledore thought. "It is hard to define. Sometimes you see a hidden goodness in someone - something that has had no opportunity to express itself. Sometimes you see some cause of ill behavior - and believe you may be able to counter it. Sometimes it is nothing more than sympathy for someone you see as trapped." He dealt out a hand. Harry's topmost card blew up, singing the ones beneath it.

"Children's stories would have you believe that when you release an animal from a trap, it is grateful," the headmaster added, his voice growing more serious. "This is not true. Most often, when you release an animal from a trap, it will turn and bite you. It is hurt. It is confused. It is full of hate for the world. People are only slightly better. When you release someone from a trap, you must be prepared for them to bite you; ready to endure that first, animal response. Soon after, you will know." He paused. "You won't always be right, you know. Even I am not always right."

"But how do I know when to try?" Harry persisted.

Professor Dumbledore peered over his glasses.

"If you are a good man, as I believe you will be, Harry Potter, son of James Potter, the glorious, son of Lily Potter, the perspicacious, you will feel the stirring of sympathy within your soul, and you will know when the time has come to take your risk." He held Harry's eyes for a moment, until three cards on the table simultaneously exploded. The headmaster chuckled.

"Well, I'm afraid I must get back to work - after this hand, of course. Thank you for the diversion, Harry - I haven't had such fun in too long a time."

Harry felt much more focused after his talk with the headmaster. He went down to the kitchens and talked to Dobby, who brought him six bottles of butterbeer, all packed in holly boughs in a basket, without question, which Harry found rather embarrassing. Harry had decided that if he was to try to make friends with Malfoy, a generous amount of butterbeer and chocolate was probably the best first step.

He went to Honeydukes in mid-afternoon, guessing they would close early on Christmas eve. When he arrived, the shop was dark , with snow falling outside the grey windows. Harry picked out Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Wizzbees, and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans first, then an assortment of other sweets. He left money on the counter, and was back at Gryffindor Tower an hour before dinner. Nervously, he packed the sweets around the butterbeer.

"Well, there," he said out loud, to the empty room. "If it's the Ravenclaw girl, she should be impressed, and if it's Malfoy, he should at least try some before challenging me to a duel." He frowned at Ron's perfectly made bed. "Maybe I should leave a note, so they know where to look for my body."

Dinner was a quiet affair. They were still sitting at the small house tables. Harry knew from experience that those were likely to be gone at Christmas dinner. The Ravenclaw girl looked unconcerned as she chatted with her friends. Malfoy looked pale and left early, without Crabbe and Goyle, who stayed for thirds on pudding.

When the Ravenclaw girl left, Harry left. He went upstairs and ditched his robe. He put on grey trousers -- his one pair that actually fit -- and a black turtleneck, so he looked as little the Gryffindor as possible, then picked up his cloak and the basket of treats. Once in the corridor, he covered himself and the basket with the cloak, and he headed down to the first floor girls' bathroom.

Harry walked quietly along the dark tunnel, the way lit only by the dim light of his wand. In sight of the Chamber entrance, he extinguished even that, and crept forward in the faint light that bled out from the torchlit center of the hall.

Halfway down the hall, he could see that his correspondent was indeed Draco Malfoy. Under Harry's last words, Draco was writing

Draco sat back. Harry watched him mutter something to his wand, probably canceling the Scribere spell, then sigh. He looked pensively down the hall toward the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

Harry came within a few feet of Malfoy and put down the basket. He stepped back. This, he knew, made the basket seem to appear from nothing. Malfoy goggled at it.

Harry pulled off his cloak. Although he would have enjoyed seeing Malfoy's expression, he deliberately looked away from Malfoy's face, though keeping his wand hand in sight, to give the Slytherin time to recover.

"I know you're not me," he said. "I was just wondering if I could seal the door, that's all. You need to be a Parselmouth to open it."

He looked back at Malfoy, who was regarding him with his usual sneer.

"Honestly," Harry continued with a smile. "You're the absolute prince of Slytherin, and can't even talk to snakes." He took a butterbeer from the basket and offered it to Malfoy. "Want one?"

After several seconds in which Malfoy did not move, Harry shrugged, opened the bottle, and took a drink from it himself.

"I was afraid it was you," he offered. "We're a fine pair, aren't we? Happy Christmas, Malfoy. Take some of it."

"You have an invisibility cloak," Malfoy said finally, taking and opening a bottle of butterbeer as if he hardly noticed it. His voice was accusing. Harry grinned.

"Well, you knew that! You saw my head in Hogsmeade, right? Would have got me in major trouble if Lupin hadn't intervened for me. Snape's a git, but a clever one. He'd nicked me, all right."

"You put mud in my hair."

"I protect my friends." Harry tried to sound calm, but he kept a close eye on Malfoy's wand hand. "You're nasty to Ron, I'm nasty to you. Nothing personal." Harry tossed a Chocolate Frog at Malfoy, who caught it reflexively.

"So, where's Ron now?" Malfoy asked, smirking slightly. He opened the Chocolate Frog and pinned it expertly. Harry looked down, but mostly to hide a smile.

"At home, with his girlfriend."

"Mudblood Granger."

"That's right." Harry looked up. "Watch your mouth, Malfoy. He may not be my constant companion anymore, but I still love her. And don't try to turn that into anything scandalous, either."

"As you wish, my host," said Malfoy, imbuing the words with utter disinterest. Harry sat down on his rug.

"You're welcome," he said. Malfoy shot him a glare. "How did you find it, anyway?" Harry asked. "I know I left the door open, but...."

Malfoy grinned. "There was a ghost in the Prefects' bathroom - some awful wingeing girl."

"Moaning Myrtle."

"Her. She likes watching me naked."

"You let her?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well, it's not like she can touch me, or anything. I enjoy torturing people like that."

"Oh."

"So she came in all pleased, saying a boy had been awful to her, and she frightened him off, and he'd done something he shouldn't have done."

"She didn't say it was me, though?"

"Oh no. She wouldn't even say where. So I cast Umbram Jubo on her -"

"What's that?"

"A spell to control ghosts."

"Teach me it?" Harry said eagerly.

Malfoy smiled. "Maybe later, Potter," he drawled. "If I decide you can be trusted. Actually, it just enables you to give one command to a ghost."

"So you asked her...?"

"Where the boy had done the bad thing." Malfoy leaned back. "I was half expecting a dead body, the way she'd been carrying on, and instead there was just this hole where a sink should have been." He frowned at his butterbeer. Pointing his wand at it, he said, "Cale." A wisp of steam rose from the neck.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"That spell? You heated it."

"Don't you know that?" Malfoy asked, frowning.

"Malfoy! You know I was raised by Muggles. I don't know a thing I didn't learn at Hogwarts."

"I'll show you," said Malfoy. He took Harry's bottle of butterbeer. "Watch the wand movement. That's important." His wand wavered up the bottle in an flickering motion. "Cale!" He handed the bottle back to Harry. It was a beautifully warm as if he'd just received it from Madame Rosemerta.

"Brilliant!" said Harry.

Malfoy looked arrogantly pleased. "I told you I could help you," he retorted. "It's taken you six years to believe me?"

"That wasn't what you offered to help me with," Harry countered.

"Not exactly, but it was implied."

"I just heard someone who talked about my new friend the way my aunt and uncle talk about me and my parents."

"What?" Malfoy said. He sounded confused.

"'The wrong sort,'" said Harry bitterly, "'people like that.' They mean wizards and witches. I didn't care what you meant."

"Oh." Malfoy drank some of the butterbeer. After a few seconds, he added, almost sulkily, "I meant to be friendly, actually."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Well for friendly, I'd rather have someone who'd explain Quidditch, and the cards in Chocolate Frogs, and what the houses of Hogwarts are. I can choose my friends myself."

Malfoy stretched back, ignoring the comment. "Where'd you get the goods?" he asked, taking a Fizzing Whizbee.

"The butterbeer's from the kitchens," Harry confessed. "And the sweets from Honeydukes. I know a secret passage into Hogsmeade."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Show me."

"Maybe later." Harry looked archly at Malfoy. "If I decide you can be trusted."

Malfoy smirked, but it didn't look so unfriendly, now. Of course, that was partly because he was now floating several inches above the grey stones.

Later in the evening, Harry noticed Malfoy had opened a third butterbeer, which meant there was only one left. He took it and held it out in his left hand, then cast Cale on it.

Malfoy looked over at the light steam.

"There you go. Good thing you weren't brought up in a proper wizarding family - you'd be beating me at classes." He shivered slightly. "And wouldn't that have Father in a rage."

Harry leaned back against the wall, and wondered if there was a way to heat that, as well. Malfoy had been alternating between friendly and cool all evening; he didn't think it was a good time to press for details on Malfoy's relationship with his father. He looked at the butterbeer instead.

"I suppose at a certain point, you get too tiddly to do the right bit of waver?" he speculated.

Malfoy shrugged. "At which point, you probably don't care that it's lukewarm."

"Mm." Harry looked speculatively at Malfoy. "So...?"

"What?"

"Are we going to try being friends?"

Malfoy was silent for so long that Harry was afraid the boy was going to attack him. He brought his right arm casually up across his knees, so he could get his wand back out in a hurry.

"It hardly seems advisable," Malfoy said diffidently. "My house would despise me for it, and your house would despise you, and my father would have fits." He frowned for a moment, then smiled slightly. "Unless, of course, I persuaded him it was all an elaborate plot...." Malfoy began to look rather dreamy.

"Er... maybe I'll just spend the holidays figuring out the last semester of potions, then," Harry said quickly.

"Well, no, we could do things together - I mean, during holidays. We'd need to be discreet, of course, but Crabbe and Goyle are hardly a challenge to avoid." Malfoy smiled lazily. "Perhaps it would be fun."