Snakes and Lions

Trust and Trials

Harry had come in very late, and woke up feeling disconnected and grumpy. As he dragged himself out of bed, he remembered writing an apology to Draco in the Liber Geminus, in the wee hours of the morning. Terrified that it would be horrible, he went straight to his bag and pulled the book out. He was glad his roommates had already gone to breakfast. He was relieved to find the apology reasonable, although messily written, and threw on his school robes just in time to get to breakfast before it ended. Ron, who was leaving the Great Hall as Harry arrived, glared at him as he passed. Harry pretended not to notice.

Neville was still at the table.

"Better take something before it disappears, Harry!" he squeaked. Harry nodded. He grabbed a roll, split it, and quickly put two sausages inside it. He just had time to wipe his fingers on a clean napkin before napkin and dishes faded away.

Neville was standing, shifting uneasily on the balls of his feet. "Transfiguration?"

Harry nodded, his mouth too full for speech. They started up the stairs together. Halfway up, Neville asked, "Harry, pardon, but -- Are you and Ron still friends?"

Harry shrugged and swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to say no. "I'm hoping it will come back," he said quietly, pausing on the landing. "I don't know."

"You don't seem to be trying very hard."

"And he's not trying at all."

Harry took a very large bite of the roll and sausage, so he could not be expected to say any more.

"Pig," someone whispered in passing, and Harry looked over just in time to catch a glimpse of Malfoy's smirk. Draco, himself, seemed to have forgone breakfast in favor of getting his hair and robes in order. He looked impeccable. Harry started climbing the stairs, again. At least Draco didn't seem to be mad at him.

"I always thought that must be wonderful," Neville said. "You and Ron and Hermione. The times when you are friends, I mean."

Harry managed to swallow. He hurt his throat, slightly, but the food went down.

"It was," he said. "Maybe it will be again, when they're over each other -- I don't mean 'over,' really," he corrected hastily. "I mean when they're not obsessed."

He stuffed the last of the food into his mouth before entering the classroom, and he and Neville snagged seats at the back of the class, on the aisle.

Harry resolved to make more of an effort with Ron. That night, he tried inviting Ron to play chess.

"I'm busy," Ron said shortly. He turned a page in his Potions text without looking up. Shrugging, Harry went up to the dormitory. He tried to read his Herbology homework, but kept wondering if Draco really had accepted his apology. In retrospect, he found it rather funny that a one-word insult had been so cheering.

Sighing, Harry packed up his homework, got out his cloak and map, and headed down to the Chamber of Secrets.

Draco was there, frowning at a length of parchment.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Hi." Draco actually smiled. "Wondered if you'd show up."

"You weren't in Transfiguration."

Draco shrugged. "I had a little accident in Care of Magical Creatures, and I needed to take the afternoon off."

"Right," Harry answered disbelievingly.

In answer, Draco smirked.

"You know," Harry volunteered, "I've been thinking I should rename this place."

"You should?"

"Well, I'm the resident Parselmouth. How about 'The Chamber of Hanging out with a Rather Fun Slytherin Who Wants Me to Trust Him Sometimes, But Not Others.' Do you think it's too long?"

Draco burst out laughing. "Frankly, yes," he managed finally. "How about 'The Chamber of Relative Privacy?'"

"The Uncommon Room."

"Oh, good one!"

Harry sat down and took out his Herbology text. "Sorry about snapping at you, last night."

"I expected it, really. I just want you to understand that I do not consider your honor my responsibility, especially not on your terms."

"That makes sense," Harry admitted.

"It's like jumping out of your window. You need to have more sense."

"There was nothing wrong with jumping out my window," Harry argued. "I did think about what you said, and it was reasonable. I still think you should try it."

"Slytherins do not jump out of windows. Brainless Gryffindors jump out of windows."

"You could try it from the Astronomy Tower. That's even higher." Draco's scornful look changed to an angry scowl, and Harry tried to explain himself. "The higher the tower, the easier it should be, right?"

"Tasteless, Harry."

"What?" Harry looked at Draco's angry face and did his best to convey his confusion. "Shouldn't it be? What's wrong?"

"'The higher the tower, the easier the trial.' Do you know what that refers to?"

"Is it a saying? I've never heard..."

Draco sighed, but his anger faded. "No knowledge of wizarding traditions," he muttered. "Honestly!" He collected himself. "There was a test called Decernenti, the Sifting, which was once common among pureblood wizarding families. It's not now; it was outlawed in 1838. You know how wizard children will start to manifest Accidental Magic, usually somewhere between six and ten years?"

Harry nodded. "I kept finding myself on the shed rood when Dudley and his friends were chasing me."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "The shed roof?"

"They were all a lot bigger than me."

"Ah. Well, anyway, there is a period directly after birth -- within the first eight hours -- in which a wizarding baby has some retained womb instinct for magic. During this time, if you take the baby and drop it off a tower, it may be able to save itself by levitating."

Harry felt rather sick. He must have looked it, because Draco shifted his attention to his essay.

"This practice had some problems," Draco said clinically, still looking at his parchment.

Obviously

, Harry thought.

"As early as the beginning of the nineteenth century, statistical analysis of families holding to this practice and families eschewing it showed that the number of wizarding children unable to survive the fall was likely quite high, probably in the range of fifty percent. Furthermore, generations of this practice did not raise the survival rate, so it seemed likely that the practice did not significantly decrease squib births. From this tradition, we get the optimistic saying 'the higher the tower, the easier the trial.'" Draco looked up briefly.

"That's disgusting."

"It doesn't bother me much, as history," Draco commented. "Sometimes, however..."

"People still do it," Harry guessed, horrified.

"I expect so, though you wouldn't catch anyone admitting to it." Draco shuddered. "I sometimes wonder if they put me through it," he added lightly. "I'm fine with heights on a broom or a flying horse, but I have a terror of high balconies and windows and the tops of towers. I'm reaching out to catch myself as soon as I see the air."

Harry didn't know what to say. Draco cleared his throat.

"Any idea what Horsyr is looking for when she asks about 'desired but unwilling behavior?'" he asked.

"Something you want to do, but would normally restrain yourself from doing," Harry answer quickly, welcoming the change of subject. "For example, I might momentarily want to turn Snape into a worm and toss him in the lake, but I never would, and if I somehow did, I'd feel really bad afterwards."

"Ah. So something that represses your conscience, or other inhibitions."

"Exactly."

Harry finished his Herbology reading, then said goodnight and went back to Gryffindor tower. He continued to try to be friendlier to Ron, but with limited success. A few nights, they played games together, and Ron even came down to Quidditch practice, one evening, and borrowed Harry's broom for a bit, but he did not ask, again, to come along when Harry slipped out at night, and Harry never felt like skipping an evening with Draco to invite him.

By the beginning of February, Harry found his time more polarized than ever. He spent roughly half his evenings with Draco. Usually they would just do homework together, but occasionally they went flying around the countryside, and they generally spent at least one weekend night drinking. When he wasn't with Draco, Harry studied, or sat in curiously strained conversation with Ron and Hermione. They never asked why Harry was away so often, and Harry found himself paralyzed by his inability to start the conversation. Seamus gave Harry grief any time he returned to the dormitory drunk, but no one else seemed to notice, though Seamus, always when no one else was near, would tell him how he smelled of it, when he returned, and in the morning.

Harry appreciated Neville's constancy. Neville continued to watch Harry with mild, non-intrusive admiration. He sat with Harry when Harry invited him, which Harry did, more and more frequently, as he tried to get up the nerve to ask Neville about his parents. Harry was surprised by the quiet boy's grasp of magical theory. He decided that if Neville could remember things and not get flustered, he would be a good student.

Returning from Herbology, one day, Harry found himself walking alone, a few paces behind Ron and Hermione, who were again noticing no one but each other. On the way back to the castle, they encountered the Slytherins, who were walking down to the greenhouses for the next period. Harry heard Ron make a loud comment about "poor Professor Sprout."

Harry looked up and met Draco's eyes. Draco winked at him.

"Hey Potter," he sneered. "Walking all by yourself, again? Can't even keep your Gryffindor friends?"

Harry had to restrain a smile, detecting the cut at Ron.

Neville, a few steps behind Harry, hurried up beside him. "Shut up, Malfoy!" he said fiercely. "Harry said he was thinking, and didn't want to talk."

Harry looked at Neville in surprise.

"Never mind," he said. "I think I've got it, now. What were you telling me about wormwood, Neville?"

Neville, compliantly, began chattering about the properties, uses, and dangers of wormwood. As often, Harry found himself reflecting that if they had a supportive Potions teacher, Neville would doubtless be as good at that as at Herbology.

Harry slowed a little, so that he and Neville lagged behind the others.

"Thanks, Neville."

"I hate it when he goes after you. There's no reason for it."

Harry shrugged. "It keeps us both entertained, I suppose." Harry hesitated. "There's ... there's something I want to ask you, and I'm not sure if it's polite...."

"Go on."

"Does anyone ever talk to you about your parents? I know about them," Harry said hesitantly, "what the LeStranges did to them. Now we hear about LeStranges all the time, since she's after me, but no one ever mentions -- People -- teachers -- tell me about my father, a lot. No one talks about my mother, much. Do they tell you about your parents, or is everyone too afraid to mention it?"

Neville looked down and whispered, "I think they think they're being polite."

"How old were you?"

"Not quite three. I remember a little. . . ." Neville trailed off.

"I don't know if that would be better or worse. Having them alive would be worse, I think." Harry caught himself. "I'm sorry -- that was --"

"It's okay." Neville looked up at Harry with eyes bright with tears. "I never know if anyone knows or not. It's... I think it's easier. Can I talk to you? Sometime where everyone can't watch?"

"Anytime, Neville."

Thursday, Harry came into the Chamber late, after Quidditch practice. Draco looked up from a book.

"Butterbeer?"

"Is there cognac?"

"There wasn't much left." Draco smirked. "I didn't save you any."

"Of course not." Harry took the proffered butterbeer. "Cale," he said firmly, giving it his attention, this time.

"We need to get more cognac," Draco advanced.

"Er... I suppose," Harry said.

"Well, you drank most of it, didn't you?"

"I expect so."

"You want more, right?"

Harry, though apprehensive at the prospect of another of Draco's burglaries, had to concede the point. "Yeah."

"Good, then. How about Saturday?"

Harry was silent. Two day's delay gave Draco ample time to send word to his father, should he decide to give Harry to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Trust me," Draco said lazily.

"Last week you were telling me not to!" Harry protested.

"Not with your honor, but you can with your life -- trust me on the excursions, until I get the Mark. If I wanted to betray you to my father, so his associates could kill you for having the audacity to survive the Killing Curse, I'd have done it by now." Draco's eyes narrowed maliciously as he smiled. "Let them flush their own game."

After dinner on Saturday, Harry was alone in the dormitory, dithering over his preparations. Draco could get a lot out of having him killed -- he wouldn't even need to stay and watch. Harry considered backing out. Perhaps Draco expected him to, and would scold him if he didn't. At the time he was supposed to be meeting Draco on the pitch, he finally made up his mind -- he was going. Draco hadn't killed him yet.

Harry scooped up his things, and was halfway to the door when it opened with a bang. Ron froze a step inside. Harry watched his eyes scan the visible slice of Harry once down and up, taking in the Firebolt, and possibly noting his rucksack. Ron gave him a twisted smile. He stepped to the side and bowed slightly.

"Don't let me stop you, Harry -- I can see you're in a hurry."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, as he settled the hood over his head, drew the broom beneath his cloak, and pulled the cloak closed in front. He felt a stab of regret as he slipped down the stairs. If he wasn't already late, he would have stayed and asked what was wrong.

The next morning, Ron was not talking to Harry. Ron didn't appear to be talking to Hermione, either, at breakfast. She was talking to Neville. Harry looked wistfully across the room at Draco Malfoy, who was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle, radiating bored indifference. Harry wondered if he could do that. He leaned back slightly, and tried to pretend he owned Gryffindor. He almost had the feeling for a moment, but then he looked back at Malfoy and saw his secret friend staring at him incredulously. Immediately, Harry burst out laughing.

"Harry?" Seamus asked.

Harry choked. "I couldn't possibly explain," he managed.

"Harry?" Seamus again, very quietly.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Seamus nodded. Still speaking quietly, he said, "I'll believe you, because I think you're smart enough to know the difference. If you're ever not, though ... you know you can talk to me, right?"

Harry looked appraisingly at Seamus. Seamus had grown over the summer. He was now taller than any of Harry's roommates except Ron (and so broad through the shoulders that Ron's advantage in height was often missed), but Seamus had kept his boyish face and demeanor. Harry was surprised to see him looking serious. He would not have thought of the outgoing Irish boy as a confidant.

"Thanks, Seamus," he said. "Really, I'm okay, though."

"Well, good, then," Seamus said. He returned his attention to his breakfast.