Snakes and Lions

Rumors and Evaluations

It was clear to Harry that Potions classes and Tuesday labs were to be his only contact with Draco. He was surprised, therefore, to arrive at Potions class to find that Draco was sitting with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry sat at the back of the room, with Seamus, and regarded the trio thoughtfully.

"Gone a bit off you?" Seamus suggested.

"Dunno," Harry muttered. "He got a letter from his father, this morning -- I recognize the owl -- so he may have orders."

"Malfoy senior wouldn't want his boy chumming round with you, I'm sure. You might give him a conscience, or somesuch."

That evening, however, Snape was fairly lax about supervising them in the lab. He took Draco's bag and set it up by his desk, to minimize the chance of Draco stealing anything, but he graded papers while they were working, out of the range of quiet conversation.

"Did your father find out you knew where I was?" Harry whispered as they worked on an experimental variation on the fur-growing potion that Draco hoped to make work on plastic. Currently, they were trying additions of petroleum jelly and shale to the base. Neither seemed to be producing anything more than a smelly mess.

"Yes. If he didn't need to be discreet, it would have been a Howler. He's furious at me! Not only did I deprive him of an opportunity to kill you, but I apparently have done so before. I have as many restrictions as you, now, I think." Draco swallowed. "Originally -- first year, I mean -- Father had wanted me to befriend you. He felt that if we could bring you into hm... polite society? ...you would be politically defused. Of course, that won't do now. His master wants you dead."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, Father -- in one of the few areas in which he has been displaying some remnants of sense, mind -- has been saying that it would be better for wizarding society, on the whole, if you were not made a martyr. So I sent him a reply reminding him of this, and implying that I intended to arrange for you to die ignominiously."

"Hmm." Harry grinned. "Yeah. Think about it. If you'd been with me, you could have probably have arranged for me to die in a drunken crash."

Draco grinned. "Terrible pity I'd stayed at school," he commented. He ducked his head apologetically. "I also... You're going to hate this, but I told him I'd taught you some Dark Arts, and implied that was recent, and ongoing."

"That's --" Harry had been going to say that was fine. He stopped. "Won't he tell Snape?"

"Snape won't care," Draco scoffed. "He'll probably be impressed. He's already almost treating you like a Slytherin."

Snape, Harry thought, was certain to tell Dumbledore. He was doomed.

When Harry and Hermione returned to Gryffindor, Ron motioned them over to seats near the fire.

"I was going to go to bed," Harry said. He wanted terribly to burrow under the covers and hide.

'Oh, no you don't," said Ron. "You're always running off on your own, or running off with Malfoy. You need to spend some time with us, some time with ..." he flailed for a moment. "Your teammates. Other Gryffindors."

Harry made a face at him. "Nice people?" he suggested wryly.

"Yes, honestly." Ron nudged him. "Come on, now. After an evening of Snape and Malfoy you must need a change."

"It was fine. I had fun."

Hermione frowned. "You look ill."

"It's not --" Harry sighed. "Draco got in trouble with his father for not betraying me --"

"What, so he was mad at you for it?"

"No, but he's been forbidden to associate with me, so he can't where anyone in his house sees." Harry thought about the implications of discussing this. There really wasn't any reason he couldn't, he decided, as long as he didn't mention Umbram Jubo. "So he was arguing why he should. Among other things, Draco decided to tell his father that he's instructing me in Dark Arts."

Hermione and Ron both stared. Harry sank lower into the couch.

"Well, he's not, is he?" Hermione demanded.

"No, of course not, but his father will tell Snape. And Snape will tell Dumbledore. And Draco doesn't think he's caused any trouble. Draco knows Snape --" Harry glanced around, and lowered his voice slightly so they would not be overheard -- "as his father's friend, and a Death Eater, right?"

Ron and Hermione both nodded.

"So of course he believes Snape will cover for us, if he believes it, and he wants me to make Snape believe it." Harry growled. "This is what I meant, Ron, about Draco and Snape not knowing each other's rules."

Ron bit his lip and nodded.

"Not so much fun, now?" he needled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. Funny, I suppose ... if I wasn't in the middle of it. I don't think either has expressed an honest opinion to the other in years. Draco puts quite a lot of effort into convincing Snape, as well as his father, that he will betray me, and he has some subtle plan—"

"Perhaps he does," Hermione suggested.

"He's not that patient! This is politics, not Art!" Harry brought his voice back down. "Though he's approaching it. What do I do?"

"If it's not true, what's the problem?" Hermione said pointedly.

"It's..." Harry sunk lower. He was almost lying on the chair. "I don't want Professor Dumbledore looking too closely at what I've done with Malfoy. We haven't done any real harm -- I'm rather careful, actually, as he'd never notice -- but we've done lots of things we shouldn't."

"Such as?"

"Breaking into places, flying around...." Despite himself, Harry grinned. "It's a dangerous combination, I suppose -- he has no morals and I have no fear." Harry laughed at the horrified expression on Hermione's face, and forced himself to sit up, again. Ron, for once, looked amused. "And he will dare me ...."

Hermione rubbed her forehead. Ron winked at Harry.

"You're shocking our prefect, you know." His voice shifted to coaxing. "I think it's time you had some fun you could admit to. We should hang out together, this weekend. How long since you've seen Hagrid?"

"God, no," Harry muttered. Hermione glared at him.

"It's not that I don't like Hagrid," Harry said defensively. "It's that I haven't talked to him since before Saturday. He's going to give me the same bloody lecture everyone else --"

"I'll tell him to keep it short," Ron promised. "But you can't go avoiding people just because of that, and he'll need to say something."

"You didn't."

"Yeah, well ... I'm your friend, Harry; I'm not a teacher."

The next afternoon, Harry found himself being escorted to Dumbledore's office by Professor McGonagall. The summons had taken him entirely by surprise. Earlier in the day, Snape had kept Harry after class and told him that Draco had claimed he was teaching Harry Dark Arts. Harry had shrugged. When Snape had asked him directly whether or not this was true, Harry had said it was not, and Snape had sat back, looking relieved, and dismissed him. The professor had so readily accepted Harry's answer that Harry had believed that to be the end of the inquiry, and had spent the next two hours giddy with relief at having got off so lightly.

It seemed he had been wrong, Harry thought, as McGonagall left Dumbledore's office, closing the door behind her. Harry waited alone in the room, forcing himself not to poke through the intriguing piles on Dumbledore's desk. Not even Fawkes was present. Harry warned Susara to stay out of sight, and, for once, he found the slight pressure of her smooth skin against his arm to be another worry, rather than a reassurance.

He wondered if he should confess about Moaning Myrtle, or just insist that Draco was making things up to get out of trouble. He suspected Dumbledore knew when he was lying, but he also thought Dumbledore might feel obliged to expel him if he actually admitted to having used Dark Arts, so possibly he would rather not know. Perhaps he would even carefully phrase his questions to allow for some leeway. Harry had made and changed his decision several times before the door finally opened.

Dumbledore entered, accompanied by Professor Horsyr, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Before Harry could quite panic, his attention was captured by the creature that accompanied them.

It looked more like a large monkey than anything else, but it had the triangular ears and stiff whiskers of a cat. A white mane surrounded its otherwise monkey-like face. The fur on its face was very short and pale gold, while that of its body was fluffy and a darker gold. The long tail ended in a lion-like white tuft. The ears were also tufted in white, and the eyes were dark and large. Harry immediately longed to coax it over and pet it.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, "do you know what this is?"

The headmaster did not look angry, today, just unspeakably weary and sad. Harry started to say he didn't know, but once he met Dumbledore's eyes, could not manage to form any words. He shook his head.

Professor Horsyr stepped forward. The creature had climbed up one of her arms, and was now sitting on her shoulder, stroking her golden hair, which matched its own so perfectly. She clicked to it, and it swung down, tumbling gracefully heels over head to land on the carpet. The professor looked encouragingly at Harry.

"This is a quiri," she said.

"Oh!" Harry was delighted. "They were bred by an ancestor of mine. At least that's what my family book claims. I thought there were no more in captivity."

"She is not captive," Horsyr chided. "It took me the better part of a decade to befriend a colony, but several of them now travel with me. I must protect them carefully, of course. They may still be enslaved."

Harry had already tumbled to his knees. "Here, darling," he cooed, holding a hand out to the creature. "Come say hi." He looked at Horsyr. "How much do they understand?"

"A little English, now, but I found them in Senagal, so not much. I don't suppose you know any Wolof? or French?"

Harry didn't bother answering. The quiri had come within reach and, after sniffing at him curiously, consented to be touched. It was just as delightfully soft as it looked. Harry felt radiantly happy when it rubbed its head, just like an affectionate cat might, against his hand.

"It's so soft!" he exclaimed.

Susara, perhaps jealous, poked her head out of Harry's robe, but after one look at the attentive face of the quiri, turned and fled back inside. The quiri, after a sniff and little sneeze, butted Harry's hand for more petting.

The interruption distracted Harry from his absorbed enjoyment of the quiri. He looked up at Dumbledore, who was settling wearily into his chair, but looking considerably less anxious. Dumbledore, he realized, had brought in the quiri as a test. Harry was surprised at how painful the thought was. Certainly, while he was deceiving Dumbledore, he had no right to be hurt that the headmaster did not trust him. Still, he would have liked to have been asked. Being presented with a quiri was rather like being given a truth serum. He felt oddly betrayed.

Lifting the quiri in his arms, Harry stood. "Was this a test, sir?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "I heard from someone," he said, with a slight note of apology, "who heard from someone, that a particular friend of yours claims to be instructing you in Dark Arts."

"He has to claim to be doing something," Harry pointed out. "His father is very angry at him."

"I see."

The quiri was moving restlessly. Harry looked down at it, and it yawned, showing surprisingly feline, sharp teeth in its almost human mouth. It scrambled onto his shoulder and began to stroke his hair. Professor Horsyr laughed.

"Well, he certainly seems happy enough with you," she said.

Harry smiled. "That tells you that I've done nothing with Dark Arts for at least five or six weeks, correct?"

"Essentially, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "The quiri's understanding of "Dark Arts" does not completely map to that used by the Ministry of Magic, of course. There are some legal spells that will trigger a bad reaction and some horrible ones that will not."

"I expect the quiri's understanding is purer," Horsyr put in, "as it is based on the energies themselves."

"Well, I'm glad to see one," Harry said. "My family book didn't mention that they're adorable." He moved over to Professor Horsyr and held out his arm to her. The quiri, understanding, moved over to the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher's shoulder. Harry felt slightly sad when it left. He found he wanted terribly to tell Professor Dumbledore about casting Umbram Jubo, but he was too afraid that Draco would get in trouble for it, or that he and Draco would get in more trouble over the Chamber of Secrets, when Dumbledore spoke to Moaning Myrtle.

"Thank you, Frieda, and thank the quiri for me," Dumbledore said. Horsyr nodded. "I'll walk you down to dinner," Dumbledore said to Harry.

It was slightly too early to be going to dinner. The corridors were empty, as was the Great Hall. Dumbledore sat with Harry at the top of the Gryffindor table.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Harry?" he asked.

This is the place where I always say no, Harry thought, and I'm going to do it again. The thought was painful. He sighed.

"There are things I'd like to talk about," he conceded, "but I can't, right now. My secrets are one thing. Other people's are something else."

Dumbledore looked disappointed, but he nodded. "I understand, Harry. However, you can hurt your friends with loyalty as easily as help them. Please consider the consequences of your actions .. and inactions."

"Yes sir," Harry whispered. "Believe it or not, I usually do." He looked up, giving way to a flash of annoyance. "One thing that bothers me ...."

"Yes?"

"Professor Snape asked me, and I said no. I thought he'd believed me."

Dumbledore considered this. After a few minutes, he sighed. "He did. He made it quite clear he did not believe what he relayed; he just thought I should know it was being said. He was not so much reporting it, as asking for advice on how to reply."

Harry looked down at the wide grain of the old table top. He felt a little sick, and he still wanted to tell Dumbledore about Umbram Jubo, as if it would make the queasy feeling go away. He pushed the impulse back. "So Snape trusts me more than you do," he said resentfully.

"Professor Snape often fixates on a particular aspect of a situation. In this case, he was angry you were being slandered and did not seem to care. I was not confident he had considered anything beyond that."

"I ... I understand, sir." Harry regarded Dumbledore appraisingly. "Did you advise him on how to reply?"

"I suggested he smile and nod, or, at least, nod, as one cannot expect Severus to truly smile."

Harry chuckled. "Good."

The first group of students entered the hall. "Any time you wish to talk Harry...." Dumbledore offered. Harry wondered guiltily why he still bothered. Dumbledore patted Harry's hand kindly, and left for the head table.