Teamwork

Notes: Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and Calanthe for more beta work and Britpicking. Departures from canon capitalization are my own. In this chapter, I needed to decide what bits of post-GoF canon I would incorporate into this story. So far, it's the Black family tree and a few minor characters. Consider the political OCs a reminder that you are in a branched universe. :-)

3 - Maneuvers

Before he was completely awake, Harry had a feeling that something was strange. Not bad, he thought, just strange and perhaps pleasantly confining, but that put him in mind of the Imperius Curse, and he forced himself to wake, determined to deal with whatever danger threatened.

None did. Draco lay close against his side, creating a line of warmth, with his head resting on Harry's shoulder, and his hand on Harry's chest. The unusual sensations had probably combined into the feeling of being restrained, Harry thought contentedly. Of course, he was also naked, so it was no wonder something had seemed wrong to his sleep-fogged mind. Carefully, he stroked a hand over Draco's bright hair. Draco twitched. For a moment, his body tensed, and then it relaxed again, and he opened his eyes. In the morning sunlight, they were a soft, misty grey.

"Hey," Harry said softly.

"Finally awake, are you?" Draco replied.

"Finally?" Harry teased.

"Well, I woke earlier, but you didn't, so I went back to sleep." Draco yawned slightly. "We must have been up late. I can't, usually." He smiled slowly, that strange, new smile that seemed to be only for Harry. "Or maybe I've never had such a fine pillow."

"This is great, isn't it?" Harry replied, delighted. "Well, once I'd decided I was safe."

"Safe?"

Laughing slightly, Harry traced up Draco's fingers, still resting on his chest, to cover them with his own. "Well, between this and the nudity, before I quite woke up, I thought I was trapped."

"Oh you are," Draco said happily.

"Am I?"

"You don't think I'm letting you go, do you?"

Harry knew it was meant as flirtation, but the claim still irritated him. "Actually, I thought that was the plan. Scheduled and everything."

"Harry!" Draco complained. "Must you bring that up? You're spoiling Now, you know." He came up on one elbow and frowned down at Harry. "Promise me you won't talk about it?"

Harry hesitated. He had spoiled the mood, he realized, but he wouldn't have if Draco hadn't reminded him. "I think I'll have to. But I promise not to talk about it again when we're lying together feeling content. Just--"

"Just what?"

"Just don't bring it up like that, all right? No saying that you're going to keep me or going to stay. If you do that, I think about it, and then I'm not happy."

"Silly, literal Gryffindor," Draco answered. "All right. I didn't mean to bring you down, you know."

"I know."

"Hm." Draco traced the hand on Harry's chest down his torso. "Could I bring you up?"

"That should be easy."

Harry stopped to change into robes before going to meet Dumbledore, but he could still smell Draco's scent on his skin, and he felt so light and warm that he thought he must look different. Still, there was nothing for it but to stand across from the man and produce a flawlessly even "Good morning, Professor."

They were in a private parlor to one side of the pub. In comparison to the public room, it was small, but still too large for only the two of them. Their places had been set at one end of a dining table intended for ten or twelve. The one high window, grey with London grime, let in little light, but a cheery fire crackled in the grate.

Dumbledore looked up with a smile, but there was also something of evaluation in his gaze.

"Good morning, Harry. Please have a seat." He paused. "You are looking very grown up today."

With a wry smile, Harry settled in the offered chair. "Is that a euphemism?"

Dumbledore's evaluation sharpened. "I had not intended it that way," he mused. "Ah. Tom said you would not meet me, last night. Were you indulging other interests?"

Well, that was certainly vague, Harry thought, and it had a tinge of disapproval that he disliked. "I was with Draco," he answered boldly.

"I see." Dumbledore sat back. "May I remind you that you are not of age? You have a room here so that you can easily confer with other people involved with the trial, not to provide you with unsupervised time with young Mr. Malfoy."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry glared back at the headmaster. "I'll be 'of age', as you say, in less than three weeks. If you give me enough trouble, you probably could keep me out of his bed this week, but there's no point, unless you want to irritate both of us, and you had implied that I'm here to keep him happy."

He thought he saw Dumbledore's eyes widen slightly, but then the moment passed, and the headmaster's face smoothed to placid concern. "You do not feel obliged to rush matters, I hope?"

"God, no." Harry relaxed back into his seat. If that was what Dumbledore was worried about, he would be fine. "Waiting through last term was enough."

"Did you?" Dumbledore's mouth quirked in a brief smile. "I must say, I'm somewhat surprised. Perhaps you are gaining some control over your impetuous nature, at last." He sat forward, and poured Harry a cup of tea. "Very well. If I hear no complaints as to your behavior, I will not interfere. But I do not want you drinking, Harry, and I expect you to comport yourself with dignity and restraint in public. By this time tomorrow, Wizarding London will have reporters and photographers on every corner."

"I suppose I'd better get my shopping done today, then," Harry said lightly, trying not to show his relief.

"Had you planned on shopping?"

Harry shrugged. "I'd need formal robes, I thought. I mean, if you want me on display."

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore refreshed his own tea while he considered that. "Yes, formal robes would be best. Your school robes are not really appropriate, and Muggle clothing might enhance the mistrust of those members who will be inclined to treat Lucius Malfoy leniently." His raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Do recall, however, that I am allowed the eccentricities of my age. Your own clothing should be more sedate, as befits the solemnity of the circumstances."

Harry smiled. Dumbledore was currently wearing purple and silver robes with silver embroidered stars all over them, and long tassels on the sleeves and collars. More sedate was a given. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Good."

That settled, Harry took a bite of his sausage and belatedly realized that he was starving. Dumbledore let him eat for a few minutes before raising the next issue. Harry was buttering toast when the headmaster next spoke.

"Mrs. Weasley is in the area, you know. She worked at Beatrice's Bits and Bobs during the school year, and Beatrice wanted some extra help this week. She was hoping to speak to you."

Harry put down his fork. It was suddenly difficult to swallow his food. He got it down and cleared his throat with a mouthful of tea. "I am not interested in speaking to Mrs. Weasley," he said stonily.

"Harry. You can't blame her for being concerned --"

"And how did she find out about that, anyway?" Harry shot back. "You'd no right to tell her. She's not family. She's not my guardian. She's not staff."

Dumbledore sighed. "I had been of the impression that she was virtually family, Harry."

"No. If she was family, I would have been at the Burrow last summer. She can't have it both ways."

The headmaster steepled his fingers above his plate. "This grievance predates her unfortunate response in June, then," he said carefully.

Harry held back a snapped 'yes' and tried to answer logically. "That made it a grievance. Before that, it was a matter of understanding my place." He glared down at the remains of his beans. "Now, I expect her to understand hers."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore softly. "Very well. I will relay your feelings about the matter."

"Fine."

After a moment of awkward silence, the headmaster cleared his throat. "Well. That aside, I believe we should discuss the trial. We wish you to be present, Harry, and seen, but whether or not you are called will depend on the flow of the proceedings, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"If the defense calls you, it will be entirely in an attempt to make you look unreliable. You must keep your temper and answer questions thoughtfully and honestly."

"Really, I'm not stupid!" Harry caught himself and sighed. That was exactly the sort of response that he could not make at the trial. "Yes, professor."

"Good. Now, is there anything you wish to ask?"

Harry didn't know where to start. He wasn't all that sure how the Muggle courts worked, and his only sense of Wizarding trials was what he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve during his fourth year. Certainly, Dumbledore was far more qualified than he to get Lucius and his cronies thrown in prison for the rest of their lives.

A daydream from several days ago asserted itself in his thoughts. "Do you think Pettigrew might come up, sir?" he asked hopefully. "If he's mentioned, we might be able to clear --" Despite the private room, ingrained wariness made him stop, his godfather's name unsaid.

With a discouragingly compassionate look, Dumbledore met his eyes. "I know how much you wish it, Harry, but it is unlikely."

"But maybe during questioning, someone on our side could ask who else was there. Or Snape --"

"Any mention of Peter will damage our credibility, Harry. You must remember, he is known to be dead. Such a maneuver would increase our chances of losing the case without much hope of helping Sirius."

That shocked Harry out of his disappointment. "Lose? How can we lose? They followed Draco to your office!"

"You would be surprised at what Lucius Malfoy can cast in a favorable light," Dumbledore warned. "Make no assumptions. He has evaded incarceration before."

Rather than returning to his room after breakfast, Harry stepped out to Diagon Alley and went straight to Madam Malkin's. The salesgirl who greeted him ran to get Madam Malkin herself, and the matron came breathlessly to meet him.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter! What can I do for you, today? A bit early for new school robes, I expect?"

Harry nodded. "I'm a witness -- well, potential witness -- in the trial."

Her expression grew somber. "Ah. I'd heard rumors to that effect."

"So I need something to wear," Harry went on. "Something a bit more wizardly -- and a lot nicer -- than most of my clothes."

"Understood." She eyed him appraisingly. "Any other requirements?"

Harry sighed. "It should probably scream 'Gryffindor,'" he admitted.

"Hm," she said. "Yet properly dignified. You do wish to be taken seriously, I expect?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

They discussed parameters for a while, while Madam Malkin measured Harry. "Go and do your shopping," she urged. "In two hours, I'll have some pieces for you to try."

"Wonderful!" Harry hesitated. "Could you have something done by three?" Afraid of seeming too demanding, Harry amended that. "I mean, I don't need you to do, but I have an appointment then, and if you can, it would be useful to be able to ask if they were okay."

Madam Malkin smiled. "We shall see. If the first fitting goes well, then yes."

"Thank you!" Harry returned the smile as warmly as he could manage. "I appreciate that."

The robes -- deep maroon trimmed in harvest gold, and cut wider over the legs than he was used to -- were ready by three. Harry threw them on over his jeans before walking down to Draco's room. The wide folds of the bottom swung with his stride, and did his best to tell himself that someone wizarding-raised would not think of it as a skirt. Recalling Draco's unease the night before, he followed his knock with calling, "It's Harry."

A man he had never met before opened the door. Harry was flexing to release his wand before he caught sight of Draco behind him. Draco did not look distressed, so Harry let his hand relax.

"Please come in," said the stranger. Harry looked to Draco.

"Yes, please do, Harry," Draco confirmed. "This is my solicitor, Mr Aloysius Clark. Mr Clark, this is Harry Potter."

Harry shook the man's extended hand and entered the room.

Clark nodded. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Potter." He ushered Harry towards a small, round table that had been set up in the space left beside the bed. "If you will forgive me speaking frankly, you seem rather more presentable than I had expected."

"I bought these robes for the trial; I just wore them down so Draco could see them."

"Ah. They will certainly do." The solicitor's sharp eyes flicked over him like a blade, as they took their places at the table. The seating reminded Harry uncomfortably of their tea with Dumbledore in the greenhouse, but Clark couldn't have been less like the old headmaster. He was dark-haired and sharp in features and language, and dressed conservatively in charcoal robes with black trim. Nothing about him soothed or amused.

"Have you considered something a little brighter? After all, reminding people of your past impressive deeds, and your Quidditch--"

"Enough," Draco snapped. "I have told you that I will not play up Harry as a loose cannon. Even for purely practical reasons, it would be short-sighted at best. Harry, ignore him. Those robes are perfect." He sat back from the table. "Mr Clark," he said to Harry, "is, obviously, not involved with the trial, nor in any way working with the prosecution." That, Harry thought, was a warning. "He is, however, advising me on issues affected by my involvement."

Harry nodded acknowledgement. He wondered if Dumbledore knew about this arrangement. Probably, as he had wanted to host all of Draco's floo calls.

The meeting was less than comfortable, but at least it was short. Harry suspected that most of Draco's business had been concluded before he arrived, and he had been invited in only for display. Afterwards, he and Draco were summoned down to the parlor where he and Dumbledore had eaten breakfast. This meeting was not just with the headmaster, but included Severus Snape; a black Auror whom Harry vaguely remembered from the investigation after Mr Weasley's death; a Wizengamot member named Amelia Bones; a pleasant Indian gentleman named Ravi Yallapragada, and other, quieter people. They used the full table, spreading out papers between empty plates, and most of the discussion went over Harry's head. He wasn't entirely sure whetherYallapragada was a barrister or another Wizengamot member, but he got the impression that Bones was the leader of a faction of the Wizengamot and keenly wanted to cement an alliance with Dumbledore. They all seemed to know the minutiae of applicable laws, though Harry couldn't imagine why they were bothering with trespassing and coercion when they had treason and attempted murder to work with.

He sat and practiced looking attentive and well-behaved until the food arrived, at which point he gave up and ate.

Afterwards, he and Draco went up the stairs together, and by silent agreement, to Harry's room. "You know," Draco said, as the door closed behind them, "if you want people to consider you to be the dumb warrior, you're doing a very good job."

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded, outraged.

"That meeting. You weren't even trying to understand what Shacklebolt was saying."

"Shacklebolt was the Auror, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "The senior Auror. The large, black, senior Auror. The bland, slightly small, watery-eyed man in poorly cut blue pinstripe robes was also an Auror, as you might have noticed."

"Er, no."

"I didn't think so. If you'd like them to think of you as more than a tool, you need to try a little harder."

"I couldn't understand any of that!"

"Of course you could have -- you just didn't care to try."

"Why do we need to do all this planning and review obscure laws for charging him with? He -- they were obviously working for Voldemort! They had the masks on! And your father tried to kill you!"

"So? He's been caught red-handed before."

"I just don't see how he could possibly get out of it."

"Then just trust us, will you? And try to follow along when we're reviewing 'obscure laws', because they may make the difference between getting him in prison or having him free."

"Fine!" Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry sighed. "Really. I'll try. Will you stay, tonight?"

Draco hesitated. "I don't think I could ... do anything, you know? I mean...." He gestured helplessly out at the darkness beyond the window, and Harry nodded in understanding.

"That's okay. Just stay." Harry reached out to take his hand. "Like that night in Gryffindor," he whispered.

Draco was very quiet the next morning. Harry dressed for the trial, and then escorted Draco to his room to do the same. Draco, before they went to breakfast, cast repelling charms on their clothing in case something spilled. Harry watched, fascinated, as toast crumbs bounced off the dark fabric of his robes.

"Are you going to eat, or just dribble bits of food and admire my charm work?"

Harry looked up and put the toast down.

"Like you're eating."

Draco gave a small, tight shrug and poked at his mutilated egg. "Can't."

Auror Shacklebolt flooed into the parlor. He was followed by last night's junior Auror and by a cheery-looking pink-haired witch. To Harry's surprise, the witch was also wearing Auror robes. He would have expected, had he ever thought about it, that the MLE would be too conservative for hair like that. To Harry's embarrassment, she spotted his stare, flashed him a grin, and walked directly over. Harry was afraid that she would make a fuss over him, but instead, she gave Draco a brisk nod and a bright smile.

"Hullo," she said. "I'm Auror Tonks; I'm part of the official protection for you, so I thought I should introduce myself."

"Tonks?" Draco's brow furrowed. Any relation to ..." His eyes went over her shoulder to look at nothing, and Harry could tell he was thinking furiously. "Um, Ed or Ted or something?" He shook his head in frustration, but his attention was back on her. "Sorry. I'm usually good with names, but--"

She laughed. "But you only heard that one in whispers?" she suggested. "He's my dad. My mum is Andromeda Black."

"Oh!" Draco stared outright for a moment, sweeping her up and down with a calculating gaze, until, recovering himself, he held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, cousin. I'm afraid I was previously unaware of your existence." His mouth quirked in a slight smile. "And it was shouts, actually, but distant ones."

She took a step back, at first, as if she had not been expecting his response, but then, with a slight laugh, moved forward again and shook the extended hand. "Pleased to meet you also, cousin."

That settled, she finally let her gaze drift back to Harry.

"Hi," he said. Unsure of what to do, he held his hand out also. "Er, Harry Potter."

"I'd guessed," Tonks said solemnly, but then giggled as they shook hands. "I'm honored."

"Is everyone ready?" Shacklebolt called loudly. "Aurors, stations. Everyone take hold of the portkey."

That was relatively easy, for once, as the portkey was a length of rope. Tonks positioned herself next to Draco, so he was between her and Harry. Dumbledore was near Shacklebolt at the front. Together, they went to the Ministry, arriving in an otherwise empty chamber. The walls were dark stone, and there were no windows. They gathered into a tight group, and when the door opened, Shacklebolt stepped outside. "Clear the way!" he called, and bright yellow bolts shot from his wand. A moment later, they were crossing a corridor between two barriers of light. People shouted questions to Dumbledore and Draco and Harry, but they were quickly left behind for the muted hubbub of many low voices in a large chamber. Harry decided this must be the courtroom. It looked very like the one he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve, during his fourth year, except the center of the room now had four chairs, with a wood-paneled pen to either side of them. The rest of the room was full of well-dressed wizards and witches, their whispers combining into a low roar as they settled on the benches that rose tier upon tier from the floor. Set apart from the others was a row of five, with their clerks clustered behind them. He recognized the wizard in the center, Valerian Cabot, from pictures in the Daily Prophet. The new Minister for Magic, Gilbert Ramsley, had appointed him as Special Inquisitor, within weeks of Ramsley taking over from Fudge. The post reminded Harry of Crouch, which did not incline him kindly towards Cabot. To the Special Inquisitor's right sat Minister Ramsley, and to his left, Amelia Bones.

The pens also had tiered seating. Harry's group was led to one of them. He and Draco sat together, three rows up, and Dumbledore sat directly below them, at the floor. Harry supposed that was easier, if the headmaster expected to be called frequently. "Catch you later!" Tonks whispered in passing, and she drifted up to the top of the box, another row above them. When Harry looked up, she was standing against the back wall, scanning the room.

"Cousin?" he asked Draco at a whisper.

"Her mother and my mother and Bellatrix were sisters. Her mother was disinherited for marrying a Muggle -- or possibly a Muggleborn wizard; I was never clear on that."

"Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Nee Black, yes."

"She was your aunt?"

"Well, yes, but we'd never met. I suppose she saw me when I was a baby, but you must remember that she had spent most of my life in prison."

Like Sirius, Harry realized. Sirius Black. "Black? Any relation to--" Not his sisters, he prayed.

"Cousins, also. First cousins, but Mother says Sirius was a bad sort -- always in trouble." Draco gave him a little wink as he spoke, and Harry suddenly felt better. "The old pureblood families are all intermarried, of course."

"I didn't know Sirius was from an old pureblood family!"

"You didn't?"

Harry only just bit back a "he never told me." Horrified at nearly having revealed his contact with his godfather, he sat silent for a moment, and in that moment, Minister Ramsley rose to his feet. He gestured to a clerk, who pointed his wand at his throat and bounced quickly to his feet.

"14th July, Nineteen-ninety-seven, special meeting of the Wizengamot, Special Inquisitor Cabot presiding. The Wizengamot will now hear this case."

It wasn't until he heard the declaration in a familiar, fussy voice that Harry realized the clerk was Percy Weasley. He had muted his hair by darkening it and wearing a hat. Harry bit his lip. Even now, when Harry was avoiding Mrs Weasley himself, Percy's rejection of his family still raised his ire, and that he would reject them still more by changing his appearance seemed even worse.

Indignation proved to be the only excitement of the morning. Percy had sat, and Special Inquisitor Cabot stood, bowed to the people on either side of him, and then to the assembled members of the Wizengamot, and then sat again. He gestured to another clerk, who called the defendants, one at a time, out to the chairs. Once all were seated and chained, he read out the names of their accusers. Draco was not included in the latter category. Harry wondered if that was because he had not been of age at the time of the attack, or if it was some sort of tactical maneuver. Dumbledore was included, and stood in acknowledgement, but did not need to leave the box. After him came a member of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, and then another, and then Professor Sprout, and then Mr Yallapragada, who turned out to be another member of the Board of Governors. When he sat, Cabot stood again and made a long statement about justice being the solemn duty of the Wizengamot, and how no one should make his or her judgment in haste. By that point, Harry guessed an hour to have passed, and "haste" was the last word he would have associated with the proceedings.

After that, it was back to the clerk, who read one name: Dennis Avery. He followed that with a long list of charges brought against the man. Harry wasn't terribly surprised when Avery stood and declared that he was innocent. He had escaped, after all, and it was only Snape who could say that he had been among the six who had pursued Draco. Lucius Malfoy came next, and the clerk read out his name and a similar, if slightly longer, list of charges. He also, declared that he was innocent, causing Harry to twitch forward. Draco, at his side, sat ramrod straight and silent. The next defendant was Nott, who in contrast, stood and ranted for five minutes about how he had pursued the ungrateful brat, blood traitor that he was, and would do it again in a heartbeat. He eventually wound down, and Cabot cleared his throat.

"May this body assume that you plead 'guilty' then?" he asked, and people laughed uneasily.

"Guilty," Nott growled, and that was that.

Talbot, on the other hand, also professed innocence. At lunchtime, Cabot called a ninety minute recess, and the witnesses found themselves dismissed.

"I'll keep you in sight, Malfoy," Tonks assured them, "but you can go where you want."

"Back to the Cauldron?" Harry suggested, and Draco nodded agreement. Tonks brought them to a private grate and flooed ahead.

"We could shake her," Harry pointed out.

"Do you think we should?"

"Not really."

Draco nodded and tossed in powder. "The Leaky Cauldron."

The moment Harry stepped out of the floo, he saw the Weasleys. With that much red hair in one place, it was impossible not to notice them.

To his embarrassment, Mrs Weasley looked up just at that moment and their eyes met. He pretended they hadn't, and walked for the stairs, although he had intended to have lunch, and ignored his name being called behind him.

Normally he would have turned with his wand out at the sound of people jogging up to him from behind, but this time he just counted on Draco's worried glance to mean that it was nothing unexpected, and Tonks, looking casually from near the bar, to intervene if it was. Hands closed on his shoulders.

"What's the matter, Potter?"

"Too good for us, now?

"Or have those Seeker reflexes--"

"-- finally failed?"

Harry flushed. He hadn't thought of it that way, but he probably did look snooty to them, walking off with Draco Malfoy, and in his new formal robes, as well.

"Look," he protested, "I've nothing against you. You're welcome to join us for lunch, if you want. I just don't want to deal with your mother."

Fred shook his head. "No deal, Harry."

"You don't get to treat her like that."

"I know we're not the well-behaved sons --"

"-- but we don't even treat her like that."

"Though sometimes we want to."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care. I won't talk to her."

Draco sighed. It wasn't loud, Harry thought, just very obvious.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Draco said airily. "Really, if you don't think she will be useful in the future, there's little point in wasting time on her." Harry felt a slow expansion of rage about to boil, but before he -- or the twins -- was quite there, Draco continued. "Of course, there's the matter of whether she was helpful in the past, but that's much more a Gryffindor issue, so really, I wouldn't bother appraising it."

"You're a prick."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, if anything is," Draco said nastily. "Have you even told her that you're angry at her?"

"It's not--" Harry began, but fell silent at the look Draco shared with the nearer twin. "Fine!" he snarled, and marched back to the table.

He stopped in front of her, feeling coerced and angry, and managed a tight nod. "Mrs Weasley."

She stared back at him in shocked dismay, and he felt a bit ashamed. After all, even Draco thought he was behaving badly. "How are you?" he tried awkwardly.

She frowned. "Is there a reason you didn't want to stop and say hello?"

Ron snorted. "That git with him, you think?"

"Oh, honestly, Weasley!" Draco shot back contemptuously. "He wouldn't have come over here at all if I hadn't intervened."

That was true enough, Harry realized, wincing. He tried to think of how to start this, but there didn't seem to be a good starting point. It was all a coiling fire in his mind. He forced himself to speak anyway, and let what would come out.

"You had no right to send me a Howler."

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs Weasley seemed almost to relax at that. She smiled a little as she shook her head. "Someone has to look after you. I know that no one else will!"

"That's NOT true." Harry managed to pull himself back down from a shout at the thought that they were in a public place. He didn't want to look around to see who was staring. Auror Tonks, certainly. "I have Remus Lupin," he said fiercely, wishing he could say who else he had. "But even if I didn't, I'm not one of your sons, and you can't treat me like one when it suits you."

"Harry, love, you're practically family --"

"I AM NOT." He wasn't, Harry noticed ruefully, doing too well at the 'not shouting' thing. "If I was family, I would have been at the Burrow last summer."

"It wouldn't have been any fun--"

"Don't you think I know that? I knew you were mourning. But I didn't get to mourn with you. I got stuck with people who said 'oh, that horrible man who covered our living room with plaster dust -- good riddance!'"

For a moment, even the twins were silent.

Molly's eyes looked suspiciously wet. "Harry, it's just--"

"Just that you needed that time to be only family," he said softly. "I get that, as much as I wanted to be there. But you can't have it both ways."

Ron cleared his throat. "It was embarrassing, mum. Most people thought you were just one of those nutters who thinks he's public property, but a bunch of the other Gryffindors know your voice."

"Oh, Harry." Molly started to reach a hand out to him, and then changed her mind. She clicked her tongue nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I didn't even know that I had."

"I know," Harry answered. He felt a little better. Shyly, he sat at the end of the bench across from her. "I ... I still like you, and everything, Mrs Weasley, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but if you act like I'm yours again, I'll--" His mouth quirked into a smile. "I'll set my dog on you," he said suddenly, grinning.

She laughed, a little raggedly, and dabbed at her eyes. "Poor dear. Did Remus really talk to you?"

"Yes. Did Professor Dumbledore ever tell you that what I was trying to do was to lose a hundred house points in one afternoon?"

"No, he didn't--."

"Although Ron has certainly mentioned it since," George broke in.

"Repeatedly."

"Loudly."

"And we agree that it was --"

"-- treasonous," they finished together.

"It was points for Lestrange, and Draco faced her with me, and I would have died if he hadn't, and Slytherin deserved to get just as many."

"That may be true, as far as it goes --"

"-- but how many points from Gryffindor were unfair?"

"I can't fix everything. This was just wrong."

"And you're a hero to the younger years for it," Draco said placidly. "Not the first years; they were naive enough to believe that as it was obviously a mistake, it would be corrected, once someone brought it up to the right person."

Ron snorted. "True enough. The right person happened to be Harry."

Draco's lip curled. "Yes, but they still thought it would be Professor Dumbledore."

Harry shrugged. He couldn't blame Draco for not trusting Dumbledore. The Leaving Feast of his first year, such a wonderful surprise when he was eleven, now disturbed him when he remembered it. "At least it was a Gryffindor," he said. "That means something, I think."

"That you're mental," Fred said, and Ron agreed loudly.

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley reproved. She smiled at Harry, and patted his hand. "Harry is right. Fair play is more important than winning a silly award."

"It's the House Cup, Mum!"

Harry laughed. "Look at it this way," he said. "All my ability to play unfair, I'm saving for the war, okay? I'll cheat to put one over on Voldemort -- not on a bunch of kids who are mostly younger than me."

"Ooo, Harry!"

"All grown up, are you?" The twins sniggered.

Ron started forward. "Mum, let's--" Clamping his mouth shut, he sat back. "Never mind," he muttered. Harry was almost certain he had nearly suggested something for his birthday.

He looked at Mrs Weasley, who was now smiling at him, and the twins, who just seemed to be making the normal amount of trouble, considered how much better he felt, and made a decision.

"I still like you too, you know," he said.

Ron shot him a suspicious look.

"Even if you are a git," Harry said, and that seemed to be the right tack. Ron rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, now.

"Will you stay and have lunch with us, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked. "Your friend too, of course."

"Oh, sure." Belatedly, Harry thought to look at Draco, who appeared alarmed at the idea. "Um, you know he's my, um, boyfriend, right?"

"It might have been mentioned," George said dryly.

"Possibly less than a thousand times."

Lunch with Weasleys was somewhat embarrassing. Harry could tell it was worse for Draco, who wasn't used to considering the twins' jibes in a friendly light. Fred and George had to rush back to work after a little while, however, and Harry, at least, belatedly appreciated how they had filled every awkward silence.

At last, they could reasonably say that they needed to freshen up before their return to the trial, and they stood to leave. Draco bowed slightly to Mrs Weasley and said he was pleased to have met her, and they made their escape while she was still blushing.

They didn't make it far. Bulstrode and Parkinson, who had apparently been waiting for Draco to be free of Weasleys, intercepted them halfway across the floor.

"Draco, darling!" Pansy exclaimed. "We've been hoping to see you!"

Telling himself that he would only be in the way, Harry attempted to wave a farewell to Draco and move on, but Draco caught his arm in a tight grip.

"If I have to treat yours decently," he whispered viciously, "you have to treat mine decently."

His voice was low, but not so low that the others couldn't hear. Pansy tittered, and Harry felt his face heat.

"Sorry," he said. He nodded at the girls. "Hello."

Draco and Parkinson made almost identical eyerolls at his lack of breeding, but Bulstrode gave a nod that looked something like approval.

"Unfortunately," Draco said, once Harry was standing properly at his side, "we are in a bit of a hurry. We need to wash -- and other necessaries -- and have about ten minutes before we need to start back to the courtroom. Will you be in town long?"

"I'm here for the whole trial, but Millicent leaves tomorrow." Parkinson frowned slightly.

"Dinner, then?" Draco suggested.

"Oh, lovely! There's a marvelous new place down Fortune Row called the Grand Game -- you'd love the rabbit comfit."

"Excellent!" Draco indicated Harry with a quick motion of his eyes. "Dinner for four, then? At eight?"

"Dinner for four," Parkinson confirmed, beaming.

"Don't look so horrified, Harry," Draco whispered on the stairs.

"I was just hoping for a pleasant evening at the end of this."

"Oh, you'll get one." Draco smirked. "I may make you be nice to my friends, but intend for you to find it well worth your while."