Harry Potter and the Quest of the Centaur

Number Four, Privet Drive, was on fire.

It wasn't actually on fire, though to ask anyone who lived there one would think the house held a gateway to the surface of the sun itself. The residents of Little Whinging were currently combating a severe heat wave that had lasted the past three weeks, and they were not winning. Sales of air conditioners and fans in local tool shops had risen so drastically that the shopkeepers were in danger of running out. Flowers and gardens all along the street lay withered and brown, but for once the Neighborhood Commission was not doing much; they were all busy fighting their own battles against the oppressive heat.

Three of the occupants of Number Four were currently out of the house, and would be for quite some time. When the youngest, Harry, had returned home from school weeks early and explained all about how his headmaster had been murdered, and that Voldemort, the most feared wizard in the world, was more than likely going to be coming for him any day, the Dursleys had wasted no time in hurriedly packing and spending some time on holiday. Harry was frustrated, though not altogether disappointed or even surprised, that they hadn't even had the decency to tell him where they were going (they probably wouldn't know themselves until they arrived at wherever it was), or how long they were staying (indefinitely), or even goodbye (which, in Harry's case, would have been a poor substitute for "so long, been nice to ignore and neglect you for the past sixteen years"). Harry did have one stroke of good luck: Uncle Vernon had been in such a hurry to leave that he had completely overlooked the fact that he had dropped a fifty-pound note in the hall just before closing the front door. Harry had been relieved; he wasn't going to be rich, by any means, but fifty pounds would go a long way to feed a sixteen-year-old for the next several weeks.

At first, Harry had relished living by himself: no longer tethered to the schedule of the rest of the family, he could go to bed and wake up any time he pleased, and he was a slave to no one. After a while, though, the new-found feeling of personal freedom was not so novel as to completely hide his growing feeling of anxiety. Every day that crept by until his seventeenth birthday felt like one day closer to his funeral, and Harry could not resist replaying the events of the last few weeks.

It all boils down to Snape...he thought one morning, lying in bed when he ought to have been enjoying the day outside. The sun was again overly warm and bright, but he could not bring himself to enjoy the weather; it seemed to be a searing, unrelenting blanket of hot fury that nearly suffocated him.

If he hadn't betrayed everyone...even himself...none of this would have happened...Dumbledore and Sirius and my mum and dad would all still be alive, and we'd all be having fun as a family...

His reverie was interrupted with a knock at the front door. He yawned and got up and dressed, thinking it might be the postman with a package or something. It came as a complete surprise, then, when through the peephole he saw the unmistakable forms of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

Harry's heart raced with fury. He could not believe the sheer audacity of the man he hated most in the world simply showing up, unannounced, on his, Harry's, doorstep. With a wave of seething anger, he flung open the door with his wand out, determined to hex Snape into complete oblivion. But before Harry could utter a single word, Snape flicked his wand, and Harry found himself under a Silencing Charm, unable to speak.

Harry was livid. He briefly considered just tossing his wand away and punching Snape, but Snape appeared to be expecting a reaction from Harry and seemed to steel himself. Draco, for his part, was looking anywhere but at Harry, and Harry felt another surge of intense dislike, though part of it was mingled with a slight twinge of pity.

"Potter," sneered Snape. "I would have expected no less of a response from you. Always thinking first and asking questions later. Do you expect us to stand here all day?"

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He was not about to invite Snape and Draco into his house if he could at all help it. He stared furiously at Snape, who rolled his eyes in irritation. "Alright, Harry, look," said Snape, nearly whining. "Just let us in, and I'll explain."

Harry's anger was abated slightly with his sudden confusion. Did Snape just call him by his first name? What in Merlin's name was going on? Harry begrudgingly opened the door a little wider and motioned for the two Slytherins to enter.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Snape as he led Draco into the foyer. Something clicked in Harry's mind, and he caught on. He pointed wordlessly to his mouth, and Snape waved his wand, undoing the spell.

"What are you doing here, Tonks?" asked Harry, for it was indeed Tonks, disguised as Snape.

"I'm undercover," said Tonks. The form of Snape dissolved, and resolved into Tonks' normal appearance. Her purple hair was short and spiky, and although she couldn't be called anything like cheerful, Harry noticed she was looking at least a little less unhappy than usual. "You wouldn't believe how hard this has been. Had to toughen up my Occlumency, work on my potions, even had to strengthen up my Memory Charms. Speaking of which..." said Tonks, pointing her wand directly at Draco. At once, Draco's eyes glazed over with the telltale sign of having his memory modified. "And that's nothing compared to the Simulacrus."

"Simulacrus?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"It's the charm we use for pretending to be other people. Certain personal habits...ways of talking...It's what we use when we can't actually ask the person, because Polyjuice Potion takes forever to brew. I can only make myself look different, I can't actually look like another person. A Simulacrus won't stand up to much scrutiny - I'd be lost if someone were to ask me about anything that might have happened in school- but it'll do in a pinch," explained Tonks. Harry was markedly reminded of what had happened to Mad-Eye Moody in his fourth year and frowned.

"Er...I don't really want to be rude, Tonks..." he started.

Tonks snorted. "But you're about to say something rude, aren't you?"

"You do realize that I hate Malfoy, right?" asked Harry.

Tonks sighed. "Yes, Harry, of course, and I'm not saying I blame you, he's a right foul little git, but...Harry, Dumbledore did offer him protection. If you really don't want him here, we'll find somewhere else, but right now, this is probably the safest place for him."

"How could he possibly be safe here?" Harry wondered.

"Because the protection that guards you will apply to him as long as he's there as your guest. We know your aunt and uncle are out of town, so you'll be left alone. And we took his wand. We can't trust him at all."

"But...why here?"

"It's for his own good, Harry. Look, we've taken care of everything, it's only a week 'til you're of age and then you can both leave. We'll send someone along tomorrow with some of his things."

Harry's jaw was set resolutely, but he sighed and nodded. "I'm not playing nursemaid to him."

Tonks paused and inhaled, thinking. "Alright. I suppose we can fix that. Don't you still own Kreacher?"

Harry grimaced. The thought of Kreacher stooping about his house, muttering threats and insults about him and his friends, caused him no end of torment, but there was a house-elf he could trust. "Kreacher?" he called. Two seconds later, the lowly house-elf appeared, hunched and feeble.

Kreacher turned, ignoring Tonks and Harry completely, and stared at Malfoy reverently. "Young Master Malfoy!" he croaked. "Kreacher has been hoping for something good to happen to Kreacher, but Kreacher did not expect such as this!"

"Kreacher!" barked Harry. "Go back to Hogwarts and tell Dobby I'd like to see him."

Kreacher's glee at seeing Malfoy turned to disgust at Harry's orders. "Kreacher must obey Master," said Kreacher, bowing, then whispered, "but Master is a horrible boy who does not deserve to lick the boots of Young Master Malfoy."

"Go, Kreacher!" shouted Harry. With a final look of utter disgust, Kreacher disappeared with a small *pop*.

Malfoy had chosen that moment to awaken from his memory charm-induced stupor. His grey eyes flashed, and his face glowed. "Potter! What are you doing?" he shouted. His hand moved quickly to draw his wand, but he groped futilely; his wand was nowhere to be found. Malfoy's eyes flew wide open in shock. "What have you done with my wand?" he demanded. He looked around in panic, finally noticing Tonks. "And who the ruddy hell are you? Hold on a moment. I know you. You're related to me, aren't you? You're that Nymphadora Tonks."

Tonks winced at hearing her first name. "I'll be your executioner if you don't shut up, Draco," she snapped. "We've got your mother alive, and that's all you get." She turned to Harry. "Harry, I can only turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to so much, y'know. Try not to get carried away. I'll bring Remus back for lunch. If you need anything before that, send us an owl. Hope you can cope. I'll leave you to it." With a disgruntled look at Malfoy, she Disapparated.

Malfoy seemed to be offended beyond words. "So, I suppose you think -" he snarled, but Harry interrupted him. "Malfoy, I'm about six seconds away from cursing you into next year, but Tonks said not to get carried away. Make sure you're not going to say anything you're going to regret."

Malfoy stared at Harry with intense loathing, but seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Am I at least allowed a bed, or do I have to sleep on the floor like some savage?" he growled.

"You're allowed to shut up and be patient for a minute," shot Harry. Harry and Malfoy stood in silence for the next few moments. Harry could only imagine what must have been running through Malfoy's head, and was enjoying the fact that he, Harry, was in total control of Malfoy's immediate future.

Malfoy glowered at Harry. "My father - " he started, but Harry, who was determined not to let Malfoy get the upper hand, interrupted him.

"Your father deserves every bit of what he got, Malfoy," said Harry, fuming.

"He didn't have a choice! He was only doing it for my mother and me," said Malfoy defensively.

But, this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say. "OH, YES HE DID!" shouted Harry. "HE SHOULD HAVE DIED RATHER THAN SELL OUT TO LORD VOLDEMORT!"

Malfoy was momentarily silent. Harry took advantage of the lapse to continue his tirade. "I'm a lot of things, Malfoy, but I'm not stupid, and neither is Voldemort. Your father has been loyal to Voldemort because they both like power. Well, so what? Who cares about power?"

Malfoy looked startled. "What do you mean, who cares about power? Everyone cares about power, even you, Potty. How could you not?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really care about having power. There are more important things in the world."

Malfoy snorted in disbelief. "Like what?"

Harry stared Malfoy down. "Friends. Having fun. Freedom. Standing up for what you believe in. Sacrifice."

Harry and Malfoy were spared more insults by the sudden appearance of Dobby. Dobby bowed low and beamed at Harry. Harry's angry expression cleared at once.

"Dobby is most happy Harry Potter wishes to see him, for Dobby has been wishing to see Harry Potter," said Dobby with suppressed mirth.

Harry managed a smile. "Dobby, how would you like to work for me for a bit? I'll give you a Galleon to work for me for a week."

Dobby's eyes shone bright, and his toothy smile broke into a wide grin. "Dobby would be most pleased, Harry Potter! But...Harry Potter...Dobby is not sure. What will Harry Potter do about Draco Malfoy?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about him, I've got everything under control."

Dobby bowed again. "Then Dobby would be honored to work for Harry Potter. What should Dobby do for Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned. "I have an idea."