Issues

Issues chapter 8. Issues of Survival.

Decked out in the robes Molly had laid out for him, Harry entered the brand new Grand Ballroom the Ministry had commissioned. Like many of the official places that made up the new 'face' of the Ministry, the room was ornate. It had the feel of an old Roman bathhouse Harry had once seen in an Epic theatre movie on television once, when the Dursley's had left him alone in the house during his childhood.

There were many soaring marble pillars, standing tall and erect, holding up the ceiling, which was at least thirty feet high. The marble pillars were surrounded at their base by perfectly laid tables, the silverware glinting off the reflected light of hundreds of small torches adorning the walls, and huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Numerous carpet-clad steps rimmed tiled flooring sunken in the centre of the room, well polished but obviously charmed non-slip for dancing. That was something that Harry was definitely not participating in. If he was self-conscious at the thought of public speaking, he was certainly worse with dancing.

From the number of people already in the Ballroom, Harry thought he must be one of the last to arrive and as he waited for a staff member to announce him, he looked around at the assembled personage, wishing he could just slip in unannounced.

This was one function Harry would have attended even if he had not been required to be here under his agreement with Scrimgeour, however. For once, the Ministry seemed to be doing something altruistic. This Ball was to raise funds to establish Scholarships for schooling at Hogwarts and future professional training for children who had lost parents in the war. According to Scrimgeour, there were over a hundred children who had lost one or both of their parents. It was nice to see that something was being done about their futures.

Unfortunately, the cost alone of attending a function like this prohibited Harry's friends from attending, and he wasn't looking forward to spending the evening in the company of stuffy Ministry officials without his friends there to suffer along with him. He had tried to get them to accompany him, offering to pay for the tickets himself, but both of them refused point blank. He didn't blame them.

Eventually, Harry was announced and amidst all the clapping, the Minister himself came across to greet him, apologising for the delay and, as Harry thought scornfully, being terribly obsequious about it. He waved off the man's apologies, thinking he would rather listen to the man bluster pompously, than this.

A waiter passed by, floating a tray of drinks in front of him, and Harry chose one carefully as he tuned out the Minister's words, reminded by his very presence of why he had made the agreement in the first place. He was not looking forward to going back to see Malfoy later and hearing his story. Something about the way Malfoy had spoken made Harry certain that he was not going to like what he'd heard.

But he had no further time to dwell on that, as the Minister called his attention with some news of import.

"Just thought you'd like to know that Malfoy's trial will be two weeks from today, Potter," Scrimgeour said, a smug look on his face. Of course he would look smug; Malfoy would only be in the Ministry cell for another two weeks, and Scrimgeour had Harry's cooperation for the next month.

Harry looked at him, slowly nodding. Two weeks was not much time in which to come up with a way to prove Malfoy's story, and it was becoming clearer, the longer that he spoke with Malfoy, that he deserved recognition for his efforts at ending the war, and also for saving Dean Thomas.

"I trust I will have the use of the services of the Aurors until then?" Harry wanted confirmation, even though they had an agreement. Scrimgeour nodded.

"Yes, yes, we have already agreed to that," he said, magnanimously. Then someone else drew him aside, and Harry was left to his own devices. He wasn't all that comfortable in these sorts of social situations and so for a moment he just sipped at his drink and watched the crowd, looking for a friendly face and glad that despite his notoriety, these people, these 'moneyed' people, were a little less intrusive of his personal space. This was the sort of function at which Malfoy would feel right at home, Harry was sure.

Harry finally took a deep breath and headed for the nearest group of people he could see, which fortunately included the familiar face of Kingsley Shacklebolt. At least he was someone he knew of from the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry had respect for the older Auror.

Shacklebolt shook Harry's hand and quietly, but sincerely, offered the support of himself and his team of Aurors in case Harry ever had need of them, and Harry smiled, glad he could rely on someone he trusted and respected. He relaxed a little then and found that Kingsley was an interesting conversationalist.

"I don't believe half the things the papers are reporting about you, Harry," Kingsley said, lifting his drink to his mouth.

"Good," Harry replied. "I must be getting used to it by now. I mostly just laugh at them. Unfortunately, some people put more stock in the printed word than what they see before their very eyes," Harry finished ruefully. He was still a little stung that Ron seemed eager to believe Harry might be gay from one thinly veiled accusation in a newspaper. Was it so bad that even a hint of homosexuality put such fear into Ron? He'd behaved almost as if Harry had announced he was going to be the next Dark Lord or something.

Kingsley was nodding at Harry's earlier statement.

"Yes, over the years you have been subjected to some pretty outlandish gossip and rumours, haven't you?"

"Goes with the job, I guess," Harry tried to joke back.

"You did make one very interesting point in that interview, Harry." Kingsley was serious now. "Or rather you didn't, but that Peter Sully reporter did when he mentioned the use of Veritaserum. You do know the effects of that serum if it is forced upon someone, don't you?"

Harry nodded. He did know that more often than not, the invasion of the potion through resisting brain cells scrambled the firing of certain neurons and affected the person's ability to reason and function normally. He had heard of wizards whose functioning was so affected that they lived out the rest of their days in the Magical Maladies wards of St. Mungos.

"Well, Peter Sully and his fellow reporters from the Freedom Press have been campaigning to ban of the forced use of Veritaserum on prisoners. The readership of the Freedom Press is not large, and because it is mostly politically radical, it finds it hard to get a foothold into the mainstream of society." Kingsley paused and looked around the room at the assembled so called 'cream' of wizarding society. Harry's eyes followed his around the room.

"This particular issue is harder than most for them to garner some respect and support. The Minister has said on many occasions that only the guilty have anything to fear from the use of Veritaserum." Kinglsey sighed. Harry spoke up.

"I've heard their logic. According to the Ministry, if you have nothing to hide, nothing to feel guilty about, then the use of Veritaserum will not affect you. Therefore, if you refuse, you are guilty anyway, and so one way or the other the Ministry gets its...what? Revenge? Justice?" Harry speech had become more and more impassioned as he went on.

Kingsley motioned him to sit at their table as hundreds of house-elves began to serve up their meals. Harry sat down next to Kingsley, who nodded in agreement with Harry.

"Yes, of course, they see that they win either way. But, that's not the only reason, Harry. Look around you. Look at how happy everyone looks now, notice the lack of fear on their faces, that slight worry that we would always carry with us. In the eyes of the public, the Ministry has done its job and incarcerated the Death Eaters, who by the very nature of that label are guilty. They don't care what happens to them, they only care that they don't have to worry about being afraid of them anymore."

Harry looked around and saw Kingsley was right. There was a light, joyous atmosphere in the Ballroom tonight. People's faces did shine with happiness and a complete lack of fear.

"But it still doesn't make it right, does it?" Harry replied softly, angrily. "Some of those they have in custody are only guilty of having a Mark on their arm, Kingsley. A Mark that was forced upon them. They're not guilty of anything. Using Veritaserum on them...it sets a precedent. Next, the Ministry could decree that anyone was liable to be taken in for questioning under Veritaserum for any reason they felt like. If you refuse, you're guilty, if you agree you put yourself up to be asked any question they feel like, relevant or not. Everyone is entitled to his or her secrets, Kinglsey. It's just a huge invasion of people's rights to their own thoughts and opinions."

He knew all about people invading his mind, having his thoughts and dreams and memories raped when Voldemort had used him like that. What was to stop the Ministry going one step further and using the vulnerability of a subject's mind to implant thoughts, like Voldemort had done to Harry about Sirius?

And what about Malfoy? Harry was sure that whatever he had done to survive since he had left school wasn't nice, or pretty. At the very least, it was going to be something he would not want made common knowledge, fodder for the public canon - and whatever it was, didn't he deserve the right to some sort of discretion?

Harry realised that he was getting a little worked up over this, and his thoughts were getting more and more outlandish. He was sure the Ministry would not get to that point...but that was the way insidious evil crept up...gradually and slowly so that by the time you realised, it was too late. He felt Kingsley's hand on his arm and he gradually calmed himself down.

"Yes, Harry, we can all see the implications and there are many of us who don't want things to go down that path. A lot of us support the Freedom Press, but at the moment it has to be done quietly. We were very pleased when we heard you were going to make sure the Ministry obtained their proof in other ways. Perhaps with you as a mouthpiece, there might be some way we can do away with this. The trials start in two weeks," Kingsley informed Harry who shook his head in disgust, knowing Scrimgeour had made sure to put Malfoy up first.

"Yes, I know, Scrimgeour told me," Harry said, looking around at their dinner companions who all seemed to be involved in conversations elsewhere. It was quite safe to speak with Kingsley about Malfoy, as the Aurors that now guarded him came from Kingsley's team, and they were all bound by secrecy oaths. "Scrimgeour seems to have put Malfoy up first...but you know, the more I speak with him, the more I am convinced that he was just a pawn in the whole thing. Did you know he saved one of my friends, Dean Thomas, from being mauled by Greyback?"

Kingsley shook his head, but didn't seem surprised. "I didn't know that, but when I compare him to the other Death Eaters we caught, he just doesn't seem to fit. He's too young for one thing. What is he...your age?"

Harry nodded. "He does have the Mark, though, I saw it. He has a...story, too, but I can't say anything about that, yet." Then Harry stopped talking and began to eat. Kingsley didn't know about the Horcruxes, or Malfoy's part in finding a way to kill Voldemort, and he wasn't going to, just yet.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, Harry returning to reflect on what Malfoy's story could possibly be. He knew Ron would probably have another dig at him for being obsessed with Malfoy, but really, when had he ever not been? His thoughts were interrupted by the shadow of someone standing next to him. He turned and looked up and saw that it was Fred Weasley. Alone, dressed in decent formal robes and looking serious. Harry's smile died on his lips.

"Fred, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Just thought that one of us should attend this little shindig, Harry," Fred answered. "Not that I was going to bother you or anything, but that fellow...?" He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, and because he did, and his glance flickered to the others on the table, Harry knew exactly who he was talking about. The reporter from this morning's press conference. He nodded to show that he understood. Fred leant down and spoke softly into his ear.

"He reported to no one Harry. Said barely a word since this morning. But...he's here, tonight. I saw him skulking around one of the marble columns earlier. Just thought you should know."

"Thanks, Fred. I'll keep a lookout."

"Good-oh, Harry," Fred replied and disappeared back to his own table across the room. Harry's eyes followed his path to confirm in his head where he was sitting, and then returned to his meal with a frown. What did that bloke think he was going to accomplish by following Harry around? Most of his time was spent at the Ministry and The Burrow at the moment, only stopping at his flat to sleep. Still frowning, Harry looked up and around at all the guests, wondering if this man was sitting near him or was even a guest and... Disgusted with his paranoia, Harry sighed and finished his meal.

"Kingsley, what can you tell me about Coghill and Hoxley, those two Aurors that beat up Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Not a lot, Harry. They weren't on my team, as you know. I can get their files for you if you like," Kingsley relied, helpfully. "Why?"

"Oh, I'd just like to find out a bit more about Coghill. Maybe find out why he thought it was alright to treat Malfoy like he did," Harry replied, and added to himself, and perhaps determine where he lives and go and pay him a visit.

When dinner was over, all the appropriate speeches made, by the Minister, by C.O.W.S. (Care of Orphaned Wizard Schoolchildren), the organisation that planned to run the new Fund and by Harry himself, where he reiterated the things he had said in his talk to the Press earlier, Harry excused himself and went to find Fred. They met on the edge of the dance floor and were having a discussion about ways of finding what this reporter was up to, when a shift in the gleaming patches of light on the polished dance floor made Harry look up at the chandeliers.

The huge one above him was swaying from side to side. Harry's eyes widened and for a moment he just looked at it before his mind snapped back into working order. It had begun to shimmer as it swayed and Harry called a warning to Fred and threw himself at him, propelling both of them out from under the direct line of the chandelier, just as it seemed to loosen itself from the ceiling and come crashing down onto the tiled floor of the Ballroom. Right where Harry and Fred had been only a second before.

As the huge contraption hit the floor, thousands of shards of crystal exploded on contact and flew around the room. Harry had landed on top of Fred as he shoved him out of the way and he now used his back to shield him from the dangerous debris. Most of them bounced off, too rounded to do any more damage than bruise, but a few slivers found their way through Harry's robes and cut into his neck and shoulders.

There were screams and pandemonium from some of the women, as pieces of crystal found their marks on faces, or arms. Harry had no time to look at anyone else, only to cover his own head and wait. When it passed, he pulled his wand out of his robes quickly before climbing off Fred, who seemed to be uninjured, and standing up, looking around; wand ready, just in case.

Fortunately, the dance floor had not been full, as dinner had only just finished and perhaps the ladies were in the bathroom, powdering their noses before dancing the evening away. Which was lucky. Ladies' robes were nowhere near the protection that the men's robes were. And as Harry looked around it seemed that most of the injured were the ladies and not the men, and that most of the injuries seemed to be surface cuts and bruises. Thankfully.

Harry stood there staring into the mess on the floor as if that would give him some answers.

Beside him, Fred whistled. "Thanks, Harry," he said.

"You're welcome, Fred. What do you think happened here?" He turned and met Fred's eyes, with a sense that he already knew the answer to that one.

Fred nodded. They were both on the same wavelength. "I've never known a charmed chandelier to fall down before, so I think it was tampered with. If he was here, Harry, I can't say that it was him, but if you're thinking what I am thinking, then...who else could it be?"

Harry was sure that the only thing he'd told Fred and George was that there was a leak in the Ministry and he wanted it to stop. But somehow, those two had put two and two together and come up with the right answer. Once more, Harry marvelled at them both. They were born for this espionage caper.

"So, great, now I have someone else wanting to kill me. Thought I'd done away with the last psychopath that wanted to do that. You'd think they'd learn." Harry tried to make light of it, but he was shaking. This was now serious. Someone had just tried to kill him. Was he always going to be a target for someone with an axe to grind?

Wizards from Magical Law Enforcement arrived to take over the scene and guests were asked to move into the Ministry building proper. There were other huge chandeliers in the room that might also be unstable and so they had declared the new Grand Ballroom to be off limits. Through all the fuss in the aftermath, Harry had been pretty much ignored, even though he and Fred had been standing under the chandelier when it fell, and he assumed because of that, they considered this to be an accident. Possibly, there was no way in which to tell if the chandelier and the charms affixing it to the ceiling had been tampered with.

"Harry, you're bleeding," Fred's concerned voice came from beside him as he was searching the room for Kingsley. There was no sign of the Auror; he must be involved with official business concerning the fallen chandelier and he turned to look blankly at Fred. He couldn't feel any pain, so wherever it was, it was obviously only a tiny cut. He saw Fred looking toward his neck and he reached up cautiously to feel. Sure enough, his fingers touched something wet when they felt a place just below his jaw. Even then it didn't hurt much, so it must just be a nick. He shrugged.

"It's not much, don't worry about it," Harry said, thinking that he'd probably ruined the shirt on his formal robes.

"Tut, tut, Harry, this will only take a second," Fred remonstrated, and lifted his chin while his other hand used his wand to cast some simple Healing charms.

"Thanks," Harry smiled, wearily. Today had been a rather busy day and it was beginning to take its toll on him. The adrenaline rush was subsiding, leaving him drained. Was it only this morning that he had given that press conference? It seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

And he still had to go and see Malfoy and listen to his story. Harry took a deep breath and sighed. What a pleasant thought that was.

.o00o.

When Harry lowered the wards and entered Malfoy's cell some time later, he saw the blond lying on his bed, nose deep in one of the books Harry had bought with him earlier. Malfoy looked up at Harry, an easy smile on his face, but when he saw the remnants of the blood on Harry's collar, his smile turned into one of those smirks Harry hated.

"What happened to you, Potter? Your hot date decide she didn't like the way you showed her a good time?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood. If you must know, someone tried to kill me, tonight," Harry replied, tiredly, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"They what?" Malfoy tossed the book aside and stood, moving to him quickly. He tilted Harry's head to one side, searching his neck for any marks. It surprised Harry, this concern from Malfoy, but he had to admit, he was gratified that he seemed worried.

"It's nothing," Harry said, moving his chin out of Malfoy's fingers, but leaving his neck open for him to see that he had been healed properly.

"What happened?" Malfoy demanded.

"Why does it matter what happened?" Harry asked. He really had no intentions of telling Malfoy what had happened, or that there seemed to be someone out to get him for his part in getting some justice for the way Malfoy was treated.

Malfoy looked at him for a long time, then shrugged and indicated Harry's arm with a look. "Did you get that seen to as well?" he asked, a small frown on his face.

"What?" Harry asked and lifted his arm. There on the cuffs of his robes was more blood. Bloody hell, Harry thought as he stood and took off the robes. Once they were removed, he could see that the blood started high up on one arm, near his shoulder. He was still not feeling any pain from it, but he undid the buttons on his shirt and removed it anyway, in order to ensure that the bleeding had stopped and to heal it.

"There's nothing anywhere else?" Harry asked, checking out his chest and arms, when he had finished healing his shoulder. Malfoy moved around him and then back to face him, a smirk on his face.

"Oh, there's plenty there, Potter," he drawled. "But no blood. Your unblemished and...surprisingly sexy back is all in one piece."

"Oh God, cut it out, Malfoy!" Harry exploded. "Enough with the flirting, already! I've had a really long, not very enjoyable day. I'm tired. Someone just tried to kill me and the last thing I need is to try and find the energy to keep from making a complete arse of myself in some sexually charged conversation with you."

Malfoy looked chastened and moved back, and Harry immediately felt guilty about yelling. "I'm sorry," he started, only to be cut off by Malfoy holding a hand up.

"No, it's me that should be sorry, Potter. You're right, I was being thoughtless." Malfoy's hand lifted to rub through his hair and Harry noticed it was shaking. He ignored it and put his shirt and robes back on, despite the blood on them. He felt better covered up and away from the scrutiny of those grey eyes.

"What is it with all the flirting, anyway?" Harry asked, finally. "You hated me in school and I haven't even seen you in over a year...or is this some sick joke you think you're playing on me?" With Coghill making the comment that he'd heard Malfoy was a nice piece of arse, then Malfoy's admission that he'd proposition Hermione if it would help him, and the constant flirting with Harry himself...was he missing something?

Malfoy sat in the other chair opposite Harry and sighed. "It's become second nature to me, Potter. I learnt how to...pleasure them..." Malfoy snorted. "Or else."

Harry's eyes widened. Truth be told he had thought it might have had something to do with Voldemort using Malfoy like that, but he said 'them'. Did that mean all of them? He swallowed, and then cleared his throat.

"Tell me what happened."

Malfoy looked back at him, a sudden flare of the old Malfoy that he'd known at school flashing across his face. The cold sneer of the mask of arrogance he'd worn constantly was there - for just a moment, and Harry suddenly realised that this was really the first time he'd seen it since he'd been in the cell.

Then, resignation took control and with a sigh he began to speak.

"I should have let him kill me," Malfoy began. "But I was too scared to defy him, too frightened, too hopeful that he'd still spare my mother. Too naïve." The shaky hand was threading its way through his lank, dirty hair once more. "He said I could still earn my keep, I might still be useful to him. I was so grateful to be alive, I agreed. I would have agreed to anything at that point.

He was in my house, my parents house, he just took it over... even before he killed my mother." Malfoy's face was a mask of pain, now, and it took a few moments before he started again. Harry sat there, silently. This was Malfoy's story to tell and to interrupt him and say the wrong thing, now, might not get it told at all.

"At first it was just him and it was all I could do to stop from throwing myself out of the topmost window. I still don't know why I didn't - that self-preservation instinct, I suppose. For once in that monster's life he was as good as his word - I made myself available to him whenever and however he wanted, I took whatever pain and punishment he dished out, made myself a spectacle for them all to laugh at and be entertained by, and he fed me, allowed me to live."

Harry's throat constricted in pity. There had been so many times he had wished to see Malfoy brought down, humiliated, that arrogance shattered, but...not like that. No one deserved that. He opened his mouth to make some comment, a gesture of support, but Malfoy continued.

"He kept me very well, actually. Fed me up on healthy foods, allowed me my own clothes, and, apart from not letting me leave the Manor, I had my freedom. I wondered why and asked Severus one day. He told me Voldemort didn't think it was as much fun breaking someone who was already broken." Malfoy gave a short laugh at that. "Every day he'd break me, not that it took much, really. It must have bored him after a while, because then he began to let his Death Eaters have me and he enjoyed watching what they did to me a lot more." Malfoy looked away at the ceiling, deep in memories, Harry could see, as the frown and the pain of those memories was clearly visible. Malfoy looked gaunt and haggard, with dark shadows under his eyes. Harry had no idea how he could have stood being treated like that for so long.

"After a while, I learnt to play for them."

His voice was tight; matter-of-fact, devoid of much emotion. Harry wondered how he could be so dispassionate about it, so cold.

"Every shape and size - bald, hairy, gross and ugly, mean and cruel. It got so that I didn't even look at them anymore, I just played for them, fed their egos, told them how wonderful they were..." The bitterness was creeping into his voice, now, Harry heard and was pleased.

"They hurt me less when I made them feel good and powerful."

"So, why were you half starved when you were captured?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "Once Severus and I had found the spell and he sent it to you, I stopped playing for them. So they stopped feeding me and treating me well." He shook his head. "I was waiting for... You bloody took your time about using it on him, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "I had no idea..."

"How could you have?" Malfoy snorted. "And it was none of your business anyway. I was sure that you..." he stopped, frowned and looked at the floor.

"What?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said, not moving his gaze from the floor, but shaking his head.

As Harry sat there, trying to absorb what he'd been told, Malfoy remained still, frowning at the floor. It was almost too much to take in after the day he'd had and he felt ill.

"I was sure that you would laugh and tell me I deserved it." Malfoy spoke softly, almost inaudibly and Harry had to stop and ask himself if he'd actually heard correctly.

"How could you think I would wish that on anyone?"

"Revenge," Malfoy said simply.

Harry stopped. Yes, there had been many a time when he had wished for some form of revenge on Malfoy, but not that. He'd wanted to beat the other boy black and blue, until within an inch of his life at times, but not that.

"Didn't Severus help you at all?"

"He did. He'd give me a few good strong drinks beforehand, heal me afterwards and make me sleep in his quarters when he was at the Manor. He said that at least if I was with him during the night, then I'd be spared any further activities."

"Did he...?" It was none of his business and he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, but Malfoy got the message and looked up at him sharply.

"What do you think? Of course he did...but only when he had to in order to keep his cover." Malfoy gave a small smirk and sat back, crossing his arms. "He used to let me practice my flirting on him. I got so good at it that even he couldn't tell I was acting."

Harry was disappointed with that, and it took him a minute to work out why. Some part of him had enjoyed that Malfoy seemed to like him. He had liked the attention. Malfoy really must be good, Harry admitted, because Harry wasn't even gay and he still liked the flirting.

He gave a sad little smirk in return. "Ahh, so all that flirting was you acting, I get it. You're very good, Malfoy," he said grudgingly.

Malfoy shrugged and looked Harry up and down. "Nope, I don't believe it was. You're too fit for it to be all an act, Potter." He gave him a quick smile and raised his eyebrow.

"If you're so good at it, I'll never know if you're telling the truth, will I?" Harry threw back, to be instantly regretful as he saw Malfoy's face crumple. A moment later the cool arrogant mask was back.

"Speaking of the truth," Harry said, changing the subject. "Minister Scrimgeour informed me that your trial will be in two weeks. They will be using Veritaserum unless I can get the use of it banned between now and then.

Malfoy looked at him in horror. "Potter, you have to try! I don't want the whole world to know what I had to do to survive. That's...that's private and...oh God..." Malfoy began to shake. "The...the things I had to do...Harry, please don't let them." The pleading in his tone, completely wiped away any of the arrogance that had been lingering.

"I'm trying. I have the support of some good people and we're all going to be working on getting the Ministry to change its interrogation practices. In the meantime, is there anything you can think of that might be proof you were helping Snape find the spell? If we can find that, it will help clear you before they need to use it and they might decide it is unnecessary in other cases as well."

Malfoy shook his head, not comforted by Harry's assertion at all. Even Harry was not sure he could succeed. "It's our best chance, Malfoy. Can't you think of something?"

"No!" yelled Malfoy. He stood up and began to pace the small room.

"There must be something," Harry persisted. "Didn't you two even talk about what you were doing?" Surely there must have been something Snape told Malfoy that could be some form of proof.

"No, not much. Once he told me what we were doing, it was safer not to speak too loudly or too much about it unless necessary. No matter how hard I tried to get him to talk to me more about it he just sat there, scribbling away in that damned diary of his!"

Malfoy stopped and swung around to look at Harry, the light dawning on his face, reflecting the same expression on Harry's face.

"He kept a diary, Harry!"