Lumos Obscurum

Chapter 3 - The O.W.L. Results

"POTTER!!"

That was the lovely sound that Harry awoke to Wednesday morning. His eyes flew open. What did I do? was his only thought before he scrambled out of bed and rushed to the door. He threw it open and shouted, "What?"

"Get down here this instant!" came Uncle Vernon's yells.

Muttering under his breath, Harry stepped out into the hallway, shut his bedroom door with a click, and padded down the stairs. He reached the living and took in the scene around him. Draco Malfoy was wide awake for a change, looking very rumpled, but smirking on the couch. Dudley was standing nearby, looking excited (he always loved it when Harry got a good telling off). Aunt Petunia was banging things somewhere in the kitchen murmuring crossly to herself, and Uncle Vernon himself was standing in the centre of the room dressed in a green shirt that nicely complimented his beet red complexion.

Upon seeing his nephew enter the room, Uncle Vernon pounced on him at once.

"What did we tell you about David being your new responsibility?" Uncle Vernon fumed.

"Uh..."

"We entrusted you (even though you far from deserved it) with this responsibility, with entertaining the guest, and how do you thank us for it?” Uncle Vernon continued, without giving Harry a chance to speak. “You leave him down here all night by himself, for people like myself to come along the next morning unconcernedly and sit on him!"

Sit on him?

Harry tried very hard to suppress a snort of laughter, while Draco's face twisted itself into a glower, looking like he dearly wished that Uncle Vernon would have chosen to omit that part of the story.

"Think that’s funny, eh? What have you got to say for yourself?" Uncle Vernon thundered.

"Was it his head you sat on?" Harry said hopefully, knowing full well that he would pay for this comment later on. "Maybe that big hulking mass of yours could've knocked some sense into it."

Here, even Dudley gasped. Draco's face now had an expression of amazement (that Harry would dare insult his uncle this way) crossed with irritation (that Harry would dare insult him this way). Uncle Vernon, meanwhile, was spluttering indignantly and drawing himself up to his full height.

"How... dare... you... after all that we have done! Feeding you... clothing you, ..." Uncle Vernon seethed.

"Oppressing me... locking me in a cupboard..." Harry went on in a casual tone.

"Putting this goddamn roof over your goddamn head!" Uncle Vernon raged, advancing on him in fury. "And you repay us with insults? You, Potter, are an ungrateful little brat, and now you're going to get what's coming to you," he said lividly. He was directly in front of Harry, his big bushy mustache quivering as he raised his fist....

Harry backed away, his eyes widening. Surely he wouldn't...

Just then the doorbell rang.

Uncle Vernon faltered and he came to a halt, fist still raised.

"Oh hullo, dear, it's positively marvellous to see you," came Aunt Petunia's sickeningly sweet voice from the hallway. "Vernon!" she called. "Oh Vernon! Ms. Tempest, that business associate of yours, has called!"

Uncle Vernon lowered his fist and Harry couldn't help expelling a sigh of relief from his mouth. Uncle Vernon leaned closer so that his face was barely inches away from Harry's. "Go up to your room, boy," he hissed, his eyes nothing but slits. "You are not to come downstairs until told to do so. You will clean the upstairs bathroom for your chore today, and I will deal with you later," he finished, finally turning away from Harry.

"Oh," Uncle Vernon called over his shoulder as he exited the room. "And put on something half-decent looking for a change."

Harry looked down at his attire and frowned. He was wearing night clothes that consisted of a short sleeved white t-shirt (that had belonged to Dudley around the age of eight), dark blue boxers, and socks. Well what does he expect? he thought angrily. I just got out of bed.

Harry looked back up, his frown trained on Dudley. Dudley gave a frightened sort of squeak and left the room in a hurry.

Probably scared I'll do magic on him since I'm angry at his dad, Harry thought, mentally giving a small laugh.

He looked over at Draco now, expecting him to be sneering over what had just taken place, but he instead found the other boy studying Harry closely, an incomprehensible expression on his face.

“What are you staring at?” Harry said coldly, his voice breaking the silence. “Enjoyed that, did you?”

Harry turned abruptly without waiting for Draco to answer, and headed up to his bedroom.

Had he waited for a response, he probably would have seen Draco giving the slightest shake of his head.

***

An hour later found Harry, now dressed in jeans and one of his cleaner shirts, scrubbing the bathroom. He was currently down on his hands and knees, diligently washing the bath.

"Having fun, Potter?" asked Draco Malfoy's cool voice from behind him.

Harry resisted the sudden urge to groan. "Oh yes. Loads of fun, how could you tell?"

"It's a gift," said Draco breezily.

Then came the sound of footsteps on linolium floor; Draco was walking into the bathroom.

Harry sighed. “What is it, Malfoy? Grown tired of taunting me from all the way out in the hallway? Wanted to come inside for a better view?”

“A better view of you?” Draco snorted, somehow making that noise sound elegant. “I think not. I simply decided to be nice and bring you your letter.”

Harry at last looked up at Draco. He was holding two envelopes made of pale parchment in his left hand. Harry could not stop a small grin from appearing on his face. Finally he had received some post. The only bit he had gotten were birthday cards from Hermione and Ron. Maybe these were belated birthday cards. From Hagrid, perhaps? Or maybe even Dumbledore?

“Well, let’s have them then,” Harry said eagerly, holding his hand out for the letters.

“Tut, Potter. Arrogant, are we? Only one of these letters is for you, the other is mine.”

“Fine, let’s have it then,” Harry said impatiently.

“There’s a good boy.” Draco tossed Harry’s letter over to him.

“Why would somebody be sending you a letter here, anyway?” Harry asked as he tore open the envelope.

Draco cocked an eyebrow and looked as though the answer was obvious. “It’s not necessarily to here, is it? It’s to me. Owls wouldn’t be much use if they didn’t know where the intended recipient was located, would they?”

“Right, right,” said Harry distractedly. He had unfolded the thick piece of parchment the letter was written on, and felt a severe sensation of disappointment lash through him, followed closely by a feeling of foreboding. It wasn’t a birthday present after all. It looked like his O.W.L. results had come.

Glancing over at Draco, who had taken a seat on the closed toilet cover, he noticed that the other boy’s identical envelope was already open.

He held his breath, and turned back to read his own letter, his heart pounding. If I just get good enough marks to enter the N.E.W.T. level classes required for Auror training...

A few seconds passed in silence as Harry’s eyes moved energetically over the parchment and Draco watched him carefully.

“So Potter,” he drawled once Harry had finished reading. “How’d you do? All Trolls I suppose...”

“’Course not,” said Harry gruffly, putting the letter down and picking up the bathroom cleaner once again.

“Oh come on, Potter,” Draco hopped up. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It wasn’t,” Harry said evenly.

“Let’s see, then!”

“Why should I share my scores with you?” said Harry rudely. “I don’t see why you’d want to know in the first place.”

“Why, so I can gloat, of course,” Draco answered, rolling his eyes.

“No,” said Harry firmly, turning his back on him.

“Fine,” Draco said sullenly. He made a motion as if to leave the bathroom, then at the last second leapt forward and snatched Harry’s letter off the floor.

“Hey!” said Harry angrily, throwing down his rag and standing up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But Draco was too busy reading over the letter to respond.

“Did better than you in History of Magic...” Draco was muttering to himself as he read. “But that was to be expected... Astronomy, Poor... no surprise there... Divination... D... blimey, Potter, this isn’t a very happy grade report. Oh, here's an E, at last... in Herbology, easy subject, though, really... Oi!” Draco exclaimed. “How’d you manage an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy! Now give it back!” Harry said, annoyed, attempting to grab the parchment.

Draco waved it away. “Wait, wait... I’m almost through... an E in Transfiguration... well that’s not so bad, is it? I received an O... Why look at what we have here, yet another O? In Charms this time. I’m so proud, Potter,” Draco said mockingly.

“I’m thrilled,” Harry growled. “Now, if you’re quite through-”

“An E?” Draco looked up and stared at Harry in disbelief. “You got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions? How‘d you get a good mark like that?”

Harry took advantage of Draco’s discomposure to seize his letter back and stuff it in his trouser pocket. “I’m not horrid at Potions, you know,” Harry retorted, stalking back to the bath. “If I had half a decent teacher, I’d probably be getting marks like those all the time.”

Draco bristled. “Professor Snape is not a bad teacher. Maybe if you would pay attention once in a while-”

“Maybe if you and your foul Slytherin friends stopped messing up my potions-”

“It’s your own fault half the time. You are terrible at Potions, and you know it. That’s why you were placed in a Remedial Potions class last term! Just admit, Potter.”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped. “And get out.”

“You’re obviously in denial-”

“Get OUT!” Harry roared.

Draco left, scowling.

***

Late that afternoon when the loo was clean enough for Aunt Petunia’s high standards, Harry trudged sullenly back to his room, where Draco was lounging about on his bed. Harry ignored him and sank down heavily onto his desk chair.

Draco, however, was quite bored, and was looking for some fun. So he sat up and said cheerfully to Harry, “Still upset about your less than satisfactory marks?”

Harry grumbled an incoherent response.

“I mean, yes, a P in Astronomy is pretty dismal,” Draco continued, still in that upbeat tone. “But would it make you feel better if I told you that I got an E in it?”

“No,” said Harry shortly.

“Really? You aren’t happy for me?” Draco said indulgently. “I’m happy for me.”

“Good on you,” Harry muttered sarcastically.

“What if I told you that I got an A in History of Magic while you only got a-”

“Shut it already, Malfoy,” Harry said crossly. “It’s not the Astronomy mark, or that History of Magic mark, or any other bad marks I got that upset me. It’s that blasted Potions one.”

Draco looked confused. “Um... Potter... you do know what the letters stand for, right? An E is a good mark.”

“But it’s not good enough,” Harry said bitterly. “McGonagall told me last year that I needed an O to get in Snape‘s N.E.W.T. level class.”

Draco laughed. “Why would you ever want to be in a N.E.W.T. level Potions class? I’ve heard that the material in that class is so advanced that I doubt even Granger could get good marks in it, much less you.”

Harry gritted his teeth together. “It’s not that I ever wanted to spend more time with Snape than what was absolutely necessary. It’s a requirement for Auror training.”

Draco stared at him composedly for a split second, then laughed even harder than before. “You? An Auror?”

“What are you laughing for?” Harry said defensively.

“Oh nothing, I’m just unsuccessfully trying to picture you as an Auror,” Draco wheezed in between his chuckling.

“I reckon I’d be a good Auror,” Harry said testily. “Considering I’ve escaped death about five times now.”

Draco’s laughs subsided. “Being an Auror isn’t simply escaping death, although that is a big benefit,” Draco said, now wiping away some tears of laughter that had gathered in his eyes.

“And what would you know about it?” Harry retorted coldly.

“A hell of a lot more than you do, considering that my father has dealt with Aurors more times than you can count.”

Harry gaped at him. “Are you daft? You just practically admitted that your dad is a Death Eater.”

"I think you're the daft one around here, Potter. My dad is in prison, remember? I should think that you of all people would know this, as it’s your fault.“

“I-” Harry started.

“Everyone has figured it out by now,” Draco went on, not giving an indication that he had even heard Harry. “And I'm aware that you and your little Gryffindor friends have known it for years, don't try to deny it. But discussing whether or not my father is a Death Eater is not the point here. The point is that he has told me all about the Aurors, and it’s not all they make it out to be. They talk big, Aurors do. The real truth is that they’re just something flashy for the Ministry to wave around to make it seem like they have the dark wizard situation in control.”

“But they really do catch dark wizards. I mean, Mad-Eye Moody for one-”

“He was one of the lucky ones,” Draco said offhandedly. “You know how they say most of the cells in Azkaban are full because of him? Complete rubbish, that. He just got lucky in that a large group of dark wizards were unprepared for him. He got them all in one sweep, embarrassed the hell out of my father. No, the truly crafty wizards are usually better organised than those fools were. They have a million tricks they utilize in order to escape those Aurors. And look at old Mad-Eye now, he’s living the rest of his uneventful days out in paranoia.”

Harry opened his mouth to disagree about that last statement, but then realized that he didn’t want to bring up anything even remotely connected with the Order. But he nonetheless felt a small grin appear on his face and settled with saying, “You really believe all that, don’t you, Malfoy?”

“It’s the truth, Potter. Besides,” he sniffed, “the job doesn’t pay well, either."

“And I’m just supposed to trust your word on this subject?”

Draco looked affronted. “Have I ever given you a reason to trust me before?”

“No, which is why I’m questioning your views right now.”

“Precisely, Potter,” Draco said, laying back down on the bed. “Maybe I’m telling you the truth, maybe I’m not. Or maybe there is no one real way of looking at this thing, perhaps there are many truths. Or, here’s a thought for you, maybe I just told you all that to make you feel better about your O.W.L. marks? Of course, the likelihood of the latter ever happening is slim to none.”

Harry felt another grin tugging at his face. “You are a mystery, you know that, Malfoy?”

“I pride myself on that fact. But kidding aside, Potter, for a Remedial Potions student, an E is great.”

Harry sighed, and wondering exactly why he was telling Draco this, said, “Malfoy, you twit, I was never in Remedial Potions. That was only a front for some private tutelage Snape was giving me.”

Draco sat up again, looking interested. “Private tutelage? In what?”

“Occlumency.”

Draco gave him a look. “Why were you learning something like Occlumency?”

Harry hesitated, and then deciding that he told Draco this much, he might as well tell him all of it, and really, what was the harm in it? He plunged ahead, “Because Voldemort-”

Draco winced.

“-can see into my mind, just as I can see into his. Sometimes I can see what he's seeing, feel what he's feeling... we’re connected by my scar. Last year, Dumbledore decided I needed to learn how to close my mind from him, and had Snape teach me Occlumency.”

Draco, for once, was left speechless. “I never knew that.”

“Hardly anybody does, but it doesn‘t seem like there‘s a point to keeping it a secret anymore,” he shrugged. “The Occlumency never worked, it just left my mind even more open for Voldemort - stop it - to get inside. And once...” Harry swallowed. “Once he even deliberately planted images there.”

“Why?”

“To get me to stupidly believe that the vision was true. To get me to do something I shouldn’t have done,” Harry said, not liking the turn this conversation had taken.

“What did you-?”

“Never mind,” said Harry quickly. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Draco scooted back and leaned against the headboard of the bed. “Is Snape to continue teaching you when we go back to school?”

“No. We had a bit of a falling out,” said Harry, thinking that this remark could very well be considered the understatement of the decade.

“Oh,” Draco said, thankfully not pushing the subject.

Both boys were silent for a while. Harry was staring contemplatively at the floor, thinking back to what Draco said about Aurors a few moments ago. If that was true, even only partially, perhaps it was a good thing that he didn’t receive the required scores after all. And now that he thought about it, did he really want to work for the Ministry of Magic, after how they shunned him and portrayed him as just a silly little boy for the past year? He didn’t think so.

But now the question was, what would he do for the rest of his life, if not attempting Auror training? The career advice session was over, he would receive no more of that. He had only two years of Hogwarts left... what would he do afterwards?

Harry sighed. He was almost certain that Ron and Hermione had a pretty good idea of what type of careers they wanted to go into (although he couldn’t be sure, as he only received short, scrawled messages on the inside of his birthday cards from both of them this summer). It was like last summer, all over again. They had promised they would write when they left the train station last June, but they hadn’t, and now it’s been over a month since he’d seen them. He desperately wished that he was up on the current news with Voldemort and the Ministry situation. Was their behaviour any better now that they had admitted to themselves that Lord Voldemort was back? And how were Fred and George doing with their joke shop? How was Mrs. Weasley, is she holding up?

Right now, he thought despairingly, I’d give practically anything to know what's been going on...

He looked over to the other side of the room where Draco was sitting on the bed, looking deep in thought. Draco looked up at the exact same moment, and their eyes met briefly before Harry looked hastily down towards the carpet again.

“Does your uncle hit you?” Draco’s quiet voice startled him.

“What?”

“Today... he raised his hand. He looked like he was about to hit you.”

Harry raised his head and looked at Draco once more; there was an odd expression on his face that Harry couldn’t identify.

“No,” Harry said eventually. “He never has. I thought he was going to this morning... but he didn’t.”

Draco nodded and didn’t say anything more, but there was something about his expression that was bothering Harry...

“Has... has your father ever hit you?” Harry asked slowly.

Draco shook his head. “He’s tried a couple times. You know, when I didn’t get a good enough mark on an exam... or when I refused to do... other things...” Draco gave a weak smile. “Mother’s always stopped him.”

“I see,” Harry said evenly.

Draco looked a little annoyed. “It’s not like it was an everyday occurrence, you know. A couple times a year, if that.”

“What were the ‘other things’ you mentioned?” Harry questioned softly.

Draco shook his head. “Just forget I said anything.”

“But-”

“BOYS!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice interrupted them. “Potter, get David and come down to dinner!”

“Yes Aunt Petunia!” Harry called down the stairs. He turned back to Draco. “Well you heard her, din-”

Draco pushed past him and flew out the door. He looked over his shoulder and flashed Harry a grin. “Last one there has to sit next to your cousin!” he called, and ran down the stairs.

There was a small smile on Harry’s face as he followed the blond Slytherin down the staircase, one thought lodged in his mind: he had just had a relatively civilised conversation with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy’s not that bad, really, once you get talking with him, he thought as he entered the kitchen. He saw that Draco (wearing a broad smirk) had taken Harry’s usual seat and the only vacant one left was by Dudley, who was already on seconds.

Harry shook his head, amused. When he’s not being a ruddy idiot, that is.