Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Part Two: The Ceremony of Innocence is Drowned

Chapter Five: Mere Anarchy

Harry's pyjamas were soaking wet to the knees from the bog they had struggled through, his feet were numb, his knees scraped raw, and the tips of his fingers were bleeding from the sharp, shaley soil. His head was beginning to spin as well, and he felt nauseous from lack of food. But in the end, it was Malfoy who collapsed, silently dropping as they were halfway down the next slope, tumbling over and over to the bottom, where he lay still. Harry could no longer even find the energy to be surprised; he stopped and stared for a moment, then continued to pick his way carefully downwards, concentrating on putting one foot in front of - or below - the other, trying to see where he was going, though the bright moonlight threw sharp, treacherous shadows.

When he reached the bottom, Hermione was kneeling by Malfoy's crumpled form. He heard Ron say something, his tone sharp, but he couldn't make sense of the words. He didn't know how long they had been going, but the sky above the hill behind them still glowed a warm red that made him think of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, a welcome antidote to the hard light of the moon. He felt his legs tremble beneath him, and sank to the soaking ground. Hermione was in front of him, she said something to him and he answered, and then there was Tonks' face and he wondered vaguely what she was doing there. And that was all.

-----

It was the pain in his feet that woke Harry up. He didn't want to wake, he fought it for some time, but the pain was insistent, dragging him away from the warmth and darkness over and over again. Finally, defeated, he opened his eyes.

He was in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express; this was the first thing that made him think he was dreaming. The second thing was that Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were there. The third was that Draco Malfoy was sleeping in the opposite corner under a thick blanket; and then Harry remembered why that was not so strange, after all.

"Harry!" Hermione, of course, the first to notice he was awake. The others looked up, and smiled in a concerned sort of way. "Are you all right?"

"My feet hurt," said Harry, sitting up. He, too, was under a blanket, and he noticed his pyjamas had disappeared, replaced by warm robes. He was still hungry, though.

Tonks gave him a cheerful grin. "I did a Warming Spell before you could get frostbite," she said.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, we didn't even think about how cold your feet must be." Hermione bit her lip and looked like she was about to cry.

"But you're all right otherwise?" Ron was sitting next to him, patting him awkwardly on the arm. "They didn't... do anything to you?"

Harry felt clarity slowly spreading through his brain. "Apart from keep me locked up with Malfoy for... however long, no, they didn't do anything. I suppose we know why, now." He glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eyes, but the other boy was still asleep. "Where are we going?"

"Back to Hogwarts," Shacklebolt said, his deep voice unaccountably comforting. "We persuaded the Express to run a special delivery, since neither of you were in a fit state to fly."

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in. Then he thought of something. "How did you find us?"

"We did a Locator Spell for Ron," Tonks said with a grin. "It took a little while to get something of his from Mrs. Weasley, especially considering how easily hair gets mixed up in that family, but we managed it in the end."

"Oh." Harry was silent again, and became aware that they were all watching him. "How did you find us?" he asked, turning to Ron and Hermione.

"We did a Locator Spell too," Hermione said. "On Malfoy. Although," she glanced at Tonks and Shacklebolt, and frowned slightly, "it didn't work."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione's frown deepened, "it showed us where Malfoy was, or so we thought, but it turns out it must have been Narcissa. I knew I remembered something about a flashing dot," she added, half to herself.

"If it was Narcissa," Harry said slowly, wondering if he was missing something, "then how did you find us?"

Hermione looked at the two adults again. Shacklebolt shrugged. "Assuming Hermione mixed the potion correctly," (Hermione looked slightly hurt, but said nothing) "it was pure luck that Narcissa happened to be where you two were, and that these two did the potion at the time they did. It was lucky, too, that they went haring off after you without checking what a flashing dot meant. It was also," he turned and gave Ron and Hermione a hard glare, "an extremely dangerous and misguided thing to do."

Hermione turned pink. Ron looked away, and muttered something that might have been "Worked, didn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it makes sense," Harry said, thinking that not very much seemed to be making sense at the moment. "If Lucius was there..." He looked at Malfoy again, but if anything, the boy seemed even more deeply asleep than before. Harry felt a wave of tiredness roll over himself, as well. The pain in his feet was still irritating, and he had a lot he needed to discuss. He laid his head against the window for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to think of all the questions that needed answering.

-----

When he next awoke, Ron was shaking him by the shoulder.

"Come on, mate, rise and shine. We're there."

Harry struggled upright, disentangling himself from the folds of his blanket. He felt grimy and sweaty, but warm. His feet didn't hurt any more, either. All in all it was a big improvement.

Across from him, Malfoy was pressed back into the corner, looking nervous. "Who are you?" he asked Tonks, who was standing over him, obviously having just woken him up.

Tonks flashed him a grin. "I'm your cousin. Nice to finally meet you."

Malfoy stared at her as if she was mad. Then he looked over at Harry. "What's going on, Potter?"

"We're back," Harry said, feeling rather pleased at having the upper hand for once. "At Hogwarts," he added, after quickly checking through the window that they had, in fact, arrived at Hogsmeade station. "Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt helped rescue us," he added, when Malfoy continued to stare at him in confusion.

Malfoy frowned, then looked back up at Tonks. "What do you mean, you're my cousin?"

Harry grinned and slipped out of the carriage. Behind him, he heard Tonks saying, "Well, you see, Draco, when two people love each other very much..." and his grin widened.

Ron and Hermione were already down on the platform. "Oh good, you're here," Hermione said. "How do you feel?"

Harry considered. "OK," he said, "all things considered. What time is it?"

"Breakfast time," Ron said, looking pleased. "I'm starved!"

Harry couldn't agree more. He was so hungry that the thought of food made him feel somewhat nauseous. "How are we going to get to the castle?" he asked.

"They've sent us a couple of carriages," Ron said, pointing. Then he frowned. "Quick, let's get going before we wind up in the same carriage as Malfoy."

"I wouldn't fret, Weasley." Harry turned, to see Malfoy standing on the top step of the train carriage, his lip curled in a contemptuous sneer, the effect of which was somewhat diminished by his swollen, black-and-blue face. "I wouldn't travel within ten feet of you for all the Galleons in Gringotts. I couldn't stand the smell." And he pushed past them towards one of the waiting carriages.

"Look who's talking," Ron yelled after him. "Been taking haircare lessons from Snape? Honestly," he continued, turning back to Harry and Hermione and speaking at normal volume, "look at him, flouncing around like he owns the place. That's the last time I bother saving anyone's life. Oh, erm, except for you, Harry."

Harry sighed; he really wasn't in the mood. "Let's just get up to the castle, shall we?"

The ride was quiet; Harry stared out of the carriage window as the grounds rolled past. He had a lot of questions, but he didn't feel like talking right then, and even Ron seemed to sense his mood and stayed quiet. Finally, they alighted on the steps of Hogwarts, where Tonks, Shacklebolt and Malfoy were already standing. They seemed to be having an argument.

"Don't tell me what to do," Malfoy snapped as they approached. "I'll go to the hospital wing when I've had something to eat."

Tonks raised one eyebrow. "You really want your friends to see you looking like that?" she asked, pleasantly.

Malfoy bristled. "I don't give a flying fuck what you think, mudblood," he snarled, and stomped into the castle.

Tonks threw up her hands in mock horror. "Lawks-a-mercy! My blood's been insulted! I'm so terribly wounded," she cried, hurrying after Malfoy.

"What's all that about?" Harry asked, frowning after them.

Shacklebolt sighed. "Dumbledore thought it would be best if you came back quietly and didn't make too much of a scene. No use drawing attention to yourselves. I suppose that's out of the question now, though."

And it was. By the time Harry and the others made it to the Great Hall, Malfoy was already inside, surrounded by Slytherins. A shout went up from the Gryffindor table when they spotted Harry. A moment later, Dean Thomas was pumping his hand enthusiastically and Lavender and Parvati were hugging him like it was going out of fashion. Harry felt powerless and overwhelmed in the middle of the whirl of activity; all he wanted to do was grab some food and go and clean himself up. He began to back out of the press of flesh, and bumped into someone else; he turned to see who it was, and found himself face to face with Malfoy. They stared at each other with deep dislike.

"Hero's welcome, I see, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Must be getting a little bored of that by now."

Harry noticed with surprise that, although the Slytherins had all left their table to come and greet Malfoy, they were keeping their distance; one or two were even looking slightly worried. "Well, at least I've got friends who aren't afraid to come near me," he replied.

Malfoy scowled, but before he could answer there was a shriek from the doorway that led down to the dungeons, and they both turned in surprise. Pansy Parkinson was hurrying towards them, pushing her way through the crowd of Slytherins.

"Oh Draco," she cried in a sobbing voice. "Thank God!" she hugged Malfoy tightly, and then stepped back, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't want to, you've got to believe me," she said in a low voice, grabbing Malfoy's hands desperately. "But my father and the others... They said it was for a greater good."

Malfoy stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

Pansy's hands flew to her mouth and she took a pace back, looking horrified. "Nothing," she said, quickly. "I'm so glad to see you!" But she didn't look glad. She looked frightened.

For a moment, Malfoy simply stared at her, frowning. The Slytherins had all gone very quiet, and Pansy was trying to smile through her tears, but it looked more like a grimace. Then shock began to dawn on Malfoy's face, and he started to back away. "You did this," he said, very quietly. "It was you." He raised his voice, so that the Slytherins could all hear. "It was all of you!" He whirled, and Harry caught a glimpse his face, paler than usual, and then all he saw was Malfoy's back retreating at speed towards the Entrance Hall. The Slytherins exchanged glances. Pansy gave up any pretence, and simply looked horrified; Theodore Nott was doing a very good impression of confusion and surprise. Crabbe and Goyle, however, were not so successful; they merely looked caught.

"Are you going to come and eat?"

It was Hermione; she was smiling at him, and Harry realised she hadn't heard a word of the exchange that had just taken place. The crowd of Gryffindors was now surrounding Ron, slapping him on the back as he recounted their daring rescue in a loud voice -- though he left out the part about Malfoy's father. The Slytherins were drifting away now, back to their own table; Harry couldn't believe no-one but him had overheard the key to the mystery.

"Harry?" Hermione's smile was becoming slightly anxious, and he realised he hadn't answered her question. "Are you all right?"

"No," Harry muttered. He was about to tell Hermione what he had heard, but something held him back. "I'm going to clean myself up," he said, snatching a plate of toast from the table and hurrying away as fast as he could, knowing that Hermione was staring after him with an anxious frown.

-----

Harry was just pulling on a clean robe when there was a tapping on the dormitory window. It was a small barn owl. He let it in, and it hooted at him softly, nibbling his fingers; Harry quickly untied the parchment scroll from its keg and unrolled it.

Dear Harry,

You cannot imagine my relief to hear this morning that you are all right. Tonks sent me an owl with the news, which I read as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't come to Hogwarts right now, but I'm sure you know why. I'll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, please be very, very careful.

Yours,

RJL

Harry read the letter several times, and had a brief memory of the night before, the dewy grass sparkling in the harsh light of the full moon. Yes, he knew why Lupin couldn't come. What he didn't know was why Lupin wanted to come: he was safe now, back in Hogwarts, or at least as safe as he could be anywhere. Except they took you from here before. The Slytherins... Had it really been them? Harry went over the exchange between Malfoy and Pansy in his head. Yes, it must have been them; there was no other explanation. Well, forewarned was forearmed. He folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into a pocket. Don't worry, Professor. I'm not going to let them have another crack at me. Closing the window against the cool morning air, he turned and set off for Dumbledore's office.

-----

"Ah, Harry, my dear boy, do come in. I've been expecting you." Dumbledore smiled at Harry as he entered the room.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well," Dumbledore said as Harry sat down, unable to resist glancing around at the many strange-looking objects that cluttered every surface of the round room. "What is it you would like to tell me?"

Harry stared at him in surprise, feeling somewhat annoyed. Dumbledore was acting like being kidnapped by Death Eaters and escaping dramatically in the middle of the night was an everyday occurrence. Well, it practically is, for you, a sarcastic voice at the back of his head pointed out. He ignored it, and swallowed his anger.

"I know who kidnapped me and Malfoy," he said. "It was the Slytherins."

Dumbledore didn't look surprised in the least, which only increased Harry's annoyance.

"I feared it might be so," he said with a sigh.

Harry frowned. "What?" he asked, incredulously. "You knew it was them? Why are they still here? They conspired to kill me! Well," he amended, "they conspired to kill Malfoy."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I cannot simply remove all the Slytherins from this school with no evidence of their wrong-doing, Harry," he said. "I suspected that some of their number might have been involved in the disappearance of Master Malfoy, but I thought you would be safe. I'm afraid I have once more proved my fallibility." He looked very old.

"Evidence?" Harry spluttered. "Pansy Parkinson admitted it to Malfoy! Right there in the Great Hall! What more do you want?"

"Ah yes, Miss Parkinson." Dumbledore sighed again. "I had hoped that she was not involved, but given her behaviour over the past few days, I had begun to suspect that that might not be the case. Nonetheless, implied confessions and heated accusations are no basis for mass expulsion, I'm afraid. Were I to resort to such desperate measures, I should be replaced as Headmaster immediately and the children returned to the school."

Harry shook his head in astonishment. "They couldn't do that! You're the Headmaster, you can expel who you want! We could tell the Ministry what they did, they would back you up!"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "You and I both know that is not what would happen, Harry. The Ministry has been forced to admit that Voldemort has returned, true, but I am still regarded by them as something of an embarrassment. Rash action in this case would be highly unwise."

A feeling of betrayal began to seep through Harry's insides. "Then what are you going to do?" he asked, hearing the accusation in his own voice. "Surely you can't expect me to act as though everything's normal? What if they do it again?"

"That is something I wished to discuss with you, but we should wait for-- Ah, Master Malfoy, do come in."

Harry turned sharply in his seat. Malfoy was standing in the doorway, looking around with a slight sneer. He must have been to the Hospital Wing, because his face was clear of bruising. He stalked forward and threw himself down into a second chair that had just appeared from nowhere, then shot Harry a vicious scowl.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. What I have to say concerns both of you." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "As Harry already knows, at the present time I am unable to remove any of your housemates from this school, Master Malfoy."

Malfoy looked surprised, then frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"Nonetheless, I can assure you that every measure will be taken to assure the safety of both of you. It is, of course, out of the question that Master Malfoy should continue to sleep in the Slytherin dormitory; furthermore, the simplest way to assure your safety is for you to be in close proximity, to allow concentration of our resources in one area. Thus, as of today, Master Malfoy will be sleeping in the sixth-year boys' dormitory of Gryffindor Tower."

"What?!" Harry and Malfoy spoke with one voice.

"Master Malfoy's belongings have already been moved," Dumbledore continued calmly.

"You can not be serious!" Malfoy was on his feet. "There's no way I'm moving in with the Gryffindors!"

Dumbledore looked up at him with an expression of absent-minded surprise. "I'm afraid that is your only option, Master Malfoy," he said mildly. "Unless you wish to continue living with the other Slytherins, although I would not advise it."

Malfoy looked furious. "I...," he paused, seeming to be groping for words. "Surely..." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it; then his mouth compressed into a thin line. "Is that all you wanted to see me for?" he asked coldly.

Dumbledore nodded. "You may leave, if you wish. I imagine if you go to the kitchens, the House-Elves will be pleased to give you something to eat. I understand you missed breakfast."

For a moment, Malfoy just stood there, staring at him. Then he turned and left, banging the door behind him. Dumbledore turned back to Harry.

"Professor, are you sure this is a good idea?" Harry asked, trying to imagine Malfoy sleeping in the same room as him. Or worse, in the same room as Ron.

Dumbledore sighed again. "I understand how you and Master Malfoy feel about each other," he said. "But for the time being, you will just have to learn to get along."

Harry shuddered. There was silence for a moment; Dumbledore appeared to be waiting for something. Then Harry remembered the question that had been plaguing him for some time.

"Professor, why did Voldemort want me to kill Malfoy?"

Dumbledore settled back in his chair, seeming to be looking at something Harry couldn't see. "Because he has realised that the ritual that returned him to his body did not give him the one power he craved: the power to kill you."

Harry frowned. "But he took my blood. He took the protection my mother gave me."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Ah, yes. But he did not receive the power to overcome that protection, merely the protection itself. Your mother's sacrifice was stronger magic than even Voldemort suspected."

Harry thought for a moment. "I still don't understand what that has to do with me killing Malfoy," he confessed.

"Your mother performed the ultimate sacrifice - she gave up her life for another out of love. The only way to reverse the spell is for the recipient of the sacrifice to take the life of another out of hate. That is why Voldemort would have you kill Master Malfoy."

Harry sat back, astonished, as the pieces began to fall into place: Malfoy chained up, but Harry free; the wand that would only perform Dark Magic; and the high, cold laughter in his head. And you nearly did, whispered an accusing voice at the back of his mind. You nearly did kill Malfoy. He knows you better than you know yourself.

He became aware that Dumbledore was watching him. "Are you all right, Harry," he asked gently.

Harry straightened, trying to organise his thoughts. "Yeah... I'm fine, Professor." He paused. "Can I go now?"

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry stood up, a whirl of thoughts and feelings making him feel slightly sick. As he exited the room he thought he heard someone laughing coldly; but it was only his imagination.

"What?!"

Harry sighed. Ron's reaction was exactly as he had expected - the boy had practically gone purple in the face, his new skin tone clashing rather unpleasantly with his bright red hair.

"There is no way, absolutely no way I'm sharing a room with Malfoy. He'll probably kill us all while we're sleeping! Or we'll end up killing him."

But that's what he wants, Harry thought, feeling his stomach lurch again. He wants me to kill him.

"Ron, don't be ridiculous," Hermione was saying, grabbing Ron's arm and guiding him over a gap where a stair had suddenly disappeared from the staircase. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has a good reason for what he's doing, even if he won't tell us what it is." She shot Harry a quick smile, and he wondered if she realised he knew more than he was letting on. "And Malfoy won't do anything to you in your sleep."

Ron gave a bitter laugh. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to sleep with him." He stopped, his face changing from purple to bright red. "That is... I mean... urgh!"

Hermione shook her head. "You're so puerile," she said, loftily.

Ron looked like he was about to retort, but at that moment he was distracted by the sound of shouting coming from the Entrance Hall below them. The three of them leaned over the marble balustrade to see what was going on.

Narcissa Malfoy stood in the middle of the black-and-white checked floor of the Entrance Hall, wringing her hands with an anguished expression on her face. Some distance from her, his face red to the roots of his blonde hair, stood Malfoy. It was him they had heard shouting. Harry saw Hermione glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't look round.

"Draco," Narcissa was saying in a sobbing voice, taking a step forward. Malfoy backed away.

"Don't you come near me," he spat. "What do you take me for? D'you think I'll just let you do it again?"

Narcissa shook her head desperately. "I didn't know, Draco! I didn't have anything to do with it."

Malfoy's face became incandescent with rage. "They saw you!" he bellowed, the words echoing through the marble hall. "You were there! That was just a coincidence, was it?" Harry looked at Ron and Hermione in surprise - so Malfoy hadn't been sleeping on the train at all. He tried to remember if they had said anything else incriminating.

Narcissa was still shaking her head. "I went to see your father," she said the words slurring into one another in her haste to speak. "I knew where he was... I thought he might know something about what had happened to you. But I didn't know what he had done, darling, of course I didn't! I would never..." She took another step forward, her hands outstretched pleadingly.

Malfoy shook his head. "No," he said, his voice quiet now. "Don't you come near me. Don't you come near me ever again." And then he turned and ran, up the stairs towards where Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing. As he passed, Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Draco..." she started.

"Leave me alone, mudblood," Malfoy muttered, and pulled away, disappearing around the next bend in the staircase.

Harry looked over the balustrade again. Narcissa was looking up, and he thought he could see tears shining in her eyes. Then she lowered her face, and covered it with her hands.

Harry had never thought he would feel sorry for a Malfoy; yet as he watched her, he felt a brief stab of pity for both mother and son.

Harry couldn't believe it. He had spent three days of the previous week imprisoned by the darkest wizard in a century, had escaped through fire and brimstone across the moors, practically losing his feet to frostbite, and yet none of the professors were letting him off homework. He had spent most of the time since he had got back buried in books, and he still had to get through Potions, Transfiguration and Magical Transportation before he could even start on this week's work. He had known that NEWT courses would be difficult, but this was ridiculous.

On the other hand, in some ways he was grateful for the distraction. He had been desperate to get back to Hogwarts the whole time he had been stuck in the cell with Malfoy, but now he was back, he found himself drifting once more into dark thoughts. The imminent threat of war had been somewhat alleviated, it was true - the Daily Prophet had reported the burning of the Derbyshire village with some trepidation, but, three days later, there was no sign as yet that the fateful step had indeed been taken - yet still, nothing had changed. War was coming, sooner or later. And Sirius was still dead. And Harry hadn't finished his Magical Transportation homework, even though that was the next class.

He rounded a corner hurriedly, and ran head-first into a floating pile of books that felt like a brick wall. The books scattered all over the floor, and Harry's textbook followed them; he rubbed the bridge of his nose ruefully.

"Harry Potter," said a voice. Harry looked up to see Ivanov, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, regarding him sternly. "You have spilt my books."

"I'm sorry sir," Harry muttered, bending to try and gather the books together, but Ivanov waved his wand, and they were floating in an orderly pile once more. He frowned, selecting a book from the pile and handing it to Harry.

"This is yours, no?"

Harry looked down at it. Theory and Practice of Portkey Creation: A Beginner's Guide read the gold letters on the cover. "Yes," he said.

Ivanov nodded, unsmiling. "You will be being more careful with where you are going in the future."

Harry nodded again, feeling slightly resentful. "Yes," he repeated.

Ivanov raised an eyebrow and swept off without another word. Harry sighed, setting off once more for the library. However, when he rounded the next corner he once more ran smack bang into someone, and once more dropped his book.

"Oh, for God's sake," he cried out in frustration, and looked up to see Remus Lupin looking down at him mildly, his face worn and exhausted, but his eyes bright and clear. "Professor Lupin," he said in surprise, feeling somewhat ashamed of his outburst.

"Harry," Lupin said with a smile. "I wonder if I might have a word."

The first days after a full moon were always difficult. During the full moon itself, of course, Lupin's life was nothing but apprehension and pain and complete exhaustion. He had no energy to even think about the normal business of living life. Although he thanked every deity he could think of for the invention of Wolf's Bane potion, it did mean terrible, sleepless nights of stabbing pain and frustration as he paced back and forth in whatever prison he had found for himself that time. He would sleep during the day, when he could manage to stop himself from dwelling on the disquieting memory of the bloodlust that bubbled just under the surface during those long nights. That was all there was, for a few days each month.

But then the moon would begin to wane, and Lupin would find himself fully human once more, but drained and empty. At one stage in his life, it had taken him more than a week to recover after every full moon. And then he had realised that the moon was stealing almost half his life, and he had put away self-pity and begun to live once more as soon as the first hint of darkness appeared at the edge of that hated white disk. Over the years, he had worked hard to maintain his cheerfulness, even in these difficult times, and for the most part he had succeeded. He knew, though, that he looked terrible; he saw the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror in the morning, and wondered how it was that it had been so long before anyone had guessed his secret.

"So you knew that Malfoy hadn't run away all along," Harry said, slowly.

Lupin sighed and shifted position slightly. They were sitting on a bench that butted up against the grey wall of the castle; in front of them, the grounds rolled away to the gloomy eaves of the Forbidden Forest. "Yes," he said. "We knew. Dumbledore told us as soon as he discovered Draco was missing last Monday."

"That's why you were at Hogwarts," Harry said.

Lupin nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry, I should have told you when I saw you," he said. "I should have learned by now that keeping secrets from you usually causes more problems than it solves. Perhaps if you had known, you would have been more careful."

"Well, I wasn't exactly going around wearing a sign that said 'Kidnap Me'," Harry retorted sharply. "It's not like I did it on purpose."

Lupin looked at him in some surprise; that hadn't been what he had meant at all. but Harry wasn't looking at him - he was staring fixedly into the distance, and Lupin was reminded forcibly of their last meeting. "No," he said gently. "No, I know you didn't."

Harry still didn't look at Lupin. "So no more secrets, then?" he demanded.

Lupin thought of the will that was still lying on the dresser at 12, Grimmauld Place. "No," he said weakly. "No more secrets."

They sat in silence for a while. Lupin felt all the tangled emotions of the past few days begin to overwhelm him. He had imagined meeting Harry again, hugging him, telling him everything. And yet here he was, seated beside an angry young teenager, and he hadn't even got to the subject of Sirius' will yet. You're weak, said Snape's voice in his head. You've always been weak. And Lupin couldn't help but agree.

The longer the silence grew, the more Harry felt resentment welling up inside him. Why was Lupin even here? To lecture him about taking more care? He was never going to get his Magical Transportation homework done at this rate.

"I've got to go to lessons in a few minutes," he said in a monotone.

Lupin nodded. "How's everything else going?" he asked carefully.

Harry shrugged. "Same as usual, I suppose. Except for Malfoy."

Malfoy was sharing the Gryffindor lessons, common room and dormitories now; not that you would notice if you didn't know it. At lessons he sat at the back and never spoke unless called on. In the evening he came in just before curfew and headed straight up to the dormitories without a second look at any of the glaring Gryffindors. By the time Harry and the other sixth-year boys reached the dormitory, the curtains were firmly closed around his bed, and stayed that way until after they had all left in the morning. In fact, Harry saw less of Malfoy now than he had before their imprisonment, and for that he was profoundly grateful, because every time he saw the boy's face he was reminded of the feeling of power he had felt when he had cursed him.

"That poor boy," Lupin said quietly.

Harry shook his head. "It serves him right," he muttered. "It's about time someone took him down a peg or two."

Lupin looked at him with an expression of astonishment. "I didn't expect that from you, of all people."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. The resentment he felt towards Lupin didn't prevent a stab of misery at the disappointment he could hear in the older man's tone. "Why should I care about that idiot?"

Lupin was silent for a moment, frowning. Harry waited. Finally Lupin shook his head. "Because you know what it's like to lose your parents," he said.

"What?" Harry stared. "You can't be serious. That's totally different."

"Is it?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Of course it is!" Harry could hear his voice begin to rise. "My parents died!"

"Your parents sacrificed their lives to save yours," Lupin said. "Draco's parents traded his life to gain power. Which do you think is worse?"

Harry felt anger boiling inside him. "I can't believe you're even comparing them!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Malfoy's parents are evil bastards!"

"But they're the only parents he has, and he loves them." Lupin seemed entirely unruffled by Harry's rage. He met Harry's angry gaze, and raised one eyebrow. "I know you dislike Draco, Harry, and I don't blame you. He's not a very likeable boy. But he's totally alone in the world, he has no parents, no friends."

"I didn't have any friends till I was eleven," Harry said, his voice still loud. He was beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed shouting at the clearly unmoved Lupin.

"Exactly," Lupin said. "That's why I assumed that you wouldn't wish that on anyone else." He waited for a moment. Harry did his best to maintain an angry face, though he wanted nothing more than to storm away and hide. Lupin sighed. "I would rather see Draco turn into a bitter man who fights for our side, like Snape, than have him lost to hatred forever," he said. "You may be that boy's last hope, Harry." He looked at his watch and tutted. "But you'll be late for your class," he said, as if they had been talking about nothing more serious than the weather. He stood up, brushing down the front of his worn old coat, and smiled down at Harry.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," he said. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch. I'm always available."

"Except on full moon," Harry said, and looked up in time to see Lupin's expression twitch.

"Yes," the older man agreed, looking suddenly very tired. "Except then."

Harry watched him walk away across the grounds, and the momentary sense of vicious satisfaction he had felt to have pierced Lupin's armour was replaced by an abiding feeling of guilt.

Harry made it to Magical Transportation just in time. He flopped down into the seat that Ron and Hermione had saved for him just as Madam Hooch swept into the room.

"Good morning," she said, scanning the rows of faces in front of her. "You'll be pleased to know, after last week's unutterably dull history lesson, we will be beginning work on Portkey Creation Theory this week."

Harry tried to remember last week's lesson. He had not been able to find any notes from it, and had come to the conclusion that he hadn't made any. All he remembered of the previous Thursday was a kind of fog of dread and grim expectation. Well, it can't have been that important anyway, he decided.

"But before we begin," Madam Hooch was continuing, "we will be choosing partners for the practical project which will be continuing throughout the term, until such time as you are able to create Portkeys by yourselves."

There was an immediate buzz of talk as people paired themselves off. Ron and Hermione looked at Harry; but Harry was hearing Lupin's quiet voice in his head. You might be that boy's last chance. But Lupin was wrong, of course. How could he, of all people, help Malfoy? Why would he even want to? It wasn't his problem that Malfoy's dad was rotten to the core, and most likely criminally insane. It served the little toad right, after everything he'd said about Harry's family over the years. Now he would know what it felt like to be alone in the world.

Suddenly, an image flashed into Harry's head. Himself, at the age of eight, trailing after Dudley to the school gates at hometime, looking down at his shoes that didn't fit right and were falling apart, and thinking about the day. They had had a special project day, and each child had spent the whole day building a model of a windmill, with sails that really turned. Dudley's windmill was misshapen, and the sails caught on the frame. Harry's was broken into pieces in his bag, after Dudley had taken offence to its smooth operation. All around him, he heard the shouts of his excited classmates as they showed their parents what they had made, but when he looked up, he saw that the Dursleys had already set off towards the car, not bothering to wait for him to arrive at the gate. That wasn't unusual in itself -- it happened most days, for Harry was never as eager as his peers to reach the school gate and freedom -- but for some reason, the combination of circumstances drove a sudden spike of loneliness through Harry's guts that made him catch his breath. He dragged the wreckage of his windmill from his satchel and stared at it for a long moment. Then he cast it aside, drew a deep breath, and followed the Dursleys to their car.

"Oy, Harry," Ron said, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Wake up! Who d'you want to partner with?"

Harry looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. Hardly able to believe what he was doing, he rose to his feet and walked towards the back of the room, leaving Ron and Hermione staring after him in surprise.

Malfoy was sitting staring at the surface of his desk. He had no partner. Harry dropped the heavy Portkey Creation textbook onto the splintered wooden surface of the desk with a heavy thud; Malfoy looked up, his expression changing from startled to annoyed.

"What do you want?" he asked, his lips curling automatically.

"I want..." Harry paused, then drew a deep breath. "I want to be your partner for the project."

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. After a moment, he shook his head. "Very funny. Now fuck off."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Harry asked. He sat down in the chair next to Malfoy, and saw Ron staring back at him and mouthing something furiously.

"Go away, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Everyone got partners? Good," Madam Hooch called from the front of the class. "I'll discuss the project at the end of the lesson. Now, quills at the ready, please."

And Harry bent his head over his parchment, and tried to ignore the stares that were coming from every corner of the classroom, and not least from Malfoy himself.

"I just do not get it," Ron said, for the millionth time. Harry looked up from his homework once more, and sighed.

"Look, can we just drop it?" he said. "I'd really rather not be reminded of it."

"But you're going to be," Ron said, shaking his head incredulously. "You're going to be reminded of it every bloody time we have Magical Transportation. You do realise you're going to have to sit next to him every week, don't you? And talk to him?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course he realises, Ron. Harry's not stupid. And, just so you know, I think it was a very noble gesture."

Harry closed his eyes. It was bad enough having Ron go on and on, without Hermione talking about nobility. "Look," he said, through gritted teeth, "I was just trying to do what Professor Lupin said."

"Yeah," Ron said, frowning. "But I just don't get it."

Harry was saved from having to reply by the appearance of the subject of their conversation in the room. Malfoy strode in through the portrait hole and headed straight for the stairs to the dormitory, as he did every night. Harry rose to his feet.

"Malfoy," he said.

"Fuck off, Potter," Malfoy said, without slowing his pace. Harry grabbed him by the arm.

"Hey," he said, then realised he didn't know what else to say.

Malfoy glared at him. "What do you want from me?" he hissed. "What kind of game are you playing?"

Harry forced himself to breathe slowly. "I just want... I just want... I feel bad..."

Malfoy's face twisted in anger. "Oh, so that's it, is it?" he said, his voice still pitched low, but taut with anger. "You feel sorry for me. You're trying to be noble. Well let me tell you this, Potter," he leaned forward so that he was speaking right into Harry's ear. "I don't need your pity." He ripped his arm out of Harry's grasp and stormed off towards the stairs.

Harry shook his head. I tried, Professor, he thought. But Malfoy had stopped and turned at the foot of the spiral staircase.

"Potter," he called back across the common room, and Harry looked up. "If you really want to help me, find out how they did it." His eyes narrowed with anger. "Get them expelled, and then I can get out of this nest of bloody self-righteous do-gooders."

And with that, he whirled, and disappeared up the stairs.