Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

"For the rest of the week," Professor McGonagall was saying as Harry came down the next morning, brushing his hair out of his eyes, "you are all given permission to do as you like." From the expression on her face, the professor in no way liked saying those words. Her lips pinched together and her brows lowered themselves almost to cover her eyes. Fred and George, high-fiving each other with giant grins, did nothing to help her mood.

Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs, curiously watching the whole of Hogwarts interact in a space about half the size of the Great Hall. Even crowded together early Sunday morning after a night of partying, the students were mostly cheerful, all grins and jokes around the room.

A group of them noisily came downstairs behind him, laughing and messing around carelessly, not even seeing him. They shoved him against the stairway banister as they passed, and Harry quickly got out of the way. The room became even louder--nauseatingly so--as more people woke up and headed downstairs.

Harry pushed himself against the banister, face pale and wishing he could just leave, but a quick glance towards the room's exit showed the Head Boy and Girl standing guard, turning away any student who came close. If they hadn't been standing guard, he'd already be gone. A week like this was beyond imagination.

Wind-quick, an image of a dark stag trampling its way to the outside came to his mind, recalled there by his longing to be free, but just as quickly Harry banished the thought. McGonagall, during the week last, had remarked how Harry might (with years and years of practice) just maybe become an animagus. Considering her condescending tone, Harry wasn't in the mood to prove her wrong.

McGonagall turned on the twins, an accusing finger out and pointing. "You, however, won't be going anywhere." Fred and George stopped grinning, and she turned on all the seventh years. "That means all of you. No one who's planning on entering in the Tournament will be allowed to leave the school. We don't want to take the chance of one of you getting lost in France--lost, or hurt, or heaven knows what else--just when you're chosen to be champion. In the meantime, I expect you to take the time brushing up on your skills. For whoever is chosen, there will be no outside help." She raised an eyebrow at the round of groans her little speech caused, but as some of the younger students started to snicker McGonagall turned on them, slapping down a list of restrictions to their "freedom."

The door to the mini-hotel Hogwarts was staying at opened, offering Harry a tantalizing view of green grass and blue skies before a file of professors walked in, blocking him off. Harry grimaced and looked down from his position by the stairs, watching as the professors headed towards McGonagall, Dumbledore leading. His eyes jerked back to the closed door wishfully.

'I got to get out of here,' he thought wildly, and the body of students started pressing around him as if silently mocking him. His head bounced off the banister, and with a low curse Harry, glaring at the clueless students, started back upstairs. Dumbledore, late the night last, had conjured up hundreds of sleeping bags for every student, and Harry planned to simply wait out the crowd.

His plans were denied as another stream of teenagers came looping down the stairs, forcing him into the great crowd of people.

Harry felt like he was suffocating. Elbows jabbed at him, feet tried to trip him, and everywhere was noise as students loudly settled plans on touring the country. Paling, Harry stabbed back with his own elbows and finally emerged from the mass on the other side of the room. Those he had elbowed glared at him, but were the first to look away when he glared back.

"Hey, Harry!" From the crowd, Ron emerged with a smile and wave. The redhead paused before reaching Harry, however, and with a quick look around, yelled, "Be right back" before he jumped back into the body of people.

Harry shook his head. Why anyone would willingly enter a mob like that was beyond him. He scooted against the wall, inching beyond the mass of student arms and legs towards the door, thinking of a plan to get by the Head Boy.

Before he got far, Ron reappeared, pulling a disgruntled Hermione behind him. Spotting Harry, the Gryffindor waved again and pushed him and Hermione a way to reach Harry.

Seeing them made him want to bolt. Being stuck in a crowd with no way out wasn't putting him in the mood for pleasant conversation.

Something must have shown on his face, because Hermione's greeting smile pulled down into a worried frown. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he bit out, then swallowed as the body of students started pressing against him again. Being around so many people after a lifetime of solitude was creating a sort of claustrophobia for Harry; he felt like he was going to be pulled under and trampled. Almost angrily, he pushed a girl who was too close away, trying to reclaim some space.

"Hey!" The girl disappeared.

Ron's grin widened as if he saw something funny. "Not a people person?" he joked, then frowned when Dumbledore's voice filled the room. "Finally," the redhead muttered. "They won't let us leave. Something about an important thing Dumbledore's going to tell us." He touched Hermione's arm. "Let's get closer."

Hermione nodded and motioned for Harry to follow, but he shook his head. "I'm fine here," Harry lied, backing up against the wall. Hermione watched him, puzzled, then shrugged and pushed forward with Ron.

Alone again (save for the pressing mob of students) Harry inched back to the door. It was only a few dozen meters ahead of him, and everyone was too busy listening to Dumbledore to notice Harry shoving by. Even, Harry noted with relief, even the Head Boy and Girl had left their post by the door in favor of hearing the headmaster's message. Their desertion was being taken advantage of. Several others students probably feeling as Harry did about crowds were sneaking through the doorway. One was Draco Malfoy, and a small group of Slytherins.

Harry wasn't really listening to Dumbledore, instead just letting the man's voice was over his ears, but one second everyone was dead quiet and the next the room was deafened by cheers. Harry flinched in surprise as one teen beside him started screaming, an arm in the air waving enthusiastically, and in that moment he ran into Ron and Hermione.

Hermione was nearly squealing with delight. Grabbing Ron's arms, she breathlessly said, "Can you believe it? This is going to be so exciting!"

Ron's grin nearly split his face in two, and he was nodding just as excitedly. Seeing Harry, Ron asked, "What do you think, Harry? Bet you can't wait. You'll be on the team for sure!"

Harry's eyebrows lowered in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

His question was lost as the crowd jumped into full frenzy, nearly barreling each other over in their haste to get to the door. The Head Boy and Girl had opened the doors wide, letting out a flood of students that grabbed Harry and dragged him along outside.

Harry's hand struck to his pocket like lightening, flashing out his wand. Instinctively, Harry threw out a curse, petrifying whoever had grabbed and pulled him outside, but the overall wave of students kept pushing him along. There were too many of them! Someone shoved him and Harry knocked the student unconscious without a thought. Two others went down, cursed with more potent spells that simply dripped into Harry's mind. Just as others were beginning to notice, Harry saw a way out of the crowd and fled.

He dropped out of the crowd, nearly rolling to clear space, then slipped around the corner of the Hogwarts hotel building. His breath sounded loud in his ears, a dull roaring of blood pumping into his head. He had nearly been trampled! Sighing with relief, Harry pocketed his wand and slid to the ground, shaking slightly. Nothing like that had ever happened before.

Burying his head in his hands, Harry suddenly groaned as he realized what he'd done. Four spells. Someone was bound to notice. The petrifying and stunning spells were rudimentary, no cause of real suspicion, but the last two...those he had learned studying by himself, complex stunning spells that knocked a wizard down and kept him too dizzy to remember much for a period of time. What normal student would know that?

Harry inhaled, then leaned back against the building wall, eyes closed as he wondered exactly how much trouble he would get in. Alone, he recalled with some amusement the thousands of tales his father had told about midnight detentions, and concluded that if physically shining some rusty armor was all the price he'd have to pay then he'd have nothing really to worry about.

Around the corner of the building, the sounds of students started calming down, and with his eyes still closed and a small smile, Harry heard Professor McGonagall quickly inspect the fallen students and say that the four must have fallen and been trampled. Perhaps he'd get in no trouble whatsoever.

"They're like animals!" McGonagall steamed, her voice carrying her anger.

There was some scuffling, then Harry's eyes widened as he heard the headmaster say, "Minerva, these students weren't simply run over. Look at this one."

McGonagall gasped loudly, and in a quiet whisper Harry heard her say, "Stunned? Why?"

A dry voice replied, "Probably just a little fight between the houses. Cooped up in a space like this, the students are thinking they can get away with anything."

Harry shuddered, eyes snapping open. That was the Defense teacher, ex-Auror Moody. While the professors continued talking, Harry rolled to his feet and quietly walked around the back of the building, losing the sound of the conversation as he got further away. He did hear McGonagall snort and ask how was the "whole game going to work if none of the students worked together," to which Dumbledore calmly answered that he was sure the students could put away house rivalries for a week at least. Understanding none of it, Harry ignored them and headed towards the largest building on campus.

The magical school of Hogwarts had been a castle with all its classes and rooms situated on different floors. Beauxbatons, however, was much more modern: each of the major classes (Defense, Potions, whatnot) had its own building. The school campus was a lazily placed collection of huge white buildings connected to each other by dirt paths and separated by small streams. The largest of the buildings, Harry learned as he entered, was something similar to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but also had a library as an upstairs floor.

All the students, or most of them, were gathered inside this version of the Great Hall, and all were already eating breakfast.

A small group of Spanish speakers strolled by, eyeing but then dismissing him. Going the opposite way was a group of French students who watched the whole assembly with wide eyes. Likely, Harry thought to himself as he wandered along the rows, the French students were awed by the thousands of invaders to their school.

Hogwarts ate together in one corner of the room, busting with loud English. Harry paused, watching them eat. Here were the twins, there was Malfoy, and over to the side sat Hermione and Ron. Even as a school sitting together surrounded by strangers, Hogwarts had strangely divided up on itself so that each house sat together. Hufflepuffs crowded the middle of the table, Ravenclaw next to them and the other two houses sitting on far sides of the benches. Shaking his head, Harry leaned back against a wall and quietly watched the rest of the schools. Here and there, he could pick out similar divisions but altogether the other schools had banded together with no obvious distinctions.

'Maybe I just don't see them,' he quietly wondered, then grabbed an orange from one table and left. 'Maybe.'

As he headed towards the door, he was again caught up in a crowd, this time a crowd of a foreign school. It seemed like the school had eaten as quickly as possible, practically inhaling their breakfast, and he passed just as they finished. Instinct rose again, but Harry forced himself to stay calm as he was dragged outside and down a path with the hundreds of others.

He didn't understand the language, but unlike the Hogwarts mob, this crowd wasn't the least bit hostile. Everyone strolled along at a comfortable pace towards a great empty field in the distance, and everyone had a broom. It felt calm, and Harry felt calm in it. No one noticed him, a stranger in their midst, and he gladly drank in the anonymity. Things were almost normal, with him getting no attention.

When everyone stopped in the field, all conversation pausing in a moment of tension, Harry realized that all the brooms were going to be put to good use.

The students lined up almost as if at a silent signal, and as one they took off into the air. Harry was left alone on the ground, but only for a moment. Almost as soon as some students flew up, they landed with a slightly unwell expression on their faces. No one noticed him still on the ground.

Several dozens stayed in the air, flying around with obvious skill. They likely were members of the school's multiple Quidditch teams, Harry reflected. One guy zoomed up to what Harry imagined was the broom's height limit, them simply dropped. The dive was breathtaking, perfectly executed. As his broom gained speed, falling fast as a star, the boy eased up any wind fraction by gripping his robes tighter. However, as Harry watched, he noticed the guy's face crumbled up in fear.

"Unbelievable," he murmured to himself in disgust, no longer watching the flyer in awe. "To be afraid when the world is beneath you..." His fingers itched to try a dive, his body ached to be in the air--not to show off, but to reacquaint himself with the weightless feeling of the air and the sensation of falling forever.

'Indeed.' The dry thought echoed in his head, stopping him short. It was the same voice that had bothered him with Sirius. It hadn't been his thought.

The students all flew gracefully, if a little fearful of their personal limits. Each probably had unsettled stomachs, especially after flying after a meal and in the chill morning air. Harry glanced up at the just-risen sun, estimating the time to be only about eight. To be up flying this early had to be wonderful. The air itself seemed to clear up just to show off the heavens.

Whatever the reason the school had for this early practice session, Harry had no reason to complain. He sat down in the grass among the hundreds of other students who had stopped flying and simply watched. He could quickly pick out the better flyers--in fact, as he thought about it and watched the other students, he realized that that was the point of the whole exercise: to pick out the best. The whole picture was like a crowd gathered around a circus's star performers. Each flyer was trying to outdo all his or her competition by trying mindless stunts, and in response the watching students would occasionally "Ohh," pointing out a particular student.

Of the group still flying, one or two would sometimes flutter to the ground, looking back to those still flying enviously as they joined the spectators. There was some unseen mean of cutting down the competition going on, and it puzzled Harry.

At last, the only people flying was a group of seven, all showing off the greatest ability of certain talents. Together, they formed a formidable Quidditch team, and after everything Harry was left wondering if this little ceremony was really just a traditional thing to pick out the school's star players. 'But what's the purpose of that?' he thought, puzzling over the question. 'What's the purpose of a single school team? Who would be the competition?'

Suddenly, someone jabbed him. A little girl, no older than thirteen, blushed red to her roots and stammered out an apology. Harry smiled softly, dipped his head forward, and then went back to watching. The girl, however, kept talking to him in an anxious tone, obviously firing off a round of questions at him. Since he didn't understand a word, all Harry could do was shake his head.

It was the wrong reaction. The girl, not understanding what he was trying to say, started talking louder, probably asking him why he wasn't answering, and her voice drew the attention of more students. He, not being a student of the school, was recognized by no one, and soon there was a small group surrounding him, shooting off question after question in a foreign tongue. Overwhelmed, Harry raised his hands. "I don't understand what you're saying," he simply stated.

His words--or, more specifically, his language--was like a trigger. The students around him paused, shocked into momentarily silence, then they started yelling. Not questions anymore, no, they sounded like accusations.

Perplexed, Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he tried again, but the students only got red in the face. More faces turned his way, and that feeling of being trampled came back. Harry blinked, looking around as faces turned hostile. He didn't understand. Was this a secret ceremony? Slowly, to the sound of rather vile-sounding phrases, Harry rolled to his feet.

As Harry stood, one of the boys sauntered up, darkly spitting words in his face, and Harry frowned. Secret ceremony or not, he wasn't about to just let someone insult him. With deliberate slowness, Harry straightened his robes, wiping off grass, and all the while staring the boy back in the eyes. Out of the corner of his vision, Harry witness one of the students walking towards him, and his hand silently pulled out his wand, pushing the stick up his sleeve and out of sight. Carefully watching the mob, Harry began to back up towards the path. The feeling of leaving his back exposed was sending a dull roar to his ears, but Harry forced his steps to be calm.

So much for that escape.

He looked back after going a decent distance to see most of the teens huddled, a few probably still jeering at his back. No one was in the air. Pity. It had been a nice show while it lasted.

Shrugging off thoughts of the school, Harry headed back towards the Great Hall to see if anyone was still there, but it seemed like time had flown as fast as a snitch. It was over an hour since he'd left. Wearily, Harry leaned against the Great Hall's wall, looking around and wondering what he could be doing. Of all the things Harry hated most, inactivity was at the top of his list behind Aurors and Death Eater traitors. Sighing, Harry resignedly turned back into the Great Hall and headed up the stairs to the library. If there was nothing else to do, he could just find something to read.

*

"Man!" Ron stretched, gangly arms reaching high enough to touch the ceiling. Hermione rolled her eyes, but, seeing an irresistible opportunity, snaked her hand forward to tickle his midriff. He yelped, arms falling down like bullets. "Hermione!"

"You're stomach was showing," she replied dryly, hiding a smile. "I was just trying to pull down your shirt."

"Right." He winked at her. "You're just making sure no one else sees what's yours."

Snorting, Hermione shook her head. "Who'd else want that?" she joked, but cautiously. Sometimes, Ron seemed to lose all self-confidence so anytime they joked around she had to make sure he knew she meant nothing serious.

Luckily, Ron grinned, catching onto her humor. "Want to take a poll?" he offered. "Go around to all the girls and ask if they'd want to spend a couple hours with the Ron Weasley and you'll see how much competition you got real quick."

"None, right?" Hermione shot back, smiling. "Besides, they all know that you're mine, and they better remember."

Ron only shook his head, grabbing her hand to start forward. They'd fallen behind their group some. Probably, Hermione thought, the group had sped up to escape the goggling romantics. It was about lunchtime, and everyone, while enjoying sightseeing immensely, had agreed to come back to Beauxbatons to eat instead of coughing up the Galleons.

They caught up in time to see Ginny point out another group in the distance. "Look," Ron's little sister commented, "isn't that George and Fred?"

Colin shadowed his eyes with a hand and nodded. "And Lee. Looks like they're practicing their dueling skills."

"Let's go watch," Hermione suggested eagerly. "Maybe we'll catch a spell."

"What spell would they know that you don't?" Seamus asked, but altogether the group of ten headed off towards the seventh years. Actually, Hermione checked that thought; off to the side, Lavender and Parvati formed really their own group. Most of them were fifth years, but Ginny and a couple of her friends had come along. Everyone, Hermione thought fiercely, was a Gryffindor here.

Watching the twins duel was always awesome. The two seemed to sense each other's moves, sometimes even using the same attack at the same time. They made a duel a mix between serious spells, like the disarming spell or stunning charm, and jokes. Fred would sidestep getting disarm and would retaliate with a tickling charm that George would barely dodge. Against one another, the twins were locked to a standstill with neither gaining or losing much ground, but together against any opponent Hermione had to admit that they might form one of the greatest dueler-pairs of the century.

Unfortunately, Lee was finding that out the hard way.

"Two against one isn't fair odds!" the announcer objected, getting only the twins' laughter in response and being forced to nearly drop to the ground as a slug charm skimmed the air.

"Yea, but you agreed to it," Fred pointed out, sending out another tickling charm. Lee reflected it, but his hastily-erected shield shattered when George attacked with a confusing spell. The spell nearly got Lee at that.

"Besides," George continued the thought as if it were his own, "next round you team up with Fred. It's not fair right now, but we're all taking turns."

"Somehow, I don't think being double-teamed is going to help me much," Lee muttered under his breath, but surprisingly one of his spells got through the twins' defense. A bright light blinded George, who yelped and blindly dodged Lee's follow-up attack.

The spells became more complicated as it became a regular duel. George recovered but sat out, then motioned to Ron when he noticed their group. "Hey!" the twin greeted with a grin, wiping at large tears. "How's Paris?"

"Beautiful," Ginny gushed, rapping out details with astounding accuracy.

Hermione smiled with a little nod then went back to watching the duel. Her attention only returned when she caught onto the edge of the conversation. Looking at George, she asked, "What was that?"

"Huh?" George blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, just saying that you guys left Harry in a huff."

"We couldn't find the little bugger," Ron replied tensely. "You think he doesn't want to hang out with us or something."

"Well, he was in the library not too long ago. We went in there to check out a Defense book. It's always good to know more, especially if we get picked for this," and he jerked a thumb to the dueling teens.

Ginny had sat down on the grass along with Neville and Colin, all three talking away like they hadn't a care in the world. Hermione envied them that. Right now, she was a little more worried about Harry.

Dean watched Fred, then looked over to Seamus. "I bet I could best you at a duel," he boasted, bringing his wand out to saluting position.

"You think?" Seamus shook his head, but also assumed a dueling position. "You can't last five minutes."

"Nothing below the belt," Dean warned cautiously, and Seamus laughed. Dean used the opportunity to get out a color-changing charm, and a pink Seamus cursed aloud, sending back a magical retort.

"Color hits?" Seamus offered to a steaming orange Dean, who agreed.

George cracked a grin at them. "Kids." When one of their spells came too close, though, his smile faded. "Hey! Back off! I don't want to be blue today."

Hermione watched them duel for a minute, then looked back to Fred and Lee whose spells were now bordering on the edge of her knowledge. She felt like she could just watch them all day, and Ron picked up some of that as he nudged her and leaned in close to say, "Just remember that you're my girlfriend, even if I'm not too smart."

Hermione fought a grin as she nudged him back. "I know that," she declared in a whisper, "but you had better remember that you're my boyfriend, and I don't date idiots." There. Let him figure that one out.

Ron grinned lazily, getting what she was saying.

George, oblivious to the wonderful mood he was breaking into, loudly asked Ron's opinion on Dumbledore's little announcement. "It's going to be bloody great," the twin announced. "All the schools going against each other in a Quidditch tournament?"

Hermione almost sighed when Ron turned around and nodded, but instead decided to lean against his shoulder. He put up with her little obsessions; she had to be able to put up with his. 'Well,' she thought rebelliously, 'I did go to all his Quidditch matches.'

"Who do you thinks going to be in our school team?" Ron asked enthusiastically.

George shrugged. "Don't know. Could be that one of the kids who never plays is really a star. That's why we get the field at four. Everyone gets a chance to show off." He looked up towards the sky, then glanced over to where Hermione expected the Quidditch pitch was. "But we only get an hour."

"You don't think that's enough time?" Hermione asked, drawn into the conversation. She knew enough about Quidditch to follow Ron's bizarre conversations, and real Quidditch practices only took an hour's time.

George shook his head. "Let's put it this way. The Swedes had the pitch all morning, and by the time their hour was up they were making up excuses to keep practicing."

Ron grinned. "Excuses?"

"Something about another school sending down a student to spy on them, and because of that they need at least an hour to change their strategy."

Hermione smiled at Ron's face, then laughed aloud when that face suddenly turned orange. George blinked, then cracked a grin.

"Sorry!" Dean called out.

"Oh, you'll be sorry!" Ron started, standing up.

Hermione grabbed his waist. "Stay here," she ordered. "I'm using you as a support."

"But Hermione..." He looked longingly towards Dean and Seamus, then sighed and sat back down. "All right, but change me back."

She grinned. "What if I don't want to?" she teased, tugging on a hair strand. "You look pretty good orange."

"If you like it so much, you go orange."

"Oy, you might want to change him back quick, Hermione," George suddenly cautioned, standing up as he said so. His face had lost its grin, looking pointedly to the path heading back to Beauxbatons. He sighed and looked over to where his twin was dueling. "I've got to start dueling in a minute, but I'll be watching in case anything gets out of control."

Impulsively, Hermione removed the charm then looked over to see the Slytherin group returning for lunch, headed by Draco Malfoy. She frowned. Malfoy took every opportunity possible to make Ron's life miserable, but for the most part the Slytherin held himself apart. Now, he was heading straight towards them, entourage and all. "I'm really not in the mood to deal with him," she muttered beneath her breath, and Ron squeezed her hand before standing to meet the Slytherin. George gave the two of them a last look then reluctantly moved off to where Fred and Lee had paused and were obviously waiting.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron questioned calmly as if the question really didn't matter, as if he was only the slightest bit curious. "I really don't need you and yours hanging around here. Harmful for the environment and all."

Malfoy looked around as if searching for something then grunted and stared back at Ron with a sneer. "You're flattering yourself if you think I've come here for you," he shot back chillingly. "I was just wondering where that Potter was off to. I guess he got some common sense and skipped out on you once and for all." Two of his group, boys as large as small mountains, snickered.

"Maybe," Ron allowed, still calm. "Or maybe he just left to grab some food for the rest of us."

Malfoy actually blinked, one of the few times Hermione ever saw the Slytherin close to being unsettled. "Getting your food?" he repeated incredulously. "You've reduced him to a servant?" For some reason, Malfoy let out a biting laughter, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Hermione could see the tips of Ron's ears becoming red. That was his worse problem, and Malfoy knew it. Ron couldn't stand to be laughed at, and whenever he was, he lost his temper. Taking a deep breath, she stood up next to Ron and glared at Malfoy. "Did you want something?"

"Oh, it's the mudblood," one of Malfoy's girls teased, seeing Hermione stand.

Malfoy smiled lazily, eyes narrowing. "Need the mudblood to stand up for you, Weasley?"

"Watch your mouth," Ron snapped, swallowing.

"Five points from Slytherin," Hermione coolly added. At the Slytherin's look, she raised an eyebrow and reminded, "I am still a Prefect, Malfoy, or have you forgotten?"

Malfoy frowned, giving the place another look around. "How could I?" he finally answered, voice low and dark. "It's an insult to Hogwarts' dignity."

He turned around so she couldn't glare at him and made a motion to the group following him. "As loath as I am to stay in your company, and believe me I am, I'm going to have to stay around until Potter shows up." His eyes flashed with something she couldn't place. "I have some things to discuss with him."

Ron shook his head, calming down again--Hermione could have whooped for joy at the determination in his face. "Harry isn't here, Malfoy," the fifth year informed firmly. "He didn't come with us this morning. Go look for him yourself if you need to talk."

"And what are you going to do?" Malfoy asked with sickening curiosity. "Bore me to death? Don't make me laugh. I'm not leaving until Potter gets here."

"He isn't here," Ron repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, "and as loathe as you are to stay here, no one wants you here. I suggest you leave before I make you."

Warning sirens were going off in her head, and she turned to Ron. "Ron, don't!"

Malfoy actually laughed, but his wand suddenly was out and pointing. Face tilted forward, the Slytherin dared Ron to make him leave. When Ron didn't reply, Malfoy taunted, "Scared, Weasley? Does all that Gryffindor courage only count when it comes to talking?"

Ron's wand was out as well. Hermione's little burst of joy at seeing Ron control his temper was popped. It seemed that Ron's temper was as little controllable as ever. Crossly, she stepped between them, facing Ron. "Stop it," she ordered, voice a little shaky. Wands out? How did it come to actual spells? "Just leave him be, Ron. Let's go get something to eat."

Though she wasn't facing him, Hermione could practically see the smirk on Malfoy's face when he said, "So the mudblood comes to fight after all. What do you think?"

For a minute, she thought he had actually been addressing her, but when Hermione turned to speak her mind (and an angry mind at that) she realized that Draco had been talking with that Slytherin girl, Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson sneered, arrogantly fanning herself with one hand as she declared, "That's the only thing that kind is good for: a body count." She put a hand on Malfoy's arm. "Come on, Draco, I'm absolutely done for if I don't get some water."

Malfoy gave her a sort of twisted smile and muttered, "Later. Let's find Potter first." She smiled back. Hermione wanted to vomit.

'At least the whole duel is over,' Hermione thought to herself with some small relief. Malfoy's wand had slipped back into one pocket as he and his... 'Ew!' ... girlfriend talked quietly, walking a bit off thankfully. Hermione's sigh, however, came too soon. She'd forgotten about Ron.

"Hey Malfoy," Ron yelled. "You forgetting something?" Malfoy, of course, turned around just in time to get slapped with Ron's leg locker curse--or would have been, if one of his bodyguards hadn't been standing in the way. Either way, one of the enormous boys went down with a yelp and the whole Slytherin group went down on the offense.

Hermione wanted to slap herself, slap Ron, and then double-slap Malfoy for provoking the whole episode.

Dean and Seamus, who'd evidently been watching everything, were there immediately to back Ron up, and while Ginny and Colin watched in semi-fascination, Neville actually stood to join Ron as well. Hermione looked wistfully towards where the twins and Lee were dueling, but all three were too caught up to do much help and so, resignedly, she took her place beside Ron, wand in the ready position.

Malfoy spared a glance to his fallen friend, then gave a mini-shrug and nodded towards a skinny boy. Blaise Zabini, Hermione thought absently, then threw up a shield at the curse Zabini unleashed.

"What the..." She watched as the sickly green light ran into the shield and split into dozens of little clouds that merely flew around the shield to encircle Neville. "Neville, watch it."

"I know what I'm doing," Neville shouted back, a little nervously, but Hermione quickly realized that the boy was telling the truth. His parents had taught him well; just when the green clouds nearly reached him, Neville conjured up a pink bubble cage that surrounded the clouds.

"What was that?" Ron murmured, blinking at the green swirls.

Hermione bit her lip, then shrugged truthfully. "I have no idea."

His face hardened. "Probably Dark Arts."

"They wouldn't use anything like that here!"

"Let's hope not."

Dean shouted something, jerking Hermione back to the duel. Her shield still held, but she'd forgotten how recently everyone else had learned about the protective magic. Dean's shaky shield had shattered, and Seamus' didn't look like it'd hold much longer. Neville, with that pink bubble cage, was perfectly protected.

"Hey mudblood," Parkinson called out like a master to a dog, "come and get it."

"Don't call me that!" Hermione glared at the girl.

Parkinson didn't verbally respond. Instead, glaring, Hermione found herself about to get a face full of some bright yellow light. It was the same spell that had gotten through the twins' defense to blind George. Quickly, Hermione loosed her defensive shield and dropped, eyes closed tight. When she'd watched George, she'd seen how the spell burned on contact with the shield to release its blinding light. Hopefully, her idea was right and she'd dropped her defenses for a good reason.

The spell's ball of light rather harmlessly shot by her head and into the sky, leaving Hermione silently congratulating herself. She got to her feet, a shield conjured up again, and threw a petrifying curse at Parkinson, hitting the girl square in the chest. Another pat on the back.

While the Slytherin went down, Hermione looked around with some satisfaction. Her Gryffindors were holding their own. The other giant boy had fallen, that Zabini boy was cornered by Dean and Neville, and the three others had been stunned or were shaking their heads in dizzied disarmament. The only real battle still going on was between Malfoy and Ron.

She stepped forward to help.

Ron was losing quickly, and Hermione was forced to admit that if Draco wasn't using the Dark Arts, then he was sure using some complicated spells. She couldn't even identify half of the things he threw at Ron, most of which were deflected by her forgotten shield around her boyfriend. Ron sent out a petrifying spell and missed, but dodged Malfoy's bar of light.

When she got close enough to hear, Malfoy was saying, "...you're a Pureblood. Where's your dignity?"

"I still have enough. Where's yours? I'm guessing your family's income took a hit five years ago."

'Ron,' Hermione silently pleaded, 'please don't go there.'

"Explain yourself, Weasley," Malfoy demanded coldly.

"Don't think I really have to. Everyone knows the Malfoys were one of You-Know-Who's greatest supporters-"

"So scared that even after five years, you can't say his name?" The Slytherin's face was expressionless, which made his words all the more frightening. "What's the matter? Scared He might come back?"

"Of course not." Ron's voice was tight enough that Hermione could tell his words for a lie. "You should be, though. If e ever did come back, I'm sure he wouldn't' be too happy at how easily you guys cut all ties-"

"More accusations? My family is clear of any charges. Say more at your dare."

Ron's eyes were narrowed like they got when he was really mad, and Hermione just knew that the next words out of his mouth were going to be something everyone would regret. "Death Eater," her boyfriend hissed, quietly so that only she and Malfoy could hear.

The words nearly tripped the Slytherin, but then Malfoy inhaled sharply, eyes dark with rage. "Say it again," the boy dared, but when Ron opened his mouth to comply, Malfoy's wand spewed forth a spell of black light at its end, waiting to be released.

"Ron! Watch out!" Hermione screamed. Ron, of course, didn't move. If she'd not been so focused on him, Hermione might have realized that Ron wasn't moving because he was looking at something beyond Malfoy, or she might have realized that whatever spell Malfoy was about to say had stopped, the black light swallowed up again by the wand.

"And what is going on here?"

The strange voice felled Hermione, and she would have tripped in surprise if Ron hadn't caught her. Turning, she saw an older version of Malfoy, older and more vicious. Malfoy Senior, she realized belatedly. 'What's he doing here?'

The older Malfoy wasn't alone. Behind him in a short file, about a dozen wizards and witches in official-looking robes were all watching on in interest. The patches on their sleeves made her understand... They were the school Governing Board.

Malfoy Junior adopted an almost docile position, looking up emotionlessly towards his father. "Nothing, of course," came the answer in a truthful tone. "It's just that those seventh years are practicing dueling, and these Gryffindors wanted to try it out as well." The Slytherin smiled slyly. "My friends and I didn't want to fight. We'd just gotten back from Paris, heading to lunch actually, when these Gryffindors attacked us. Goyle didn't even realize it until he went down."

Malfoy Senior made a deep noise in the back of his throat, examining his son, then sweeping his gaze over the rest of the students there as if daring them to deny the account. Hermione cleared her throat, about to protest, when the wizard looked at her and then she simply withered. She had the courage of Gryffindor behind her, but that wizard's look promised extreme revenge if she spoke, and she didn't want to test it.

"Well, I don't think anything wrong's going on," one of the witches declared cheerfully, grinning at all the students cheekily. "I remembered my days as a student. Ah, so long ago. Then, you know, dueling was not only legal, it was promoted. We had exceptional duelists in my age, if I may say so."

"Indeed?" Malfoy Senior raised his glance to give the witch an empty smile, then motioned for the governors to move on. "Why don't you continue? I would like to speak to my son for a moment. I'm sure Madam Maxine," Hermione noted the quick mocking sneer on the wizard's face, there and then gone, "has already provided rooms for our stay."

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Another witch asked as the group moved on, not exactly rushing forward but moving with a quickness that Hermione suspected came from a desire not to displease Malfoy. "That we were offered a stay during the first week."

"I'd say that we weren't the only ones," a wizard replied, and then the group went out of earshot.

Hermione turned to look at the damage and was surprised to see that not only were all the Slytherins back on the feet, but they were already moving away lead by Malfoy's father. All her Gryffindors, of course, had been left with many hurts taken during the fight.

"Let's get to the hospital wing," she murmured wearily. "I could use a Pepper-Up Potion."

"I second that," Fred replied tiredly, coming up with George and Lee, all three yawning. He shook his head. "This dueling isn't the best of things."

Lee was looking around in confusion. "What happened here?"

"Seamus and Dean were dueling and things kind of got out of hand," Ron hurriedly explained, the tips of his ears turning red.

Dean, Neville, and Seamus looked back and forth until Hermione pointedly nodded her head, then when all three murmured quiet agreements, Lee merely shrugged and walked off talking about how kids were. Fred laughed, socking Seamus in the shoulder, and George looked at Ron hard before shrugging and hurrying to rejoin the two.

"So..." Seamus elbowed Ron. "Don't want us to go around gloating?"

"Nothing really happened," Ron answered, "so do we really need to tell anyone?" They glanced at each other until Ron added, "If McGonagall finds out we've been fighting, she'll make sure none of us play Quidditch for the rest of the year."

"True," Dean agreed with a grin. "Besides, what's there to tell? We just beat some Slytherin arse!"

Hermione shook her head as the boys gained heart, then realized that Ginny had been the smart one to leave with Colin. All this had happened in the last fifteen minutes, just because they'd come back for lunch? She shook her head again, wondering how long it'd be until they were safe back in Hogwarts.

*

"Humiliating," Lucius Malfoy was muttering to himself, a low growl barely loud enough to be heard as he lead the group of Slytherins towards the dining area.

The students, however, were meant to hear. Draco lowered his head half an inch while Pansy flinched; the others swallowed and allowed themselves to fall a few steps behind the wizards, likely in hopes that the distance would save them from his anger. Draco eyed them distastefully and mentally the word "cowards" echoed in his head.

"Beaten... by Gryffindors..."

Well, that certainly hadn't been the plan, Draco thought rebelliously, though he made sure his face was blank when his father happened to glance backward. 'It isn't as though I walked up to the prats and asked to be attacked, now did I?' he wordlessly shot off to his father, no trace of bitterness marring his expression.

His father led them into the dining area, a circus-like arena. If it were possible, Draco would call the place worse than Hogwarts. The only thing good about the French school was the distance from Hogwarts; even the fabled ice statues were rather lame in Draco's opinion--most of them were shedding watery ice, layering the grounds of the gardens in mud. The room was nearly filled to capacity, and glancing up through the glass flooring of the second-floor library, Draco could see that even there, space was limited. He could see dirtied foot trails destroying what could have been a decent design.

"Absolutely unacceptable," his father finished, turning to glare at the small group. "I will not tolerate such behavior, not while the governors are touring the school." His black stare demolished any thought of rebellion the teenagers might have had, any murmur of protest.

Some of the Slytherins, however, muttered darkly despite the obvious visual warning. Draco eyed them with a sort of aloof curiosity, wondering what such disrespect would gain. Idiots, he called mentally.

'They are slow,' his mother had advised him before he'd even entered his first year at Hogwarts. 'They haven't the education you have.'

Lucius eyed the group, almost as if measuring them, then, to Draco's great disappointment, his father turned away and looked around, meaning to let the Slytherins get away with their presumptions. Draco bit his lip and said nothing.

The time was just about noon, with most of the thousands of students already gathering around for their lunchtime meals. Lucius walked, and this time, only Draco followed. The others took Lucius's obvious hint and left. Father and son marched down the hall's space towards the great tables at the end of the room, where headmasters and governors sat. Few others realized yet that the governors of the many school Boards had arrived, even with those governors sitting at the head of the room. If the students had, the great bubble of excited noise would likely have been squished.

Draco took his seat to his father's right, allowing himself a certain arrogance in looking across the rest of the student population. His and his father's plates appeared at the places they chose, accompanied by a selection of food.

Lucius sniffed, eyebrows lowering as he looked at the food offered. "Disgusting," he murmured to Draco, purposefully crossing his silverware across the plate and sliding the still-full dish away. Draco, who hadn't eaten since breakfast, held back from snatching so much as a bread roll as he followed his father's example. Lucius disdainfully looked over the table before reluctantly picking up a goblet of water, and Draco noted how the governors of Hogwarts who had been eating so happily had started slowing, only picking at their food and finally settled on drinking only the water as Lucius did.

"Tell me," his father started suddenly, and Draco's eyes whipped to Lucius's face only to see that his father was addressing another governor, "are the students always this disrespectful? I would have thought that, seeing how Board is responsible for their education and, in part, for this very occasion, a certain amount of respect would be afforded."

The addressed governor flustered for a moment, then muttered some reply Draco didn't catch. The other governors who'd heard hardened their faces, and some even shot stony looks at the students. Lucius's conversation was quickly passed down the table until Madam Maxine, who Draco recognized from the year before, was told. The giant headmistress's face flushed and she stood, grabbing the room's attention as she stiffly said some words in French. What they were, Draco couldn't care, but instantly most of the students quieted and began to stare at the indignant governors whose prides had been injured.

At the Malfoy Manor, meals were always served in silence, unless talk was absolutely necessary.

Draco smirked at his fellow Hogwarts students when they looked at him, and made a large gesture of taking a sip of water. The Gryffindors had snuck in sometime, and he could pick out spots of red hair at one end of the table. Magnanimously, Draco tipped his head towards the group who'd attacked him outside, and nearly grinned as Weasley went red in the face.

The mudblood, however, whispered something and instead of causing a scene as Draco had hoped, Weasley instead looked away, face turned to the Hogwarts table, searching. Intrigued, Draco looked over the table as well, but whoever the mudblood had noticed missing, Draco couldn't tell.

"Draco, I have been hearing some rumors," Lucius said, seizing Draco's immediate attention again. Draco watched, trying to find any clue in the way his father's face suddenly became void of all expression, in the way his father suddenly looked slightly pale. Lucius took a moment to raise the goblet to his lips, then continued saying, "Rumors about a new student at Hogwarts."

The words were said quietly, and Draco was the only one who heard despite the stern hush that had fallen along the students. Draco's neck almost snapped back to the Hogwarts table, eyes quickly zooming across the many students there in search of one particular boy who should have stuck out in any crowd as one who didn't belong. He eyed one side, then the other of the table, eyes trying to pick out a single face from the masses, and his mind realized that the person he was looking for was the same as Weasley had been.

Lucius had raised an eyebrow at Draco's silence. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts, father, if that's who you're talking about," Draco answered smoothly.

To his surprise, Lucius took another sip of his water before speaking, a sign that the conversation his father was beginning to tread upon was one of some import. Impatiently, Draco waited for an answer.

"Yes, Potter..." Lucius put the glass down, staring into Draco's eyes with an unreadable look on his face. "You certainly... remember everything I've told you about that boy, don't you?"

Draco held back from some biting answer, settling on a quick nod. Who could forget? As a child while the Dark Lord reigned, Draco's father had been given the highest honor of all Death Eaters--Voldemort himself had given Lucius the task of watching over the Dark Lord's interests. Draco had grown up hearing his parents speak about the Potters, had been given intimate facts about all aspects in the family's life. And while Lord Voldemort was truly only interested in some prophesized second son, it had been the first son who had become the Death Eater's prodigy. Harry Potter, growing up with only Death Eaters for company, had become almost a legend among the ranks of Voldemort's army, and when Lord Voldemort had heard of how quickly Potter progressed, he made it so that even seeing the boy was an honor, a special privilege given only to the best of the best.

Draco had grown up with his parents focused on this child prodigy whose own parents taught him Light magic even as Death Eaters taught him Dark. Once, even, his father had smuggled him to a cottage the Potters lived and Draco was given a glimpse of a black haired youth who played tag in the forest. Yes, he knew Harry Potter, likely better than the boy knew himself--or at least, Draco once had.

The thought made him frown slightly, an expression he hid by going for a drink. His father had been drawn into a conversation from a governor, leaving Draco free to his thoughts.

He once knew every aspect of Harry Potter's life, from the boy's strengths to his weaknesses to the plans the Dark Lord had for the future. That, of course, had been five years ago, and in the brief times Draco had talked to him since then, Potter didn't act even one bit like the child he had been. Where was the power that the boy was supposed to radiate by now? Where was the unshaken belief in every Death Eater principle and, along those lines, where was any sign that Potter even knew what a Death Eater knew? This boy that Draco observed seemed, more than anything, an antisocial simpleton. There was some intelligence, sure; but Draco suspected that whatever knowledge Potter possessed, had Potter been any less intelligent he'd not be able to attend Hogwarts.

So, intelligence bordering on average with no personality that Draco could discern... Draco steepled his fingers, leaning his elbows on the table. All those legends he'd heard as a child, all those speculations on the wonder Potter would grow to be... all gone? All proven wrong? The boy had only been ten when Voldemort fell. Was five years time enough to erase Potter's memory of ten years?

There was an Auror living with the Potter brothers, Draco remembered with a sinking feeling. Potter had been, according to Lucius, an easy child to mold. Had ten years of shaping Potter's mind been easily dispelled by a life with an Auror? Sirius Black, the boy's godfather, and there was that Ministry-employed werewolf. Stomach clenching, Draco glanced at his father with a brief feeling of understanding. That must be what Lucius feared, that Potter's potential was undone by the misfortune of being placed under the worst possible guardians. That must be the reason the boy had no personality; anything he might have had before had already been brainwashed away by Ministry garbage.

For a few more minutes while his father detached himself from the conversation, Draco allowed his mind to wander through the multitude of possibilities, wondering what was to be done about the Potter boy. Potter knew too much, and if he remembered anything there could be a danger--what if, the thought popped up, Potter had already told his godfather about a childhood in the midst of Death Eater companions?

"Fools."

Draco nearly jumped when he realized his father was now free to talk, then as Lucius stood Draco noticed that most of the area had already drained out. Lunch must be over. Dully, he stood as well.

Lucius didn't seem to notice his son's distracted motions as they walked from the dining arena. Outside, the sun was burning hot in the sky, burning up the shadows of trees and buildings. A noise caught his attention, and Draco noticed the broom-filled field off in the distance as yet another school flew off for practice.

"The governors have finally decided to begin working," Lucius began, recalling Draco's attention. His father looked as agitated as he always was when dealing with fool bureaucrats. "It will last approximately one hour. I expect in that time that you find the Potter boy."

They had been walking away from the building, passing the clock tower, and Draco was caught so off guard, he almost stumbled. "W-what?"

"Honestly, Draco," Lucius paused to shift his cloak on his shoulders, "did you think I didn't notice the boy's absence? I am not blind, and if I were, that Weasley boy and his little mudblood were making panic enough to draw everyone's attention." His father frowned, an expression of slightest worry. "Potter does not consider them his friends, does he?"

Before Draco could answer (and he truly did not know any real answer), Lucius made a dismissive gesture. "Never mind that. Concern yourself only in finding the boy." Lucius honored him with a slight nod before walking off to join what Draco saw was a growing body of governors. As soon as his father was among them, the wizards and witches began walking further, likely to one of the scattered buildings with a fireplace to conduct long-range meetings.

Draco dragged his feet awhile, then turned to find his companions, planning to simply delegate this responsibility to someone else. After all, if Potter had really lost every potential, Draco could no longer allow himself to even tolerate the boy's presence. Perhaps Blaise could find Potter before the hour was done.

*

"He was there," Draco offered simply after the meeting ended and Lucius had found him waiting outside near the clock tower. "The library. He went up there about an hour after breakfast and hasn't come down since."

Harry liked being outdoors, Lucius remembered with a little wonder. What would the boy be doing inside for hours at a time? "Let's go, then," he ordered, moving to lead.

The area was empty save for the cleaning house-elves, all of whom vanished with a bang once they noticed the wizards. Lucius paid them no attention as he turned up the crystal stairs. The design wasn't too impressive, he noted. There were small, almost invisible cracks every few steps where the repairs hadn't yet erased the near-daily destruction hurrying students caused. In the library, a few scatters of students wandered around, most older and probably those seventh-years preparing for the Tournament.

Draco whispered directions to a corner in the library where, folded neatly in a pretzel, Harry Potter was focused intently on a book in his hands.

He's changed, was Lucius's first thought.

And not for the better.

Harry had been, as a child, very tiny and very delicate. Lucius and the Death Eaters with him constantly worried that the boy would fall off a tree and break something. As a child, Harry had been thinned down from hours of nonstop outdoor activity, always curious, never losing his childish wonder of everything. That wonder was a key element in his easy learning of magic: Harry was curious, and instead of shielding him until he came into what was considered proper age, both his parents and his friends eagerly handed him everything he wanted. There had also been a smile on Harry's face, always, bright and wide. He'd never frowned, he'd never looked angry. Harry had never been unhappy.

At least, Lucius amended to himself, Harry had never been angry until his parents started habitually abandoning him.

Seeing him, seeing the change wrought, nearly made Lucius step back in surprise. Surprise and anger. 'What happened to you, child?' he silently asked, looking over this stranger he'd helped raise to teenhood. 'What did they do to you?'

Now, Harry was still thin and lean, but dangerously so-- and sitting in the chair like that reminded Lucius of a snake, curled and waiting for some agitator to attack. The boy's face was still sun-kissed, but now there was no smile. There was no expression whatsoever.

It was disconcerting, Lucius had to admit, looking at a stranger and seeing traces of a familiar friend in that stranger's face. Absently, Lucius noted that the robes Harry wore were too large, slipping off his bony shoulders. 'What happened to you?' he asked again, angrily.

Harry was sad. A touch more than sad, really, an emotion bordering on serious depression.

It should have been obvious to everyone, Lucius decided. Anyone who had known Harry. When he was happy, his smile was contagious. When he was angry, his anger was hurtful to watch. And when he was sad, he withdrew into himself to the point of being completely separated from everything. 'What happened?'

"He looks stupid," Draco commented bitingly from his side, nearly shocking Lucius. When he turned and stared at his son, Draco shrugged uneasily. "Well, he does, father. How long has he been reading that page? His eyes aren't even focused. He's slouching into the chair, and his hair is everywhere."

Lucius calmly turned to look again at Harry, seeing beyond the simply emotional state to how Harry was physically. Thin, yes, untidy still. Slouching? Perhaps? Unfocused... Lucius narrowed his eyes. Yes, unfocused. "He isn't reading," Lucius determined softly. "Not that book, at least."

"What?" Draco tipped his head to the side, an eyebrow raised.

There it was. Lucius pointed out where Harry's fingers were held slightly above the book's covers, leaving about an inch of space. "He's hidden a book in plain sight," Lucius explained quietly. "I wouldn't doubt that the boy walked into the Forbidden Section and brought a book out to read." He gave Draco a hard look. "Perhaps this will give you a reason to look harder in the future."

It was proof. Reading forbidden books? Lucius watched narrowly as Harry apparently flicked a thumb for no apparent reason, barely catching a flicker of shadow as some invisible page was turned. It was a sign that Harry hadn't been broken. Five years in constant contact with the Ministry and still breaking rules? Harry probably needed only a hand to pull him from his hole before he...

What? Before he what? Replaced the Dark Lord?

The thought didn't seem too absurd. In fact, as Lucius quietly dwelt on it, the idea seemed downright sane. Who else could replace the power vacuum Voldemort left but one born and bathed in Death Eater principles? He looked now at the thinned youth sitting feet away in a corner reading an invisible book. Lucius had been in charge of raising Harry, and he knew Harry's every thought. The boy was like a second son. With only a little more teaching, Harry could likely surpass those twice, even thrice his age. Who better to end his education than the one who began it?

Lucius decided it then. Harry Potter would replace Lord Voldemort, maybe in as little as a year's time. It would be ridiculously easy. It would be enjoyable. And, when Harry rose as the new Dark Lord, Lucius would be there behind him and above him.

Draco was looking too thoughtful. Left alone, his son could work out his plan, so Lucius quietly whispered, "More intelligent than you guessed?"

Draco gave a start, and Lucius watched, the predator working out a plan. "He will be more powerful than you by the year's end, I imagine, if it isn't so already." Of course Harry was. Harry was going to be the most powerful Dark Lord in history.

"Perhaps," Draco allowed after a long moment, voice tight at the surrender.

"If the boy's allowed to continue his company with that mudblood," Lucius murmured as if announcing a thought. He watched Draco tense up at what that possibility could cause.

"It would be disastrous," his son finished slowly, turning to look at Lucius with shrewd understanding.

"But if someone else were to become his... friend..." Lucius straightened and started from the library, leaving Draco behind. His son didn't catch up with him until he'd left the building, and then Draco had a speculative look in his eyes. Lucius didn't say anything for a moment, then he looked up to see that the sun had traveled a bit across the sky.

He was immediately reminded of the many other responsibilities waiting on him, and reluctantly he informed Draco that another meeting with the governors was coming up. "I will be busy even afterwards, enough so that I doubt I will take dinner with you. There will be little time left for me until at least Friday, when the governors are leaving. By then I hope you will find yourself new company." Draco's face darkened quickly before his expression cleared again.

"I hope you have a good time, father," Draco stiffly replied.

Lucius rounded on his son. "Be careful with Potter," he warned. "The boy knows as much as you do in certain areas of magic." Draco looked away sulkily, but Lucius didn't care. A low worry was bothering him. If Draco ruined his plans, turned Harry against him somehow...

A risk to be taken. If Draco succeeded in becoming Harry's friend, the possibilities in that were endless.

"Friday, the anti-apparation barriers will be lifted from the school," Lucius continued calmly. "They will be gone most of the day, as many governors leave at different time. Bring Potter to me. I will be waiting in the clock tower after breakfast. Oh, and Draco," his son had turned to leave and now paused impatiently, "tell your companions that the next time they wish to start a duel, they should do so in an place where there are no witnesses."

*

The middle of the day came and went, and soon Ron was heading towards the giant Quidditch pitch, broom in hand with an excited light in his eyes. Hermione took one sidelong glance and rolled her eyes, turning to whisper into Ginny's ear that either her boyfriend was having the time of his life, of he was going insane.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I heard that," he said nonchalantly, still grinning. He twirled his broom, realizing too late that the wooden handle was too thick to spin easily. The broom did a foppish twirl before swinging downward, forcing the teen to half-lunge and catch it inches from the ground. Going red at the girls' giggles, Ron took the dignified route and pretended that nothing had happened as he securely held the broom under one arm. "Erm..."

"Right." Hermione smiled warmly, looping fingers through his. "That was very slick. Exemplary."

"Nice spin, Ron!" another friend called out from behind. "You meant to drop that broom, right?"

It was almost four, and whichever school had held practices earlier were just beginning to trudge back, faces shining exuberantly. Hermione tried to catch a look at the chosen school team, but the foreign students jealously hid their chosen seven behind a wall of moving bodies. She wasn't the only one trying to get a quick peek; many other Hogwarts students were staring shamelessly at the passing school, loudly talking and pointing and basically making a scene to which this other school bristled at and walked faster.

'First years,' the witch thought irritably, overlooking the fact that the Weasley twins were among the ones making the most fuss.

"Hey," Ron started, "who do you thinks on their team?"

"Not you too!" Hermione rounded on him. "Let's leave all the speculation until Saturday, all right?" Ron gave a half-shrug, a quirky grin suggesting that he thought Hermione was the one getting too riled. She folded her arms across her chest, intent on giving him a piece of her mind, but the Hogwarts crowd pushed her own impatiently and she was forced to keep pace until everyone started slowly arriving at the pitch.

"You think I have a chance?" a younger year asked to no one in particular, sweating thickly. Her neighbor gave her a helpless look and shook a no. Another group passed, whispering softly short phrases of some broom techniques that were certain to be impressive.

"Attention, can I have your attention please?" Hermione turned to see Madam Hooch floating slightly above the ground, hair as eccentrically spiked as always. Magically, her voice was strengthened to gain everyone's attention. "Thank you very much. Now, we only have an hour, so hop to it." She waved a hand for emphasis. "Everyone trying out for the team, brooms up. All else, it's up to you to chose teams."

"That's for me," Ron murmured quietly, mounting his broom. "Wish me luck."

Hermione shook her head. Beside her, Ginny asked, "Do you think he has any chance?"

"As Seeker? Not a chance, at least not with Harry in the air. You saw him fly before we left Hogwarts, right?"

Ginny shook her head reluctantly. "No, I was inside. But I heard he flies brilliantly!"

Nodding wisely, Hermione confirmed that this was the truth. She began to look around. "Except," the girl began hesitantly, "except I don't see Harry anywhere."

"Well, there are a lot of people here," Ginny pointed out lazily, stretching an arm. "You probably won't catch sight of him until he's in the air."

"Right." Still, she kept her search up.

Ginny perked up. "Look, there goes Ron! HEY, RON! Deaf as anything. RON! HELLO? Well, he's flying goodly enough right now, but that Ravenclaw Seeker's better-- RON, YOU BETTER GET-- too late. They've already sent him down."

From the skies of flyers, dribbles of beaten rivals floated down dejectedly and Ron was one of them. His wildly excited look was replaced by mild gloom at being knocked out of the trials, but he still smiled at seeing the two witches. "See Harry yet?" he called down as he landed. "I told everyone to watch out when he starts flying. Think I intimidated one or two-"

"You didn't see Harry?" Hermione blurted out, feeling a little uneasy. "Hooch already said that all flyers needed to be in the air. Do you think he doesn't want to play?"

"Wouldn't know why not. Near everyone would kill to fly like he does."

"If he isn't in the air by now, then he's probably not going to play," Ginny informed them. "Maybe he doesn't like to play Quidditch."

Ron looked flabbergasted. "Why wouldn't he?"

The three thought about this for awhile, Ginny occasionally looking up to judge the participating flyers and Hermione concentrating on when she'd last seen Harry, while Ron merely pondered exactly what Harry's problem was. Not wanting to play Quidditch? Unheard of!

Hermione clicked her fingers. "I've got it! Fred said Harry was in the library, right?"

"George," Ron corrected absently. "Listen, I think that maybe he didn't hear this morning about the competition. Why else wouldn't he have shown up? Harry's got to love Quidditch."

"Geez," Ginny breathed angrily. "They'd better not let those Slytherin beaters play. We'd foul out of the game."

Hermione glared. "Are you two even listening?" She huffed for a moment, then crossed her arms again. "Right then, you two have a good time with your games. I'm going to go see if everything's all right with Harry."

Ron gave her a blank look. "Did you say something?" Ginny blinked once, then her attention was snared by a particularly crude broom maneuver preformed in the air.

Throwing her hands in the air, Hermione stalked off. The Quidditch pitch was some ways away from the school buildings, so by the time she reached the library she'd cooled down enough not to be physically frightening. Opening the doors to the Great Hall, the witch daintily climbed crystal steps to the second-floor library, trying not to look down. There weren't many students inside on this beautiful day, which made her quick search through the library much easier. However, her quick sweep turned up no scarred-forehead Gryffindor hiding behind a pile of books.

Hermione let out a deep breath of frustration and turned to go when she caught sight of a Hogwarts student leaving the library. "Malfoy?" she whispered, wonderingly.

The blond Slytherin, looking just as frustrated as Hermione felt, was storming down the crystal stairs with enough force that, for a moment, Hermione could picture the thin crystal cracking and breaking, taking the whole library down. Shivering at the mental image, she quickly made way to the stairs, pausing to watch where the Slytherin was heading. Malfoy, lips moving with some low mutter, continued his storming out the doors, leaving her free to follow.

She gave the library one last look. Harry wasn't in there, but maybe Malfoy knew something. After all, the Slytherin had been asking after Harry. Malfoy was rarely in any library that Hermione knew of; the Slytherin's purpose here had to be looking for the same person as Hermione.

She slipped down the stairs and was opening the door when she froze, hearing an angry conversation just outside the building:

"Well?"

"... No, we didn't find him."

"Really?" The menace in that voice sent a chill down Hermione's back. "How hard did you look?"

"Draco, we looked everywhere! There was no sign of him."

No question of who "he" was, Hermione decided darkly. The question was now, what did Malfoy want with Harry? She bravely threw open the doors to the building, getting some satisfaction at the dismayed expression on Malfoy's face. The boy he was yelling at, Zabini, froze with a sniveling face. "Well, hello Malfoy," Hermione greeted with insincere warmness, "what are you doing out here?"

Malfoy grimaced, then glared at Zabini, a look that sent the boy scuttling off. The Slytherin arrogantly turned to face her, grimace turned into a sneer. "Granger," he said, "I didn't know you were brave enough to come looking for me alone."

Hermione's fake smile froze. "Bravery's a Gryffindor quality, remember? Just like how all Slytherins are cowards."

"You weren't so brave when you met my father," Malfoy reminded disdainfully, as if she was beneath his notice.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. When the Slytherin turned to walk away, she bit out, "What is it, exactly, that you want to talk about with Harry? I mean, it's not all that usual to see a Slytherin as idiotic as you are wanting to talk with a Gryffindor, especially considering who Harry is."

Malfoy had paused at Harry's name, and when she stopped talking he turned to give her a frigid sneer. "Why on earth would I tell a mudblood like you?" he asked, so simply that his words were like a slap. It was as if he truly and honestly believed that bloodlines determined the person.

But the insult was common and Hermione didn't even blink at it. "I'm looking for him, too," she chanced, unsure but determined to find Harry any way possible. "Really, all I know is that he was in the library earlier, but that was hours ago and he must have left. I was going to check the dormitory, but I assume you already looked there and found nothing. Right now, I'd guess that either he's walking around in the gardens we passed through, or maybe he's just at the Quidditch pitch with everyone else."

Half-turned, the Slytherin seemed to be considering her words with more care than she'd give him credit for. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked after a moment. "I might not even be looking for Potter. I might even know where he is."

"But you don't," said Hermione stormily, "and seeing as how we're both concerned for him, it's best we work together for a while, try to see if both of us can dig up something."

The Slytherin's nose wrinkled up in disgust. "Work with you?" he repeated. "A mudblood?"

Having had enough, Hermione let out a noise in the back of her throat. "Honestly," she declared angrily, "is that all that matters to you? Yes, I'm Muggle-born. Yes, I had no idea any of this magical world existed until five years ago. But that doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I'm... I'm smarter than you Malfoy, I've gotten higher marks than practically every other student." She pointed a finger at him. "Even though I'm Muggle-born, doesn't mean I'm inherently inferior. Besides-"

But Malfoy lifted up his hands in a gesture for silence, and Hermione rather angrily slowed off to a stop. The boy seemed as if he was waiting for something, but after a moment passed, he reluctantly turned to look her in the eye. "What can be so important about Potter that you'd willingly try to work with me in finding him?" he asked, the question drawing from his lips as if painful.

"We all do things we have to, even if we don't want to," Hermione bit back, unable to help the haughtiness in her voice. When Malfoy's face began to freeze over, she added, "Besides, I could ask you the same thing. What do you want with Harry? You certainly haven't tried to be his friend, and unless I missed something, he isn't yours."

"Why don't we leave it at that, Granger," Draco suggested dryly. "We're both looking for Potter, and neither of us want to admit why." Before she could answer, Malfoy fully turned and began to walk away.

Hermione glared angrily, wishing irrationally for one minute that the clock tower would suddenly crumble and hide Malfoy's arrogant face forever, when the Slytherin calmly called back to her, "I did check the dormitories, or had them checked at least. And there's no point in wasting time walking through those gardens. If Potter was there, I'm certain someone would have found him by now."

She felt a mixture of relief and amazement. Malfoy was willing to work together? The mere thought caused her to swallow, suspicions raised, but she hurried to catch up. The last part of his sentence bothered her, and she asked, "Someone? Exactly how many people are looking for Harry?"

The Slytherin shrugged carelessly, directing their path towards the dormitories despite what he's just said about having found no sign of Harry there. "A few of the professors noted his absence. And the Aurors, of course." After a short pause, he admitted, "At least, I suppose they would be. Rumor has it that the Aurors were given a special assignment to watch Potter closely while he was here."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. "I'm sure they weren't too happy about that," she commented sarcastically. The conversation stopped, an awkward pause as the two uncomfortably eyed each other out of the corner of their eyes. She finally cleared her throat. "Well, where are we going to look now?"

Malfoy's forehead furrowed and he stopped walking to stare at her. "Where? Why are you asking me? It seems like I've already done most of your work for you. Time enough for you to begin coming up with ideas where the Potter brother is hiding."

'Great,' Hermione thought darkly. "Um... have you asked any of the professors?"

His rolled eyes did nothing to help her mood. "Of course not," was his sardonic reply. "The thought never crossed my mind. Why in the world would some professor know where a student was?"

"That's not what I meant," Hermione argued vehemently, glare back on. "All I meant was, with all the students touring around France, maybe Harry went with a group that hasn't come back yet. McGonagall would have a list of every Gryffindor traveling around, and so would Dumbledore." At his blank expression, she went on to say, "Did you already ask them?"

"Why would I be speaking to the Head of Gryffindor?" Malfoy shot back, though his tone was a bit weak.

This time, she rolled her eyes. "Do you have to be such a Slytherin?" she demanded huffily, beginning to walk again. "Just because she's the Head of Gryffindor doesn't mean she's biased towards us. If anything, it's the other way around. McGonagall practically lives on disciplining us Gryffindors." She had a quick insight, and carefully threw a look towards the boy beside her. "Which professors would you have spoken to? No one else would have a list of Gryffindors."

Malfoy didn't say anything, his face a cold mask of indignity.

As they walked, Hermione burst out into tickled laughter. "You asked Snape, didn't you!" His face became colder, and Hermione couldn't help raising her eyebrows. "Why would Snape have anything to do with Harry-"

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, voice chilled.

"I'll stop," she answered dryly, eyes twinkling still. Another minute or so passed in silence, her trying not to laugh, when Hermione finally gave in again and said, "So, let's go ask McGonagall about that list. Everyone's still out on the Quidditch pitch, so we might as well head out there."

Without saying a word, Malfoy changed directions, and the brisk walk back to the pitch was spent with no conversation whatsoever. Upon arriving, Hermione sought out McGonagall while Malfoy brooded impatiently at the edge of her vision. Unfortunately, the headmistress could only shake her, telling Hermione that all such lists had already been looked, with each student checked in. Harry had not gone out anywhere, had not gone with anyone. When Hermione informed Malfoy, the Slytherin narrowed his eyes and muttered about wasted time.

Fuming, Hermione opened her mouth to deliver an ultimatum. The only thing that stopped her was a first-year Hufflepuff, walking by on chance, who overheard their conversation. The girl looked up at Hermione with a bright smile, saying, "You want to know where Harry is?" She pointed off towards distant mountain peaks. "I saw him a couple of hours ago flying that way on his broom. He said he wanted to take a walk." With a little frown of concentration, the young girl shrugged. "As far as I know, he hasn't come back yet. Isn't that right?"

The little girl's friends all nodded wisely, one of them motioning to the lowering sun. "It's strange, too. Don't you think he'd worry about missing dinner?"

*

Forest always holds to itself an ambiguity. Its sublime beauty of green nature and flowering buds crosses with a looming dimension of unseen danger. Grace came to odds against warning, splendor against a fear of the unknown.

The trees came in vast arrays, some beginning a long growth and some already towering towards the sun. Ferns and bushes clawed at these stumps like little children around the waist of a mother. Weeds fought for domination above all, villains, seeking to steal from the life of one tree after another. Amid the battlefield, flowers sprouted with unchecked growth, blooms of color to dazzle the sight but so inappropriately placed that it seemed the buds deliberately (or perhaps naively) sat themselves in the path of all forest animals.

French air called for thick humidity, and in the heavy breath of air millions of insects found habitations. Butterflies and bees commonly scattered the scenery alongside beetles and many-legged creepers. The area filled to the calls of not only warm-blooded creatures, but also to the music of chirps, hums, and other echoes from the bug kingdom. Spider webs held as natural dream catchers, dripping of dew and silvery waste. Crickets held key to an eternal forest note.

Alive, four-legged beasts walked the sodden ground, keeping course to instinct. Deer browsed the sparse grass that happened to burst through fallen leaves like unfailing champions. Branches were nibbled from and leafy bushes as well. Mighty cats stalked prey alongside their doggish counterparts. Rabbits and hares lived abreast of countless other mammals.

And other life prevailed.

In the stream, fish flew the currents with the water world. Snakes bled their colors in the dark spaces. Birds heralded each passing moment.

A black-tipped owl hooted in the great symphony, eyes of series contemplation as she watched movement far down from her lofty perch. The sound sent a pack of squeaking mice running for sanctuary and a hareling pressed itself low against the ground, long ears quivering with the threat. But her noise wasn't the warning of a hunter this day. Below, the object of her harsh scrutiny ignored the outcry, indifferent to her spoken cautions. She hooted again, then reluctantly took flight as her charge threatened to leave her piercing view. A few powerful wing strokes cut the owl's height by half while bringing her back to a decent distance from the boy-creature she watched, the boy-creature who paid no attention to her series of irritated cuckooing.

It was too beautiful a day to waste in either ancient study or stiff caution. He discarded the owl's bird-cry out of a desire to be allowed the simple freedom of carefree adventure, not because he discarded the warning itself. To acknowledge the owl's worry was to acknowledge the need for worry as well, to be burdened down by that worry.

His step was balanced. The ground floor, mostly fallen trees rotten and grounded down into sod with occasional quickening of grass, imprinted footsteps that made little disturbance. Flowers were delicately stepped over, tree sprouts were left to grow tall. He made his path through the forest with an unconscious care of the smaller life around him. Even heavy branches came in no danger of being snapped; he gently eased a trail beneath the low limbs, feet watching for other plant life hidden in the shade.

The trodden path of human feet stomped unkindly into the earth had long since been abandoned. That path brought no adventures or discovery, only the dulled view of a forest worn down by callous human attendance. Litter scattered whatever beauty hadn't been erased, litter of broken branches and torn leaves and plucked flowers. That path was a simplified version of nature, tamed for humanity's peace of mind, to be walked once and then utterly forgotten.

Deer trails toured the forest. Scant signs gave deep meanings away from the abuse of human presence. Chirps lent sound a quality of dizziness, as if one were surrounded by a nature whose only wish was to please.

He viewed the unaltered spider webs and butterfly cocoons with pleasure.

What sunlight broke through the heavy tree cover became then broken into dazzling rainbows in the darkness. A deer's silhouette walked into sight, shaded under a shadow's tract as it held wary sentry duty, its family soon joining it. The deer's graceful frolicking contained a joy for life and an ever-present knowledge of danger that left him feeling helpless to disturb. He held perfectly still as the small herd walked closer, some playfully butting heads as others grazed demurely. When they caught scent and drifted away, they left him breathless.

Animals instinctively avoided him, but their fears did not upset him. The peace of the woods alone calmed his soul, speaking peace into his ear, easing his body into a state of relaxation that he rarely allowed. Human thoughts and worries drifted away as the breeze fingered his hair. Stress was leeched with the passing of high clouds. In solitude, the sounds of the environment were lullabies to sing him to sleep.

But his eyes would not close. Despite the soft serenity of this place, he never doubted his continued danger. Like the deer, he didn't forget that even as peaceful as the earth was now, that same being that breed peace also created havoc. Forest was alive and skinned with danger, an element that sharpened the feeling of life. He wasn't angry or frightened of the dark possibilities. Without danger, the woods would become flavorless, as evident in the man-made trail's blandness.

Minutes after the deer herd's departure, a slinking feline predator came into sight, lazily prowling the same direction of hoofed prey. It nosed the ground disinterestedly, obviously not pressed to hunger as it turned away to gleefully stretch out impressive muscle. The owl's hoot gave the hunter a moment's pause, reminding him of the house cat enticed by a caged robin, but the cat's laziness refused to be spurted into tree-climbing madness. The owl could stay comfortably perched.

Soon, the feline came upon his curious scent. Where the deer turned cautious and fled, the giant cat turned curious and tread closer. Above, birds called out again, feathers ruffling up in worry, but he was struck by a keen sense of awe and didn't move. Deep and other mellow creatures were almost common-sight to him, but predators always were rare.

The cat's face came closer. Its eyes were yellow, pupils dilated to see into shadow. Footfalls rang heavily and sure, with tanned fur snaglessly gliding through the thorn thicket he thought to take a rest in. From its throat came a low growl, continuous and ominous.

As it reached him, he slipped further into the bush. His wand had been left in the school robes, next to the broom he flew on in. The broom had a tracking spell activated, a mind-pulling feeling in case he became lost. The lack of a weapon, however, meant nothing but a passing though as he pushed through the bush to clear ground. He left the cat to become entangled amid the thorns.

He walked onward, deeper into the woods, looking for his true self after having been caught up with strangers for so long. He felt wrung out, stressed and overexposed. Yet, as he walked lightly between the trees, startling birds into premature flight, he felt that his weariness had no cause. His tiredness seemed rooted not in activity, but in inactivity. Doing nothing to physically provoke his body had brought out the same reaction as doing too much. It was the only reason he could conceive.

Moss swallowed his footsteps as sod became rock. Tree variety thinned out with the gaining slope, and his breath quickened. The sounds of fast-flowing water trickled from beyond, warning for the inviting scene of a waterfall free of any disturbance. Far ahead, a stag froze in the act of taking a drink, staring at him. Green eyes leveled back and he steered away from the massive creature, leaving reassuring space. The stag shook its kingly head arrogantly, resuming its drinking. Satisfied, the stag gave him one last look before leaping away, going out of sight in a few long bounds.

The waterfall's noise covered his own entrance to the wild waters. The stream was actually a short width across, but what the lack in size was amply repaid in ferocity. Rapid currents swept clean even small pebbles, leaving only the largest of unmoving rock behind before surged down rough steeps of the fall.

A single boulder braved the heights of the cascading water. Its jutting form looked like a deformed hunchback prepared to tangle the heights and hump. Seeing it, he saw a true resting-place.

The owl's shrieks of alarm redoubled when, barefooted, he stepped into the angry water. He held against the current, shoes juggled about his neck like obscene weights and arms held out to the sides in a call for balance. A misstep, and likely he wouldn't have the time to reclaim footing before sliding off the waterfall down to the drumming of the rocks at the bottom of the ride.

Another step, and the water rose to nip his calves. Hissing, the clear liquid spat bubbles around him.

Demonically, the currents grew faster.

He held his balance steadily, calm and sure of his moves. The stream's quickness served his purpose; any rocks that might have stumbled him were cleared out, and the pureness of the water gave him clear warning of any obstacle. The boulder sat only a few steps away.

Step after step, he followed through design. Reaching the boulder, he climbed up holes warn in by the passing of water, wind, and time. His vantage point was inspiring. Standing, unafraid, he looked out at the untamed wilderness that held claim to him as his sanctuary. He let a deep breath of air, releasing pollution and bringing back in a fresh, cutting clearness.

*

It was late when he finally decided to head back. Not out of free will, but out of necessity. Unlike at the house, where he could stay out for a week without raising comment, everyone here expected him to (somehow) take part of the day's social events. One of those events was dinner, but seeing as he'd already missed the other two meals and the day was already late, he figured that had already been missed. Not that he really cared.

There was a conspicuous gap in his jeans, a hole cutting from his left knee down that was result of a bad encounter with some wild thorns. His right elbow throbbed from where he's bashed it against a tree in avoiding some sort of boar-like predator. And an unsightly bruise kissed his chin where he'd tripped into a trap of gnarled vines. But the most noticeable difference was his face: the shadows left over from the week before had practically disappeared, and he couldn't stop a soft grin of excitement from appearing on his face.

His owl had left on once during the whole afternoon for a quick flight at dinner, and now perched precariously on a shoulder, sharp eyes a guide into the oncoming night. On impulse, he raised a hand to gently stroke her feathers and the owl cooed, nuzzling him.

It would only be a little while longer before the sun set, he decided, judging by the sinking sun.

He sat comfortably in the middle of a large valley. The empty space gave him clear view of all directions, so nothing could sneak up without warning. The shadows, however, were growing longer and larger, eating up light audaciously. Sighing with real regret, he stood with the owl launching upwards like a missile. As he started walking, the bird called out once before flying ahead, scouting out dangers.

There was a light weight in his head, something he'd managed to ignore for the past few hours. It was a tracking spell left to guide him back to the trail. After leaving the marked path, he'd hidden his broom and school robes (and with those, his wand) as a trailblazer in case he got lost. Now, that spell was his ticket back to Beauxbatons.

Five minutes later, he shook his head in exasperation. "This is taking too long," he muttered to himself with a little annoyance, having not realized how far from the trail he'd gone. Walking would take too long; by the time he got back to the school, someone would realize his absence. There was another way, he remembered with a little smile.

Concentrating, he closed his eyes. When they opened, the world was different. There was more detail, more feeling. He felt closer to the ground, to the earth--and not in the purely physical sense. The owl called out to him, a greeting from one creature of the air to one creature of the earth. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement, then started out on a fast trot towards the manmade trail, padded hooves hardly making any noise at all.

*

The sun was going down, slowly being replaced by a rising moon of soft intensity. Practices had been held, teams drawn, and most of the students were heading to bed in time to make the midnight curfew. Only a few older teenagers were up, worrying and stressing about the Tournament. Only a few older teenagers, and a mob squad of Aurors.

They searched high and low, looking everywhere but finding no trace of the missing teen. And they were getting nervous. This boy had high connections. If he was lost on their first day... the ramifications were not good.

Ever since news had spread about Harry Potter's walk in the woods, everyone who knew about it had become frantic with worry. Madam Maxine nearly fainted, her giant hands pressing against pale cheeks as she announced, "Mon dieu. Ze childr'n, were zey not told? Ze forest, forbidden, jus' az Hogwarts! It iz dangerous!"

Only one piece of news was found.

Around eleven-thirty, an Auror walked into the Hogwarts apartment. "We found these," the Auror reluctantly allowed. Dangling from his hands were the abandoned items: school robes, broom, and wand. With a thoughtful shake of his head, the wizard continued: "Apparently, when Potter took off towards the forests, he veered off the main trail and flew directly into the more dangerous parts of the woods."

On the floor above, completely encircling the banisters while trying to stay out of sight, Hogwarts students lined up to hear what was going on. After practice, the majority of them had only heard bits and pieces of information regarding a missing student. At the name 'Potter,' a low murmur of amazement rose from them, quiet but deeply wondering.

Below, Professor McGonagall made a noise deep in her throat that sounded like a mixture of anger and despair. She swallowed, the lines of her face instantly standing out, harsh against pale skin. Alastor Moody, the Auror/professor left in charge while Dumbledore was gone, looked over to her with an expression of slight worry, but she waved him away. All the other professors had been given leave to go, resting in comfortable placements and free from the stress of a missing student.

The Auror cleared his throat awkwardly. Undoubtedly, if anything went wrong, he would be the one to blame. A certain (retired) Auror would definitely not be too happy, and if that wasn't enough "Mad-Eye" Moody was here to personally intimidate all the courage out of him. The only good news was that Moody had taken out his magical eye, letting it soak in a glass of water after one of the students' pranks had hit the professor in the face. A motionless glass eye was better than some constantly moving "Luckily, there is no sign of a struggle, or any other presence for that matter. Potter willingly flew in, and then willingly threw off his items."

The look on McGonagall's face inspired him to add, "Of course, we don't know for sure. As the older brother of Leonard Potter, Harry would be a very fetching hostage. And there's always the possibility of some abstract control over the boy-"

"Oh really? I thought for an instant you were accusing one of my students of simply running off--No, I will not be still, Alastor!" Practically spitting, McGonagall threw off all hands and stomped away, glaring but very pale.

The Auror was now sweating lightly, realizing that aside from the threat of Auror Moody, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall could likely do him some harm if she was provoked. He hurried to finish off. "Yes, well, in any case, we'll have searchers out first thing in the morning."

From her corner, McGonagall took in an angry breath, and the Auror rattled on, "We would start earlier, but as Madam Maxine already said, the forest in very dangerous. Beauxbatons was created here in the hopes that all the dangers would keep trespassers away. Enough uncalculated risks, and our men will be the ones needing rescue by dawn!"

Moody nodded, but his expression wasn't one of agreement. "That's right," the professor commented waspishly, "I'd forgotten how much trouble you newbies get into. Trained wizards and witches?" He snorted. "More like a bunch of headless chickens, if you ask me. Well, if there's any luck, Potter'll survive until morning. If not, then you boys and girls can get your wands and play scavenger hunt to pick up all the pieces."

The Auror's mouth snapped shut audibly.

Having composed herself, and an idea of rescue, McGonagall shortly asked, "Is that all?"

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and having no idea of how to save himself, the Auror angrily shook his head. He was almost to the door when McGonagall cleared her throat.

"The broom, please," she demanded, hand outstretched, "as well as the other items."

Handing them over triggered memory. "There is one last bit," the Ministry wizard added, paused by the door. "My analyst found some magic working on that broom. It faded away once we flew off, but it was a sort of tracking spell."

"Thank you," McGonagall bit out before slamming the door shut. She steamed out a dark breath of air, eyes lit up with anger. "That... that..."

"We better just stay calm, Minerva," Moody advised. He picked up Harry's lost items, placing them down on a chair, then walked over to where his eye was rotating in its glass container. He plucked out his regular glass eye and carelessly threw it over his shoulder where it disappeared with a pop. His magical eye fit back into its socket perfectly, and Moody gave a little sigh of relaxation, his eye spinning around. It focused on something behind the door, and the Auror gave a little start.

At first, McGonagall paid no heed. She huffed about the room like a red-spotted bull, murmuring beneath her breath little phrases that didn't carry. But after a few minutes, she finally leaned her head against the cool door.

"What now, Alastor?" she muttered. "That boy could be anywhere."

"Anywhere?" The Auror snorted, sounding surprisingly amused as he looked at the door--or through it. "Don't get your hopes up, yet. I haven't met a Potter yet who was willing to do anything more than a little bending of the rules. You're going to want to start planning what to do with him when he gets here."

McGonagall was hung up on his words. When Moody began pacing the floor, muttering ideas about punishment, she asked, "When he gets here? Do you know where he is?"

The old Auror shook his head, frowning. "Of course I do! What kind of Auror do you think I am? By the way, you better move. Take a step back at least."

The door opened as if rehearsed just as McGonagall took a surprised step away from it, and in the way stood a slightly puzzled Harry. The teenager blinked, leaning back a step as McGonagall rushed in to crowd, but was then pushed back inside as the Auror, just left, returned to report one last issue concerning a change in plans. He'd been walking back to where the Aurors were staying, and had guiltily decided that no search could wait, only to find that the missing teen had returned.

Witch and wizard, both shocked by the untimely turn-up, practically carried the boy in, talking fast enough to blur words together. High above and still crowding, the students exchanged dumbfounded looks, shrugged, and listened on. Questions were thrown at him without pause for answer. Moody drifted back as Harry was slammed into a chair and forced down, watching the scene with shadowed eyes.

An attempt to rise up was squashed. An attempt to talk was ignored. Annoyed and tired, Harry slipped into the back of the chair and did as he did during fights with Sirius when Leo was witness: stare at nothing, refuse to speak, and concentrate on higher matters with no regard to raised voices. He wondered what the time was, if Hedwig was still in the forest, what Leo was doing, and if his brother was sate, wondered why no one else saw all the students wide awake in the floors above.

Some of those students realized that he was watching them with a gasp. They either scurried back as if frightened, or looked down with greater resolved to watch the conflict.

Seeing them was like seeing a double-image: superimposed over the curious students was a memory of Leo, peering down in wonder from the stairway as Harry fought with Sirius.

"Mister Potter, are you even listening?"

The question snapped his lagged attention, and with a tone he knew infuriated Sirius, Harry smartly replied, "Not a word. In fact, I stopped listening right about the part where you said I was in trouble." He paused to let the words sink in, then added with biting sarcasm, "Certainly I missed nothing of importance." The day had been boring and irritating and altogether too long for his liking. Baiting professors and Aurors seemed like an entertaining thing to do, something to take his mind off of how uncomfortable he was.

McGonagall's mouth dropped open. Always, her position afforded her a certain amount of unshakable respect. The daughter of a high-class family with a smart education behind her, few things had been able to upset her dignity in her entire life--never outright rudeness, never from one of her own students!

The Auror glared, and Harry glared back. "I know for a fact that I've broken no rules," Harry continued, voice like coiled steel with a will to get revenge for unwanted contact with an Auror. "If my mode of transportation hadn't been unlawfully confiscated, I would have arrived precisely on time."

The Auror opened his mouth to speak, and Harry cut him off, taking a dark enjoyment out of making the white-robed wizard squirm. A thought occurred to him, distasteful and completely against his person, but Harry used it. "My godfather will hear of this. He specifically advised me to write him, especially about the conduct of stationed Aurors." Lazily, Harry looked away, asking, "For the letter's sake, what was your name again? I guarantee you, my godfather will wish you visit you in person."

Whether or not a name was given, Harry was finished with the Auror. Even dealing with him so slightly left the teenager feeling queasy. He stood, facing the stairway. One obstacle still blocked him.

"You want these back?" Moody held up the discarded broom and wand. "I'm betting you're going to need them, sooner or later."

With stiff formality, Harry took his possessions. "Thank you, professor," he said after a moment, pausing as if looking his things over. Inside, he took the pause to strengthen his courage.

Harry looked up into the magical eye and forced himself to be still. Head tipped forward in half-feigned respect, he said, "It's late and I'm tired." There was no response so Harry took free leave to head towards the stairs, ignoring McGonagall's choked fit of anger and the Auror's embarrassed exit. As he passed, however, Moody deftly placed a hand on his shoulders and spun him around, forcing a retrace of steps back to the chair.

"Why don't you just stick around a bit?" Moody had him seated before getting an answer. As soon as Harry sat down, he recoiled away from the Auror's hand. Moody didn't look the least bit put out. Instead, he fixed a grainy look on Harry. "You're going to want to eat something, 'specially since you missed lunch and dinner."

McGonagall wandered over as well, taking a seat further away as food suddenly appeared.

Unhungry and untrusting, Harry refused refreshment. "I not hungry, professor-"

"Don't try to lie to me." Moody rudely pointed out his roaming magical eye. "This thing has a sort of natural lie-detector on it. It can tell when you're lying and when you're hiding something."

Harry settled back in his chair, resigning himself to an extended night. Outside, the clock tower rang out a single haunting bell toll.

"Since you're not going to eat, why don't we just get through this whole thing real quick. What do you say, Potter?" Harry looked up and found himself facing a clever intelligence. With no twinkle to soften like the headmaster's eyes, Moody's blue eyes looked like frigid ice hard as cool diamond, ready to chip away all defenses. His magical eye had turned to fix straight onto Harry, and the effect was unnerving. This was the man Death Eaters feared, and with good reason it seemed.

Courage was resettled. Without blinking, Harry countered, "What's going on? Am I under questioning or something? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Sure you didn't," Moody scoffed. "This is just a discussion between a worried professor and his recently returned pupil. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary, considering the circumstances."

"Then I can leave at any time?" Harry challenged. Moody answered with a quick nod, but the Auror's expression seemed like a dare in itself. Leaning back into the seat, Harry bit back a retort. "Well then, let's make things easier," he agreed stiffly. "Ask away, Auror, and I will answer to the best of my abilities."

The title came out as a deliberate insult. Moody's face reddened for a minute, then the Auror reclaimed control of himself. "Sure, kid," he gruffly started, "but since I went through all the effort of calling up this food, why don't you eat something first? Wet your throat up some."

Harry stared back unblinkingly. "Time's precious. I'll skip the food."

"Oh come now!" McGonagall burst from her forgotten seat. Her tense expression betrayed stressed reaction from listening to the conversation. "The food isn't poisoned. There is no truth serum, or snake venom-"

"It's all right, Minerva. Potter here wasn't trying to say anything like that," Moody broke in, staring at Harry while his magical eye whirled around. Harry fought to keep his face still.

The effort was proving too much, and Harry purposely looked away to the deputy headmistress. Only then did he realize what she'd been saying, and the possibility of it all made his stomach clench up like a fist. Stupid, he thought to himself, trusting an Auror. "I'm... I'm certain that no Hogwarts professor would ever stoop so low," Harry assured aloud in false tones after a moment's hesitation. The food now seemed like tainted garbage leering up at him. Harry looked at McGonagall, expression strained. "I didn't mean to sound like I thought so."

The crisp words seemed to remind the professor of recent rudeness because instead of reassuring her, he infuriated her. With a loud sniff, the witch stood. "I'll leave you to this, Alastor. If anyone here can handle this boy, it'll be you." She straightened her robes mechanically. "Besides, the students need checking up on. No doubt they've all run amuck in the dormitories, what with all the professors gone to bed and out of the way." Her words unleashed a thousand hurrying feet that only served to stiffen her expression as she hurried upstairs. Moody's eye whirled upwards in surprise, and his face cracked open in a wry grin.

Harry was left alone with the Auror. An odd phrase bothered his memories: 'If you're going to do something, do it with no witnesses.' If Moody was to attack him, no one would know otherwise. Harry let a hand slide to the seat, searching for his wand. It had fallen to the cushions.

Moody wasn't blind. Both eyes turned and resettled on Harry. "You can leave that wand where it is, boy," the Auror suggested. "You're not going to get any use out of it tonight, unless you're expecting someone to bust in." At the suggestion, his magical eye whirled towards the door, the did a full circuit scout in a directions. "Unless you think I'm going to attack you. And I'm not up to beating up my students." 'Not now,' his blue eyes made to add. 'Not at the present time.'

It was scarcely reassuring, but rather than show fear, Harry resettled his hands. "Certainly not, Auror," he replied with false sincerity, still stressing the insult on the title.

"Good." Moody's face stayed stony this time, meaning that the Auror had picked up on Harry's plan on infuriating him. "Why don't we start by you telling me what happened today? And explain it to me like I'm a kid, so I understand it all."

Indignantly, Harry complied. He started with his narrative, keeping it short and simple, planning on skipping whatever detail that magical eye wouldn't pick up on. The time spent with the other school was told in a heartbeat; the outing in the forest seemed to span a single breath; in all the day, his stay in the library was fabricated as long-lasting and eternal. Years were spent searching through books for an interest, with the wood walk a sad alternative when no book could be found. In fact, the woods were empty and devoid of life, so much so that when Harry stupidly dropped his things for a stretch, sheer apathy erased the urge to pick up even his wand. He had been smart enough to leave a tracking spell on the broom in case he got lost, but that failed when the Aurors flew out of range. The remainder of the day was spent walking back, tired and cold and desperate for bed. Finished without a single interruption, Harry waited expectantly for response.

Moody was staring straight at him, his eyesight not having wavered once during the whole time. "Interesting day," Moody complimented after Harry finished.

Harry refused to comment.

The aged wizard stared at Harry a moment longer as if sizing him up. "Yea, a nice day. Of course, I'm just going to have to guess about all the stuff you left out, right?" He frowned angrily. "Stupid kid, weren't you listening? I told you, I know when you're trying to hide something."

"Hide!" Harry shot upright, furious. "I've told you the truth. Your turn to believe." The strike on his honesty was unacceptable.

"Oh, sure Potter, all that stuff really did happen. I got that point. What I'm talking about is all the stuff you left out--a lot, I'm guessing." Warning blue eyes dared Harry to deny the truth. "You better not leave anything out of your answers."

How long did Harry spend with this other school? The exact time wasn't known because he carried no watch. Take a guess. Maybe... maybe an hour, maybe twenty minutes--lost in thought, he had no way of knowing. Did Harry stay to hear the morning news? No, but that was because the Hogwarts students pretty much blocked out that announcement.

"Interesting," Moody mused. "You'll need to talk to one of those Weasley kids. They're going to have something to tell you." His eyes lit up with coarse humor. "In fact, some of your classmates might have a grudge against you right now."

Harry blinked at that in confusion, but didn't pursue the topic.

After hanging with the other schools, where did he go? First to a walk around the school for some fresh air, then to the dorms looking for someone he knew, and finally into retreat at the library for nearly the remainder of the day. What books did he read? A variety of titles.

"Trying to hide stuff isn't going to get you anywhere," Moody threatened. "Besides, kid, you promised to answer to the best of your abilities."

"Yes, but I didn't promise to answer every question," Harry pointed out sharply. "You're asking about the smallest facts, details from hours ago. How am I supposed to remember everything?"

"Then try to remember," the Auror suggested sarcastically.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, tensed in a display of concentration. "A book on wild beasts, I think, and maybe something about muggle history in France."

"Muggle history?" Moody raised an eyebrow, looking seriously surprised.

Harry stared back coldly. "My mother lived as a muggle when she was young. The stories she told me were very interesting, and I wondered if any of them were true."

"Ah..." The Auror's face was as blank as ever.

That all he could remember? Spending more time to dig through thought would be pointless, as all books were read in full view of other students. How long, with a guess, was spent in the library. Again, without a clock, even an estimate could be far off. Did he eat lunch? A little. And he wasn't -- No, he wasn't hungry. When did he leave the library? No idea. Didn't he pass the clock tower? Yes, but he hadn't been too concerned with seeing what time it was.

"You're avoiding time frames," the professor pointed out moodily.

Harry shrugged weakly. "Think what you want to think." He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand. "Excuse me."

"Sure. Just try to stay up a bit longer."

What did he do in the woods? Nothing really, walk around the place. Then why did he leave the public trail?

"Because it's dead," Harry bit out savagely. "There's no life out there at all."

Moody looked startled. "What in the world do you mean, 'dead'? That place is alive as any forest." Moody held up a hand, ticking off fingers. "You've got your deer, your trees, and your other animals. What else do you want?"

"Good and well," the teenager interrupted with a slice of bitterness, "but only if you like to see things caged up and tamed." His green eyes were aflame with passion. "The deer you saw were all does because no stag would lower himself to that!" Then, as if shocked with himself, Harry abruptly shut off and pushed deep into the cushions.

"Really?" Moody murmured. His eyebrows suddenly rose with understanding. From outside, two bells intoned, the noise coming from the clock tower. When the tones faded, Moody asked, "Did you see any, then?"

Harry didn't look up, but he did answer. "One. He was magnificent, of course."

"I'm sure he was, kid," the Auror echoed knowingly, leaning back in the sleep as if he, too, was getting tired of all the questions.

Hands clenched white, Harry dully said, "Stags never live close to humans. If... if I wanted to see him, I couldn't stay on the trail."

"What about the dangers, Potter?" Moody asked harshly. "These woods are just like the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, forbidden. You think you stand any chance against some of the stuff in there? And it's not just nature, it's magic." His magical eye was spinning with agitation. "Not only that, you left your wand! What kind of protection do you think you've got? You can't just go around leaving your wand! Think, boy!"

The question brought up Harry's head, eyes narrowed in anger. Danger? Abruptly, memories of his childhood whirled through his head, memories of times far more dangerous than anything at Beauxbatons could be. What right did this Auror have in chiding him, in labeling things as "dangers"? Compared to his childhood, danger at this magical school was a laughable idea for him.

Aloud, Harry allowed anger to color his words. "I've lived with a werewolf for the part five years, Auror. At Remus's house, everything around is forest. I've hiked for weeks alone." He finished with "I can take care of myself."

Danger was in living with an Auror, in trusting in friends, in leaving a brother alone. He'd lived with danger. A walk through nature was nothing compared to everything else.

Moody stared at him a moment, piercingly, but nodded slowly. "I'm thinking that's it. Unless you got anything else to say?" the older wizard asked, suddenly sounding very old and very tired. When Harry shook his head, the Auror gestured towards the stairs. "Get to bed, Potter, and take your wand with you."

Harry left immediately, face composed and ready to sleep.

*

The whole of Gryffindor gathered against him. Pacing, lion-like in anger, the students gazed down on him with condemning stares. All eyes seemed to judge equally. Glaring insolently, Harry rejected the offered seat and stayed on his feet, emerald eyes brightly shining despite the late hour. A quick search around the room concluded that this was the standing grudge Moody spoke of. Even Ron and Hermione's friendliness seemed temporarily suspended.

He had glided onto the floor moments before, only to be completely surrounded. Exit was cut off, and his housemates had circled as if coming in for the kill. Leading them, an older teenage girl tensely repeated her order that Harry sit.

"I'm going to stay standing," Harry retorted, danger senses on fire. Absently, he wondered what he'd done to anger so many people.

The floor was becoming full of breathing, hateful bodies, too much for his comfort. On guard, Harry took an easy step forward and wasn't surprised when further movement was blocked by a line of hard-set faces. He stepped back to meet the same stony guard of students. The predictability of it all was amusing. Harry made to step left, dodging right at the last second, then mentally grinned at the disorganized shuffling his human box went through.

Frowning irritably, the teenage girl made an angry sound in the back of her throat and pushed away two of his guard. "Fine," she snapped at his rejection. "Stay standing. All the same to me." She pushed past him to sit in his chair, frown not wavering once. "In fact, standing makes this easier." Abruptly, her face went pale as all the blood rushed away.

"Where the hell were you, Potter?"

The evening wasn't getting any better, and after the session with Moody, this treatment only served to further annoy him. Shortly, Harry answered, "I don't see how that's any of your concern."

"Actually, it is." The girl's grown deepened, a mutilation of her face. "In case you didn't know, as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it's my job to scout out all talent in Gryffindor house. You're a natural, Harry! Best flyer I've ever seen!" For some reason, she sounded vastly exasperated by his bored expression. "I haven't the slightest idea why you wouldn't want to play. With your talent..."

Harry raised an eyebrow, vaguely affronted by the girl's personal attack. "I don't see how my flying abilities are any of your concern," he said loftily, leaning on the back of his heels to relieve some of the pressure on his weary feet. He paused, quizzically watching the room's surprised reaction.

"You can't be serious!" one of the Weasley twins blurted out. The twin looked stunned. "Of course everyone's wondering about your flying skills."

"Don't you know?" another student jostled, incredulous.

"'Course he does," someone answered for Harry unsteadily. "I saw Potter listening this morning. He was standing right next to me."

Harry snorted, using the distraction to sneak by his human box. Hermione, however, had seen him leaving the room and sidled up beside him outside the door. The lights were dimmed, and no one else was around. "You do know what's going on, don't you Harry?" she asked politely, if a little cold.

"All I know," he replied deridingly with an equally polite tone, "is that I'm going to bed." He tipped his head forward slightly, wondering why Hermione was treating him so and yet not really curious about it. "Good night."

"Maybe you should sort everything out first," Hermione suggested lightly, still cold. She glared at him without actually glaring, then shrugged. The low lights played shadow games across her face, making her cheekbones stand out and her eyes sink into her face like dark pits. "I don't really think anyone's going to let you sleep without getting a few answers out of you first." From her expression, it was obvious that she was one of those people.

Turning slightly so he could still see her out of the corner of his eyes, Harry tilted his head back a degree, contemplating the ceiling, the fading lights. "I'm going to have to say that it's none of your business, Hermione," came his chilled answer. He was fed up with all the questions, with all the demands and assumptions. "I've already gone through a formal questioning with Professor Moody, and I'm not in the mood for going through an informal one."

There was a figure at the end of the hall, someone standing where the floor titled downwards into a stairway. Hermione hadn't seen the other person yet. Deciding to keep it that way, Harry took a step to completely fill her vision. "I'm going to leave now," he started, "because frankly, I don't feel safe in that room." When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "I'll be back in the morning. Maybe by then, everything will have sorted itself out." He shrugged half-heartedly. "If not, then there's only a week until we're back at Hogwarts. We'll sort things out by then."

He glanced behind him; the figure was gone. Looking back at Hermione, he tipped his head forward again. "Goodnight, Hermione," he said once more, this time sincerely. "I'm sorry about all of this."

Then he turned and walked away.

*

After Harry left, Moody stayed sitting, He thought, fingers steepling in tune with human ideas. Finally, he shook his head, unable to figure out any of the questions the confrontation left him with. When McGonagall came down from her listening spot, Moody admitted bald fact: Harry Potter was layers of secrets unlikely to trust in anyone, and whatever the reason for his disappearance, it was going to stay unrevealed until someone gained his sure and fast trust. Until then, the often overlooked first son would remain antisocial and uninviting as well as unreachable by the professors who wanted to teach him.

"He's very clever," McGonagall admitted, looking pained by the fact. She was mentally reviewing all the times she'd confronted the boy, all the false assumptions she'd made about him, and after thinking a moment the witch sighed in regret. He was indeed very clever if he could outstrip Mad-Eye Moody in conversation, if he could force an Auror to yield. "I would have been lost in that conversation many times."

She paused for somber thought. "He used his parents' death as a... a playing card. Does that mean he doesn't care about them?"

"He cares about something," Moody explained, "something so important to him that those deaths don't measure up." His forehead wrinkled. "I'll find out what that is. It's the only way I'll ever understand that kid."

McGonagall was surprised. "The only way?" Her voice echoed through the empty room. "Breaching his privacy? You won't be doing him any favors, Alastor. Doing something like that will only make him hate you."

"Weren't you watching?" Moody countered, "Harry already does." His face clouded over, and there was a faint smile playing on his lips. "I wonder," the Auror/professor murmured so low that Minerva didn't catch it, "if it's because I'm an Auror."

"The only thing we can do is wait for Albus to return," she went on obliviously. "He was the one who held contact with the Potters all those years, and he keeps in close contact with Sirius. He'll know what to do here."

Moody gave her a bland look. "I think it's pretty obvious," he told her bluntly. "That kid needs to be watched all the time. But we can't have someone just trailing him around. If Potter caught on to it, he could probably slip around easy enough. We're just going to have to force him to stay with the rest of the students somehow."

McGonagall pressed her lips together, then slowly remembered, "The students were talking about his flying skills." She gave Moody a sketchy look. "But Potter wasn't there for the trials today. Would the other students allow him to simply play without flying for a position?"

"Don't give them the choice of it," Moody advised seriously, standing up and ready to head for bed. "Tomorrow, go and make sure Potter knows what he's going to be doing for the rest of the week. After we get back to Hogwarts, we'll get a more permanent way of keeping track of the little devil."

*

"Where are you going?"

Harry looked around curiously towards the voice. So, the person hadn't left. And his identity wasn't too surprising. But when Harry glanced towards the shadowed arch that Draco Malfoy was hiding under, he was surprised to realize that the Slytherin wasn't alone. There was a small group of them, all languidly leaning against the wall, all apparently waiting for this confrontation. He cocked his head, still feeling somewhat provoked by the episode with Hermione, still feeling somewhat reckless. "Out," came Harry's easy answer, said with no unease or fear of punishment for breaking curfew again.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled, and one of the girls leaning against him giggled, a deep and muffled noise that was strangely unsettling. Harry blinked, not quite sure what to make of the group. "Isn't there a rule against that?"

"What do you want?" Harry asked, cutting to the point. He was getting very tired.

Malfoy made a motion, and the Slytherins around him all started to move away and back up the stairs, all with clear reluctance. As she walked around him, the girl who'd made the noise stopped to stare Harry in the face. "Were you expelled?" she asked curtly, eyes glimmering with invidious interest.

"No," Harry replied simply, looking away from her shadowy face, keeping his eyes on Malfoy. The girl stayed there for a moment longer, trying to catch his eyesight, but finally walked away with a powdery shake of her head.

Again, he was left alone with a possible enemy. The last time Harry had faced Malfoy, it had been on the train ride a day ago, and the meeting hadn't been pleasant. Before Harry wondered too long about what Malfoy wanted, the Slytherin made a quick nod of his head. "I happen to be leaving, too," Malfoy shared, walking towards the door.

Harry watched for a moment, then moved to join him, walking outside at the same time. He glanced curiously at the Slytherin. "I thought you said it was against the rules?"

"There are always exceptions," Malfoy answered loftily, head held high in an obvious reference to himself. After a pause, he continued, " All the Boards have been invited to spend a week here before the Tournament starts. My father is one of the governors for Hogwarts, and he's invited me to spend this week in the governors' rooms instead of Hogwarts' dormitories." He smirked. "I'm sure you can guess which is the better choice."

Harry didn't answer. Being outside reminded him that he really had no place left to go. Besides, there were likely Aurors prowling the area, and if he was caught--especially after tonight's events!--there was no telling what would happen.

Malfoy was gazing at him unobtusely when Harry finally started paying attention to the boy, but then the Slytherin abruptly looked away, making such effort to look away that he might as well have been staring. Rather than make any comment on the matter, Harry let it slide, thoughts drifting back to plans for tonight's sleeping arrangement. His brain hurt. The day had lasted too long, and he felt like nothing would be better than simply collapsing against a bench or wall. In the matter of the subject, he was feeling drowsy.

Before he knew it, they'd reached a looming building, grandiose and beautiful and obviously built for visual affect. Malfoy casually noted that these were the apartments of the professors, headmasters, and visiting governors.

"Why don't you come up," Malfoy softly suggested, voice sounding greatly reasonable. "My father wanted to meet you, and this is as good a time as any. Besides, I'm sure he'll allow you to stay." Because he sounded so reasonable, Harry nodded wearily, hardly able to keep his eyes open anyway. He hid a yawn as Draco opened the doors, and blindly followed the Slytherin through a maze of stairways and doorframes. Blinking, Harry found himself moved from a dimly-lit outdoor environment to a brightly-lit suite, one decorated extensively and expensively.

The shock of it erased all drowsiness from his mind, and sharply Harry looked around for an exit, dimly grasping the fact that he really had no idea where he was. Before he could begin to run away, a voice arrested his senses.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry didn't turn, didn't react at all. He froze.

"Draco, you may leave us." Faint footfalls and a door opening echoed through the room, evidence of someone's departure. Harry couldn't breath for a moment, and couldn't move even when another set of footsteps walked closer to him. Someone touched his shoulder, turning him around, and Harry saw a person whose face he never saw before.

The Death Eater looked like an older Draco Malfoy, which wasn't surprising due to the fact that the Death Eater was Malfoy's father. His features were rougher, squarer, more determined and more worn but definitely not rough. Mesmerized, Harry couldn't respond.

He realized that Malfoy Senior was talking, was saying something, but the only thing he heard was a loud roar in his ears of blood rushing to his head, of anger and fear, of everything else that he couldn't understand. Hungrily, disgustedly, Harry looked at the face of a man who'd been a friend, who'd been a traitor: white-blond hair, cold gray eyes, and smooth skin free of any visible worry. Forcibly, Harry tore his eyes off the man's face only to find himself studying the man's clothing, the man's stance and posture for little clues about the greater personality. Black, rich, expensive, lavish robes; a cane--for walking or intimidation or a symbol of wealth? Confident, powerful, arrogant.

Swallowing, Harry took a step backwards, and the Death Eater's mouth, which had been moving the whole time, stopped. "I, I don't believe it," Harry breathed, voice shaky and ready to fall apart. He was shaky and ready to fall apart. Wearily, warily, he brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing at his scar where a bad headache was forming. Breathing badly, Harry took another step back, retreating and keeping his eyes down, scattering across the room, anywhere but the Death Eater's face.

"It's true, Harry," the man's voice insisted, blurting in over all the other noise in the quiet room. Unwittingly, Harry brought his eyes up and found himself trapped in the wizard's gaze. He couldn't move as the Death Eater took a step forward, cupping a hand around Harry's chin, delicately scrapping over a bruise. "Accept it."

Harry's eyes widened, and roughly he leaped away, turning away and sprinting towards an open arch, looking for a doorway. The Death Eater yelled something, but the words were lost as Harry fled to the other room. However, there was only one door and when Harry frantically reached to open it, his hands were jerked back. Some sort of force surrounded the doorknob, repelling him. Frustrated, Harry threw himself against the door, and was thrown backwards with equal force to land on the hard ground.

"Harry." The Death Eater had followed him.

Not looking up, Harry quietly demanded, "Let me out of here. Let me leave." He got no answer, and clenched his hands into fists, glaring at the ground. Slumping forward, Harry leaned his head against his knees, eyes closed and breathing rough. When someone touched his shoulders, he recoiled with a hiss. "Don't touch me!"

The Death Eater looked vaguely insulted, hurt, but Harry only allowed himself a quick glance before ripping his eyes back shut. He scrambled away with sightless eyes, throwing his body away from the Death Eater's. "Don't come near me."

"This is childish," the wizard chided. "I had believed you'd outgrown these tantrums."

The taunt was too much, and before he could stop himself, Harry had opened his eyes to glare up at the man. "Childish?" His voice was brittle.

The Death Eater nodded, expression schooled into a bored look as he summoned a chair to sit on. Harry refused to move, still glaring insolently towards the man he hated more than any Auror. His mind reeled, and he longed for some way to knock that expression off the wizard's face. Nastily, Harry shot back, "I had believed they'd locked your kind in Azkaban."

The comment got no reaction. As if he hadn't heard, the Death Eater went on. "If you haven't grown up by now, I'm afraid you never will." A brief look of distaste crossed his features. "Of course, that might be the fault of your idiotic godfather."

Harry couldn't help himself. An animalistic snarl came across his face, the sneer exposing teeth. "I hope they send you to Azkaban," he announced darkly, a low hiss. "I hope you get served with the Dementor's Kiss. I hope you spend the rest of your life feeling your soul getting sucked out of your body. After they do that, they'll probably use your body as a public display of what happens to Death Eaters." His snarl deepened, turning his eyes into shadowy pits. "You'll be carted around, your body trashed, and everything you own will be taken away from you. Your family will be turned out into the streets."

The Death Eater had gone very still, and his expression had become tense. When Harry stopped talking, the two stared at each other with wary caution, both waiting for the other to make the next move. Harry clenched his fists tighter, digging holes into his skin, and his teeth were pounded together hard enough they felt ready to break.

After a minute of tensed silence, the Death Eater softly asked, "Do you really?"

Teeth clenched, Harry barely heard himself answer, "Yes."

The wizard shook his head. "Why, Harry-"

"Because I hate you!" Harry burst out, body quivering with rage. He could hardly hold back from simply throwing himself at the man, from physically attacking. His shoulders trembled in time with his voice, both quiet and all the more frightening for it. "I hate you all. I hope all of you go to Azkaban and rot there forever."

Abruptly, Harry let out a bitter laugh. He relaxed slightly, though his body was still shaking. Staring openly at the Death Eater, eyes a dark green with painful emotion, Harry unconcernedly said, "Do you know how long I've waited to say that? Waited for one of you to show you faces?" His eyes narrowed into green slits. "Five years. It's taken you five years to come and face me, and I've waited."

"I'm not here to face you," the Death Eater replied in a similar tone, face blank of all emotions and thoughts. Only one hand, clenched tightly around his cane, revealed anything. "I'm not here to do anything but talk."

"So, now that we're through talking, what are you going to do?" Harry taunted, recklessly throwing his will against the older man's. Another bitter laugh escaped me, and he tossed his head to one side. "Are you going to try and finish your master's job? I don't have a wand--not like I did five years ago. Maybe you'll be able to kill me. Maybe this time I won't be so lucky."

"We're not finished talking, Harry," the wizard pointed out softly. "We haven't even begun to talk."

"I'm finished," Harry declared, and his mouth snapped shut audibly, a sign that he really was finished and would talk no more.

"Then you can listen," came the undeterred answer. "You can listen to the truth of what happened five years ago, what happened that night. Perhaps after you're done listening, you might consent to talking again."

Harry said nothing.

The Death Eater waited a moment to let his words sink in, then spoke. "The night that your parents were killed, you never knew what led the Dark Lord to killing them. Why would He kill his own cousin, if not for a good reason?" The Death Eater raised in eyebrow. "In fact, why would He kill at all, if not for a good reason? Lord Voldemort did not, as your godfather would have you believe, revel in murder. He hated death."

Pausing, he watched for any reaction but received none. "Do you remember the Revolution?" the Death Eater asked.

Harry averted his eyes, refusing to comment or even give hint that he remembered.

The Death Eater didn't wait. Gently but without hiding fact, he revealed the fact that Harry's own parents were against such a magnificent plan, had been working against Lord Voldemort from the beginning even after swearing to stay out of it. He revealed the Dark Lord's anguish at learning how his own cousin was working against him. What could turn a blood relative?

Dumbledore could.

Dumbledore. The man his parents adored, the man they praised and spoke well of always. Harry knew him to a detail before their first meeting. Half-moon glasses, twinkling blue eyes, snowy beard and whitened hair. Ageless and wise, who would always help the one in need.

The man who forced endless killings, whose unfailing pride would never stand down. Oh, how the Death Eaters hated him! He was the bane of everyone's existence, a weary old man who fought and killed just to prove he was of worth yet. His face was wrinkled, his skin dyed with age spots. He squinted even with glasses, and was half-mad already. Senile. The one standing before the Revolution.

Harry's eyes closed wearily, but he couldn't close his ears to the constant drone of condemnations, to the accusations against his parents. Their death toll was tallied up and their years of stealth blown out of cover. For every time that they left him alone, they were painted black with war stains--and worse than anything, everything they had done was done under complete secrecy. Had they publicly opposed Lord Voldemort, then these crimes wouldn't be as horrendous as they were. His parents had accepted the Dark Lord's protection, then used his honor against him in attacks and raids. An Auror wouldn't be so cruel.

And somewhere, Harry's own mind rebelled against him. Like a voice whispered into his ear, memories were recalled of times when his parents ran into "strangers" on the street, people who had seemed insane at the time but whose behavior was now understandable. The voice whispered that the Death Eater was right, that his parents had called their own deaths upon themselves.

"But Lord Voldemort never wanted to kill you, Harry," the Death Eater pointed out. "He had practically raised you as his own son. You were given the best education and constant protection. You were given happiness. You were given friends and love and a home. The world tried to take all this away from you, but He tried to make sure you always had them."

'Just shut up,' Harry silently pleaded. His head was spinning, and the more facts the Death Eater provided, the faster it went. He was reaching a dangerous point of exhaustion, mental and physical. He couldn't take anymore.

Sometime between a last slur against Dumbledore and a final plead to release Lord Voldemort of any murder charge, Harry's mind drifted off and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving him unconscious and worn down to the bare minimum.

Lucius slowed down his speech, finally stopping when he became certain that Harry wasn't awake. He stepped up to the teenager, cautiously placing his hand on a limp shoulder and getting no response. Then, with remarkable tenderness, he gently picked up the light body, handling every step with care. The door opened at an unspoken command, and a few steps left him standing before a giant bed. Lucius softly placed the unconscious boy down, making sure that nothing was wrong. One final look around the room, at the sleeping body, and he left, shutting the door behind him.

Harry wouldn't wake up for a few hours at least and by then, the boy would have realized that every word Lucius said was true.

He walked along the suite, steps making soft sounds on carpeted floor. Deep in thought, the wizard's mind let his feet carry him wherever unguided, and he stopped before his son's room. Quietly, Lucius opened that door and peered in, satisfied at seeing his own son's sleeping form apparently at ease.

The wizard walked to his own room, and slowly took a seat beside the bed. Looking at nothing, with nothing to look at in the darkness of the night, Lucius lost himself in a whirl of mental planning and activity. By the time the sun began to slyly peek in over the far horizon, he was still awake, still sitting up straight in a deep chair, still shaping out the last stages of his plan.

He finally let his head drop against his neck, more a sign of accomplishment than tiredness. "This will work," he murmured once into the morning air.