Draco Verdant

Chapter Two- Both Sides Now

Harry found himself in a splendidly evil room, decorated tastefully but coldly in greens ranging from emerald to delicate pastel. A tremendous chandelier graced the ceiling; an olive carpet stretched over the floor. Tapestries of forest hues on the verdant walls depicted bloody death scenes and great massacres, scenes of horror and hate, and one central statue, cold and tall and splendidly white amidst the green, loomed beneath a plaque reading "Salazar Slytherin, Our Founding Father." Above it all a legend on a peacock banner proclaimed: "Mors, vita, sanitas- non pertinens. Ambitio- omnia." Harry correctly translated it as "Death, life, sanity- irrelevant. Ambition- everything."

And right in front of him, Draco Malfoy, his elegant face wrought with turbid emotion, slouched languidly in a shamrock armchair. Harry looked at him with confusion. The side effects of the Diplomat's Aide were beginning to kick in, and he couldn't quite remember why he had come here.

Lucius, Petunia, and Dudley swirled into the parlor through the immense fireplace that Harry had just stumbled through. Dudley looked rather ill, Petunia was smiling her that grin again, painfully loopy, and Lucius appeared as collected as ever.

"Dear, dear, Draco," commented Lucius. "Still not in bed, when you are feeling so poorly?"

"I'm not feeling poorly, Father," Draco spat. "You know what the matter is."

"Indeed," replied Lucius coldly. "And I'm sure some sleep will clear up the misunderstanding."

"There is no misunderstanding, Father!" yelled Draco. Harry was alarmed. He had never seen Draco act quite like this, so emotional.

"Go to bed, Draco," Lucius managed, "or I will not have the house-elves allow you to eat at all tomorrow. Other consequences are already in store for you, for your misbehavior earlier today." Draco scowled and breezed from the room. Harry glanced nervously at Lucius.

"I believe we should all retire for the evening," Lucius proclaimed. "I will have the house-elves show you to your rooms, Harry, Dudley."

Dudley yawned alarmingly. Harry stood his ground- he would not say "thank you" to Lucius Malfoy, no matter how hard Aunt Petunia glared at him. Lucius raised an eyebrow, then clapped his hands, summoning two house-elves who led Harry and Dudley up the winding, hex-lined passages of the house, leading Harry to a bed, where he fell asleep promptly and forgot everything...

***

Ron drummed his fingers on the table. As the rumours had grown stronger and more persistent, none of the Weasley children, nor Hermione, who had been staying with them almost all summer, had been allowed outside. Hermione didn't mind, as it gave her plenty of time to study, but Ron had recently discovered a particular dislike of their spellbooks for this year, even more so than last year's, and had gone through all his old copies of "Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle," before giving up and simply staring at the rain outside.

"Oh, come on, Ron, you're going to be hopelessly unprepared for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year if you don't start reading," Hermione finally snapped, after glaring pointedly at him for a while. "And we've got a new class this year too, Symbolism. It's supposed to be incredibly hard. And what about O.W.L.'s? Ron, you're not even listening to me!"

"Right..." said Ron. "Something about owls? I wonder if Pig's safe..."

"Not those kind of owls, Ron, the O.W.L.'s!" exclaimed Hermione irritably. "It is possible to fail them, you know, loads of people have done, and I've been revising since early last year and you haven't even started! Here, why don't you take a look at one of these," she added, pulling O.W.L.'s for Squibs (the wizarding version of "The Idiot's Guide"), How to Succeed at O.W.L.'s Without Really Trying, and The Hogwarts Review: Cracking the O.W.L's from her bag.

"Hermione, I am not going to study for O.W.L's until at least Christmas," said Ron. Hermione stared at him.

"It wouldn't do much good to study for them after they've happened," she replied.

"What do you mean? They come at the end of the year, remember? Earth to Hermione?"

"Not this year they don't," she said, a bit smugly. "They're coming right before winter holidays, because of the Magical Apprentices' Gathering of Europe at the end of the year."

"What?" gasped Ron, falling off his precarious perch by the window. "You're having me on, aren't you? You can't be serious."

"Of course I'm serious," she primly stated. "The MAGEs happens every seven years, so that each student of magic gets to attend them once. It's a sort of festival, to exchange international methods of spell-working. And we're lucky to have it fifth year, too, because this is the year we get foreign exchange students. So the O.W.L's just have to be pushed back, and you'd better get studying then, hadn't you?" Ron gaped.

"Well, I'm not studying for them anyway," he said. "There are more important things to think about right now, like," he stopped, and then gulped, finally realizing what he had been thinking all day, "what's happening with You-Know-You. He's coming back, I tried not to think about it, but I couldn't. I want to know what's going on. I want- Hermione, I want to stop him. I mean, I know I can't stop him, but stop him from hurting Harry. And us," he added as an afterthought.

"Ron!" she gasped, letting all her books slide to the floor as she half-stood up. "I'm all for helping Harry, and saving the world, but why would you want to go and get yourself killed?"

"If I don't go stop him, he's going to kill Harry, and thousands of other people," Ron said. "Harry's saved the whole wizarding world pretty much every year since we came to Hogwarts. The least I can do is to try and save him." Hermione sucked in her breath and sat with her down, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then, quietly, she said,

"Not without me you won't."

***

Harry dreamed. Bloody shadows at first, turbulent and yet serene, but then the dream shifted. A smoky shape lurked in front of him, draped in darkness. He felt like his very self was being pulled from him, but at the same time he felt a great and mysterious love for the misty being. It needed life from him. He didn't think he could speak and didn't try. There was a flash of green light, a terrible, blinding streak, and for a minute he thought he would throw up, but then it stopped and all lay still. Quickly the shape shivered and dissolved, and he mourned its loss, for it felt so much stronger than him although it was so weak in living, and now it seemed as if someone were punching him in the stomach. The images left, and he heard words, but he didn't know them. He could recognize each sound by itself, and he knew they must make words, words he knew, but somehow in the dream he didn't know them. Babbling sounds could mean nothing. Again he felt someone punching him in the stomach. It was so violent that he sat up suddenly, awaking in the process. A large gray cat had been prodding him imperiously.

"Shoo," he told it. It gave him a supercilious glance and left with the same regality. He knew it had understood him; at the Malfoys', it could not be less than a magical cat. In the great windows on the other side of the room, the sun blazed low on the horizon. Morning was only beginning to spring, not really time to get up yet, but Harry doubted he would sleep again. For some reason, he felt like having the mindless relief of work, like that which he had gotten used to all summer, except of course he would not be cleaning toilets. He had had enough of that job.

He tumbled out of bed, grasped for his clothes- hand-me-down shirts and trousers from Dudley, great ugly things that were still the only Muggle clothes he had, but magical boxers re-enacting the Quidditch World Cup, Bulgaria vs. Ireland, to be hidden underneath- and pulled them all on. He found a bandana, too, since he was planning on working outside and didn't want sunburn on what promised to be a scorching day.

Exiting his room, he realised that he had no idea how to navigate the treacherous halls without unleashing a dreadful curse, like the one that had killed Narcissa Malfoy only a week or so earlier, nor where he might find a door to the outside. He pulled out his wand and whispered, first "Point me," and then, "Fugius." The combination of the spells for direction and avoidance should lead him safely through the halls, unless the traps were subtler than his spell was prepared for. Grimly he thought how ironic it would be if he died by accident now, after having deflected Voldemort four times.

The spells worked with only minimal dubiousness, and soon he found an outside door, but not before asking the house-elves in the kitchens for some toast. The grounds appeared pleasant, but he didn't call off his spell. The exterior of Malfoy Manor could prove equally dangerous, and often he was forced to avoid something he couldn't even see or hear, while once he almost stumbled upon a pack of grim wolves that seemed to be patrolling the area.

Finally, he rounded a corner onto a group of singing house-elves overturning a garden. The shrill song (something to do with socks) effervesced in his ears and generally made itself unpleasant. Harry made a mental note to avoid singing house-elves in the future.

"Hi," he said. The elves stared up at him, shocked. "Er, is there some work I can do?" They appeared flabbergasted.

"Wizards should not be doing elves' work, sir!" piped up one very small house-elf. "It is not being proper! A great wizard like sir should be practising Quidditch or drinking a Mai Tai in his beautiful room, sir, not working with us lowly horrid house-elves."

"That's what Malfoy does, is it?" Harry asked, amused in a revolted sort of way. "Well, forget that. I need to do some work so I can think. It'll, erm, make me feel better," he explained. The elves continued to gape. Harry felt he wasn't getting anywhere. "Look, can I just please have a shovel?"

"Sir is saying please to us lowly house-elves!" wailed the elf who had spoken before, sobbing now. "Oh, sir, accuse us, threaten us instead, if we are not meeting your lordship's lovely demands! Let your lowly servants bring you Mai Tais!" Harry gave up and just took a shovel himself, the tallest one he could find.

***

A few hours and several rows later, the sun had risen to a great height, and Harry found himself wiping sweat off his forehead every few minutes. He stared at the sun defiantly, and bent down to the height of the elf-sized shovel again.

"Well, Potter," an amused voice drawled behind him. "Those Muggle relations of yours must have been terrible to you. You seem to think you're a house-elf. And that bandana? Really, are you trying to hide the Dark Lord on the back of your head? You know, that's terribly passé. Try keeping him in your shoes or something. No one would ever guess. And I expect it couldn't make your feet smell any worse than they already do."

"You know, Malfoy," Harry replied, turning around, "there really isn't anyone here to think that's funny. Do you amuse yourself that much?"

"The house-elves will think it's funny if I tell them it's funny," Draco said. "Laugh, elves!" he snapped. The diminutive servants rolled on the ground with laughter. It was incredibly annoying.

"I assume you have some higher purpose in being here than just forcing elves to make horrendous sounds," said Harry, trying to sound non-chalant and impressive at the same time.

"Mostly I just wanted to prepare my wit for the disparagement of lesser beings that is necessary during the year by commenting on your sorry state, but I can use higher purposes," Draco said. He really did manage to sound non-chalant and impressive. Harry gritted his teeth. "We could discuss how you feel about being forced to live in a house with me. You must feel terrible, without everyone simpering over you and your scar all the time. And you certainly feel completely inferior to me, of course."

"It really wouldn't make much sense for me to feel inferior to a complete arse like you, Malfoy," Harry said quietly.

"Oh, honestly, Potter," Draco droned. "I would think you, at least, might be able to come up with something slightly witty. Normally I wouldn't expect a Gryffindor to be able to, but I thought my brilliant influence in the world of insults might have taught you something. If you can't come up with repartée for me every day this year, I'll start taking points from you. I'm to be a prefect this year, you know."

"No, I don't. I honestly couldn't care less about your little accomplishments," he growled.

"Oh, poor Potter, can't banter without getting uptight. All right, I'll be serious then. I wonder what's in store for you this year. Do you know what plots there are? What nasty ways for you to die, maybe?"

"They won't work," said Harry, tired of dealing with him. "They never work. I'll find out and I'll get around them. And if you try to hurt me or my friends, I'm not going to let you get away with it." Draco's face suddenly grew solemn. The joking manner he had had fled instantly.

"I'm giving you fair warning now, Potter. Don't trust me. I'm going to have to be like a brother to you now, you know. We're not going to able to avoid talking. And you may not always be able to tell the difference between me actually being friendly- which I can be- and me betraying you."

"Why are you warning me?" Harry asked bluntly.

"I have a sense of fairness, you know," said Draco. "I'm not completely an evil brat. I'd like to give you a little warning. But I'm not going to let you off the hook. I have loyalty to my father over my sense of fair play. I wouldn't think to go against them, but I feel like giving you a chance. Listen to me, and maybe you'll be watching your back at the right moment. You won't be able to stop me, but maybe you can come through. After this warning, I'm not going to be able to pay attention or care for your well-being. Not," he added, "that I do."

"You're a Death Eater," said Harry. "You are, aren't you? You're going to kill me."

"That's not a question I can answer with a yes or no, Potter," said Draco.

"Why not?" Harry spat. "It's fairly easy, isn't it? Do you support killing Muggles? Are you part of the group that killed my mother and father? Do you want to kill me? Answer me! It's not hard!" By the end he was yelling.

"Here, then," Draco spat, pulling up his sleeve. "The Dark Mark. Very pleasant, don't you think? I do. And that puts it all down pat in one little easy answer for you. I'm evil, you can go report me to your precious Dumbledore now." Harry closed his eyes. When he next spoke, the anger was gone from his voice.

"No," he said. "I won't judge you yet, I should listen first. You'd better have a good explanation. Tell me, then, what's the 'no' part?"

"I haven't earned my mark," Draco said. Now he seemed hurt, a little vulnerable, something Harry had never expected to see in him. "You see, there's a little initiation rite to the Death Eaters- you won't know of it, of course, a perfect little person like you- but to become one of the lowest ranks of Death Eaters, you have to kill a Muggle. The rank above that, a Mudblood. Above that, a Squib. And if you want to be in the Inner Circle, you have to kill a pureblood who's dangerous to our cause. I'm in the Inner Circle, despite my lack of murderous achievements, on the premise that I will give you to the Dark Lord later this year. So I wouldn't really call myself a Death Eater yet. And since I'm not, I'm free to tell you that you and your friends will die this year. Unless you listen to my warning."

"But you don't have to be, if you don't want to," Harry said. "You can ask Dumbledore to help you, he'll make sure you're protected. You don't have to become a Death Eater."

"You haven't been listening," Draco hissed. "I warned you for fairness. I am loyal to my father and my master. The subject is closed. Shut up."

"All right," said Harry, dumbfounded. "Sorry." He immediately cursed inwardly- he had broken his policy of never apologizing to a Malfoy.

"Good," said Draco. "Now I was really sent out to warn you that there's a party tonight. Since you don't have any decent clothes, you'll have to borrow some of mine. You're a bit smaller than me. No robes your size, you'll have to dress Muggle, much as it will incite my father to kill you on the spot. I think I only have one pair of trousers that'll fit you."

"Let me guess," said Harry. "They're absolutely horrible."

"Close," replied Draco gleefully. "They're leather."

***

Mrs. Weasley entered the room where Ron and Hermione had been talking, looking extremely worried. She had been very nervous and even more protective than usual since the family had been wavering on the brink of going into hiding.

"Hermione, dear, do you need to go into Diagon Alley personally, or will you stay here?" she asked. "I don't know which is worse. It's dangerous to travel, but I don't want to leave any of you here alone."

"Yes, I need some new robes," said Hermione. "I've spilled ink over most of mine."

"I'm coming, too," said Ron. "George and Fred said they're buying me new dress robes as a donation to the eyes of humanity."

"Well, come along then," Molly said. "But be careful. I don't know what I'd tell your parents if you went missing in my charge, Hermione."

"I do," Ron muttered. "Died of an overdose of paranoia." Hermione glared at him, and they went into the living room to meet up with the rest of the family. Fred and George were conspiring, probably over some piece of merchandise they had made for their now-legal mail-order business. They looked up when Ron and Hermione entered.

"Blimey, don't know if there's a point in buying you robes after all, Ron," said George. "You've grown since breakfast this morning!"

"Maybe we'll buy you weights to put on your head instead," said Fred. The twins sniggered, despite Molly's disapproving look. She rarely actually yelled at them now that they were making a significant amount of money, as long as they kept their pranks in the business world.

Arthur was inspecting the fireplace carefully. It had been brought up in the Order of the Phoenix, the secret organization well-hidden and little listened to within the Ministry, that the Dark Lord could compromise wizarding transportation routes, though they were unable to communicate with the actual Department of Wizarding Transportation. Fudge did not know or approve of their group, still preferring to believe that Voldemort was a listless shadow hiding off in Albania or whichever country whose name he couldn't remember. The Order had not been able to warn others of the danger.

"Safe," Arthur pronounced, and Molly, sighing with relief, plucked the Floo powder from its shelf. She, being one of the few who knew the reality of Voldemort's return, now worried more than any other witch in England. Percy, Fred, and George went through first, and then Hermione took a pinch. Stepping into the fire, saying "Diagon Alley", she whirled through the Floo Network. She actually rather enjoyed traveling this way, and had been fascinated by a book she had found, There's a Fly in my Floo, the memoirs of the witch who had painstakingly invented the powder and held the Merlin's Book of Wizarding Records title for "Splinched Most Times." But today, the whirls of the Floo Network felt different, a little strange and cold, and she couldn't help thinking of Mr. Weasley's warning that the network could have been penetrated.

She dropped out of a chimney place and was relieved to find herself in The Leaky Cauldron, exactly where she was supposed to be, with Fred, George, and Percy in front of her. Soon the remaining Weasleys followed her. After they had visited Gringott's, they all parted, despite Mrs. Weasley's fears, Hermione going to Madame Malkins', Percy to see an Asian diplomat he had spotted, Ginny to look at broomsticks, and Fred and George heading off with Lee Jordan in what looked suspiciously like a roundabout route toward Knockturn Alley.

"Hello, dearie," Madame Malkin greeted her, "sit down a minute and I'll be with you soon." She was fitting a girl who looked about the same age as Hermione, although she had never seen her at Hogwarts. Hermione nodded and sat down at the window. Outside in Diagon Alley, the street was thronged with odd people and things passing as people, and all sorts of things to be sold. She smiled as she watched a woman who might well be part dwarf, judging by the height and the beard, as she yelled at the stall-tender who couldn't see her over the counter. To her right was the Leaky Cauldron, where a wizard tried to stem the overflowing vats of Butterbeer, and to her left- to her left was Knockturn Alley. Looking at it, she got the same cold feeling she had had in the Floo Network. She hoped the twins hadn't gone down there.

The girl left the shop and Hermione went to get her robes. Madame Malkin quickly found a few in her size, as she was of a rather average height and build, and she paid for them and left the shop. She glanced nervously to her left again, and this time something kept her from looking away. There was a stormcloud gathering right at the entrance to the dark sidestreet, and no one else seemed to have noticed. It had an oddly greenish hue. She ran towards it.

People nearby started to notice her running, and then they turned and began to see the cloud. A murmur arose in the streets, and as the swirling bulk grew and grew it became a panic. Something rumbled within the mist, and Hermione only had time to drop behind a cart before the cloud exploded.

***

Harry turned the page of the book he was reading and let it drop to the floor. He had found the answer he had been searching for, though not the solution, in a book that he had forgotten to return to Hermione (a great transgression, especially as she had sneaked it from the Restricted Section). Petunia Dursley had been put under a variant of the Confundus Charm, designed as a mental block against one particular subject. It wasn't intended to fool other people, which was why she had seemed so out of it. And since none but the Death Eaters (and the Order of the Phoenix) knew of the marriage, Lucius did not worry about being caught. But it made the bearer not realise that they had been tricked in any way. They would become less and less coherent about the subject as time went on. From the description in the book, Harry would say that she had already been under the charm the day Uncle Vernon had exploded (figuratively) at the breakfast table. She might not have been willing to marry a wizard that morning, but by the time she had let the charm walk her into the trap, it had taken over what was surely a significant section of her brain, not that she had much, but that was beside the point.

Finding the precise reason for his predicament did not make Harry feel any better, nor did it give him any idea what to do. Plan A was to hope no one killed him before he got to Hogwarts. He knew that it was not a very good plan, but he'd learned from the Triwizard Tournament last year that plans were not his forté. Immediate action was so much easier.

In the meantime, he had to attend this party. Yet another thing he was less than enthusiastic about. Partying with a bunch of Death Eaters who would be happy to kill him. Oh joy. He changed into the white silk shirt and the black leather trousers that Draco had loaned him. Now he would be partying with a bunch of Death Eaters who not only wanted to kill him, but also would be looking at his butt. Surely a significant improvement.

He had discovered that morning, after wasting a lot of time being lost, that Draco's room was located next to his. However, when he went to look for it now, it wasn't. Confused, he turned around. Draco's room re-appeared. Blinking, Harry decided to ignore it, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice called. Harry wondered how even a phrase like that could be made to sound so sarcastic. He briefly envisioned Draco practising wit in the mirror, the first entertaining thought he'd had all day. He entered the room.

The blond boy was running a comb through his hair, taming it into his patented helmet-hair style. Harry thought it looked incredibly unnatural that way, but he wasn't about to advise his enemy on hairstyling.

"Are you sure you don't have any other trousers that would fit me?" Harry asked desperately. "These are terrible. Every rich snob wizard in England will be staring at my butt."

"There's nothing wrong with the trousers," replied Draco. "They look fine. The shirt, well, I'm not so sure about the shirt."

"What's wrong with the shirt?" asked Harry. He looked down at the white silk. "I thought it looked rather good on me."

"Potter," Draco said seriously, "I can see your nipples through that shirt."

***

Hermione peered out from behind the cart. Deciding she was safe, she ran over to the Knockturn Alley entrance. Fred stood there, bleeding on his arm but looking relatively all right, helping George out of a pile of rubble. Lee Jordan lay unconscious, blood gushing from his forehead, his legs trapped under a rock. Hermione reached into her bag for some gauze- something she had decided to always carry with her since third year, when she had realised that these adventures were getting to be a regular tradition- and started wrapping Lee's wound. Fred and George, now extricated from the mess, started lifting the boulder off of his entrapped limbs.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Molly Weasley had joined the crowd behind them, but Ministry officials were now preventing anyone from entering the scene. From what Hermione could see, the twins' mother looked as if she were about to burst into hysterics.

"Well, we managed to get into the alley- they ask for ID sometimes, but they're not at all strict about it- and then this hag ran into us and dropped something in a vial. It broke and then this cloud appeared. No idea what it was, or where she's got to. Suppose she Disapparated once she saw she'd spilled it," said Fred viciously.

"What was it like inside the cloud?" Hermione asked. "The more you tell me, the easier it'll be to figure out what it was."

"Erm- very cold," said Fred. Hermione glared at him. "Honestly, Hermione, I wasn't exactly worrying about collecting evidence, I was worrying about great bloody boulders falling on me!"

"George? Anything else?" she asked.

"No, I tripped and got covered in this stuff," he said, gesturing to the pile he had previously been buried under.

"Well, tell me if you think of anything else," she said, "because know I've heard of this, and I can't remember it. I've only got the most vague idea. There," she added, finishing Lee's bandage. "That should take care of the bleeding until we find a mediwizard."

Molly rushed onto the scene, having convinced the guards of her reliability. She looked frantic, and also extraordinarily angry.

"What were you two doing down Knockturn Alley?" she berated the twins. "I can't believe you would put yourselves and your friend into danger when you know how dangerous things are nowadays! Haven't you listened to your father?"

"Probably not," said Fred. By now Molly was practically exploding.

"That isn't funny!" she exclaimed. "You two are going to be in trouble every day for the rest of your life if you can't distinguish between some innocent prank and things that are actually dangerous! It's bad enough that you don't know when to stop joking, but if you bring people into danger because of it, you'll end up in Azkaban!"

"Sorry, Mum," said George. Molly had to stop yelling at them then, because a mediwitch ran up to them. She looked very collected, even though she must have left her office in a hurry.

"I'll take over from here," she said. "Who is the young man in a magically removed state of consciousness?" Hermione stared at her.

"Er- I think he just got knocked unconscious by one of these rocks, not magically," she said. "It cut his head, there."

"Young lady," said the woman. "I am a trained mediwitch from St. Mungo's. I think I recognize a magically removed state when I see it. Please identify this boy."

"Lee Jordan," supplied George. "He's going to be a seventh year at Hogwarts."

"Why is he magically removed if they aren't?" insisted Hermione. "They were in the cloud too." The mediwitch was fixing Fred's arm now.

"I have no idea," she replied curtly. "It will be investigated. Please excuse me, I'm going to take him to St. Mungo's now."

****

The party had begun. Harry and Draco were standing at the top of the stairs, watching the guests below.

"You first, Potter," said Draco. "I want to be fashionably late."

"I want to be fashionably not there," Harry said. "Or even unfashionably not there. You will notice that the operative part of that sentence is not wanting to be there."

"What, you think I want to?" drawled Draco. "You know, I have to dance with Pansy Parkinson. You just have to worry about plots. I would much rather be you."

"I thought you liked Pansy," replied Harry absentmindedly.

"You must be joking," Draco said. "You've seen her, haven't you? I was better looking as a ferret than she is with enough cosmetic charms to supply China for a week. Although I must admit she is quite devious."

"Right, then," said Harry. "We'll go down the stairs at the same time." Draco recoiled in horror. "What?" Harry asked.

"Potter, couples always go down stairs together," he managed, composing himself. "Not step-cousins or whatever it is we are."

"Fine," said Harry. "You go down first, then." Draco scowled at him, then advanced down the stairs. After a reasonable amount of time, Harry followed. Avoiding the dance floor, he found himself standing right next to Fudge. He decided to take the opportunity to confront him.

"Mr. Fudge," he said. Fudge jumped. "What are you doing at this party? Don't you think it's a little odd for the Minister to be here?"

"Nonsense, m'boy! Why, this is the home of a very good friend of mine, Lucius Malfoy, he's made some excellent donations, you know, I, um, I, nothing to be ashamed of, and you wouldn't say anything, would you? Why don't I give you a Galleon?" he offered weakly. Harry decided that he might not be the best source of information.

"No, thank you. Nice to see you. Goodbye, Mr. Fudge," he said. Fudge relaxed visibly, and Harry wandered over to where Draco was evading Pansy Parkinson. "Is Fudge a Death Eater?" he asked Draco quietly.

"Of course not," said Draco. "He can't handle anything. He is not above a little bribery, though. In the same way that the ground is not above the sky."

"Why did they make him Minister, then?" said Harry. "He's not very good at it anyway."

"We made him Minister, not some imaginary they, because we can bribe him." Draco told him.

"I see," said Harry. "You're very disturbing, you know."

"Thank you," said Draco. Harry was about to reply, when he saw Lucius Malfoy coming down the stairs with Aunt Petunia on his arm. She looked incredibly lost, and Harry remembered what the book had said- the longer anyone had to deal with being under the charm, and the more they had to deal with what it was blocking them from, the more they would begin to lose their coherence, their memory, and possibly even their sanity. Living in a house like this could easily make a Muggle like Petunia go insane. Harry resolved to find a counter-curse before he left for school tomorrow.

***

"I don't like this," Hermione told Ron. "Something that can produce a magically removed state is highly illegal, one of the worst sort of potions. And I know they were down Knockturn Alley, but honestly, they generally sell morally unacceptable products there, not really, really illegal ones. And I'm sure I've read about this somewhere, but I have no idea where it was, and it's incredibly important! I can't stand not knowing things!"

"Calm down, Hermione!" said Ron, alarmed. "I'm sure you'll find it somewhere. And what makes you think this was anything more than an accident?"

"It's never an accident, with any of us," said Hermione. "And- Ron, did you go down Knockturn Alley with the twins?"

"Well," said Ron, "just for a minute, but I left long before that cloud-thing came."

"Then don't you think that it might have been aimed for you?" asked Hermione. "It's not just Harry that gets hurt. It's all of us. Harry is the most important, but we're almost part of Harry too, and we're a nuisance to the Dark Lord. Honestly, Ron, why don't you ever worry? "

"I do, Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "But I don't worry about me. I always get to go to hospital or stay behind before the end. It's Harry that goes on and gets hurt and makes us think he's going to die. It's Harry that I worry about. And you."

"Why me?" asked Hermione. "I'm there less than you are. I wasn't even in the Chamber of Secrets. Worry about yourself, Ron."

"I can't worry about myself when I have people as important as you and Harry to worry about," said Ron. He smiled at Hermione, and something might have come of it if it weren't for what was about to happen in the next few days.

***

Harry turned the page of the fifteenth book he had pored through, searching for a counter-curse. He gave up his last hopes, perfunctorily scanning the page, not daring to dream that it would ever appear- and there it was, in the same book of Hermione's that he had searched through again and again. The contents must have been changed by the phase of the moon, one of the difficult characteristics of wizarding books.

The Counter-Curse for this variation of the Confundus Charm is exceedingly difficult. Shit. However, a witch or wizard can accomplish it with the force of sheer determination. The difficulty lies in the fact that not only must the wizard perform the spell; they must convince the victim that they have been tricked into their current beliefs. It does not have to be a logical argument; indeed, that is often counter-productive. The caster must play on the victim's feelings about the issue. At the moment the victim expresses doubt, before sliding into the takeover of the spell inflicted upon them, the wizard must utter the counterspell, consisting of the words, "Restitio logica!" The stronger the feelings of the victim about the subject, the more likely this is to work. The timing must be precise, and the victim must desire to be released.

Well, that wasn't too bad. Aunt Petunia hated wizards, so convincing her shouldn't be too much of a problem. It didn't sound all that difficult to him, but it might be to wizards who relied on their wands and not their powers of argument. Harry put the book back in his bag. He wondered how much less time this would have taken if Hermione had been there to help him research. He had never missed his friends so much.

Tomorrow he would leave for Hogwarts. For now, he had a curse to lift. He went to find Aunt Petunia.