A Season of Revelations

Chapter 2 - Boys on the Side

A peculiar boy boarded the Knight Bus in Little Whinging and rode it all the way to a remote stop in Ottery St. Catchpole, occasionally muttering to himself or making faces of frustration before subtly giving a little kick to the space of air directly beside him. He then began on the three-kilometer walk down a seldom used road to the home of Arthur and Molly Weasley, also known as the Burrows.

Most wizard and witch passersby paid little attention to the rather girlish young man, except to note (and then promptly forget) that he was wearing a Hogwarts school uniform (minus the robes) and a floppy gray Muggle hat in the middle of summer holiday.

But Nymphadora Tonks was not most witches, and she could hardly control her curiosity, and fits of giggles, as she trailed Hermione Granger like the expertly trained auror that she was. It was obvious to Tonks that Hermione wasn't alone on the journey, but that someone, perhaps with a certain Invisibility Cloak, was most definitely with her.

As long as they've fooled the rest of the magical world and made it to their destination safely, Tonks didn't see any reason for concern. And look how well Miss, er...Mr., Granger pulls off this kind of drag, Tonks thought humorously. This also made her wonder about certain other things. Hermione, Ron, Harry, and even Ginny Weasley were standing precariously close to the edge of that thing called "coming of age." She giggled again to herself, watching Hermione have a conversation with the invisible Harry as they walked up the lane to the Burrows in the early light of dawn.

"'Mione," whispered Harry, elbowing her in the arm. Her droopy eyelids fluttered open.

"Hmm...what? It's not that far off. I can almost smell Ron's mum's bacon..." Hermione's voice trailed off into a yawn.

"Psst...Hermione," Harry whispered louder, poking her in the shoulder. This time she stopped, dropping Harry's heavy trunk to the pavement with a thud and putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, what is it Harry?"

"I think we're being followed. I've felt it since we got on the bus at Magnolia Crescent."

"Don't be absurd," she said, glancing around. A hundred or so meters away a gray-haired witch with a cane shuffled behind them at a non-threatening pace. "Who's following us then, that little old lady? Looks like she can hardly make the walk home."

"But she got off the bus at the same stop as us."

Hermione glared at Harry, or at least where she figured he would be. She looked exhausted, her frizzy hair now sticking out wildly in place from under Uncle Vernon's old hat.

"If you're so keen on knowing what that poor woman's up to, then go investigate. You're the invisible one here. I'm just the nutter boy talking to himself," she mumbled the last part to herself.

"Fine, just wait a moment," Harry requested. With a fed-up growl, Hermione took a seat on Harry's trunk and crossed her arms.

Harry approached the hobbling witch carefully as to not make any footprints. Once at her side, he examined her lowered eyes and scarf-covered mouth. Her nose was knobbly and crooked, almost exaggeratedly so. Yet, she seemed vaguely familiar to Harry.

She began to snigger to herself, holding it in a bit. Even that's a bit familiar, thought Harry. Then she spoke.

"Harry, you're going to have to breath a bit quieter if you want to spy on someone. You've got a whistling nose," she smiled, letting out a laugh. Startled, Harry stumbled to avoid smacking into a low-hanging tree branch. Then the woman's face began to shift. Her warty nose shrunk into a normal shape and her posture straightened. The straggly gray hair shortened into a spiky purple mop.

"Tonks!" cried Harry. He pulled off his Invisibility cloak and hugged her.

"Hermione, it's just Tonks," he shouted over to her. She waved, staying seated on the trunk.

"I've been following you since you got on the Knight Bus, you know. You ought to be more careful. Luckily, I'm almost positive no one else noticed." Harry wondered if Tonks had already been on the bus, or standing guard outside number four Privet Drive again. The thought embarrassed him a little - hadn't he proven he wasn't some kid anymore? Nonetheless, he was glad to see her.

The two approached Hermione, who was apparently too tired to stand up.

She smiled up at Harry and Tonks, rubbing her eyes. "I'm so glad I won't have to use my made-up story to explain to Ron's parents why we just popped in for an extended visit."

Tonks pulled off Hermione's hat and rustled her frizzy locks affectionately. "Nope, kiddo. But you may have to explain why you're wearing Harry's clothes." She winked at both of them.

***

"It's a disguise," explained Hermione between healthy bites of Mrs. Weasley's breakfast. "We, I mean, Tonks thought we should play it safe and not get recognized by any of You-Know-Who's supporters."

"And Harry came all this way under that cloak?" replied Mrs. Weasley, pouring tea for everyone with her wand. "Didn't you feel a bit odd walking around in public without seeing your feet and such?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced sideways at each other as to say If they only knew. Harry'd done it loads before in Hogsmeade and around the castle at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, a bit," Harry nursed his glass of juice, avoiding elaboration.

"I'm right chuffed to have you guys here. It's been dreadful in this place by myself the past few days. Oh - Mum, Dad, no offense," Ron grinned, looking a little foolish with morning hair and wearing far-outgrown Quidditch patterned pajamas. Loneliness did not become Ronald Weasley.

"You two get some rest," said Mr. Weasley to Harry and Hermione. He finished his tea, then his eyes rested on Harry for a moment. "I think you'll feel rather safe here. We've been working on securing this place since the springtime." Mr. Weasley rose and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek on his way out.

"Oy, Arthur. Before you leave, could I have a word?" asked Tonks, following him out back while carrying a half-eaten crumpet. Harry knew it was probably official Order business they needed to discuss, but he was still curious. He let it slip his mind, crunching on some bacon.

"So where's Ginny?" Harry asked, realizing she should be home for the summer too.

Hermione grinned a little, hiding it behind her teacup.

"Oh, well... she's gone." Ron answered, his voice oozing gossipy disapproval. Hermione widened her eyes at Ron, and he glanced up at his mother. He switched tones immediately. "She was invited by Dean Thomas' parents and some other kids on a group outdoors trip over the weekend."

"Isn't that nice of the Thomases?" chimed Mrs. Weasley. "Taking all the kids for an outing. Arthur was all too thrilled to let Ginny go when he heard they were going to learn how to use some muggle gear. Camp stoves and, er, gassy latrines."

"Lanterns," informed Hermione.

"Yes, that's it. Arthur expects a detailed report when she returns," Ron almost spit out his juice. He'd rather not know anything about his little sister and her time spent with boys.

"Hermione dear, you look a tad bit peaky. Maybe you should get some sleep." Mrs. Weasley examined Hermione's tired face with mothering eyes. "Let's go up to Ginny's room and get you some proper clothes to wear." Hermione just nodded and followed her upstairs.

***

In the weeks after returning from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy found his home at Malfoy Manor under scrutiny by Ministry agents. They rummaged through personal affects and cabinets containing mysterious artifacts. Teams of wizards carried off boxes of confiscated scrolls and other parchments. Narcissa Malfoy clung to Draco's shoulder with her claw-like hand, covertly restraining him from lunging at one of them in anger.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the aurors sent to investigate the Malfoys, approached Draco and his mother. Draco's hand reached for his wand, but his mother squeezed his shoulder hard enough to hurt - his signal to remain still.

"Mrs. Malfoy," began Kingsley in an authoritative baritone. "May I have a few words with you?"

"Please, call me Narcissa," she insisted coyly. Draco cringed in disgust. His mother might be putting up a show, but he'd never sink so low.

He jerked away from her grasp, turning his back on them. His father Lucius Malfoy had been locked up in Azkaban, sentenced as a follower of the Dark Lord. Whatever, thought Draco. He knew his father was a Death Eater long before those Ministry morons caught wind.

Draco watched two wizards levitate a rather large, ancient, inscription-marked Egyptian urn out the door. He wanted to march over there and threaten them not to touch their beautiful possessions. But he knew better - and intimidation always worked better with two thick-necked thugs like Crabbe and Goyle at your side.

He could overhear his mother talking to the pirate-like auror.

"How long have you known your husband was involved in the dark arts under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" questioned Kingsley.

"I don't make a habit of meddling in the affairs of my husband. Especially when he...Oh, I can't say," Narcissa drew it out for dramatics.

Kingsley stared, waiting patiently as Narcissa's eyes moistened just slightly. "Go on, please."

"He had seemed under quite a bit of pressure lately, acting peculiar and moody, and saying things like 'You know I would do anything to keep you and Draco safe.' The Dark- He had influence that you can't imagine the first time he rose to power, Mr. Shacklebolt. I daresay Lucius was, well, afraid to resist."

Draco let out a sarcastic harumph when she said this. He turned around to face his mother's icy glare before storming out of the room.

Throwing himself down on his great four-poster bed, Draco glanced around at his chamber walls, covered in pennants that boasted Slytherin superiority. The picture on his nightstand showed an overconfident, if not snub-nosed, family of Malfoys, the trademark smirk registering on both his face and his father's. If one looked closely enough, they'd see Lucius' eyes darting around shadily.

"My father was never anyone's fool," Draco mumbled to himself. How could he be so thick as to get caught? With a scowling expression, Draco remembered there was one person to blame, one person responsible for every vile thing in his life - Harry Potter.

A photo of Harry from a recent Daily Prophet hung on the wall of his room, riddled with small pinholes. Draco drew his arm back, and his dart landed exactly where Harry's scar would be if much of his face remained. He's been the center of attention far too many times for a low life half-blood.

Draco knew there was something he had to do. Harry would have to pay for getting his father tossed in prison - him and all his disgusting friends. In a rage, he tore the photo from the wall and held it above the candle flame from his wall sconce. The paper caught fire as Draco watched Harry's face turn to ashes.

A knock came at his door. Draco rolled his eyes, letting the burnt paper fall to the stone floor.

"Go away!" he ordered. The door swung open, and Narcissa slithered in. He glanced at his mother sideways in an effort to ignore her. "I told you to leave me alone."

"Draco, dear," she said coolly. "Brooding like a pitiful wretch is so unbecoming of a Malfoy. What would your father say?"

His eyes shot daggers at her. "Not to let those Ministry bastards take his belongings. He'd say not to betray him."

"You're fast becoming a man, my son," she smirked, tapping her fingers together pensively. "But you still act and think like a child." Her tone was intentionally harsh.

"You told them father was afraid. You made him out to be a coward." Draco moved to his wardrobe and hastily snatched up his Quidditch gloves and broomstick. "I think you're the coward, mother."

"Kindly keep your voice down!" She blocked his path to the door. "Your father being in Azkaban is not what's made us powerful and wealthy beyond most wizards' imaginations, if you haven't noticed. Or would you go without, say, your Firebolt 2003 rather than tell them what they want to hear?"

This time his eyes revealed a mixed look of hatred and fear. Draco pulled on his Slytherin Quidditch robes in silence. Narcissa moved to the door, opening it to leave.

"Tomorrow I expect you to be dressed and ready for company at eight a.m. sharp. With your father gone, I've taken the liberty to hire someone to give you...guidance."

Yeah right, thought Draco. He wasn't going to waste his summer with some private tutor.

Narcissa paused before leaving. "You realize, Draco, that your pride is what makes you human. But remember, being on top no matter the cost - that is what makes you a Malfoy."