Catharsis

"Hey, Harry," Hermione nudged her friend with one elbow. "Is that Draco Malfoy?"

Harry, who had been concentrating on his next chess move, turned his head, surprised. Malfoy was making his way down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, not looking up, his hair hanging down into his eyes. "He looks different," Harry observed slowly.

Draco Malfoy had been absent for Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had assumed that the boy's father had transferred him to Durmstrang, along with the great majority of the other students in Slytherin house. Harry frowned. Was he returning to Hogwarts for their sixth year?

"It's the hair," Hermione agreed. "And he's taller. I wonder what he's doing here."

"Hey Malfoy," Ron yelled from his seat, "We thought you were gone for good. You finally get yourself expelled or something?" He sniggered.

Draco brushed past their compartment door without so much as a glance.

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he blinked at Ron and Hermione. "Huh," he said succinctly. "That was different."

Hermione frowned. "He's awfully subdued," she agreed.

Ron shrugged. "Maybe this means he'll keep his nasty comments to himself this year. Not that I'm counting on it, mind you."

Hermione shrugged and turned her attention back to her reading. Harry saw she was nearly done reading the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. Neither he nor Ron had so much as cracked the book.

"Didn't you finish that over the summer?" Ron teased her.

"No," Hermione replied. "I was away in Egypt so I didn't get a chance to pick up my books until two weeks ago. I didn't have time to read everything." She absently tossed her hair over her shoulder with one hand.

"That's a change," Ron said, and he and Harry laughed good-naturedly.

"Oh, ha," Hermione retorted, her eyes firmly fixed on her book.

Ron and Harry returned to their game of chess, but Harry found his attention wandering. He bit his lower lip, considering the inexplicable change in Malfoy's behaviour. It was decidedly odd, he mused. What had happened to him and why wasn't he at Durmstrang this year?

Harry had to admit it had been pleasantly quiet during their fifth year at Hogwarts. At first it was odd with Malfoy gone. He found himself looking for the other boy, in Potions, at meals, in the corridors. He hadn't realized how much of his attention had been taken up with just being aware of Malfoy's presence. By mid-term he had pretty much adjusted to the fact that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle weren't around to make his or his friends lives any more difficult than they already were.

Even better, Snape had been notably absent as well. There was quite a bit of speculation as to exactly where he had gone, but none of the rumours had ever been confirmed. Harry hadn't missed the Potions Master at all. His replacement instructor, Professor Quince, may have been just as strict but at least she was fair. Harry's grades had improved, and he managed to get through his O.W.L.s with respectable marks. No one knew with any certainty whether or not Snape would be returning this year, though Hermione insisted it was likely. Even though Harry understood that Snape was technically one of the good guys, he grimly held on to the hope that they would get to keep Quince for Advanced Potions.

Sixth year was promising to be interesting, now that they were done with their O.W.L.s and beginning to prepare for their N.E.W.T.s. It hadn't been a very tough choice, Harry thought, selecting Dark Arts as his major area of focus for the next two years. As long as Voldemort was free, the entire Wizarding world (including Harry and everyone he cared about) was in danger. So there really was no other choice to be made. When you came right down to it, Harry mused, it seemed an awful lot like destiny. He grimaced, deciding he really didn't like the sound of that.

"Harry," Ron's scolding tone roused him from his thoughts. "I just beat the pants off you. Don't you have anything to say?" He gestured triumphantly at the board where the remnants of Harry's Wizard's Chess pieces lay nursing their injuries.

"Congratulations?" Harry offered tentatively. Ron snorted. "Sorry," Harry grinned ruefully. "I was thinking."

"Harry has nothing to apologize for," Hermione said without taking her eyes off her book. "Thinking is good. You should do more of that yourself, Ron."

Ron snorted and rose from his seat. "I'll just leave you with your thoughts, then. I'm going to visit the loo." The door slid open and shut as he left the car. Hermione continued her reading, and Harry was left to stare out the window, effectively alone with his thoughts.

He hadn't really considered that Malfoy's absence would be anything other than blessed relief. He had reached the end of his rope in dealing with the fractious youth, and when he returned from the summer holidays following their fateful fourth year, he felt like he was girding himself for battle. To his great surprise, there was no one left to fight with, as half of the Slytherin upper-class had transferred to Durmstrang.

The side effect of this absence of enemies was that Harry came to realize that he had inner demons to battle instead. Ron and Hermione were a tremendous support, it was true, he remembered with gratitude, but to the rest of the school he was silent and withdrawn. And even with his friends' support, he frequently found himself on his own wrestling with his guilt and despair, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. For, after his dramatic resurrection, Voldemort, the scourge of the Wizarding world, had just disappeared. No word or sighting came, of him or his followers, the Death Eaters, and the longer the silence continued the more worried Harry became. He barely ate, slept badly, and turned even more pale and withdrawn than he had been at the start of the year.

Then, one autumn afternoon, Dumbledore called him into his office. Harry had no idea if the Headmaster had been aware of his situation all along, or if someone had said something to him (privately he suspected Hermione, in a moment of worry). After a pleasant chat over a cup of tea, Dumbledore suggested Harry take a brief holiday and go to a special Quidditch exhibition game in Brazil (for which he just happened to have tickets). "You'd be surprised, Harry, how your perspective can be improved just by getting away for a bit." Harry surprised them both by agreeing.

So, Harry and Ron had gone with Sirius to Brazil for the Christmas holiday, and Harry had come back tanned and somewhat more relaxed. At some point during the holiday he had woken up realizing he couldn't live his life waiting for the next bad thing to happen - he had to just get on with it. To his great surprise, he found that once he had come to this decision everything got a bit easier, one day at a time.

So here he was, on his way back to Hogwarts for his sixth and penultimate year. While he still had nightmares on occasion, he was feeling a whole lot better, the horror of the previous year having faded somewhat. Seeing Malfoy on the train, however, gave him the uneasy sensation that life had just taken a turn for the worse. It was too much to hope that Malfoy would just leave him alone this year. More worrisome to Harry was the thought that this might this mean something significant regarding Voldemort. Frowning, Harry continued to stare out the window as the train hurtled on through the early September evening.

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy continued down the corridor, looking for an empty car. He finally managed to find one with just a handful of first-years, who looked at him with wide eyes. "Don't mind me," he said coolly as he slid into an empty seat. At least they didn't recognize me, he thought grimly. He pulled "Hogwarts, A History" from his bag and immediately stuck his nose in the book. He was absolutely not going to socialize on this trip -- he just wanted to be left alone, and the first-years seemed obliging enough. They eventually returned to their excited chatter, and Draco was left to ponder his life.

How much can happen in a year, he thought with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He was now sixteen, tall and good-looking by any standards. His year at Durmstrang had taught him much, but much of that had turned out to be unwelcome knowledge. While he had always enjoyed the Dark Arts in theory, he was surprised to find he really had very little stomach for some of the more "practical" applications of his family's calling. The biggest surprise, however, was the change in his father when Draco came home for the summer.

Draco Malfoy had always known his father was not a nice man. He had understood that, even while appreciating his father's ability to bully and manipulate others for Draco's benefit.

What he had failed to appreciate, he discovered over the summer holidays, was that these same tactics could be applied to himself. He was sixteen and had always been willful -- he was a Malfoy after all. But this summer, his father had announced he was to return to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang. And, for the first time in his life, Draco had dared to go against his father in a contest of wills. After all, he didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. He had spent months establishing himself in the social order of his new school, he had argued. It would be a waste to leave all that behind and return to a school where his skills and talents were appreciated only by his old Potions teacher, Professor Snape.

"Honestly, father," Draco had snapped at dinner one evening. "The classes are boring, the teachers are dull, and most of my friends are at Durmstrang with me. Why would I want to return Hogwarts?"

"It is of no concern to me what you want or don't want," his father replied coldly. "I have decided you will return to Hogwarts."

"But I don't want to go back there!"

"You will do as you are told," his father's icy voice had carried a warning.

Unfortunately, Draco was too irritated to notice. "I will not," he had declared stubbornly.

The outcome was never really in doubt, Draco thought morosely, shifting uncomfortably. He just hadn't known it. He was still shaken and subdued, and he avoided thinking about the evening he and his father had spent locked in his father's study. There his father had "persuaded" Draco that obedience was a Malfoy family virtue, and that he really must cultivate it. He closed his eyes briefly, pained at the memory. None of his experiences had prepared him for what happened. He had grown up pampered -- spoiled, even. He could admit that to himself now. The thought had never occurred to him that his father, whom he had witnessed behaving brutally towards others, would actually be willing to treat his own son the same way. Of course he'd been grounded, he'd had privileges removed as a punishment. But never this -- never had he been punished physically or magically. He had certainly never been cursed -- tortured, really. Let's call it what it was, he thought bitterly. The pain was still fresh in his mind, but the pain of betrayal was worse. His own father had treated him just like an enemy. He had always thought that being his father's son meant that he was safe, special. Apparently, he wasn't that special. Draco scowled so fiercely the first-years were momentarily quiet. They whispered to each other and threw him darting glances.

At least he wouldn't have to be re-sorted. His father had assured him of that. And he should have no trouble re-occupying the top place in House Slytherin. With the majority of the sixth and seventh year students gone from Slytherin, he would be assured of dominance in that social setting. Unfortunately that also meant he would have very few friends in his own year. Well that was not a problem, Draco thought bitterly. The answer was simple. He would make new friends, or he would get by on his own.

He sighed and put the book down in his lap, suddenly feeling very sorry for himself. The younger children in the car were giggling and eating Chocolate Frogs and swapping trading cards. Draco loved getting sweets from his parents by owl post, and used the gifts to good advantage at Durmstrang (where they didn't have Chocolate Frogs), but he never enjoyed the exchange in the way these children did. He had merely been satisfied at his successful business transaction. Had he ever been joyful, when he was a first year? He couldn't remember. Draco sighed again and turned his attention to his book, looking for a something to distract him from his thoughts. He didn't look up again until they got to the Hogwarts station.

* * * * *

The Sorting Ceremony was brief this year. It seemed there weren't nearly as many first years as there had been when Ron and Harry had started. When the new students had been sorted into their respective houses, the feast was served. Harry glanced over at the teachers' table. There was Professor Dumbledore, in robes of midnight blue with silver stars on them. He was conversing with a lovely red-haired witch in green robes, seated to his left. Harry nudged Ron. "Who is that?"

"Oh, that must be our new Defence Against Dark Arts teacher," Ron said. Harry nodded, his eyes continuing to travel the table. He sighed, resigned. Snape was there, his black hair hanging lanky around his face. He was watching the great hall, and his eyes were cold as they briefly met Harry's. Snape leaned over and made a tight-lipped comment to Professor McGonagall, who simply nodded, smiling briefly. Professor Flitwick was talking animatedly with Professor Sprout.

Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, which was seriously under-populated compared with the other houses' tables. Most of the students seemed to be first and second year, with the occasional fourth or fifth year clumped in small whispering groups.

Harry looked up in surprise as Malfoy entered the hall. The Slytherin glanced dispassionately at all four tables before taking a seat at his house table.

"Hmph," Ron observed with his mouth full. "I was starting to think Ferret Boy wasn't going to put in appearance."

Harry chuckled but Hermione looked thoughtful. "He doesn't look very well."

"Probably all the late-night Dark Arts classes he had to take at Durmstrang," said Ron. "I really wonder what he's doing back here.

"You really should write your father," suggested Hermione.

"About what?"asked Ron before taking a big bite of pie.

"About Malfoy," replied Hermione. "And Durmstrang. Just to see if he's heard anything at the Ministry."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

"Like whether Malfoy might be spying for the enemy," said Ron. "Yeah, okay. That's a good idea ‘Mione."

"Don't look so surprised," the girl replied. "It does happen from time to time."

Harry glanced back to the Slytherin table again. Malfoy really stood out, being a good head taller than anyone else at the table. It made him look quite isolated, Harry thought. And Hermione was right, he didn't look well.

Ron poked him. "So. When do we start Quidditch practice?"

Harry glanced at the teachers' table and saw that Hagrid had finally come in. He nudged Ron with his elbow. "Let's go say hello to Hagrid."

"Yeah, okay," Ron agreed. The three of them rose from their table and walked up to the teacher's table. Hagrid waved enthusiastically as they approached.

By the time they finished their conversation with Hagrid, the dining hall had cleared considerably, most of the younger students having gone to find their dorm and house common rooms. The Slytherin table was nearly empty. Malfoy was gone.

* * * * *

The next morning at breakfast, Ron and Harry were looking over their class schedules together.

"Double Potions this afternoon," Ron observed. "With the Slytherins, as usual."

"Thank you so much for ruining my day," Harry grumbled. He hadn't slept well, and he looked even more rumpled than usual.

"No problem," said Ron cheerfully. "Though I think Snape will do that for you. Hey, it's Defence against the Dark Arts day after tomorrow, though," he added cheerfully. "That's something to look forward to."

"You just want to check out the new teacher," Harry observed shrewdly.

"So?" Ron's blush belied his casual tone. "We've had so many teachers, you can't blame me for being curious."

"That's not why, but I'll let it go today," said Harry, chuckling. "Say," he continued, "She's got red hair. Maybe she's related to you?" He smirked as Ron poked his shoulder.

"Bah, Harry Potter," Ron grumbled as he stood to leave. "You are much more evil than you appear." He looked Harry up and down. "And today, that's saying something. Harry, you look terrible! Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Harry stood and walked with him. "I still don't sleep well some nights." Most nights, he admitted silently.

"Nightmares?" Ron looked concerned.

"Yeah, some," Harry shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle."

At first, when they entered the Potions classroom, Harry wondered if they had accidentally gotten the wrong room. The first thing they noticed, as they took their seats, was that Snape wasn't there. The red-haired teacher who had been talking with Dumbledore, however, was. Ron's jaw dropped, and Harry was sure he looked no less dumbfounded. He glanced at Hermione, who waved to them.

"Professor Umber is our new Potions instructor." Hermione whispered, looking particularly pleased to be delivering the news.

Confused, Harry sank gratefully into a seat next to Hermione. "So where is Snape then? And who's our new Defence Against Dark Arts instructor?"

"Maybe she's just standing in for Snape," said Ron, taking a seat next to Harry. "Though I hope not," he added fervently. Hermione snorted. She was tapping her quill against a sheet of parchment, like she always did when she was irritated.

Harry glanced at Professor Umber. She was not merely pretty, as he thought from his quick appraisal at a distance last night, but drop-dead gorgeous. Her hair was more auburn than red. "I take back what I said last night, Ron. She's obviously not related to you."

As he studied their new instructor, Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy was sitting alone at the front of the class. There was an oddity he would have to get used to -- Malfoy alone.

The bell rang, and Professor Umber rose from her desk. "Your attention please? If you will look at the blackboard here you will see that I am Euridice Umber, your new Potions instructor." She looked around the room, noting with approval that all eyes were on her. "Professor Snape has left me with his lesson plans and we will be proceeding in a manner very similar to his. You should notice little difference between his instruction and mine." Her expression became severe. "Out of fairness, I will say this once -- I do not tolerate foolishness in my class any more than Professor Snape did. Potions is an exacting science that requires your full attention. If that is lacking, not only will your marks suffer but your classmates may suffer as well. An accident can have severe consequences, especially as we shall be working with more hazardous ingredients this year. Do you understand me?"

All heads nodded in agreement. Harry glanced at Ron with an expression that said "this is better?" Ron grinned and shrugged.

"Very well. You will see the reading assignment and any other homework on the board here each day. My office hours are posted as well. Are there any questions?" She paused a moment, sweeping the classroom with her piercing gaze. "Let's begin then. Please open your books to page 35. We will be preparing the ingredients for the Exploding potion."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was glaring daggers at Ron. He elbowed the red-head, hissing "Ron, close your mouth and open your book."

Just at that moment, Professor Umber's eyes, which had been scanning the class, settled on Ron, who still had that stupid grin plastered to his face. Harry groaned silently. Here we go, he thought as the Professor called out "Mister Weasley!"

Every head in the classroom turned in his direction as Ron replied, "Yes ma'am?"

"What did I just finish explaining to the class?"

"Um…"

"Were you traveling the astral plane, so that you did not hear me explicitly state that I have a no-foolishness policy in this class? Five points from Gryffindor for your inattention. I recommend you work to improve your concentration."

Ron said nothing, but the flush creeping across his skin spoke eloquently enough. "Yes, ma'am." He belatedly started to reach into his bag but Harry grabbed his elbow.

"Don't bother. I've got mine."

They spent the remainder of the class going over the ingredients list and discussing the origins and properties of each item. By the time they were released for the day, Harry was certain that not only was Professor Umber Snape's equal in potions knowledge, she was also just as stern and unforgiving. At least she hadn't singled him out in class, as Snape was wont to do.

As they left the classroom, Ron turned to Hermione. "And I don't want to hear a word about today, okay?" Ron's flush had faded, but the memory of humiliation was slower to depart.

"Really Ron, what makes you think I have anything to say to you?" Hermione replied coolly. "I do believe Professor Umber said everything that needed saying." She walked swiftly away from them.

"What is her problem anyway," Ron grumbled. "I'm the one who was embarrassed in front of everyone."

"Sorry Ron, but you'll really have to get a grip," said Harry with some sympathy.

"Yeah, I suppose," Ron admitted. "I can live a long time without getting singled out like that." He looked at Harry. "How did you cope? I mean, Snape was always on you like that."

"Grow your skin a bit thicker," Harry advised. "Though you don't want to get much thicker than you are now." He ducked as Ron punched him lightly on the arm.

"Stupid git."

They both stared as Malfoy suddenly brushed past them without a word. "What's his hurry?" said Ron, annoyed.

* * * * *

Two days later, the Gryffindors were scheduled for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry and Ron arrived early, but to their great surprise, they found Malfoy sitting at the front of the class again.

"Bad enough we have to have the Slytherins in Potions, but now this?" Ron frowned, not bothering to keep his voice down. Harry glanced at Malfoy to see how he was going to react, but the other boy didn't even look up from his book. Harry shook his head, wondering. He really didn't know what to make of the change in Malfoy, but he was starting to think it might be more than it seemed.

Hermione sat with them when she came in later. She didn't seem surprised to see the Slytherins. "The revised schedule was posted -- didn't you see it?"

"No," Ron replied.

"Oh, then you didn't see who our new instructor is," Hermione said archly.

"Who is it? Is Lupin back this year?" Harry leaned toward her. Just then, the door slammed shut and Severus Snape strode to the front of the room, cloak billowing behind him. He turned to face the class.

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Good afternoon," Snape smirked openly. "As you can see, I am your new instructor in Defence Against Dark Arts." He took a moment to survey the room. Apparently satisfied with the response, which included many dumbfounded expressions accompanied by dead silence, he continued. "As there has not been a steady teacher for this class in the last six years, you will not have become used to any particular approach. The advantage of this is that you should have no trouble adjusting to my methods of instruction."

Snape swept to his desk and picked up the attendance sheet. "For those of you whom I've taught in the past, you know that I tolerate no foolishness in my class. I expect you to pay close attention, and even though some of you may think you know enough to teach this class, I expect to prove you wrong."

Harry was certain Snape glanced at him as he said this. He managed to close his mouth as Snape started ticking off names on the sheet. As he did, Harry noticed that Draco Malfoy had turned in his seat to look at him. He gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more at that moment than to wipe the familiar smirk off Malfoy's face.

Draco could not help but turn and look at Harry after Snape's obvious barb. The stunned expression on his face twitched Draco's lips into a smile. He had been wondering if Harry had known about the re-assignment of Snape to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Apparently, he had not. Draco smirked as Harry stared at him, furious and embarrassed. He'd forgotten how delightful it was to see Harry Potter all stirred up. Perhaps this year wouldn't be so bad after all, he mused. He turned to face the front of the class, folding his hands calmly.

Snape paced the classroom. Harry was surprised that he could look so comfortable out of his usual dungeon setting. "From what I've seen of your previous years' instructions, you have had a barely adequate basic introduction to the Dark Arts, followed by a year of essentially nothing. Your third year instruction in Dark Creatures was barely adequate. Your introduction to Curses accomplished little, though considering the events of the fourth year that is hardly surprising. Consequently, your fifth year instruction covered information you should have gone over in fourth year. The result of five years of chaos in Dark Arts instruction is this: you are behind where you should be for sixth year." He glared at the class -- as though it was our fault, Harry thought bitterly. "I will have quite a job to bring you up to speed."

Harry felt a flash of anger at Snape's disparagement of Professor Lupin's class. He had to admit, however, that his assessment of the other classes was reasonably accurate.

"I have arranged for your new textbooks to be delivered to the Library, early next week. Please note your reading assignment on the board. Until the books arrive, we will spend the next two sessions reviewing Curses and Dark Creatures, in preparation for our unit on Incorporeal Entities."

Harry rubbed his forehead, already tired. Defence Against the Dark Arts had ceased to be his favorite class last year, under Professor Manticore. Their review of Curses, Hexes and Jinxes served as a painful reminder of everything that had happened during fourth year. The next two sessions promised to be just as unpleasant.