Catharsis

Chapter Six - Halloween

Harry supposed he was more familiar with the inside of Dumbledore's office than any other student in the school. After all, he had been there more than any other student in the past six years.

At the moment, Dumbledore was looking at him with an uncharacteristically serious expression. He offered Harry a cup of cocoa, which he gratefully accepted, glad to have something to occupy his hands. He drained half the cup while he waited for Dumbledore to tell him why he was there.

"Harry," Dumbledore said finally, sitting back in his chair. "I understand you have had some discussion with Miss Granger concerning prophetic dreams."

"Yes," Harry replied cautiously. "She was concerned about my dreams - we both were..." he trailed off.

"Yes, that's perfectly fine," Dumbledore assured him. "I wondered if you had any background to understand the nature of clairvoyance and lucid dreaming."

"Not really," Harry admitted. "I do know that the dream I had the other night felt almost more real than real life. And that I knew I was dreaming - while I was in the dream. I've never done that before. That's not usual, is it?"

"It is unusual," Dumbledore agreed. "It's a phenomena called lucid dreaming, where the dreamer awakens within the dream. A lucid dreamer can direct, or control their dreams. It can be a very useful skill." He looked closely at Harry. "I called you here because I've received new information that may be directly related to your last dream."

Harry clenched his hands in his lap. The dream was grimly fresh in his memory. Fresh or not, he thought, it was not the kind of thing one forgets.

"I have news from our intelligence in eastern Europe that two of our operatives in Bulgaria were killed last week." Dumbledore observed Harry's pale features with some concern. "A witch and her husband were found dead in their hut, about 17 miles from Durmstrang. They were apparently tortured before they were killed."

"Oh," Harry said faintly, feeling sick.

"At my suggestion," Dumbledore continued, "they dredged the lake. They found... Harry, my boy, they found the child."

Harry nodded mutely.

"So it would appear that your dream was in fact either prophetic, or clairvoyant. I am inclined to the latter." Dumbledore took Harry's cup and refilled it, pressing it back into his hands. "Drink this."

Harry numbly sipped the cocoa, which did, strangely enough, make him feel a bit better.

"Do they know when it happened?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Not precisely," Dumbledore answered. "But within a day or two of Friday last week. The day of your dream."

"Oh," Harry said again. It was odd - he felt like he should be feeling something but he wasn't quite sure what. He couldn't put a name to it.

"Harry, there is something you must understand about all this." Dumbledore looked at him with a sad and kindly expression. "It is quite common for a witness to feel a sense of responsibility for a crime they were unable to prevent."

Harry nodded vigorously. Yes, that was it. That's what he was feeling. It was guilt. Not exactly the same kind of guilt he felt for Cedric, but some niggling little thought was trying to tell him he could have prevented it if he'd only tried.

"Whatever you do, Harry, don't give in to those thoughts," Dumbledore seemed to be reading his mind now. It was unnerving. "The witness is not responsible for the crime. You are not responsible for what happened to those people."

Harry nodded again. He carefully set the cup on Dumbledore's desk and stood to leave. As he reached the doorway, he turned. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore looked tired now, and older than Harry had ever seen him.

"What were their names?"

"Their names?" Dumbledore sighed. "Ana and Filip Branimirov. Their daughter was Tatiana. Ana was an Auror with the eastern European Ministry of Magic."

"Thank you." Harry stumbled as he turned to go, catching himself on the doorframe.

"Harry," said Dumbledore softly, as Harry paused in the doorway. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I wanted to know their names," Harry replied, his tone flat and dull. "Because someone should remember them." He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore murmured. "Someone most certainly should."

************************************

"I don't know what I'm going to do about this," Harry said morosely. He shifted uncomfortably on the window seat and wondered, not for the first time, why in the world the teachers decided to hold a dance at Halloween. It would be more informal than the Yule Ball, and only the upper level students were to be in attendance. All the Gryffindor sixth and seventh years had been preparing for weeks, the girls chattering about their wardrobe and the boys looking nervous and pleased by turns as they asked or avoided asking their partners.

It had surprised him when Ron had finally gotten up the gumption to ask Hermione. To say that he was delighted when she accepted was a huge understatement. Harry grinned remembering Ron's ecstatic relating of the news in their dorm room last week. Seumus didn't seem terribly upset, which led Harry to the conclusion that whatever was going on between him and Hermione had been either insignificant or very short-lived. Harry was quite pleased for them, especially as they went out of their way to continue including him in a way that didn't make him feel like an unnecessary appendage. Still, he wasn't much in the mood for celebration after Dumbledore's revelation a few days before. Why make the effort, after all?

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed. "The famous Harry Potter can't get a date?"

"Don't call me that," said Harry grumpily.

Draco laughed, straightening his sheet music. He had been spending much less time at the piano, and more time in the library, ever since Snape had given him access to the restricted section. His first visit there had been exciting in a forbidden kind of way. It reminded him of sneaking into the library at home, running his finger along the spines of old, and sometimes unreadable, tomes. That excitement, however, had long given way to frustration and boredom as he failed to find anything useful. Snape had given him a hint, but he was having trouble following the trail. He was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to go back to the Professor and ask for more direct instructions. He did find, somewhat to his surprise, that the more he felt like he was doing something active to find a solution to his problem, the better he felt about his situation.

"You know, I could help you with that," Draco suggested, glancing at Harry.

"Huh," Harry muttered disbelievingly, tucking his feet under him in the window seat. It was cold. "Do you have a date?"

"You just need someone to dress you," continued Draco, completely ignoring Harry's question.

"What?" Harry looked slightly alarmed.

Malfoy smirked. "Sure," he said easily. "All you really need is a little guidance from someone with some kind of fashion sense."

"No I don't," Harry said huffily.

Malfoy laughed. "Pouting doesn't really suit you, Potter." He stood and walked to the other boy, and looked him over appraisingly. "Stand up."

Harry glared up at him with a stubborn expression. "No."

Malfoy reached down and grabbed a hand. "Come on, Potter. Get up."

Harry unwillingly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He glared at Malfoy while the boy walked around him, looking him up and down. "Stop that! I'm not a doll for you to play with, Malfoy!"

Draco laughed again, though not unpleasantly. "Of course not, Potter. I don't play with dolls." He stopped in front of the scowling Gryffindor, and frowned thoughtfully, one finger tapping his pursed lips. "Dark green, I think."

Harry stared at Malfoy like he'd sprouted horns and a tail. "You're serious?"

"Sure," Malfoy shrugged. "Come on. I don't think you're a completely lost cause." He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him to the door. Harry irritably shook off Draco's hand, but followed him out the door and down the stairs to the dungeon, and the Slytherin common room.

"In here," Draco opened a door off the common room, that lead to his dorm room that he used to share with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wow," said Harry. "You have this whole place to yourself? It's huge."

"It's all right," said Draco, offhandedly. "Gets a bit damp in the winter, but at least it's quiet."

Draco went to a trunk and opened it. He began rummaging through the contents. "Aha," he breathed triumphantly, pulling out a black silk shirt. He thrust it into Harry's hands. "Put this on," he commanded.

"Here?" Harry squeaked nervously, looking around at the empty room. He wasn't entirely comfortable - being alone with Malfoy in the music room was one thing. Being alone with him in his room seemed a whole lot more intimate.

Malfoy grinned at him. "Don't worry about it, Potter. No one's going to see you in the buff."

"No one but you, you mean," Harry replied anxiously, but he pulled his red bathrobe and pyjama shirt off anyway.

"What's the matter? Don't you trust me?" Malfoy froze as he turned to hand Harry the green velvet trousers and dress robe he had pulled from the trunk. Potter was pulling the shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it past the top button. His face was covered, which was probably a good thing, Draco thought, as he was sure his unguarded expression would have unnerved the young man. Potter had a very nice chest, he noted with some alarm as the silk slid easily down the other boy's arms. Lean and well-defined, probably from Quidditch, he thought absently. Very nice... Draco twitched suddenly, reining in his thoughts. He took a deep breath and walked over to Harry, pushing the trousers and robe into the boy's hands.

"Never mind. Just put these on over your pyjamas," said Draco, shortly. Harry looked at him questioningly. "You're not wearing underwear, are you?" the Slytherin asked coolly. Harry blushed.

Draco chuckled and sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, as Harry dressed. He wasn't very graceful, he decided, watching Harry struggle with getting the pyjamas into the velvet trousers. How in the world did this boy ever get to be the Seeker of the Century? On the other hand, his clumsiness was really a bit... well... adorable. Again, Draco pulled himself up short, mortified at where is thoughts had strayed, unbidden. No more of that, he berated himself silently, scowling. Let's keep things simple, why don't we?

Harry tucked the shirt into the trousers and slipped the dress robe on over the shirt. He kept his eyes off the other boy, mostly because Malfoy was making him nervous with his appraising stare. Why do you care what he thinks, Harry wondered, irritated. Just because he looks good in anything... Harry turned to Malfoy. "Do you have a mirror?" he asked grumpily.

"Over there," Draco waved his hand at the wall next to the closet. Harry moved to stand in front of the mirror. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the image. Not bad at all, he decided, turning from side to side, and grinning. The shirt and robe were a little short in the arms, and the trousers a bit long, but all in all he looked pretty good. His school shoes would do, he thought.

Malfoy picked up his wand and rose gracefully from the bed. Cocking his head to one side, he silently surveyed Harry.

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked, turning to look at him, holding his arms away from his sides.

Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it at the Gryffindor. "Mutamus Induviae," he commanded.

"What..." Harry felt the clothing constrict and expand, adjusting on his body. He lifted his arms and stared at the mirror. Malfoy's clothes suddenly fitted him perfectly. "What did you just do?"

"An alteration charm," drawled Malfoy with some satisfaction as Potter looked at him impressed. "My mother uses it all the time." He changed his voice to imitate her. "Clothes that fit well make a good impression, Draco."

"I've never had any clothes that fit as well as these do," Harry admitted. "But I guess I've never really cared much about how I look." He shrugged.

"You should," Malfoy observed. "People will treat you differently just based on appearance alone. Remember Lupin?"

Harry frowned at Malfoy. "Professor Lupin? I remember you gave him a hard time about his robes. He didn't have a lot of money to squander on clothes, you know."

Malfoy looked amused. "It isn't about money. Anyone can look good if they make the effort. When you don't make the effort, it's like you're saying 'I don't need to impress you because you are beneath me.' It's insulting."

"Maybe some people prefer substance over form," Harry grumbled. "Maybe you shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

Malfoy shrugged. "It doesn't matter - I'm right about this. Most folks never look beyond the surface."

"What about you?" Harry searched Draco's face intently.

"What about me?"

"Do you look beneath the surface?"

Draco's soft laugh raised the small hairs on Harry's arms. "Of course I do, Harry. That's where things get interesting."

Harry turned back the mirror, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "I should be getting back."

"Take those with you," Draco said, waving at the clothes he'd given Harry. "You can bring them back after the dance. Oh, and here." He dragged a green satin tie from the trunk and tossed it to Harry. "You do know how to tie a bow?"

"Sure," Harry lied. It didn't really bother him to be wearing Malfoy's clothes, but he was damned if he was going to let the Slytherin think he was a complete idiot. Besides - how hard could it be?

Harry walked to the door and out to the Slytherin common room, Draco following him. At the doorway, he stopped and turned to Draco, saying in a rush "Thanks for everything."

"No problem, Potter," Draco leaned casually against the doorframe. "I can teach you that charm later, if you want."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry mumbled as he stepped out the door. Silently, he walked the corridors back to Gryffindor tower, lost in thought. As he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, something suddenly occurred to him. Malfoy had called him Harry. Not Potter, but Harry. He grinned, unreasonably cheered by the thought that maybe, just maybe, they didn't have to be enemies. And weren't they already nearly friends, one corner of his mind reasoned. After all, when was the last time he borrowed clothes from an enemy? Not to mention undressing in front of an enemy, a nagging little voice in the back of his head seemed to feel compelled to point out. He shooed it into silence and stepped into the room.

Harry had climbed the stairs and was taking off his borrowed clothes when he suddenly realized he'd left his pyjama shirt and bathrobe in the Slytherin dorm. It was definitely too cold to sleep without a shirt, he decided, so he fumbled in his trunk until he found one and pulled it on. He climbed into bed and set his glasses on the nightstand. Then he closed his eyes, deliberately slowing his breathing until his heart rate came down. One thought chased another until finally his body became warm and relaxed and he fell asleep.

Draco picked up Harry's pyjama shirt from where he'd dropped it on the floor. Untidy, aren't you Potter, he thought, mouth quirking in a smile. Suddenly the smile disappeared, and he pulled the shirt to his face, inhaling deeply. Harry's scent washed over him, pumpkin and spice. He smelled like the Halloween feast, Draco thought wonderingly. Who would have thought? Draco climbed into his bed, Harry's shirt still clutched in his hands. As he curled up beneath the covers, he breathed deeply of Harry's scent again. An unfamiliar feeling of safety settled within him. Hugging the shirt to his chest, Draco drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

************************************

"Please do come in Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore called through the open door.

Draco peered into the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was seated at his desk, apparently meditating. His eyes were closed, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, relaxed. Draco wondered, looking at the lined face and long white beard, just how old Dumbledore really was. At least a hundred and fifty, was the opinion offered by Pansy Parkinson back in fourth year. At the time, he'd thought she had been exaggerating. Now, looking at him, Draco wasn't so sure. Maybe, he conceded silently. He'd have to tell her later. Assuming she was speaking to him that day. Pansy had been extremely volatile since he'd returned from Durmstrang - alternately wooing and spurning him. It was exactly the kind of sturm und drang that he generally preferred to avoid, so he did just that.

Draco entered the office and took the chair closest to the desk.

"Tea?" Dumbledore opened his eyes and gestured to the side board where a pot of tea and two blue chintz cups rested. Draco nodded faintly, wondering if the Headmaster always offered his guests refreshment. An absurd image suddenly sprang to his mind of Dumbledore offering brandy and cigars after dinner. He accepted the cup gracefully and sipped at the hot liquid. His eyebrows raised as he recognized the blend - Wizards Breakfast, his mother's favorite.

"I have been pondering your situation, Mister Malfoy." Dumbledore sipped his tea and set the cup on the desk in front of him. "You are in a rather difficult position. You are not yet of age to legally make decisions for yourself. Your father has not been convicted of any wrongdoing, nor is he likely to be. Not without concrete evidence." He looked keenly at Draco, who's expression was grim. "Yes, of course," Dumbledore said agreeably. "So, I'm afraid, Draco, that I simply do not see any possibility of direct intervention on my part."

Draco's face fell at the news.

"But take heart, my boy!" Dumbledore continued. "Do I understand that you have been conversing with Professor Snape?"

Draco nodded, mutely.

"Good, good," Dumbledore said rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "I believe Professor Snape is actually in the best position to assist you in this matter."

"Yes, sir," Draco agreed, finding his voice.

"I would recommend you speak to him again, as soon as possible. Biscuit?"

"Thank you," Draco took the sweet, puzzled at Dumbledore's apparent good humour. Well, perhaps his best path was with Snape after all, he decided. At least with Snape he could eventually figure out the direction of his thoughts. Somehow he thought he had no such possibility with Dumbledore. The Headmaster was an impeneterable mystery. Draco was filled with the uncomfortable feeling that there was something that Dumbledore knew, and he didn't, that was causing him to be perfectly cheerful in the face of impending doom. It was rather like watching a sparrow that was singing gleefully, all the while appearing to be blissfully unaware of the hawk hovering in the air above.

It was entirely disconcerting, and he was more than ready to leave when the time came.

************************************

10/31

On Halloween night, Harry descended the stairs from the boys' dormitory to the Gryffindor common room to the sound of applause.

Hermione looked scandalized. "You're not going out like that, are you?"

"What - don't I look right?" Harry frowned with worry. "I want to look right."

"You look fabulous, dah-ling," she drawled. "But all the girls will need a cold shower by the end of the evening." She smirked gleefully as Harry blushed furiously.

"Yeah, and a few of the boys," agreed Ron. "Not me, of course," he added hastily, putting his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Everyone knows who I fancy." He grinned at the girl next to him, who suddenly seemed fascinated with a piece of lint on his shirt.

"Well, okay," Harry replied, grinning. "I guess I can live with that. But I can't figure out how to tie this stupid bowtie!" He had given up in frustration and stuffed the thing into his jacket pocket.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ron assured him. "You look fine without it."

The three of them walked arm in arm to the great hall, laughing and joking. When they got to the entrance, Harry glanced nervously around the great hall. At one end was a table set up with refreshments, and in the center several students were dancing. "Where is the music coming from?" he asked Ron.

"Oh, it's a faerie music-box," Ron shrugged.

"A what?"

"I don't know why I always forget you grew up with Muggles," said Ron, shaking his head wonderingly. "A faerie music-box is just what it sounds like - a box full of faerie musicians. It's like a having a live band in a box." He grinned. "Of course they can be pretty temperamental. I remember this one time mum and dad went to a party where the host hired a faerie band. Unfortunately he made the mistake of being quite rude to them. They quit playing about halfway through the party and just sat around getting drunk and making lewd comments. I guess it wasn't pretty."

Ron didn't get any further with his story when a Ravenclaw girl named Betsey came up asked Harry if he had room on his dance card. Harry grinned at Ron, who left in search of Hermione.

Malfoy watched Harry's entrance with amusement. Damn, was he good or what? Potter looked really good in his black silk shirt and dark green velvet robes. It was a great color combination, contrasting beautifully with his fair complexion and jet-black hair, even while it complimented his eyes. Harry even moved differently - clad in Draco's clothes he seemed to have adopted some of Draco's grace and poise.

In fact, Potter was looking a little too good, Draco realized with a start. Dead sexy, was the phrase that leaped unbidden to his mind. Draco paled as he realized where his thoughts were taking him. He shook his head to clear it and turned to the refreshments table. Glancing back, he smirked at the line of girls that was forming at the Gryffindor table. Potter's dance card must be filling up rapidly.

Harry stared across the room at Draco, standing by the refreshment table. His silver-blond hair shimmered in the muted lighting, contrasting with the black dress shirt and black velvet dress robes. The effect was finished with a silver and black brocade tie, giving him an elegant look that while dark and monochromatic, was downright sexy. Whoa, Harry thought with a start. Did I just put the words Malfoy and sexy in the same sentence? He blinked several times and turned his gaze to the rest of the hall, but eventually it came back to Draco. His black velvet trousers were really nice, Harry thought, absently fingering his own dark green robes. They fit him well - really showed off his... wait! Stop! With a bemused smile, Harry turned to his latest dance partner, Sheilagh. "You want something to drink?"

"Sure," the girl replied, smiling shyly.

"I'll be right back," sad Harry, and walked across the room toward the table.

Draco watched Harry advance from across the room and nodded as he approached the table. "Potter."

"Malfoy," said Harry, pleasantly. "How's your evening."

"Fine, of course," drawled Draco, his expression relaxed as he surveyed the crowd. "How do you like the reaction you're getting in my clothes?"

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Great!" He turned to Draco. "I really owe you for this. Thanks for helping me. I couldn't have done it without you."

Draco gave Harry a very real if somewhat lop-sided smile. "My pleasure," he said. They were silent as Harry filled two cups with spiced pumpkin punch. "I have to admit, it feels really good to hear that from you at last," Draco mused, still not looking at Harry.

"Malfoy," said Harry in a low urgent voice. "Do you think... maybe we can be friends?"

Draco turned slowly, meeting Harry's eyes. "Perhaps," he acknowledged finally. "It is just possible."

"Hey Potter," he called as Harry turned to go. Harry turned back to him, holding the two cups of punch out to either side, to avoid slopping on his borrowed clothing. "Where's the bow-tie?"

"In my pocket," Harry admitted, chagrined. "I couldn't get it to look right."

"Hang on," Malfoy said suddenly, and his hand dove into Harry's jacket pocket, retrieving the green satin tie. Harry's mouth dropped open. "Hold still, will you?" Malfoy hissed.

Draco stepped toward him and slid both his hands past Harry's collarbones and behind his neck. For one crazy second Harry thought Malfoy was either going to kiss him or dance with him. Then Draco pulled both hands to the front, easily threading the tie under Harry's shirt-collar. Reflexively, Harry's chin jerked upward while Draco's graceful fingers knotted the tie properly.

The Slytherin inspected his handiwork with a satisfied smirk. "There you go. That's better." Draco gave the tie one final twitch. "You really should ask for help when you need it, Potter," he added with a sly smile.

As Draco stepped back, Harry remembered to breath again. He was uncomfortably aware of the many eyes that were on them. Suddenly Draco spun on his heel and walked toward the Slytherin table, where Pansy Parkinson was waving her dance card and pointing at him.

Harry stood dazed for a moment, holding the two punch cups and watching Draco's retreating back. What the hell was that, he wondered as he walked back to Sheilagh and handed her a cup of punch. He shook his head, bemused.

"That was nice of Draco," Sheilagh smiled reassuringly.

"Er... yeah," Harry agreed, his eyes wandering back to the figure of Draco dancing with Pansy. A wild thought flashed through his head, that he really wouldn't have minded if Malfoy had asked him to dance. "Okay," he muttered under his breath. "Let's just not go there." Life is confusing enough right now, a small voice in the back of his head agreed.

When Harry fell into bed late that evening, he was still confused. The dance had gone wonderfully well, he had danced with well over a dozen girls, so why wasn't he feeling happier? Some part of him dimly realized that his perception of Draco had changed radically, but it wasn't something he really wanted to analyse right at that moment. Despite the turmoil he was feeling, he dropped off to sleep almost immediately.

The sensation of fingers on his arm nearly brought him awake. He was dreaming, Harry realized, but this was nothing like the nightmares of the last few months. This dream was intimate and sensual, and he sank into it like a refuge. Lips swept over his own as hands gently caressed his arms and chest, gently sliding lower, down his sides to his hips and thighs. Harry's breath caught in his throat as the sensation overwhelmed him. He brought his hands up to caress his partner. They slid over smooth skin, across ribs and back, pulling the other into an intimate embrace. As he did so, he slowly became aware that the body he was touching, who was also touching him so gently and fervently, was unmistakably not female. Startled, he opened his eyes to blond hair and grey eyes.

Harry sat bolt upright in bed. He was trembling as he put on his glasses and padded to the bathroom for a glass of water. He'd had erotic dreams before, but never this intense, and never involving a boy. Especially not that boy.

"Good lord, Malfoy," Harry whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. "What am I going to do with you?"