Harry Potter and the Will to Live

"It's one thing to be depressed, quite another to be depressing" -Matt Nathanson

Chapter Nine: The High Counselman Aphrozodis Questcinzay

Harry Potter and the Will to Live

He was sound asleep. For once, there were no dreams, no thoughts, no voices. He was on his stomach, face shoved into his pillow, even snoring a little.

And Dumbledore began shaking his shoulder, almost urgently.

"Harry. Harry," he whispered quietly. "Harry."

Harry jerked onto his back, hand clutching his wand, but then he saw Dumbledore, and his face screwed up in an expression of amazement. "What are you doing here?" he asked, louder than he meant to say it.

"Harry," Dumbledore put a finger to his lips. He sat down next to Harry and urged him to sit up with a gesture. "Lycander managed to get word over the dimension. The man in charge of the Counsel of the Majestic, the High Counselman, will be arriving in an hour, at seven. He'll be bringing his daughter along to show you- I don't really know why, so don't ask- but you have to be showered, dressed, and ready to talk to him in my office at seven sharp. You should probably get there twenty minutes early. Do you understand? This is extremely important. The High Counselman is a very influential man. A good first impression is mandatory and expected."

Harry, a little confused, nodded. "Of course, Professor Dumbledore. I won't let you down."

Dumbledore smiled. "I know you won't, Harry. I'm just worried about what's going to go on until you turn seventeen."

Harry furrowed his brows in bewilderment, then surprise. "Is he trying to get guardianship of me?" His voice wasn't panicked, just a hiss of shock.

Dumbledore put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Harry."

All Harry could do was gape at him, open mouthed, as he silently got up and left the room.

That was the same line the fools who'd put him under medical study had told him. The exact same line.

He was freshly showered, properly dressed, and prepared when he knocked on Dumbledore's door half after six. His nerves were raw and his palms sweaty, but that had been expected.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, staring at the phoenix perched on the corner of his desk in an uncharacteristic for of silence.

"I've got some tea set," he said when Harry sat down. "And I know why you're looking at me like that."

Harry took the cup of tea and leaned back. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Dumbledore went on calmly. "Souriom de Solfiace is a place I know you'll hate, Harry. I've been there before, and it is not a terrible place, but it will be for you. Women aren't equals, but property to be owned. If you don't have a wife by the age of fourteen, you are basically an outcast."

"Wait, did you just say wife?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Children are separated from their parents and treated as tools. Of course, they are more natural people, their world is pretty much untainted, but its old-fashioned and it can be unbearably cruel. You can guess how harsh they'll be when you actually start training with them. I don't want to make you hate them, since they are now technically considered your family, and I don't want to scare you, but I just...I don't know if I should fight more to keep you here."

"I don't want to live with them, if that's what you're asking!" Harry said angrily. "I don't even want to go, but Lycander says that if I don't know how to use my powers they'll start to control me and I'll become like Olean, like Voldemort." He shook his head. "I refuse to let even the possibility of that happen."

"I'm proud of you, Harry, and I promise to do my best."

Harry rested the elbow of his empty arm on the comfy wood of the chair. "Professor Dumbledore, why is he bringing his daughter?"

Dumbledore just lifted his eyebrows. Harry cussed the air black and blue, and saw the Headmaster's lips twitch.

"This isn't funny!" Harry shouted at him, although he felt his own lips twitch. "Bloody hell...he actually thinks he'll get me to marry before I get out of school? That I'll even marry anyone, ever? Who the hell does he think he is?"

"He's the High Counselman!" Lycander bellowed suddenly, making both of them jump since his voice had come out of nowhere.

Harry realized he was wrong; it hadn't come out of nowhere, but a large crystal the size of a fist that was placed on one of Dumbledore's bookshelves. It glowed a pinkish color that was limited only to the rock. Harry could see a vague purple mist inside of it, and blinked.

That was definitely new.

"Uh," Harry cleared his throat. "Did he hear all of that?"

Lycander laughed, and Harry could nearly taste the palpable unease and stress in his Qaiul's voice.

"Fortunately, no, but he's listening now. Albus, are you ready for the transition?"

Dumbledore stood and Harry followed suite at the hand gesture. Then, with a mere blink of the eyes, the desk and chairs slid across the room. Fawkes flew in a giant arc, then settled onto Harry's shoulder.

"I'll need another minute," Dumbledore said to the indistinct area of the rock. "Harry," he said in a quieter voice, " take these rocks and put them directly opposite of the ones I put down."

Dumbledore stooped down and placed three clear crystals, about three feet away from one another. Harry placed the three he held in complete opposition, about six feet across.

"This is a strange way of transportation," he told Dumbledore, as the Headmaster kneeled again and put a line of some kind of glittery powder between each of the three pairs that were separated by six feet. Then he stood back.

"We're ready, Lycander."

As a finale, Dumbledore placed the crystal where Lycander's voice came from in the middle, where all three lines crisscrossed, or met. Then the old man stepped next to Harry and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "The three lines represent the three dimensions; the first being us, the original plane of existence, the one on the top right as the dimension they created, and the middle as the one above both: the spiritual plane, where you go when you die. I have a book that says the Mages are sometimes able to enter the spiritual dimension in case of emergency."

The lines crackled, then burst into flames, but it didn't seem to leave the lines of powder.

"Fire," Harry said, and couldn't help but give a snort.

Well, he told himself, Mages are pretty much made from fire; or else they wouldn't have the power to sprout the element from their fingertips. What else could you expect?

Harry yelped when the small flames not only flew to the ceiling, but also seemed to create a three-dimension barrier of fire. He stared, tense, amazed, as three figures appeared, sort of misty at first, then more solid as seconds passed. Dumbledore tossed more of the glitter, this time with a tinge of green instead of red. The color green seeped into the flames where the Headmaster had hit it, then seemed to spread until the entire box was one large green box of flames, and then they just vanished, without a hint of smoke or anything.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, causing Dumbledore's chest to rumble with silent laughter.

The two men looked huge, while the girl was a little shorter than he was. Harry had forgotten how large and intimidating Lycander had looked, but he had absolutely nothing on the High Counselman.

"Harry," Lycander said, stepping forward to nudge Harry closer. "This is High Counselman Aphrozodis Questcinzay. High Counselman, this is Harry Potter, christened Romane."

Christened Romane? Harry sent Lycander a furious look and fumed in angry silence. I should have gotten the chance to give myself my own name instead of him!

The High Counselman, a towering person who had to be at least seven feet tall with the widest, but most muscular, shoulders and a mane of deep mahogany colored hair and beard Harry had ever seen, offered his mammoth hand.

And he'd thought Lycander had looked Celtic. This guy looked like someone that had once ruled Scotland. All he needed was the plaid kilt and face paint for the look would be complete, but what he was wearing was definitely not a kilt. It was more of a robe, similar to Harry's, but with a long, flowing silk neckpiece that fell to right above his elbows and rippled outwards. The sleeves were long and wide, with nearly a two-foot wide circumference. It was black, completely, with a small, intricate design in elegant gold around the rim of every border.

He looked like something out of a karate movie where the monks wore skin sandals and nothing but a wool robe.

Harry offered his own hand after a moment of hesitation, and jerked at the magical charge he received.

"Ah," the man roared, "good grip, good charge. You've taught him well, Lycander."

He pronounced Lycander wrong. Harry and his friends all called him L-eye-candor, while the Head Counselman had said Lee-sender. Again, Harry found himself confused.

His Qaiul didn't say anything, just kept his arms folded in front of him, his hands invisible beneath the opposite hands' clothing cuff.

Dumbledore said something in Geyesh that Harry didn't catch since he hadn't been paying much attention, but he didn't mind since his eyes had fallen on the girl.

She was beautiful. He spotted that straight off. No, she was more than beautiful; she was absolutely stunning, dazzling. Never had he felt the yearning for a girl like that since he'd seen the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup. Her hair, black as midnight (it looked like a dark shade of blue where the light touched it, Harry observed), was a wave of darkness that fell to her waist in small, light curls. He couldn't see her eyes because her head was bowed, but he could see, through the veil of hair, the soft angles of her chin and her upper face. It was narrow, he guessed, as narrow and trim as her body. The clothing flared around her chest and her hips, and he wondered why she was wearing something that looked so horrible compared to her father's extravagant outfit. It looked to be cable knit, with small holes all over it. He could see her skin through the cloth.

And see that she wore nothing underneath. His face flushed and forced himself to look away in a different direction, which was at, unfortunately, the High Counselman, who was watching him as if he was something fascinating he'd never seen before.

He swallowed and tried to forget about the girl, because every time he thought of her he was sure his cheeks flared and turned the color of the apples served in the Great Hall.

"Hallyanka, addressed," her father said in that booming voice of his, but it sounded exasperated now, and he felt a flare of anger at the man. Did he think she could read his mind?

Again, his mind blanked when he looked at her, and he could see her face. Her eyes were the clearest blue he'd ever seen; almost like the sky blue, but it was pure, uncannily colored, with a slight whirl of even darker blue as a line around the pupil. Her skin was silky, the color of pale milk. Her face was clear of any color, of any blemishes, even freckles, which surprised him. The High Counselman looked completely Scottish, or Irish possibly, and they tended to pass on freckles to their offspring.

"Romane, this is my daughter, Hallyanka Anyas Questcinzay."

Hallyanka did something similar to a curtsy, but was more of a complicated four step movement that made her cloth robe sway seductively.

God, what were Geyesh women? Sex slaves? he wondered, uncomfortably bothered. He looked at Dumbledore, recognizing that the Headmaster had been correct again.

"Does she speak English?" he asked. The foreigner could speak English precisely without a hint of trouble. In fact, he spoke better than Lycander did, and he'd been around for at least six months more than the Counselman.

"Of course. Use your manners, Hallyanka, and say hello."

This time she bowed deeply and said, in that quiet, gentle voice that reminded him of hot chocolate and warm butterbeer, "Hello, asieur Romane." Her voice was slightly more accented than her father's was, but understandable none the less.

"Please," Dumbledore said, twisting his wrist so his desk, and three more chairs, which were different than the ones he'd sat on before the Geyesh had arrived, moved back in front of the desk. Now they were covered in scarlet velvet and the armrests were more comfortable.

Even Dumbledore had to make an effort not to seem eccentric. The Headmaster settled behind his desk, sitting straighter than he normally did, and his eyes didn't twinkle. It was all business now.

Harry suddenly got the image of Dumbledore grinning and offering the leader of the Souriom de Solfiace a lemon drop. He snorted, causing even the girl, who was very determined to light the floor on fire with only her eyes, to look at him out of the corner of her eyes. The corners of her lips lifted upward and Harry felt an immense amount of pride.

Merlin, what is wrong with me?

Awkward silence filled the room. Harry shifted, then sighed. It always had to be him, didn't it?

"So," he asked the High Counselman, who looked surprised to be spoken to directly, "why are you here?"

Lycander paled so drastically that Harry felt the strange urge to laugh again.

Again, silence, then: "I've come to see you, of course. How has your training become?"

Damn, now Harry would actually have to talk.

"Well, I can speak Geyesh fairly well, understand it a little less better, but Lycander's practicing it with me nonstop, and I can write it correctly." For the most part anyway.

"And your magic? Is it normal?"

Hadn't the fool asked Lycander? As if Harry could possibly even know the meaning of the word normal.

"I guess so. I wouldn't know, would I? I've adjusted well, considering you put all that magic in me in a way that really pissed me off -and it damn well hurt, too, by the way- and then I got to spend a nice vacation in a hospital tied to a cot. But, yeah," Harry nodded, ignoring Lycander's scandalized look and Dumbledore's amused one, "I've adapted. My friends think I'll become evil, but, what the hell? I've got you to look after me, don't I?" It didn't sound like a compliment, and Questcinzay seemed to notice this too, because he frowned at Harry.

"You are a very rude child. In the Souriom, I could have you whipped for even speaking to me without being spoken to."

The guy just had to tempt him.

Grinning, Harry relaxed. "You do know that I have a tendency to do the opposite of what people tell me to do, don't you?" Now the giant, who could barely fit in the chair, looked totally astonished. "Oh, yeah," he assured him, "you can even ask Professor Dumbledore. But I'm glad, though, that we aren't in the Souriom. You should treat me with more respect, considering the grievance you've placed upon my shoulders."

"Grievance?" the Counselman repeated, then jumped to his feet as if to strike Harry, but the teenager just jumped to his own feet and started to shout before he could, "Don't look at me as if I'm crazy! You're the one who gave me powers without even warning me, and that's only the second mark against you -no, make that the third. First, you lied to Professor Dumbledore; second, I was in front of everybody when that stupid transformation began; third, I got stuck in St. Mungos because Dumbledore thought I was being possessed; and fourth -yes, there's a number four too- you treat that poor girl as if she's an animal!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hallyanka's head jerk up.

"Harry Potter!" Lycander hissed. It was the first time he'd heard fear in that deep voice, but Harry ignored it.

"Yes, I'm being rude to the High Counselman!" he said, mocking him. "I don't care who you are, so get over it. And while we're at it, let's just clear the air all the way. I refuse to be treated as a tool, as if you own me, because nobody orders me around. I will not be lied to and I will not have some fool from a different dimension causing my Headmaster trouble. From now on, when you are here, you obey him. I didn't want this. I'm not Geyesh; I'm British. I'll always be British. Sure, I'll fight Voldemort because your people are too scared to; sure, I'll take care of Olean even if he's a trained Mage and I have no bloody clue what I'm doing. I'll do whatever you say if I want to, but you will not order me; not ever! Is that clear, High Counselman?"

His chin angled up and his eyes blared. The hit came out of nowhere. Harry never saw the hand coming; didn't even see it move. But a moment later he was stumbling back into the desk, his face a fire within itself. He looked at the High Counselman, whose own chin jutted up smugly. Dumbledore had risen in a fury, but Lycander waved him back warningly.

Harry put a hand to his cheek and swallowed, tasting the salty twang of blood, and laughed. "Oh," he said with a snort, "are you going to regret that."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Hell no!" Harry leaned back against the dresser. "I'll just have to annoy the hell out of you when I get to Souriom, which you told Lycander I had to visit at least once a year. If you want my cooperation, you will not hit me again, because the next time I'll hit back."

A year ago, Harry probably wouldn't have said a word during this meeting, but he told himself that Harry and himself were two different people. At least he hadn't said that he'd kill the bastard, which he'd wanted to, but then Lycander and Dumbledore might both try to kill him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "sit down. Aphrozodis, you know that things are different here. Harry is a person of the first plane. That won't change. He's not used to a monarchy-"

"Monarchy?!" Harry said loudly. "No one said anything about a monarchy!"

Lycander's head found his hands.

"-and he never will be," Dumbledore continued on. "He will go to the Souriom, he will train, but he will not accept your laws, and you know that he mustn't be punished for his actions, so I suggest you cooperate, or else he will make this very difficult for you and your people."

The High Counselman glared at Harry once he'd sat down again, who glared straight back at him.

"You will find," the Headmaster continued, "that you both are too stubborn to mesh well." He waited for both Harry and the two Geyesh to nod, before starting again. "Now, Aphrozodis, when would you like Harry's allotted month of training to be? It must be either July or August, his two months off."

"High Counselman, if I may?" Lycander asked in a voice that sounded just as quiet as Hallyanka's.

"Addressed, Lycander."

"First, I'd just like to agree with Dumbledore that Romane is from a different plane of existence and is used to doing things nearly the opposite way. We must give him time, if you agree, sir. Second, I'd like to suggest using the last week of July and three weeks of August, totaling thirty-one days as agreed in the contract-"

"Contract?" Harry said angrily.

"-since I should be able to work with him and hopefully get him acquainted with Geyesh protocol and traditions by that time."

"That should have been done already. You have been slacking off with your merge. I'd just like to point out your last student and what he is doing now."

Lycander tensed, but said, "I remember, sir. I will not fail again, sir."

"It's not his fault," Harry mumbled, then silenced at Lycander's venomous look.

"If that's settled, I should be leaving," the Counselman said.

Harry stood next to Fawkes as Lycander and Dumbledore took care of transporting the High Counselman and his daughter back to the Souriom de Solfiace. When they were gone, Lycander whirled.

"What do you think you are doing, Harry?" he yelled. "What in the world were you doing?"

Lycander looked so destroyed that Harry straightened indignantly.

"I didn't do anything," he said firmly.

"You did everything you possibly could to make a bad impression on him so he wouldn't let you go to the Gray Dimension! Do you know what you've done? Can you possibly ever know? This isn't a game! It is not a game, Harry, damn you." Lycander's eyes blazed with anger and a glisten that Harry was very familiar with. "Whatever you do, reflects me, Harry, you must realize that. I am responsible for you. I am your owner, no matter how much you argue that fact, and everything you do, everything you say, reflects upon me in that world. And I know you are aware of the fact that they cannot make you stay in the Souriom, but it is not the same for me, Harry. In two years, I will have to go back because your close-distance training will be completed. I will go back there with whatever reputation you've made for yourself. You are handling my very life in your hands. They can execute me in the Souriom if you say the wrong thing, if you even slouch. I cannot believe how cruel you actually are, how oblivious!"

Lycander slammed the door as he left, leaving Harry standing, staring at the door, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Then he went to the door, blinking rapidly. "I-I've got classes," he muttered in excuse to Dumbledore, and went to the comfort of his friends.

He found them in the Gryffindor Common Room, doing their homework on the couches. It was fifth year's free period, so there weren't many people out of classes. He plopped onto his stomach on the empty couch and closed his eyes. Maybe if they thought he was tired, they would leave him alone.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," he replied curtly.

"No," she countered, "you're not. You look ready to...You look tired," she finished lamely.

Since closing his eyes wasn't blocking the tears, he simply rolled onto his back and scrubbed at his cheeks. "I'm just tired. The High Counselman was here, and we had a row, and Lycander might get in trouble because of it."

Ron closed his book. "Because you two had a row?"

"Merlin, Ron, the guy was unbearable, and I knew it before I even met him. This huge giant with all this red hair -no offense- and this big shaggy beard and this...this costume that made him look like it was some kind of Halloween masquerade without eye masks. He treated his daughter, who Dumbledore and I both think he wants to betroth me to, as if she was some kind of slave that was there to become part of the wall. She had to curtsy and she couldn't even speak unless he told her to. It was horrible, and she was barely dressed, wearing this...this piece of see-through cloth. It was disgusting. She looked so sad."

He rubbed his cheeks again and knew without looking that his friends were looking just as horrified as he felt.

"She looked like a scarlet woman."

Hermione, too, shut her book and set it down quietly. It wasn't often that Harry got so upset that he actually talked about what was bothering him to them.

"Do people get married early there?" she asked gently.

"They get married at the age of fourteen or else they are complete outcasts," he growled. "They know their occupations before they're even eight. Whose going to be a Qaiul, a Shecian Ovarium, a Luidan, a Sai, or a Veloni. I mean, come on, we're not even at Hogwarts by then. I really don't want to go there, especially with the way Lycander acted around the High Counselman," he mocked the title again. At least it was official: he despised the guy.

"Well, Harry, when you go and visit" Ron said with a laugh, "you'll have it all changed within a month, just watch."

"Yeah," Harry said grimly. "And then they'll get to cut my head off for suggesting change."

He sighed and threw a hand over his eyes. "That poor, poor girl, though!"

Was every girl like that? Was it really as Dumbledore had said? Were women just possessions to be bartered with? Were they sex slaves, plain and simple? Merlin, he really didn't want to go there. Even he knew that he'd go ballistic if it were like some pathetic fifteenth century world. Or, actually, probably first century, considering the language was made during Roman time, but he didn't know exactly when that was.

Harry sat up and let out a deep breath of repressed air. He did his best to push Hallyanka and those beautiful blue eyes into the back of his mind.

"So, what did we do during Potions and Transfiguration?"

Hermione tossed him her Advanced Potions book and a bottle of ink. "Page 140, left page and upper right. The Andreas Solution heals wounds and animal punctures instantly. It would be good for you to memorize it."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't want to memorize it."

"She's gone easy on you, Harry," Ron said grumpily. "I've got a studying schedule and a homework journal she's making me keep."

Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. "At least the Counsel is good for something."

"Hey!" Hermione said loudly, teasing. She slapped both of their arms and went back to her book, looking only slightly offended.

* * * * * *

Hallyanka haunted him. In his dreams, he saw her face, those shimmering eyes, just staring at him, drenched in darkness; felt rich, thick sadness that emanated from her like a ripple in a pond when you threw a boulder into its depths. In classes, when his eyes closed or even blinked, those blue orbs and dark, silky black hair were there, a frozen frame of her face. It was almost as if the girl was trying to send him a message, but Harry knew that that was impossible. If she had been trying to communicate with him, it wouldn't have penetrated into his mind unless she was stronger than Voldemort or Olean, who within themselves couldn't find that much energy to get past his guards nowadays. He had to admit that it was better this way; no visions, no black outs, no seizures. No anything, even if it meant he didn't receive any important information that could help the Order.

Classes, meanwhile, were getting more advanced and repetitive considering exams were less than a month away. Harry did his best to try to study as much as Ron and Hermione, but he found himself stuck between too many classes, too much work, and too many friends and responsibilities. The classes weren't really hard, but that was because he listened but didn't really participate.

This stuff isn't me, he thought one day in Charms as they learned how to charm things into the air and make them disappear and appear in a different spot instantly. I don't need this; I'm a Mage. Plus, it's just way too easy.

The classes with Lycander, on the other hand, were demanding and usually left him uselessly exhausted and sore to do anything more than stare at the wall after stumbling up the steps to his dorm room. Lycander had yet to forgive him, and Harry, too proud to apologize, just worked harder, hoping that if he impressed his Qaiul he wouldn't have to speak of past grievances; the books he was assigned, also, from his Qaiul, took weeks of longs hours to read and comprehend, which he mainly read when he should be sleeping. But Lycander, nor Dumbledore, worried because they believed he was getting at least six hours of sleep, not knowing that he spent up to five hours with Malfoy in the Room of Requirement nightly.

His Dark Arts training was a release for Harry. There, he could hurt Malfoy; he could beat the arse of the blonde boy and he wouldn't get in trouble; Malfoy just gave back what was given. Harry was put under the Imperius Curse innumerable times.

"I know you can fend it off, Potter, but how can you protect yourself and the people surrounding you if you take half a bloody day to do it?"

Harry could knock the curse off within two seconds after a week of practicing. He'd been surprised the strange dreams and slight hallucinations of hearing the dull laughter or bellow of Voldemort, but that was only because he'd opened his mind and weakened his guard. The visions left again after two days of solid, spell casting instead of receiving.

The D. A., instead of being a release, became something resembling his very sanity. It kept him from screaming and from snapping; the only people who knew how close he was to doing that exact thing was probably limited to Dumbledore, Lycander, and Malfoy. His students, as Hermione teased, were looking up to him more and more, considering the fact that more than half the class hadn't disagreed with him when he'd said they should offer the program to select Slytherins, which Hermione, Ginny, and Alyssa Montegomery, the Ravenclaw who was Head Girl, and her co-partner, Head Boy Jeremy Allston, carefully selected and offered the spots to. Of course, several of the class did look unhappy and Zacharias Smith, one kid who definitely didn't like Harry, spoke it aloud, but they bowed to his unbreakable will after a meeting of debate.

Draco Malfoy was not on the list, which didn't surprise Harry, but it made him depressed and remember the fact that he was deceiving every one of his friends. And Dumbledore, too. And Lycander. And Mack. The list could go on forever, but Harry figured, although they didn't all quite deserve it, that they could handle it as much as he had handled not being told about the prophecy any sooner than he had. It didn't make it right, but it reduced the guilt to a bearable amount.

Life went on, though. Harry sucked it up and did his best in a world of deceit, trickery, and manipulation. After all, wasn't that what life was always about? No matter where you went to hide it, it just followed you and clung like a possessive two-year-old did to its mother's leg.

* * * * * *

Harry was walking to the Room of Requirements when it hit the fan. He'd forgone his cloak that night, since the castle seemed to be seething with the surprising vicious heat of upcoming summer. Nobody had wanted to leave their cool Common Rooms and go into the overheated, stuffy halls. But of course, Snape had to be the one who was different.

Professor Snape didn't bother asking what he was doing, just stabbed a finger at a pale Harry, and went into the Room of Requirements. Merlin, he'd hoped Malfoy hadn't brought in anything that would make Snape suspicious.

But Snape, as it always seemed, was suspicious enough to drag them to the Headmaster, even his most prized and beloved student, who was always got out of trouble no matter what he did.

Malfoy slackened his pace and leaned towards Harry. "Should we tell Dumbledore?"

But Snape whipped around with such a glare that Malfoy shut up and Harry shoved his hands in his pockets to wait until the Potions Master uttered the password, which Harry subconsciously memorized. The Headmaster's password was always handy to have in mind. Or at least for Harry Potter.

So it came to be that Harry and Malfoy, both avoiding the other's eyes, sitting in chairs in front of an obviously puzzled Dumbledore.

He'd hidden something from Dumbledore, Harry mused on a sudden burst of triumph. Who else had managed to pull wool over the old man's eyes? Nobody, that's who.

"Would one of you like to fill me and Professor Snape in as to why you were both out of your dorm's in the middle of the night, when you both know very well the consequences? I expected better from both of you, especially you, Mr. Malfoy, being a prefect and all."

Professor Snape, from the shadows of a corner, said, "Draco, tell the Headmaster the truth and we'll go easy on you."

Malfoy shifted uneasily, opened his mouth, then seemed to struggle. After a moment, he shut it and crossed his arms, muttering, "Not mine to tell."

Harry was astounded. Malfoy, not trying to get him in detention? Was this real, or a dream? He'd known Malfoy had changed, but was he actually covering for him?

Snape stepped out, his face much paler in fury. "What do you mean, it's not yours to tell? Were you not meeting Potter in a place where it looked as if you meant to duel?"

That would have been the perfect excuse. Harry knew that. Malfoy knew it; and Harry also knew that Malfoy would go along with whatever he decided to tell them. Dumbledore wouldn't be able to tell if he was lying or not since he couldn't look into his eyes and see his thoughts. Harry wouldn't have allowed that for anyone, anymore.

But should he continue the lie? Could he do it for even longer when it was unnecessary? He'd learned loads of Dark Arts by now; probably enough to fight Voldemort and at least have a chance. He was decently aware of what he was up against.

But what should he do?

Malfoy, on the other hand, matched Snape's look and stayed silent, looking angry and mutinous, but resolved to the fact he wasn't going to be saying anything.

That must be why he's so mad, Harry realized. Malfoy was siding with a Potter and it probably scared the hell out of him.

"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "What is going on?"

Yet Harry stayed silent for several more minutes, as if in a trance. He shoved a hand through his hair and bit his lip. Tapped his fingers on his knees. Tapped his feet on the floor. Leaned back, leaned forward. Anything to help him buy himself some more thinking time.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Malfoy muttered, his lips actually twitching, "either say something or stop twitching."

Normally, he'd have retorted with an angry "Shut up!" But since he felt as if Malfoy had done something good, he decided not to. He looked up at Dumbledore, who was watching him patiently, but Harry could tell he was uneasy, expecting something bad or terribly, terribly bad, as if he was going to say he'd decided to give up and join Voldemort. The thought would have amused him in easier circumstances.

"Malfoy's been training me in the Dark Arts," he said finally, loudly, but was surprised since it just seemed to pop out of his mouth before he'd even made a decision.

Snape's reaction was worse than the Headmaster's, but Harry kept his eyes on the elder man, analyzing to see if any emotion could be discerned out of his eyes, but, as usual, he saw nothing but that deep, starry blue, staring straight back at him.

"You did what?" Snape roared. "Out of all the stupidest, most immature things.... How stupid can you...Dear Lord, boy, have you lost your pathetically small mind? What did you think you were doing? What in the world-"

"You shut up," Harry roared, "you bloody hypocrite! How dare I study it, how dare I learn it, when you yourself became a Death Eater! So don't you even think of sprouting off some crap about how I shouldn't do it!"

Snape's lip curled and his eyes sparkled. "I was wrong in assuming you were like your father," he hissed, "you are much more foolish, much stupider, than he could ever have been!"

Harry lunged at him, but Malfoy, who'd tensed almost as if in anticipation, jumped to his feet at the same time and pushed at Harry's chest. It didn't matter, Snape had flown back into a shelf of books; the books and knickknacks crashed down on the professor, and then he lay still. A moment later, he shoved one of the shelves that had crashed down on him, and stood.

"Severus." Dumbledore strolled across the room and put his head close to the Potion's Master's ear so Harry, even with his heightened hearing, couldn't hear.

"Get yourself under control, Potter," Malfoy muttered, shoving him back into a chair. He sat down himself with a giant sigh. "What do you think they're talking about?" he asked, more for the sake of distracting Harry than curiosity.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

"As if you wouldn't have attacked him," Harry snapped.

Malfoy grinned at him. "I'd be more subtle. You know, snakes in the bed, hair charm. But I'm more calculative than you."

"Yeah, right," he retorted grumpily. "You just think you are."

"Hey, I'm Slytherin; you're not."

Harry sent him a withering look. "Only reason I'm in Gryffindor is because I asked to be."

Malfoy didn't exactly look shocked, but he did look a little disbelieving, but he didn't have any time to say anything as Snape slammed shut the office door behind him and Dumbledore took his seat again. The Headmaster waved his hand to conjure biscuits and tea, and signaled to them.

"Go ahead. Neither of you are in trouble."

Harry took a cup of tea and leaned back in his chair, shoulders hunching in as if he was cold; however, Malfoy poured his tea as if he was seated at some dinner party and put five biscuits on a napkin and sat back, eating them as if they were some sort of delicate finger sandwiches.

Harry simply stared at him.

"What?"

"Just eat it," Harry said exasperated. "Who cares if you get it on your bloody lip?"

Malfoy lifted a brow. "It's called dining manners, Potter. Maybe I should tutor you on them, as well."

The Headmaster chuckled, surprising Harry. He didn't look the least bit upset. Actually, he looked amused.

"I thought you'd be upset," Harry said, partly to himself.

"I am not particularly happy about this situation, Harry, but I am not upset. It is just that maybe this was a good idea, considering I won't have to worry about you two killing each other during classes anymore."

"Don't be too sure about that, sir," Malfoy said instantly. His voice and face were serious, and Harry snorted.

"So," Dumbledore leaned forward to pour himself a cup of tea. "What have you learned?"

Harry looked at Malfoy apprehensively. "Sir, some of it is rather, uh, illegal. I'd rather not get either of us into trouble."

"As you wish, but I suspect for you to use whatever you've learned wisely, Harry. Using Dark Magic, even once, makes you a Dark Wizard, but there are different degrees. Every witch and wizard have used at least one dark spell in their life, but it doesn't make them bad, but its tempting, don't you doubt that. You and I both know that you need to take extra care-"

"I know," Harry said impatiently. "I'm aware of all that and I'm aware that I have to be conscious of my Majestic powers before I can even do a bloody curse. Malfoy and I have already realized that my power makes every spell even worse. I'm cautious, Professor Dumbledore. I know what I'm doing."

Dumbledore nodded. "You do now, Harry, but you didn't when you started this. You had no idea what would happen. You weren't aware of the possibilities, and you put Mr. Malfoy in danger because of that. I'm disappointed in you for that, but I realize the reason why you did it. I am, however, going to have you room with Lycander from now until I feel I can trust you."

Harry stared at him, then slowly shook his head. "You can't do that. I'm a student. I can't-" What else was there to say? Could Dumbledore even do this? He and the headmaster continued to stare at each other, Harry uncomprehendingly and the professor firmly, but Harry looked away, unable to speak for some reason over the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I suggest," the Headmaster suggested, "that you inform Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley of this arrangement. It is not right for you to keep anything from them unless it is positively mandatory. Mr. Malfoy, the problem of finding housing arrangements for the summer have been solved since you seem to be comfortable around Mr. Potter. You can stay with the Weasleys and Harry."

"The Weasleys?" Malfoy shouted, jumping to his feet, his face coloring frighteningly quickly. "No way; no way in hell! I am not staying with those people!"

"Unless you'd like to sleep in the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore said coolly, "you will stay with them. The Weasleys are good, kind people and I'm sure they'll be happy to have you."

Harry snorted again. "Professor, I don't-"

"I did not ask you for your opinion, Mr. Potter!"

He jerked back as if hit. Dumbledore hadn't yelled at him in....forever. Had he ever even yelled at Harry at all before this moment? His fists clenched, but he relaxed them when he saw Malfoy's empty chair rising in the air. It clattered onto the floor as a knock came from the door and Lycander came in, his face tense and pale.

"This discussion is settled," Dumbledore replied. "You will both go now with Lycander. Harry, I don't want to hear one bad word from your Qaiul or else you will be punished."

He didn't answer, just stood and pushed Malfoy out the door.

He had a feeling that Dumbledore was a lot more upset than he let on.

The trio was silent as they walked through the halls, their feet echoing hollowly in the hallway.

"I'm not staying with the Weasleys!" Malfoy hissed to Harry angrily. "I refuse to stay in that run-down house on a bloody farm!"

"You won't be at the Burrow," Harry said coldly. "You'll be at the Order of the Phoenix base with me. You'll be fine, if you eat as if you aren't a girl."

Malfoy shoved at him and glared right back at Harry. "Don't tell me what to do, Potter. You've gotten me in enough trouble."

Harry shoved him back. "Would you rather live with someone you don't know? Somewhere that Voldemort-"

"I told you not to say that name!"

"-could find you and maim you without hesitation? Would you rather be with someone who didn't care at all what happened to you? You are lucky to be rooming with the Weasleys. You are beyond lucky. And I won't let you insult them or make them feel broke or petty, because they're not."

"I'll insult them if I want to!"
"I will slit your throat in the middle of the night if you say one condescending word to them," Harry snapped, then glowered at Lycander when he grabbed his arm.

"Both of you, be quiet." To Malfoy, he nodded at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. "We'll watch you from here."

Lycander lived close to the Gryffindor Common Room. There was one bedroom with a Queen sized bed in the middle and a dresser, and the living room was decently sized with a large fireplace and a couch.

"You can sleep on the couch until Dumbledore gives me new rooming with two bedrooms. The bathroom is in there. You can put your clothes in that closet tomorrow before classes."

Then he went to the bedroom, shut the door quietly, and left Harry standing in the middle of the room, his eyes stinging with the start of tears.

Across the room, a mirror said sneeringly, "You look horrible, boy. Comb that hair before it blocks the sun."

Harry didn't move, but the mirror launched itself at the opposite wall with a shriek and shattered. He fell down on the couch and closed his eyes. He was asleep in less than ten minutes, one leg off the couch and one arm behind his head.

* * * * * *

"Where were you last night?" Hermione asked him the instant the portrait door opened and he stalked in. When he didn't answer, but stormed up to the sixth year dorm, she followed like a frantic mother hen.

"Hermione!" Ron squealed when he saw her, wrapping a blanket around his waist. "What in bloody hell are you do- Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry had begun to pick up his scattered things and throw them in his trunk. The other dorm mates, Dean, Neville, and Seamus, all watched in surprise.

"Harry," Hermione screamed, stomping her foot shrilly, "why are you packing?"

"Because Dumbledore won't let me stay in the dorm!" Harry roared, slamming three books into the wooden trunk. "I have to room with Lycander."

Ron sent an angry glare at Hermione, then grabbed a pair of slacks and hurriedly put them on, his back to her.

"Why?" she asked, sinking onto his bed. "Why is he making you-?"

"I've been sneaking out every night to meet with Malfoy in the Room of Requirements. He's been tutoring me on the Dark Arts and what to expect from Voldemort. Snape caught us and now Dumbledore's pissed at me and doesn't trust me anymore. Okay?" Without looking at her, he twisted his wrist so his trunk would follow him out of the room and thundered out of their sight, leaving behind five very confused sixteen-year-olds.

Harry only passed a few students in the hall, some of which he knew and some he didn't; some cheerfully called out, but he ignored them. Who could be cheery this morning when his world was once again crashing? Then he let the trunk drop and he collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over them.

No, this wasn't the end of the world. So Dumbledore -and now his friends- were mad at him. Nobody felt they could trust him anymore. Even Malfoy would probably punch him in the face. Ron was going to kill him, and Hermione was going to get all hurt and proper on him.

So, what else was new?

* * * * * *