Chapter Six: Lying, Excuses, and Aunt Petunia

The last morning at school for Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts dawned with both optimism and dread.

This summer would be spent blessedly free of Uncle Vernon and Dudley, hence the optimism. Dudley had become something of a boxing prodigy, and Uncle Vernon had more than happily signed up for a chance to have his son compete in the U.S. over the summer holiday—an offer made after Dudley won an amateur competition the previous summer. While Harry didn't much like the idea of Dudley being rewarded for pummeling the daylights out of people (professionals or not), he was not opposed to a Dudley-free summer.

The dread knotting in his stomach was, he knew, related to Draco, though what it meant was still hazy. In truth, Harry's feelings were very mixed. Of all the days he'd suffered through over the past few weeks, this was Draco's final opportunity to do his worst, to pack a summer's-worth of torment into one day. It was also, however, Harry's last opportunity to see Draco until the start of their seventh and final year in Hogwarts.

He was reluctant to admit it to himself, but a part of him would miss being able to see Draco every day over the summer. The time without Draco's presence would probably be good for him—a fact Harry reminded himself of as often as possible—since it would give them both time to get over what happened without constantly having the other's presence as a reminder. But there was something comforting about seeing Draco's face, a strange, painful reassurance that Draco was still a constant part of his life, even if the way they related to each other had changed once again to hatred.

Though I suppose it's a bit one-sided, Harry thought ruefully. I don't think I could hate him even if I tried.

Trying would be easy; Draco had given him enough reason since the night Harry told him they had to stop meeting. It had been more subtle than earlier years, at least; rather than outright insulting Harry and his friends or sabotaging school work, he had cast glares and sneers filled with a rage Harry had never seen. It was very painful to be on the receiving end of this treatment—though he hadn't yet figured out what made it seem so much more intense.

He suspected it was because his own feelings towards Draco left him open and vulnerable to anything the other young man did.

As raw and frustrated as Harry felt because of recent events, he still refused to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened between Draco and him. It hurt not telling them—they were, after all, his closest friends, and this last school year had been made all the more difficult because of his secret. He had considered finally telling them what had happened, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he thought of several other reasons not to.

One reason being that Ron would consider this a sick sort of payment Harry was making to Malfoy just to get him to leave them alone. In a very indirect way, Harry supposed this was true; it wasn't until after he and Draco had started to fool around that Draco had lightened up on the others. But that wasn't why it had started, and in fact wasn't even a factor until later.

Harry's vexation at his current state of affairs, however, still left him wanting to lay his thoughts out somewhere, which was why he decided to send Hedwig off very early that morning with a pouchful of galleons and a note:

To Flourish and Blotts

Diagon Alley, London

Please send the best lockable blank book the enclosed amount can afford. The owl has orders on where to deliver it to.

Though Harry respected Flourish and Blotts' establishment, he didn't trust that they would be able to resist advertising whatever book they sent him as “The very same quality of book used by Harry Potter himself!” He didn't exactly mind being used as a sales ploy; he was more worried about the people who would want to know what the blank book was being used for.

There were certain things Harry did not want the greater wizarding world to know about, and his tryst with Draco Malfoy was high on that list.

He sent Hedwig off, telling her to meet him back in Little Whinging. She nipped his fingertips affectionately, which Harry took to be an acknowledgement of his directions, then she flew off, presumably towards London.

At the breakfast table, Harry was greeted by an unfamiliar quiet from Ron and Hermione. They both offered him a “Good morning” and smiles, then sank into eating in a manner so subdued that at first Harry was sure something had gone very wrong and they weren't telling him.

“What's going on?” He asked, his eyes switching from one to the other. “You're both being way too quiet.”

“Oh, well, you know, it's just the last day of school and we'll be spending two months of hardly seeing each other and then next year we have the NEWTs we'll be studying for and it looks like we won't be able to see much of each other anymore and it just seems so sad, you know...”

Harry stared at Hermione, then looked at Ron, who was also staring at her in a sort of alarmed fashion.

“Hermione,” Ron finally cut in, “Take a breath, will you?”

Hermione stopped speaking almost as abruptly as she had started, shooting Ron a very brief, dirty look.

Harry almost felt the light bulb of understanding flick on over his head as he realized what had been so unsettling. “Since when do you two not fight over breakfast, anyway? Or any meal, for that matter?”

Hermione's cheeks turned a charming shade of rose, and Ron blushed from nose to ears.

“We don't always fight!” he defended. “What's wrong with us being quiet over breakfast? Is that really such a bad thing?”

Harry wasn't listening; their embarrassed faces told him enough. “You two are dating, aren't you?”

If it had been quiet before, deadly silence had now overtaken their end of the Gryffindor table, and Harry suddenly became aware of the people around them listening in.

“I-it's not exactly dating,” Hermione started. “It's more like... Well... We haven't been on a date, so it doesn't count as dating, but...”

Ron's face looked like he'd washed it with beet juice, and the way he sunk his head low to the table gave the distinct impression that he'd rather be under it than sitting at it, but Harry was beaming broadly at them, hoping the smile was covering his thoughts.

“I'm glad for you two,” he said, and he meant it. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“DidnwantyoutertellMum.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He thinks his mother is going to kick up a huge fuss over this and start making wedding plans if she even hears we think of each other in a 'more than friends' way.” As she said it, the blush on her cheeks broadened a little. “And it hasn't been for very long; we only finally talked about it last night. You went to bed early, and there was no one else in the common room...”

“D'you have to tell him ALL the details?” Ron muttered. Hermione looked at him in annoyance.

“Well why shouldn't I? He's only been our best friend since we started school!”

“I know, Hermione, that's not what I meant.” Ron looked up enough to make eye contact with her, then glanced along the table as an indicator. “It's just that he's not the only one listening, and I really don't feel like telling the entire house what happened.”

“Oh... Right.” Hermione turned to cast a stern glare along the Gryffindor table, and everyone who had been listening—which was just about everyone—immediately turned back to their meals and began talking like nothing unusual was going on.

Harry stood up, still smiling at his long-time friends. “You can tell me about it on the train,” he said. “I've got to go and do some last minute packing, anyway, and I need to take a quick shower. I'll catch you later.”

He turned away from the table and hurried out of the Great Hall, back towards the dormitories.

Once in his own dormitory, he sat down on his bed, his smile quickly fading from his face. He glanced at his trunk, wondering if he really had left anything out, patting down the bed covers to check half-heartedly. Hedwig's cage sat, empty, on top of the trunk. He stared at it, wondering how long it took for an owl to fly from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley.

His own friends had started dating, and they'd been to worried he'd tell Mrs. Weasley to bother telling him.

Harry wondered how they could've possibly become so disconnected.

Then, sighing, he went down to the student bathroom, chose the shower stall at the end of the row, and turned on the water, giving it time to heat up while he undressed.

After less than a minute of standing under the water, Harry felt the safety catch on his thoughts start to deteriorate. He thought about Ron and Hermione, and how nervous they were about each other now but how much they obviously liked each other in spite of it. He wondered for a moment how he could've missed it, then remembered that he'd spent a lot of time lately focused on Draco, either on his presence or the lack of it. Harry felt bad for not noticing what was going on between his friends, and worse that he was jealous.

It's not fair, he thought mutinously. I want someone to be with. Then he thought of Draco, and of how close he wanted to be with him--for reasons other than sex--, and wondered if he would still feel alone if he hadn't ended their twisted game. Would that hollow feeling have stayed the same instead of getting worse? Or would it have only tripled and become painfully overbearing?

There was no love there, he reminded himself. It was just about getting off. In his head, he ran through all the time he had watched Draco, seen the other boy receiving Harry's administrations with closed eyes and an indifferent air. This was followed up by scenes of Ron and Hermione looking at each other nervously, smiling or blushing, memories Harry didn't even remember having made. He had no problem imagining them gazing at each other with love, whispering endearments, but he couldn't transpose himself and Draco over the imagined visages of his two closest friends.

Water from the showerhead ran over his face and eyes, temporarily blinding him. He closed his eyes against the steady stream, wondering if his bad luck with love and romance was a permanent condition that would end up with him dying cold and alone. He felt a dark, hopeless self-pity that refused to go away, and in spite of the water rushing over his features, Harry knew he was crying.

*

Harry regained some semblance of control over his feelings between showering and dressing, reprimanding himself quietly for letting his thoughts get so out of hand. He reminded himself that all was not lost, he wasn't even seventeen yet, and he had plenty of time to find someone who would love him and whom he could love in return. After all, he thought, with a level of cheer unbecoming of the rest of the statement, I'd have better luck waiting until after Voldemort is defeated.

On the way out to the carriages, Harry felt his heart stab with pain as he looked at the thestrals. When he'd seen them at the beginning of the year, it had hurt worse, and he supposed it was some comfort that it was duller this time.

It was the thestrals that had inadvertantly been the tools of Sirius' demise.

Harry didn't blame them, though part of him wanted to. It was the same part that wanted to blame everyone else for what happened, however illogical it might've been. Rational thought always brought him back to the same conclusion, however; in the end, it was really his fault more than anyone's. If he had only praticed Occlumency harder instead of blowing it off, if he'd remembered that damned present and known about the communication mirror, if he'd told Snape first, even...

Harry shook his head free of those thoughts, running his fingers unconsciously through his hair, then tried to straighten the tangled mess out again. He'd had these same thoughts over and over again for roughly a year, and the only thing he had learned was that there was no point in going over it one more time; it wouldn't change anything.

In the carriage, Ginny and Neville were having some sort of biology oriented debate (an interest of Ginny's that Neville learned of when she created the stinksap equivalent to a dungbomb; Harry didn't know the details of how, but it was apparently very difficult), Luna gazed out the window in her usual fashion, and Ron and Hermione sat in a nervous silence, the backs of their hands touching but otherwise completely still.

Harry was tempted to snap at them, to tell them to either hold hands or stop looking so awkward, but thought better of it. Compassion was a practice he had been trying to work on whenever given an opportunity, which was often. Professor Dumbledore had suggested it to him in a conversation at the beginning of the year:

“Part of compassion,” the elder professor had informed him, “is accepting people as who they are, flaws and misconceptions and hurtful actions as well as their perfections, and their understanding, and loving them for all of it.”

The word 'love' was a little strong, especially since the headmaster had gone on to request that Harry exercise some compassion with Professor Snape in order to continue Occlumency lessons. It had certainly been easier to be compassionate in every situation but during Occlumency, though moments like this certainly came close.

They're new to the 'being together' thing, he reminded himself. They're going to be nervous for a while, especially since they've been friends for so long. Harry wondered what it would be like to go from 'Just Friends' to 'An Item' with someone, and for a few minutes considered what it would be like if he were dating Hermione instead of Ron. I guess they've got reason to be nervous. I bet they haven't even hugged as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Harry had started to gaze out the window in a similar fashion to Luna when he noticed a very tiny movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looked back to where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

Ron had shifted his pinky finger to hook with Hermione's. As Harry watched, she curled her finger a very little in reciprocation. Both of them were blushing crimson once again.

Harry felt very suddenly grateful that they were going to be on break in a few short hours. He wasn't sure he could put up with the two of them acting like this over the entire summer.

*

Harry's general silence of late hadn't gone entirely unnoticed; while dawdling outside the train hoping to catch site of Draco, Hagrid lumbered over, friendly smile not quite hiding his concern.

“'Arry, m'lad! 'Aven't seen much of you these past few weeks, where y'ben?”

“Studying, I'm afraid,” Harry responded, putting on the most convincing smile he could muster. Hagrid nodded understandingly.

“Ah trust ye did very well on yer final exams, then?”

“I think I did,” Harry said, honestly enough. “It helped to have so few problems distracting me from classes.”

Though he'd said it intending problems related to Voldemort, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he thought of Draco. As the thought occurred to him, he found himself struggling to maintain his cheerful features.

Hagrid sighed, satisfied with Harry's response and not noticing anything amiss in the boy's expression. “Et's ben a quiet year, 'Arry. Ah'm grateful; et wouldn't do to 'ave another bad year, 'specially after th' last one." Don't think of Sirius, don't think of the battle, don't think about any of that—"An' I hope yer summer's just as peaceful.”

Harry's mind tumbled over all the nights he'd left his dorm to meet with Draco, having near-misses with Argus Filch and his red-eyed cat Mrs. Norris, and on a few occasions barely avoiding the decidedly insomniac Professor Snape. When it had started, it had simply been a risk he was willing to take once in a while because his hand wasn't doing enough for him, or because Draco had sent a meeting place and time—give and take, as was fair.

Now, in the aftermath of the end of it, he could almost pinpoint when it had become about seeing Draco instead of about getting off. Sometime shortly after New Year's...

“Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, speaking as if he genuinely believed this year had been so calm. The lie rolled off his tongue with an ease that surprised him. "It'd be nice for things to be as peaceful as they've been.”

In a sense, he admitted to himself, this year had been one of the most turbulent for entirely different reasons than the usual.

“Aye..." Hagrid replied, and there was a momentary pause in which both seemed caught in their own, less cheerful thoughts. Hagrid's expression brightened a moment later, though, and gleamed jovially as he added,"Now, if those Dursleys give ye any trouble...!”

If Hagrid said anything more, it was overcome by the sound of the train whistle warning Harry that the train was about to leave. Hagrid gave Harry a pat on the back that almost knocked him over, and sent him on his way towards the train.

In the hallway, Harry called for Ron and Hermione.

"Down here, Harry!" Ron was leaning out of the compartment, waving, Hermione at the other side of the doorway adding "We've saved a spot for you!"

Harry dragged his trunk and Hedwig's still-empty cage down the hall behind him, entering the compartment in hopes that Ron and Hermione wouldn't spend the entire train ride acting like the same as they were in the carriage.

They didn't, in fact; in the compartment, they managed to sit on opposite sides of the seat from each other, and while it seeemed deliberate enough, a look of dismay crossed both their faces when Luna entered a moment later and occupied the space between them. Neville and Ginny were also in the compartment, though whatever they were discussing now, it wasn't herbology.

Harry wasn't listening as he sat down in the seat next to the window. He didn't care, honestly; he was too frustrated with having missed Draco during boarding to really pay attention to what was going on around him.

He wasn't sure what reassurance he was expecting from seeing Draco. He ran it through his mind over and over; if Draco noticed him looking, he would only scowl darkly at him until he looked away. If Draco didn't notice him looking, it would only serve to make him feel more ignored and out in the cold than he felt already. Even his best friends would be paying less attention to him over the summer, since they were already so caught up in each other. Lucky them, having someone they cared about romantically responding in turn...

"Thinking about your summer vacation, Harry?" Luna asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I guess," responded Harry noncommitally, a little surprised and annoyed at this intrusion on his thoughts.

"Do you expect something terrible to happen?" she pressed, her dazed voice not quite matching the intensity in her eyes as she watched him. "You look upset."

Harry cobbled together a response in his head that would make sense while being as far from his concern of the moment as possible. "Well, there hasn't been any sign of Voldemort--" Ron flinched as subtly as possible; he still hadn't gotten used to the name, though he was getting better--"or anything tragic happening. Every year, there's been something, so the longer it's quiet, the more I'm expecting something to go wrong."

Hermione and Ginny both looked pained in that maternal, 'the-poor-dear-suffers-so-much' fashion. Ron expression was troubled, and Neville's was, surprisingly, stoic.

Luna considered Harry for a moment, murmured, "Well I suppose that makes sense," then pulled an issue of The Quibbler out of the sleeve of her robe and immediately lost herself in it.

In spite of Harry using that concern only as an excuse, it gave him reason to be left alone to brood for a while longer without any questions being asked. For a few moments, there was silence in the coach, then Hermione asked Luna if they could switch spots on the seat. This seemed to be the cue Neville and Ginny needed to go back to talking, and Ron and Hermione settled into their own nervous conversation.

Harry turned to stare out the window, the country rushing past, and he found himself wondering which side of the train Draco was on, and if he could see how brilliantly emerald the hills were so late in spring.

*

"Harry! The tea cart's here!"

"Ron, shut up and let him sleep!..."

Harry had dozed off at some point while looking out the window. The countryside was now just barely visible through a downpour of rain, and he wondered idly if it would be this bad at Kings Cross.

"S'alright, Hermione," he managed, sitting up from where he'd been leaning against the window. He glanced in annoyance at the face print he had left behind before adding "I was hoping to get something to eat. Breakfast was a while ago, after all."

Ron nodded in vehement agreement, to which Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, you two are bottomless pits! Don't you ever feel full?"

The question had been directed more at Ron, but he was too distracted by the assortment of treats on the tea cart. Harry started grabbing items and tossing them to the others, who looked at him in mild surprise.

"I'm feeling generous," he said, offering them all a smile before turning back to the cart and collecting enough snacks to last him the train ride and the first several days back at Privet Drive. He paid the witch pushing the cart, who smiled cheerily at the business exchange and carried on down the hall while Harry returned to his seat. He tore the wrapper open on a chocolate frog, and—making eye contact briefly with Ron—cheerily bit the frog's head off. Ron almost snorted up part of the cauldron cake he was eating at the sight of the chocolate frog's legs still kicking at Harry's lips and chin, and proceeded to choke on the bit of cake he was trying to swallow.

Hermione began to pound on Ron's back, saying "You shouldn't eat so fast!" Harry stood up, chuckling to see Ron still laughing inspite of having difficulty breathing, and said "I'll go get some pumpkin juice."

He only got a few feet down the hall before he heard "Watch out for Trevor!" from Neville, and felt the distinct sensation of something soft between his foot and the floor. He lifted his foot up in surprise, tripped, and fell into the neighboring compartment, landing hard on his hands and knees and losing his glasses in the process.

That was graceful, he thought, annoyed, as he fumbled his glasses back onto his face. His knees stung, his palms felt a little carpet-burned, and his pride felt a little bruised. Why does that stupid toad make a scene at the worst times?

"Potter."

Harry's head turned quickly to see who spoke, but he would have recognized that voice anywhere. Oh, bloody hell.

"Malfoy." He looks like he just woke up. Was he sleeping? "Sorry about the intrusion. I tripped." And where's Crabbe and Goyle?

"How graceful of you." The words slid cooly from Draco's lips, and Harry found himself feeling annoyed with him for saying almost exactly what he had thought a few moments earlier. What business does he have, rubbing it in?

"Right," Harry said, unable to hide the irritation from his tone. Why, oh why, had he been hoping to see Draco again? Of COURSE it would turn out as something like this, another embarrassing situation. He stifled a sigh of frustration and turned to leave; he still needed to get drinks. He had an entire summer to get mad at himself for repeatedly getting into these scenes, allowing Draco to hurt him like this—

"Wait!"

Harry felt his insides turn to ice. Is he going to apologize? He turned to face Draco, thoughts rushing through his head faster than he could acknowledge them. Is he actually sorry? Maybe he wants to talk, maybe he figured out why I told him we had to stop, maybe he's found it in him to respect that decision—or maybe he wants me to take it back, he feels something for me, too, oh god what will I do—

But as he watched, the expression on Draco's face clouded, and Harry felt his heart stop for a moment as Draco said the words:

"I think I hate you more than anything."

As soon as those words left his mouth, Harry's heart began to pound once again and drop to the pit of his stomach in something that felt a lot like despair.

"I'm glad some things never change," he said dully. "Have a nice summer, Malfoy."

The ice that had frozen him in place only moments before seemed to have finally reached his ability to feel emotions. I don't care anymore. I just don't care. He retrieved bottles of pumpkin juice for himself and his companions, then collected Trevor (who had followed him down the hall). I can't believe I cared in the first place. How stupid. When he returned to the compartment, he put on a smile, determined to not let his friends know of the exchange that had just taken place. It doesn't matter. It was always a stupid idea.

Ron took his bottle of pumpkin juice, still a little flushed from choking but otherwise fine, and said, "Geez, mate, what took you so long?"

"Catching Trevor," he said, feeling briefly very guilty for all the lying he'd done that day. He brushed it aside quickly, not wanting to let proof of his untruth rise to the surface of his expression, and turned the focus away from him. "So how did you and Hermione end up dating?"

Ginny's eyes grew wide, and she smiled with an expression of impish delight coined by the twins years earlier, and it occurred to Harry that Ron hadn't said a word about this to Ginny yet.

It wasn't Ron that Ginny started shrieking at first, though.

"HERMIONE!" cried the youngest Weasley, grinning madly. "Why didn't you say anything?! Ohmigosh, you realize that if you two get married, you and I will be sisters?! Oh this is wonderful!"

Harry started to laugh, inwardly glad for the distraction from the scene he'd just played an unfortunate part in. Ron glared at him darkly, and muttered, "This might be even worse than telling Mum..."

*

Aunt Petunia did not quite meet Harry at the train station alone, though she looked like she would rather have. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing nearby, and on the other side of him stood Mad-Eye Moody. Aunt Petunia's coloring was a little grey, and her lips were pressed very tightly together.

"I'd better go rescue her," Harry said. "Have a good summer!"

"Oh, they will," Ginny announced, beaming. "Hermione's staying at The Burrow while her parents are on a dentistry awareness trip through Africa."

"Ginny! Shut UP! If Mum hears you--!"

Harry laughed and waved over his shoulder, moving as quickly as his trunk and Hedwig's cage would allow. He kept his face pointing forward, his eyes focused on his aunt. I won't turn and look for Draco. I won't. He's not worth it, he's not...

"He's here, you can go now," Petunia said quickly to Kingsley and Moody.

"Not good enough," Moody growled. "We'll escort you home, just to be safe."

Petunia's coloring became even worse at those words; Kingsley stepped in with, "It's precautionary; we wouldn't want anything to happen to you or the boy along the way. Strictly safety. Once you're inside, we'll be on our way."

"You have to wait until then?!" shrilled Petunia.

"We've been standing here too long," Moody muttered, ignoring her shriek, and though his bowler hid his magical eye, Harry could guess it was spinning madly about, looking in every direction and seeing possible attackers at all angles. "We need to get moving."

Kingsley took Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage from him, carrying them out to the Dursleys' car and loading them in the boot.

"We've got a Ministry car just over there," said Kingsley. "If you try to drive off before we're ready, we'll have to cause a scene."

The warning in his words was not lost on Aunt Petunia; the last thing she would possibly want was to be seen in public with such curious people. If someone she knew saw her, what would they think? They would start asking questions!

Harry discovered a newfound admiration for Kingsley; the man had done his homework and knew what sort of muggle Aunt Petunia was.

In the car, Aunt Petunia was deadly silent, something Harry was inclined to encourage. He was busy trying not to obsess over Draco, whom he had vowed to put out of his mind. He focused on Ron and Hermione for a moment; Mrs. Weasley was no fool, and would pick up soon enough on any inter-relational differences between the two—honestly, the way they were acting, only an infant would miss that one. All it would take was one accidental contact, and the pair of them would be as red as tomatoes.

Harry glanced in the side-view mirror, and could just barely see the Ministry car tailing them home. A cheering thought struck him, and he turned to face Aunt Petunia better.

"You know," Harry commented offhandedly, "They're going to need to leave the car for a moment. Probably even come inside."

Petunia glared at him, the whites visible almost all the way around her irises. "What for?"

"It would look very strange for them to stop outside the house, wait until we were inside, and then just drive off again."

Petunia's eyes flicked from Harry to the road and back a few times, decidedly panicked.

"The neighbors would talk about the strange vehicle that only stopped outside the house to watch and wait for us to go inside. It would be very unusual. Abnormal."

"I-I-I'll just invite them in for tea, then," she stuttered, and Harry could see her mind whirring as she tried to figure out just how, exactly, she was going to get out of this.

He turned to face out the window, trying to hide the smile of delight; Aunt Petunia would have him doing every disgusting task she could think of for the rest of the summer, but he, Harry, would have an afternoon of silent victory. Out of fear, if nothing more, Aunt Petunia would have to be hospitable to these wizards, both to prevent suspicion on the wizards' part that something in the household was amiss, and on the neighbor's part that these men were anything out of the ordinary.

"Tea sounds like a good idea..."