4. Absences and Appearances
The
end of term had arrived, and Harry now sat in the common room, waiting with his
trunk at his feet—both he and Hermione
had been invited to The Burrow for Christmas.
Hedwig was on the table and hooting at him with disgust, making it clear
that she didn’t appreciate being back in her cage. While he was waiting, he toyed with the idea
of confiding in Hermione about his crush on Oliver Wood. He came to the conclusion, however, that he
probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to talk to her without Ron being
present; the two seemed to be joined at the hip lately. He wondered whether he just wanted to confide
in her now in order to regain the closeness of their friendship. Even his friendship with Ron had become more
distant since the ball. Harry was also
aware that Oliver was due to return to Puddlemere
after Christmas to begin training. With
the source of his distraction going, he hoped that his being attracted to a man
would now stop playing on his mind. He
was brought out of his meanderings by the sound of someone walking down the
stairs from the girls’ dormitory. It was
Hermione, carrying her trunk and a bag full of books, with Crookshanks
following behind.
“Ron
was worried that you’re going to spend all your time reading, and now I can see
why!” he snickered, half-hoping that she would be, so that he and Ron could
spend some time together without Harry feeling like an intruder.
“I
know… He asked me if I planned to spend any time interacting with the outside
world! But as I said to him, these are
only for reference,” Hermione replied, as she heaved the unwieldy bag onto the
table with a thud. “Where is Ron? I would’ve thought he’d be ready to go.”
“He’s
gone to the Owlery; Pig didn’t fly up to the dorm with
Hedwig this morning.”
As
if on cue, Ron chose that moment to burst into the common room, evidently
upset, proclaiming that he couldn’t find Pig.
Harry knew that, despite the frequent complaints about Pig’s irritating
behaviour, Ron had become very fond of the tiny owl. Harry suspected the seemingly dizzy owl was
cleverer than it let on; it was always whizzing round and annoying Ron whenever
he needed to be distracted from unimportant things. He could see no reason for Pig’s absence that
morning, and he thought Ron was right to be worried. But if they didn’t get a move on, they’d risk
missing the train.
“I’ll
let Hedwig out,” Harry suggested, receiving an appreciative hoot from the
direction of the table. “She can look
for Pig and bring him back to the Burrow.”
“You’d
better get your trunk, Ron. It’s time to
go,” Hermione said, giving him a reassuring hug before adding, “I’m sure he’ll
be all right.”
But to
Ron’s dismay, Hedwig arrived at The Burrow later that day, alone, and it seemed
that even she was agitated by Pig’s disappearance.
Harry
found he had been right in assuming there’d be no chance to speak to Hermione
alone. He resigned himself to the fact
that this part of himself, his attraction to Oliver, would end up filed with
all the other little bits and pieces that he never told his friends. Thinking of all these things that had passed
by unsaid for one reason or another only helped him feel even more cut off from
Hermione and Ron. If it wasn’t for Pig’s
disappearance, Harry was quite sure that Ron and Hermione would be spending a
lot more time alone than they were. As
it was, Ron wasn’t the best of company, anyway.
To stop himself from stewing any further, Harry did his best to help
Hermione take Ron’s mind off of Pig.
But
not everyone was showing the same concern for Ron’s feelings. Fred and George had come home to join in the
celebrations, and much to Ron’s annoyance, they made it their task to come up
with as many gruesome suggestions as possible concerning what had occurred to
Pig. These included being injured and
dying painfully slowly, all alone, being savaged by another animal, and being
stolen and used in some magic ritual—they
were very keen to point out that elf owls were very popular in this last
respect. When Ron became positively
distraught, it only encouraged them. Mrs
Weasley was not impressed, and she relegated them to
clearing the snow outside until they agreed to stop speculating about it in
front of Ron.
On the day before Christmas,
Pig still hadn’t appeared. But Ron was
successfully distracted for a while by a small article in The Daily Prophet
that had attracted Hermione’s attention.
Squeezed into a corner of the third page was a report on a burglary that
was, according to the paper, probably the work of Death Eaters. The burglary had occurred at a warehouse of a
major supplier of magical herbs. The odd
thing about the article was there was no mention of what had been stolen, and
when they asked Mr Weasley, he had refused to tell
them. He explained that the Ministry
didn’t want people to panic unnecessarily.
The Ministry hadn’t released all the details to The Daily Prophet,
believing that the media would undoubtedly make a drama out of it. Knowing this only served to arouse their
curiosity further.
Christmas day arrived with
the entire family wearing matching jumpers.
Mrs Weasley’s looked slightly bedraggled, as
Mr Weasley had insisted on making her one the Muggle way. Presents
were exchanged and copious amounts of food were consumed amongst a cheerful
atmosphere. Ron had finally forgiven
Fred and George for winding him up about Pig—even though they had enchanted
some mistletoe to persistently hover over him and Hermione, causing the pair of
them to blush profusely. Harry found
this very amusing, although he had to admit to feeling slightly jealous at
their closeness: Ron and Hermione now shared something extra, something
special. He wondered whether he would
ever be in a relationship like that, but he found it hard to imagine; how could
he possibly get that close to someone after all he’d been through? How could he share himself with another
person, knowing what had been prophesised for him for the future?
Four days before
they were due to return, they received an impromptu visit from Professor
Dumbledore. The Death Eaters in Azkaban
had escaped, including Lucius Malfoy,
and Dumbledore thought it would be best for Harry to return to Hogwarts at
once. Harry expected that Ron and
Hermione would insist on going with him, but they had said nothing, giving
Harry got the impression that they were looking forward to time alone without
him cramping their style. In the end it
had been Dumbledore who suggested it.
Although they had looked happy enough at returning early, Harry was a
little bit miffed that they had to be prompted in the first place.
Now that Lucius
Malfoy had escaped, Harry figured that Draco Malfoy was going to be
insufferable when he returned. There
would be a good deal of bragging, at the very least, with probably a few death
threats mixed in. He wondered whether Draco would now have some real ammunition, courtesy of his
father. Would he be helping out Lucius in his father’s personal vendetta? Harry also worried about Voldemort’s
plans, hoping this didn’t mean Voldemort was going to
intensify his attacks on the wizarding community in
the near future.
Once they had returned to
Hogwarts, they ate their lunch in the Great Hall while debating whether the
burglary they read about in The Daily Prophet might have had a
connection to the breakout from Azkaban.
All of a sudden, Harry felt a flash of pain through his scar, followed
by a burning sensation. He brought his
hand swiftly to his forehead and pressed hard, trying to numb the pain. Hermione stopped eating and looked up, concerned.
“Are you okay, Harry?”
“Scar,” Harry muttered
before turning to Ron. “Do you remember
last year, when I could tell that Voldemort was angry
with Avery?” Ron nodded. “Well, it feels the same now.”
“Why would he be angry? I would’ve thought he’d be ecstatic that his
Death Eaters have escaped,” Ron pointed out.
“I don’t understand,
either,” Harry agreed. “I don’t know
what’s upset him. But it doesn’t feel…
right.” Harry felt it was as if Voldemort had been angry about something for a while and
had only just reacted to it. He was
about to say as much when a wave of pleasure flooded through his scar, going
straight to his groin.
Harry shifted uncomfortably
in his seat, not wanting to let his friends in on his unwelcome reaction. He was mortified. Whatever Voldemort
was doing, he seemed to have worked off his anger, and it wasn't in a way that
Harry had ever experienced through the scar before. He could he tell—very clearly—what type of
activity Voldemort was currently engaged in, and Harry
couldn’t restrain his own response. Was
this a new development of their connection, or was this the first time Voldemort had ‘enjoyed’ himself since he had risen
again? He really didn’t want to be
thinking about this type of thing: wondering about Voldemort’s
sex life. He certainly hoped Voldemort didn’t plan on making it a frequent occurrence;
having to go through this traumatic experience once was more than enough for
Harry. Any more and he’d be a permanent
resident at St. Mungo’s. Harry also cringed to think that yet another
erection was due to someone male—and someone far less appealing than Oliver
Wood—while simultaneously trying not to bring his breakfast back up in disgust
and also hiding this new development from Ron and Hermione. He knew that, from now on, he’d no longer
have any problems finding the motivation to try harder at Occlumency.
To Harry’s relief, his
physical reaction was startled out of his system when a small, half-fluffy,
half-bald projectile landed in Ron’s cornflakes.
“Pig!” Ron yelled, but
his pleasure at having his owl returned was soon mixed with concern over the
state of his pet. It looked as if
someone had been plucking the little owl, and there were several patches of
weeping, inflamed skin in the balder areas.
“Come on, Ron,” Hermione
prompted, grabbing his elbow. “Let’s
take him to Hagrid.
He’ll know what to do.”
They abandoned their
half-empty plates and practically ran towards Hagrid’s
hut, with Ron cradling Pig in a corner of his robes. Hagrid had looked
slightly shocked at first when Ron gently handed over the injured bird, and Ron
began to fret that Hagrid wouldn’t be able to
help. But after gently checking the
little bird over, Hagrid told them he was confident
Pig would make a full recovery.
“Looks like
someone’s bin an’ helped themselves to most of his feathers. Don’ look like no animal attack, they’ve bin
too cleanly plucked, they have. Poor little blighter. Now, don’ yeh go worryin’ yerselves, I’ll take care of him, an’ he’ll be as righ’ as rain in a couple a weeks. Has any of yeh
mentioned this to Professor Dumbledore?”
“I told my dad when he first
went missing, but we came straight to you as soon as he turned up,” Ron
explained.
“Well, I’ve a feeling tha’ the headmaster would wan’ ter
know abou’ summat like
this. I’m goin’
ter see him meself, later
on today, so I’ll mention it ter him fer yeh.”
Just as they were about to
make their way back to the castle, Hermione stopped and turned back to face Hagrid.
“Hagrid, there was a
burglary over Christmas. It was
mentioned in The Daily Prophet.
Do you know what was stolen?”
“Wha’
was stolen?” Hagrid
was a bit flustered as he repeated her question to himself and tucked Pig into
what looked like a shoebox lined with cotton wool. “An’ wha’ would yeh three be wantin’ with tha’ information, then?”
“We’re just curious, that’s
all. It seems odd that it wasn’t
mentioned in the paper. Does it have
anything to do with Voldemort?”
“Now, don’ yeh go worryin’ yehselves abou’ it.” Hagrid pulled his coat
on and stood by the door. “Come on, I’ve
gotta take Fang fer a walk
and get a few things fer Pig. Now, no more pryin’
into what doesn’ concern yer.”
During the last couple of
days before term started, Hermione spent her free time researching the use of
elf owl feathers in the hope of understanding why Pig was stolen. She soon admitted defeat after realising that
she had already listed at least a hundred different potions and hadn’t even
begun to look into different types of rituals.
She had started the research alone, in case she found anything that
would upset Ron, and Harry knew this would’ve made an ideal time to talk to
her, but he no longer had any desire to discuss his attraction to Oliver Wood
with anyone. Instead, he spent his time
playing chess with Ron. Ron avoided the
subject of him and Hermione dating, and he only wanted to talk about Pig. So Harry just let Ron ramble on, as he
wondered at the way things seemed to be changing between them. Ron’s world revolved around Hermione now, and
he didn’t feel it was his place to discuss the relationship with Harry; Ron had
said that it would be too much like betraying her trust. Also—because of dating Hermione, Harry
assumed—Ron didn’t show as much of an interest in Harry’s life as he used to. As a result, they had very little to talk
about that could reinforce their weakening friendship.
Once the term had begun,
Harry soon settled back into lessons and was bewildered by the sudden lack of
venom coming from Draco Malfoy’s
direction. He just seemed to be avoiding
all three of them now. Whenever they
passed in the corridors or had class together, Malfoy
refused to even look in their direction, putting up a tight-lipped façade. Harry was stumped. Last term, Malfoy
had been his predictable self, going out of his way to make life difficult for
Harry and never missing an opportunity to throw in a scathing remark. Now, Harry could almost believe it was
someone using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Malfoy.
“Maybe Azkaban has sent Lucius Malfoy mad and he actually
wants his son to play nice!” Ron joked one evening in the common room. He was really pleased with the change in
attitude, and he took every opening he could to have a dig, just to see how far
Malfoy could be pushed. So far, it had only descended to minor verbal
sparring each time before Malfoy made a quick
exit. Ron reasoned that Malfoy had it coming to him, but Harry couldn’t bring
himself to join in, feeling that it seemed just a little bit petty.
“I can’t ever imagine Malfoy agreeing to be nice to us!” Hermione pointed
out. “But it is weird. He doesn’t even seem to be hanging around
with any of the other Slytherins as much as he used
to. It’s almost like he doesn’t know who
to trust anymore.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed,
welcoming the break from studying, even if it was to talk about Malfoy. “He’s
becoming a bit of a loner—he doesn’t even have his lap-dogs fawning over him
anymore. Now that must be denting
his ego!”
“Millicent seems to think
his father’s got him involved in some scheme to cause trouble at Hogwarts,”
Hermione informed them as she put the finishing touches to her homework. “Perhaps he needs to keep himself to himself
in order to carry it out. Harry, I’d try
not to become too complacent at his lack of nastiness if I were you. That might be just what he’s waiting for.”
“Perhaps all of the Slytherins are coming down with some illness…” Ron began,
with mock seriousness. “After all,
Millicent has already turned over a new leaf this year. I bet Malfoy just
wants to be buddies with everyone, like she is, but he can’t bring himself to
pull it off!”
Harry and Ron both chuckled
at the image of Malfoy wanting to be friendly like
Millicent, and Harry felt a rush of warmth at the shared joke.
Ron then turned his attention
back to Hermione. He was giving her
puppy dog eyes, evidently hoping that she’d help him with his homework—Hermione
had been letting Ron get away with more than usual since the ball, and she was
more willing to help him out with schoolwork now. Previously, Harry had always been Ron’s first
port of call; they tried to work it out together before pestering Hermione in
unison. Ron never bothered to ask for
Harry’s help anymore, he didn’t have to; he didn’t need Harry. And this even extended to Quidditch
conversations. Any time Ron spent
discussing Quidditch was usually with the Hufflepuff Keeper, Wayne Hopkins, going over Keeper
tactics. Harry wasn’t welcome for these
sessions. Ron had made a pact with
So Harry’s attention began
to drift elsewhere, and he found himself wondering about the change in Malfoy. Malfoy’s unexpected behaviour had even continued in Potions
lessons, with him not only keeping out of any Gryffindor-baiting, but also
acting warily around Professor Snape. During the class, Harry noticed Professor Snape watching Malfoy at regular
intervals, but he couldn’t tell what emotion those stern glances held. Did Snape know about
Malfoy’s scheme?
Unfortunately, all this extra interest that Snape
showed in Malfoy didn’t prevent Snape
from picking on Harry with all the usual scorn he could muster. With Harry’s curiosity sufficiently piqued,
he decided to speak with Malfoy, but he knew it would
have to be done on his own. He didn’t
rate his chances of getting any information out of Malfoy
as it was, and if Hermione and Ron were with him, they definitely wouldn’t get
anywhere. Harry wanted to know what Malfoy was up to, whether it was all just a ruse in order
to cause more trouble in the long-term.
If Millicent was right, Harry was sure that, when he had the chance to
pin Malfoy down, he would be bound to let something
slip. Even though he seemed to be good
at keeping his cool, Harry was hopeful that Malfoy’s
overconfidence and arrogance would cause him to brag about something he
shouldn’t.
After their second Potions
lesson of the term, Harry told Hermione and Ron that he had to speak to
Professor Snape about Occlumency
lessons. He watched them leave and then
silently followed Draco Malfoy
down the corridor. When no one else was
nearby, Harry made his presence known.
“What’s with the change?” he
asked when he was a few feet behind Malfoy, carefully
keeping his tone neutral and enjoying the feeling of having startled him. “I thought you’d be rubbing my nose in it,
now that your father’s escaped.”
Malfoy stopped walking
and spun around, glaring at him, but with less force than usual.
“What are you talking about,
Potter?”
“You’ve changed since you
went home at Christmas. I’m assuming
that it’s got something to do with your father getting out of Azkaban. Is he finding life a little awkward, having
to hide from the Ministry? Or has he
made some sort of deal with them?”
“Stay out of it. This is none of your business!” Malfoy growled before turning away and marching off down
the corridor briskly, making it clear Harry was not welcome to follow.
Harry accepted that he
wouldn’t get any information today, but he was determined to find out what was
going on. He passively watched as Malfoy left, merely calling out, “I’ll be keeping my eyes
on you, Malfoy!”
Harry continued to follow
him over the next few days, and he found that Malfoy
was constantly on guard, persistently checking over his shoulder and saying
very little to anyone. Whether this was
only since their little confrontation or whether Malfoy
had been behaving this way since the start of term, Harry wasn’t sure. Malfoy seemed to be
eyeing everyone with suspicion, except his Head of House, whom he actively
avoided. Harry had even snuck down to
the Slytherin Quidditch
practice and watched as Malfoy had let himself become
frequently distracted, often making silly mistakes. As far as Harry was aware, Hermione and Ron
hadn’t caught on to his surveillance.
Nothing had been mentioned—they were too busy spending time ‘together’,
Harry resentfully acknowledged; but at least this made it easier for Harry to
spy on Malfoy.
It was certainly taking his mind off of the now-absent Oliver Wood,
which, he reasoned, could only be a good thing.
At the end of the second
week, Harry noticed an eagle owl swooping into the Great Hall and delivering a
letter to Malfoy at breakfast. He watched as Malfoy
took the proffered letter and read it with a carefully composed face. Malfoy left the
table immediately. That day, and that
day only, saw Draco Malfoy
temporarily return to his normal foulness, taking his venom out on any easy
target. Harry assumed that this was due
to the letter, and he was curious to find out what it could’ve said to prompt
this brief resurgence in Malfoy’s
vindictiveness.
As part of his continuing
observations of Malfoy, Harry had begun to make a
habit of checking the Marauders’ Map each evening before he went to bed. He soon realised that Malfoy
was making regular excursions to the
The following evening, he
feigned tiredness and went up to the dormitory early before making a hidden
exit under his Invisibility Cloak. He
made sure he was already waiting in the tower when Malfoy
arrived. Malfoy
quietly closed the door and exhaled loudly.
He then stomped across to one of the windows, frowning, and stared into
the blackness outside, raking his hands through his short blond hair. Seeing that Malfoy
was apparently not here for any nefarious reasons, Harry made to remove the
cloak and reveal himself, but stopped when the door
suddenly banged open. Professor Snape stood there—a silhouette against the light coming in
from the staircase.
“I think it’s about time you
stopped these little night time jaunts of yours, Draco.” Snape’s harsh tones
broke through the silence, and a look of apprehension flooded Malfoy’s face.
“I’ve overlooked them so
far, but I’m not prepared to continue doing so,” Snape
said as he walked in and closed the door behind himself. “I think it’s about time you talked to
someone.”
“No.” Malfoy’s raspy
voice could barely be heard, even though the room was silent. Harry could see him sitting stock-still in
the moonlight that flooded in from the window; he seemed petrified.
“You’ve changed since your
father’s escape. I’m not the only one
who’s noticed: your father’s been in contact with me, and he’s worried, Draco. He’s asked me
to keep an eye on you.” Harry watched as
Malfoy flinched when his father was mentioned. “I know what that letter was about; I’m aware
of what’s expected to happen. Draco, you can trust me.”
“I know,” Malfoy
agreed, but even Harry could tell that he was lying. “But there’s nothing I need to say about
it.”
“Very well, get back to your
bed, then!” the Professor snapped, irritation clear in his voice.
Harry sat there for a few moments after
both Malfoy and Snape had
left. He had so many questions running
through his head. Harry had started at Snape’s mention of the letter; it definitely was connected
to Malfoy’s behaviour. If only he knew what it was about, and how Snape knew about it.
What was expected to happen?
Harry then wondered why Lucius had asked Snape to watch over Malfoy; what
was Lucius so worried about? Harry was also surprised at the complete lack
of trust Malfoy had shown towards Snape. He considered the possibility that Snape had been exposed, but he decided against it. Lucius Malfoy certainly wouldn’t trust the man to keep an eye on
his son if that was the case, especially as Lucius
needed to remain out of the Ministry’s reach.
But he couldn’t understand why Malfoy should
be so scared. If anything, Harry reasoned, it should work the other way
round. Surely Malfoy
could make Snape’s life awkward, via his father, if
he wanted to. But Malfoy
was scared. Harry would have
normally relished the situation between Malfoy and Snape, but he had to admit to feeling a slight twinge of
sympathy at Malfoy’s discomfort in Snape’s presence.
Feeling a little uneasy with this, he reasoned that he was probably just
tired. On his way to bed, he decided to
discuss what had happened with Hermione and Ron over breakfast.
The next morning, Harry found he didn’t
have the opportunity to bring the subject up, or even get a word in
edgeways. Ron and Hermione were too busy
cooing over each other and moaning about the lack of privacy at Hogwarts. When a break finally came in the
conversation, it was soon filled by one of the school owls arriving with a
letter from Hagrid: Pig had recovered, and Ron could
go and collect him. Harry opted not to
bother telling them about the previous evening.
Ron and Hermione both
bounded across the grounds enthusiastically to regain his owl, with Harry
trailing after them. Pig still looked a
bit sorry for himself, but he was certainly fluffier, and less ‘icky’, as Ron
had put it.
“Normally, I would’ve bin
able ter fix ‘im up a lot
sooner, bu’ he had a few ulcers, see, an’ they take a
good deal longer ter heal, withou’
a bi’ of pigeon berry. I haven’t bin able ter get hold of any
since tha’ burglary at Christmas.”
“It was pigeon berry that was stolen!”
Hermione exclaimed, much to Hagrid’s dismay, and as
they left his hut, the three made hasty promises that they wouldn’t mention it
to anyone.
“Pigeon berry…
I remember that name,” Ron muttered to himself as they walked back. He placed Pig carefully into a breast pocket
of his shirt, and the owl hooted softly in appreciation. “I know!
Percy used to have some; he used it in a potion for his acne!”
“Voldemort
is going to defeat the wizarding world by curing it
of its ulcers, and by de-zitting it!” Harry said with
a laugh.
“Let me guess,” Ron began,
glancing at Hermione with a look of resignation. “We’re going to be spending the afternoon in
the library.”
Hermione grinned back at
him, almost maliciously, it seemed.
In the library, Ron soon became bored
wading through hefty tomes, and instead, turned to flicking through a Wizarding World magazine. Hermione threw him a few disgruntled stares,
but she let him continue without any verbal nagging.
“Woah! I think I’ve
found out something useful!” Ron
suddenly exclaimed, earning him a stern look from Madame Pince. Leaning forward, he grinned and then
continued in a whisper, “There’s an article all about ‘poke root’ in here, it’s
also known as pigeon berry. The
article briefly mentions the ‘international shortage’, and it describes how to
prepare alternatives to use in healing potions for ‘lymphatic disorders,
ulcers, and acne and other skin complaints’, but at the bottom it says this:
‘it is also rumoured that poke root is a key ingredient in certain types of
bonding rites. These particular rites
are included in the initiation rituals of a number of highly secretive cults
and societies.’”
“A ‘highly secretive cult or
society’ is initiating a load of new recruits?” Harry asked. “Doesn’t take much of an
imagination to work out exactly who they are.”
“Death Eaters,” Hermione
stated, looking uneasy at the revelation.
“Perhaps Malfoy’s change in behaviour has
something to do with this…”
“We know that he wouldn’t
get away with having the Dark Mark while he’s still at school,” Ron pointed
out, “so maybe he’s just sulking because he’s not allowed it!”
That seemed to satisfy
Hermione and Ron as they chuckled over the image of Malfoy
sulking to get his own way. Harry
laughed, too, but he wasn’t convinced.
He felt there had to be more to Malfoy’s
behaviour than that; even Malfoy couldn’t be that
shallow.