10. Exposure

 

 

 

When Harry and Ron arrived at dinner, there still no sign of Hermione or Malfoy; Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore was also absent from the Great Hall. Harry didn’t like this, not knowing what was going on. He had been kept in the dark far too many times about things that concerned him personally. He was fed up with not having the answers he needed, and right now, he needed to know that Malfoy was all right. Harry and Ron sat down together and began eating, neither one of them willing to talk about the obvious subject that loomed between them. The only noise punctuating their silence was the clatter of forks against their plates. Harry had no appetite, and he spent most of his time pushing food about his plate, interspersed with a few unmotivated mouthfuls. Seeing movement by the doors, he looked up; Hermione had arrived. But Malfoy still hadn’t turned up. As she walked closer, he could see that her eyes were red, but she was also happy. Seeing that Ron and Harry were sitting together and no longer arguing, she gave Harry a tight smile as she sat down opposite Ron.

 

“Is Crookshanks all right, Hermione?” Ron asked.

 

“Apart from physically resembling a manx cat in the tail department, he’s all right,” she confirmed as she helped herself to an excessive amount of cottage pie. “Hagrid is looking after him at the moment.”

 

“Where was he?” Harry tentatively asked, and he wished he hadn’t when Hermione looked at him coldly.

 

“Malfoy’s room.”

 

“So you automatically assume he’s guilty,” Harry said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of his voice. So Malfoy had been called out of the lesson over this. But why hasn’t he returned? Harry wondered. He should’ve told Dumbledore by now that I was with him… If there is still a question over his guilt, why haven’t I been called in? “There’s no proof that he took Crookshanks,” he continued saying to Hermione. “If he’d taken the cat, he wouldn’t keep it openly in his room: he’d try to hide it. And don’t you think he would’ve rubbed your nose in it—like he did with me when he set me up with that Malaclaw?”

 

“He wouldn’t be bragging about taking my cat if he’s trying to play the innocent, Harry.”

 

“Why hasn’t Crabbe, Goyle, or any of the others in his dorm been taken up to Dumbledore’s office, as well?” Harry asked, wishing that Hermione would give Malfoy a break.

 

“Because they were all in the common room with the other Slytherins on the night Crookshanks disappeared, and there was ginger fur all over Malfoy’s things.”

 

“I know he didn’t take your cat,” Harry stated defiantly. He knew that something was very wrong with the situation, and he could only think of two explanations for what had happened. Either Malfoy really was responsible, which Harry found impossible to believe, or that somebody had organised this to set him up.

 

“Oh, really,” Hermione responded sceptically. “And why are you so certain that he didn’t take Crookshanks?”

 

“Because I was with him the night that your cat disappeared,” Harry said, thinking back to the night in question—the night he and Malfoy had first kissed—and he smiled to himself at the memory. “Don’t you remember? I turned up in the common room late that evening, and you told me that you had spent the evening looking for your cat?”

 

“But,” Hermione continued unperturbed, “if this is all one big scheme on Malfoy’s behalf, don’t you think he would have conned someone else to do his dirty work? It sounds as if he’s got you pinned as the perfect alibi.”

 

“It does make sense, Harry,” Ron agreed sheepishly. “If he’s as innocent as you say he is, then why hasn’t he returned from Dumbledore’s office?”

 

“I think somebody is trying to frame Malfoy,” Harry insisted. He looked alternately at Ron and Hermione. Come on, go with me on this one, guys… It’s something that needs solving, like we used to do—together.

 

“Who on earth would go to all this trouble of setting Malfoy up?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “It’s a bit extreme, Harry.”

 

“Even I wouldn’t bother with stealing pets and making potions just to get at Malfoy,” Ron pointed out. “And you know how much I hate him.”

 

Hermione’s face softened and she reached across the table to hold Harry’s hand. “I know this is hard to take, Harry, it’s not nice to feel let down by someone, but you can’t ignore—”

 

“Hermione, you don’t have to patronise me,” he responded icily, snatching his hand away.

 

“Harry…” Ron warned.

 

“Just tell me this, Harry. Have you actually asked yourself what if?” Hermione asked, looking at Harry determinedly. “What if you are wrong? Because I’m worried that ignoring that particular question might be clouding your judgement.”

 

“But what if I’m right, Hermione?” Harry responded. “Malfoy has a lot of enemies, especially in Slytherin. What if someone else is responsible, and they get away with this—and possibly do something similar in the future—just because everyone is just assuming that Malfoy’s guilty?” I want to prove Malfoy didn’t do it, but I’m not sure I can do this by myself, Harry realised. Not if I’m going to be fighting with Hermione and Ron at the same time. He let his gaze flick between Hermione and Ron, and then he decided to test their friendship. “I want to find out what’s really happened, but I’ll need your help. Please? At least humour me for a while…”

 

Hermione studied him for a moment before sharing a look with Ron that Harry couldn’t interpret.

 

“Okay, we’ll help,” she relented. “But you’ve got to assume that Millicent’s innocent as well: I’m only going to help out while there are reasonable alternatives.”

 

“So what’s the plan?” Ron asked around a mouthful of treacle sponge and custard.

 

“I guess the first thing I need to do is speak to Dumbledore. Find out why Malfoy hasn’t returned from his office yet, and why I haven’t been asked to go up there. If they think Malfoy is responsible, then they should have at least asked me to confirm where he’s been. Hopefully, speaking to Dumbledore will give me more to go on.”

 

“We’ll come with you,” Hermione assured him. “Once we’ve all finished eating.”

 

After dinner, the three of them walked to the stone gargoyle, Harry feeling immensely relieved that Hermione and Ron had agreed to help him—even though it seemed there wasn’t anything specific they could do apart from offer him their moral support.

 

Professor McGonagall was waiting by the entrance to the headmaster’s office as they approached.

 

“Please, can we speak to Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “It’s about Malfoy.”

 

“I’m afraid the headmaster is busy at the moment, Mr Potter. I’ll let him know that you were here and wanted to speak to him.”

 

“Why hasn’t he called me up, though? I…” Harry persisted.

 

“I’m afraid I cannot answer any of your questions,” Professor McGonagall interrupted sternly. “You will have to wait until Professor Dumbledore is available to see you.”

 

They trudged back the way they came, Harry feeling increasingly disheartened. He tried to think how they could begin to find out who was responsible, but there was no obvious plan for him to follow. He remembered the last time he acted on impulse without a plan: Sirius had ended up dead. Harry was keen to avoid making that mistake again.

 

“So what do we do next?” Hermione asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Go back to the common room and make a list, I suppose—we could start off with those who might be able to get a message to Malfoy’s family.”

 

“And it’s got to be somebody in our year who’s involved, because only sixth years had lessons with Professor Lupin yesterday morning,” Hermione added.

 

They carried on, slightly more enthusiastically than before, now that they had something to work on. As they passed back by the entrance to the Great Hall, they nearly ran into Pansy Parkinson coming out.

 

“Poor little Potter,” Pansy commented unsympathetically, and Harry automatically stopped, surprised that he was being addressed. “Too bad Malfoy let you down and lured you in on false pretences. Don’t take it personally, Potter; you’re not the first.”

 

Harry immediately tensed. The only other person who had called him Potter recently was Malfoy. Malfoy had made that name special, and she didn’t have the right to use it—especially not to gloat like that. Why does she have to rub it in, anyway? I guess she might be feeling a bit put out that I’m the one seeing Malfoy now, and she isn’t.

 

“Stay out of it, Parkinson, Malfoy hasn’t done anything!” he snapped before continuing to walk towards the Gryffindor common room.

 

“Oh, come on, be realistic, Potter!” Pansy carried on, her voice becoming quite shrill. “Admit it, Harry, loverboy’s done you over. Haven’t you noticed the stack of evidence against him? It’s very well known that his father is a Death Eater—a scheme to get in your pants would be just Malfoy’s style, and this would’ve made a very amusing way for You-Know-Who to get to you. Malfoy was there when Lupin was poisoned. He’s been highly secretive since Christmas—and I doubt that that’s just because he’s been screwing around with you,” she curled up lip in disgust at this point.

 

Glancing at Hermione and Ron, Harry noticed that they had both squared their shoulders and were looking very threateningly in Pansy’s direction. You really are a stupid cow, Parkinson, Harry thought. You’re just helping convince them that maybe Malfoy isn’t that guilty after all. Pansy kept talking, oblivious that she was helping to cement Hermione and Ron’s support in Harry’s cause.

 

“Trevor just happens to turn up when he’s around, only with you as a convenient alibi. Crookshanks was found in his room, with ginger fur all over his things. And now, Dumbledore’s detained him for the past couple of hours. If anything should convince you, it’s the fact that even the headmaster doesn’t trust him… Anyway, there’s no point in rushing to his rescue—it’s too late, Fudge turned up just before dinner, so Malfoy’s probably already at the Ministry by now. Putting students at risk from a werewolf is something they take very seriously.”

 

“The M…Ministry…” Harry stammered. Dumbledore can’t let him be taken there—he promised to protect Malfoy. There’s bound to be someone working at the Ministry who supports Voldemort, someone who might enable Lucius to get to him… Harry stood in the hallway, unable to move. He was both anxious about Malfoy and also fuming that Pansy could be such an irritating cow. How dare she… Then Harry did a double take, something Pansy had said wasn’t quite right.

 

“Hang on… What did you just say about Trevor?” Harry asked, studying the expression on Pansy’s face, but she seemed oblivious to what she had said.

 

“I said that, just because he’s got you as an alibi when Trevor was found, it doesn’t mean he didn’t set the whole thing up beforehand.”

 

“How do you know he was there?” Harry asked surprised that Pansy wasn’t aware of the implications of what she was saying.

 

“It doesn’t take a genius to work out what you were doing there. You, out late at night, in the Room of Requirement… I don’t need three guesses to know that you were busy sticking your tongue down each other’s throats!” She glared at Harry challengingly for having the cheek to move in on her territory.

 

“I never said I…” Harry trailed off. He realised that he was starting to shake. He could understand that others might link his being out late to meeting up with Malfoy… but no one knew he had found Trevor in the Room of Requirement. So how did Pansy find out? Was she responsible for this? It would certainly fit. But why, and how could she, of all people, have pulled off that potion? Malfoy had mentioned that she only managed to get a D for potions at O.W.L. level. She can’t have been working by herself… Harry had also overheard plenty of people talking about him during the day—not once had last night’s activities been a part of that gossip. Could she have heard it from someone else?

 

“I need to know who told you I was in the Room of Requirement. Who started that rumour?” he asked coldly, his hands now balled into fists, his back ramrod straight through tension.

 

“You are joking, aren’t you? Get your head out of the sand, Potter. Everybody is talking about you and Malfoy. The speculations started this morning, after the howler—and they came from all directions. And here I was, thinking that he was just impotent… But then I might still be right—after all, he was just using you.”

 

Harry glared at her before storming away down the corridor. He knew that, if he stayed there any longer, there’d be far too much risk of him losing what little control he had left over his temper; punching her would not do anything to help Malfoy. Behind him, Ron and Hermione rushed to keep up.

 

“Why does she think you were in the Room of Requirement, Harry?” Hermione asked, a bit breathless from the pace he had now set.

 

“Because I was…” he admitted. “But nobody was supposed to know that.”

 

“So, we need to find out who it came from,” Hermione pointed out. “I find it hard to believe that someone as dense as Pansy would be capable of pulling off a potion like the one used on Lupin.” Hermione frowned as she thought of something else. “Harry, if this is all linked to Lupin, what would she be doing there the day after his drink was spiked with the potion?”

 

Harry shrugged, not understanding it himself. “Maybe she was in the middle of trying to frame Malfoy with something else,” he guessed. “When we went there last night, the room was already set up as a potions lab—”

 

“Potter!”

 

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, and he felt his insides twist uncomfortably as he realised where he was supposed to be at that moment.

 

“Too important for detentions are we, Potter?”

 

“Sorry, Sir. I wanted to find out what was happening with Malfoy,” Harry confessed, hoping that Snape might understand the potential gravity of the situation.

 

Snape briefly seemed to be taken aback at Harry’s honesty, but he soon regained his former scornful composure.

 

“But having finished finding other things to take priority over your detention, you still seem to be walking in the wrong direction.”

 

“Sorry, I… after everything I…”

 

“I’ll hear no more of your pathetic excuses,” Snape barked. “Come with me.”

 

“We’ll see what we can do, Harry,” Hermione assured him as she and Ron left him.

 

Only an hour later, Harry was able to return to the common room. Hermione and Ron looked up from their discussion with Neville, surprised that Harry had arrived back so early.

 

“What did you do to Snape?” Ron joked as Harry sat down opposite them. “Did you hex him? Or have you recruited him to defend Malfoy’s honour as well?”

 

“McGonagall turned up and said that Dumbledore wanted to speak with him; she didn’t say what about,” Harry informed them. “So, I’ve done half my detention tonight, and I’ve got to finish it tomorrow lunchtime. Have you found out anything?”

 

“I’ve spoken to Millicent,” Hermione began, and Harry tried not to pull a face at the mention of Millicent. “She’s been asking around the other Slytherins. Of all those she spoke to, the only people who know you were in the Room of Requirement had heard it from Pansy.”

 

“Also,” Neville added. “Apparently, Pansy has been sneaking off to see someone, but Millicent hasn’t been able to find out who it is. She had assumed Pansy was only doing it in order to make Malfoy jealous, but now she’s not so sure.”

 

“I’m going to get my cloak out and follow her around this evening,” Harry decided. “I’ll see who she speaks to and what she says. Hopefully she’ll let something slip.”

 

“Be careful,” Hermione said anxiously. “Whoever created that potion is potentially very dangerous. If you’re right, and it isn’t Malfoy, then they may be expecting you to start nosing around. Harry, is there anything else that we can do to help?”

 

“I can’t think of anything at the moment. Just keep your ears open, I suppose. Thanks for helping me so far, it’s good to know that you’re on my side.”

 

He pulled his invisibility cloak on after exiting the Gryffindor Tower, and he began to walk down to the dungeons. He would have to wait outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room and hope that he could sneak in behind someone. But to Harry’s surprise, he didn’t have to. On his way down to the dungeons, Harry saw Pansy coming towards him, heading in the opposite direction and looking very pleased with herself.

 

Harry turned and followed her. At first, he thought she was going down to the kitchens, but she continued on past the entrance. Where is she going? Harry wondered. This leads to a couple of classrooms, Hufflepuff Tower, and the Quidditch pitch. Has she arranged to meet someone? Turning a corner, she slowed and looked about her. Once she seemed satisfied that no one was about, she opened a door on her left and went in. Harry snuck in as she turned around to close the door behind her. The classroom was lit by moonlight that was coming in from a couple of high windows. This is the Ancient Runes classroom, Harry realised. This was the room Malfoy and I were in—when I invited him to stay at the Dursley’s over the summer. Had Pansy overheard us talking? Had she been responsible for what happened to Aunt Petunia?

 

Pansy made her way to the back of the classroom, and pulled out a chair, placing it in front of a towering bookcase filled with dusty old tomes. Harry watched as she climbed onto the chair and reached up, pressing the first brick above the bookcase, then the third, then the fifth brick. She repeated this, pressing the bricks in the same order, after which Harry heard a click. Looking down at the bookcase, he could see that its left side had come away from the wall by about an inch. Pansy climbed back down from the chair, and moved it out of the way before clasping her fingers around the side of the bookcase and pulling, swinging it open like a door. Harry expected it to be heavy and stiff, but Pansy had opened it easily as if it were on wheels. She slipped behind the bookcase, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Harry kept close, the only light coming in from the classroom behind them. It led along a short narrow corridor, and then up a steep flight of steps. This isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, he absently noted. I’ll have to work out how to add it on. But where does it come out?

 

As they came to the top, the stairway opened out into a small round room—about a third of the size of the room he shared with Ron and the others. There were a few cushions scattered across the floor that Harry could make out from light coming in along a crack that lined the ceiling. Pansy decisively walked across the room and through a doorway on the other side. A tiny passage lay beyond, which she had to practically crawl along. This turned a bend and seemed to be a dead end. Then Harry noticed a small handle that was only a couple of feet up from the floor. Slowly, Pansy turned it and then pulled; it was a small door. Opening the door a crack, she leant down to cautiously peak out. Over the top of her head, Harry could make out the end of a four-poster bed; the tunnel had led to a dormitory.

 

“Psst!” Pansy whispered to an unknown person in the room beyond. “Is it safe?”

 

“Yes,” came a reply.

 

That sounds like Ernie Macmillan! Harry thought. But it can’t be! He wouldn’t have anything to do with Pansy Parkinson. I must’ve misheard.

 

But the voice continued, and Harry was amazed to acknowledge that, yes, it really was Ernie Macmillan.

 

“The others have gone to mess around on the Quidditch pitch,” Ernie informed her. “But I should think they’ll be back in about ten minutes. Madam Hooch normally kicks them off about half nine.”

 

“Ten minutes is all I need, darling,” Pansy said seductively.

 

I hope she’s not implying what I think she’s implying, Harry worried. I can’t sit here and watch her and Ernie… Ugh, no… Please don’t!

 

She opened the door wider for to Ernie to come in then began to come back along the passage, with Ernie following behind. Harry did a quick u-turn and hurried back to the previous room.

 

As soon as they were out of the passage and the door was closed, Pansy had Ernie pinned against the wall and was kissing him.

 

Harry shuddered silently underneath his cloak. I really don’t want to be watching this.

 

“If they come back early, you can do what you did the other night,” Pansy said as she leaned back to unzip the front of his trousers. “Nip round the back and tell them you went to the library.”

 

Ernie and Pansy lay down and made themselves comfortable amongst the cushions. Harry cringed as they loosened each other’s clothing and hands began to explore more intimate areas, with heavy breathing and moans filling the air.

 

“As this is only going to be a quickie, can I come back later?” Pansy asked, sounding quite breathless.

 

“Not tonight; my uncle wants me to contact him again.”

 

Why would Ernie be contacting his uncle at this time of night? Harry wondered. What is going on?

 

Pansy was now sitting astride Ernie and grinding on top of him furiously. Harry couldn’t help himself but look, all the while trying to keep his breathing steady and quiet. He could see Ernie’s hands running over bare skin and then grabbing hold of her hips to drive her down onto him harder and faster. He could see her sliding up and down, and hear their grunts and pants sounding round the little room. The atmosphere was now thick with smell of sex, and Harry couldn’t restrain his body’s own response. But he had no desire to join in; their physicality just reminded him of Malfoy, of how close he had been waiting to get with Malfoy. He could feel his own breathing and heart rate gradually increase; the temptation to bring himself off while they were busy in the throes of sex was almost too much to ignore. He got as far as stroking himself through his trousers when Ernie and Pansy both began to jerk frantically against one another. Ernie gave a shout, and she let out a low guttural sound. Then Pansy collapsed on top of him, and they both lay still against one another, breathing hard.

 

Pansy was the first to speak.

 

“Do you think they get up to anything as exciting as that?” she asked, lifting her head and tracing a finger along Ernie’s chest.

 

“You’re not going on about Malfoy again, are you?”

 

“I’m curious! I want to know if Draco lets Potter stick his…”

 

“Don’t say it! I don’t want the mental image, thank you!”

 

“…Or whether Potter lets him…”

 

“Pansy!”

 

“Or whether they’re both just frightened by the thought of getting physical!”

 

“I really don’t care,” Ernie pushed her off him in a huff, and he stood up to do up his clothing. “I’d better be getting back to the dorm.”

 

Pansy straightened her own clothes, and then ran her arms around the back of Ernie’s neck, kissing him slowly and deeply.

 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, darling. You’ll have to let me know if your uncle wants me to do anything else.”

 

Harry frowned, what would Ernie’s uncle possibly want Pansy to do?

 

Having begun his investigation by following Pansy, Harry almost made to follow Pansy back down the stairs, but then checked himself. I want to know what Ernie’s contacting his uncle about. He turned round and made his way along the cramped passageway behind Ernie. Ernie opened the half-sized door once more and looked out. Happy that the dorm was still empty, he pulled the door wide open and went out, bending over to get through the small opening. Harry quickly squeezed through the door behind Ernie to get out before Ernie closed it.

 

Harry looked around at Ernie’s dormitory. It was an exact replica of Harry’s dorm in the Gryffindor Tower, only with yellow and black colouring rather than red and gold. There were five beds, five desks, and three windows—and a secret passageway. Or do all of the dormitories have them? Once Ernie had shut the door, Harry did a double take. The section of the wall where the door had been now looked identical to the rest of the wall: the edges of the door were imperceptible. Ernie lay back down on his bed and began to read his Potions text; Harry sat on the floor next to the bed. After only a couple of minutes, he could hear the noise of other students thumping and chattering on their way up the stairs: it was the other sixth years that Ernie shared his room with. The door opened with a bang, and they barged in, disrupting the silence of the room.

 

“Still at it, Ernie?” Wayne asked, flopping down on the bed opposite. “You missed out on a great game. Even Justin joined in tonight…”

 

“Well, I’ve been busy,” Ernie replied haughtily. “We’ve got our exams in a couple of weeks, and I want to make sure I do as much as last year when we took the O.W.L.s. I’ve got to be ready for next year: we’re going to have to study even harder then. I’m still managing between eight and nine hours a day—just like last year.”

 

Harry was stunned. How could Ernie sound so sincere? How could he brazenly lie about what he had really been up to?

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ernie said, getting up from the bed and carrying his textbook with him. “The common room should be quieter now, so I’m going to go down to do more studying. I’ve got another hour to do before bed, if I want to keep up to my schedule.”

 

“Yeah, night Ernie,” they called out, sounding amused at Ernie’s obsession with studying.

 

The Hufflepuff common room was rectangular and low-ceilinged, with the entrances to the dormitories opening out on one long side. Pillars lined the length of the room, with four on each side. On one of the short sides was the main entrance to the common room and on the other side opposite was a large ornate fireplace. Two sofas were at an angle facing the fire, and dotted around the rest of the room were tables surrounded by comfy chairs. Ernie sat by one of the pillars, on the side opposite the stairway to the dormitory, out of the way of the few remaining Hufflepuffs. Harry moved to sit behind him, closer to the wall. I wish he’d hurry up and contact his uncle, Harry moaned to himself. Surely he’s got to go down to the Owlery for that. It’s going to be too late if he leaves it much longer. But Ernie remained in the common room, and he just opened up his book beginning to read. There was nothing Harry could do but wait.

 

Apart from turning a page every now and then, it was half an hour before Ernie moved. There were no more students in the common room and hadn’t been for about ten minutes. The noise from the dormitories had faded, and it sounded as if the other occupants of Hufflepuff were now sleeping. Ernie looked up from his book and cocked his head to one side, listening. When he seemed satisfied, he pulled a ring out of his pocket and turned the gem on top of it sharply to one side and back again. After a few seconds, Harry saw the gem glow red.

 

Ernie rose out of his seat, and he walked to stand in front of the fire. From where Harry sat, the fireplace was partially obscured by a pillar. As the room was completely noiseless and Harry didn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself by moving, he opted to remain where he was.

 

Moments after the gem had glowed, a head appeared in the fire.

 

It was Ernie’s uncle, Errol Pleinius Maudrey.

 

“Well, what on earth is going on, boy?” Errol Maudrey asked gruffly.

 

“What do you mean?” Ernie replied, with surprise in his voice. “Don’t you have him yet?”

 

“No! Dumbledore is refusing to let the Ministry take him out of Hogwarts, and I want to know why! If I find out it’s because of the howler that stupid, over reactive woman sent… Lucius has no bloody control over her, whatsoever…”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped; he could only assume they were discussing Malfoy. But why was Ernie’s uncle pushing to get Malfoy removed from Hogwarts? What did Errol Maudrey want with him?

 

“I don’t know why he’s still here,” Ernie admitted. “I did what you said with that mangy cat.”

 

“You weren’t seen?”

 

“No, I got Parkinson to put it in his room.”

 

“And it was in his room this time?” Errol Maudrey asked, wanting clarification. “Not just abandoned in the Slytherin common room like that incompetent girl did with the jar of bezoars?”

 

“Yeah, I had a go at her for that—she said that Crabbe and Goyle were hanging around before.”

 

“Hmm, maybe we need something else to seal the brat’s fate. Lucius Malfoy is very keen to see him in person.”

 

He’s doing this for Lucius Malfoy? And Ernie knows! Harry was stunned. After what had happened to Ernie’s father last year, Harry found it hard to believe that Ernie would ever have anything to do with Death Eaters. And yet, here was his uncle proving otherwise.

 

The head disappeared for a moment. When he returned, Ernie’s uncle held out a stone from the fire.

 

“Take this,” he ordered. “Put it in his Quidditch robes. If we still can’t get at Draco Malfoy by the morning, I’ll get the Ministry to go through the rest of his things.”

 

“This is one of those bezoars,” Ernie recognised. “What was it used for—that potion you made for Lupin?”

 

“It’ll look less suspicious if you don’t know, or at least claim you don’t know,” Errol Maudrey asserted. “I hear Lupin is no longer teaching at the school. Such a shame, he was a particularly convenient test-subject. Never mind, it looks as if we’ve worked out the potion adequately enough.”

 

“What about the toad pus?” Ernie asked. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get my hands on Neville’s toad again—not now that Potter’s handed it back.”

 

“Yes, well, ideally we could’ve done with another batch,” Errol Maudrey replied, less than pleased. “But you’ll be pleased to know what you have collected and brewed was a success. Although it may take a longer with the small amount you gave me yesterday, we can now clone the right type of toad eyes. A wonderful combination of Muggle technology and magic, don’t you think? Do you know how difficult it is to get hold of supposedly ‘common’ spadefoot toads? Bloody Muggles are wiping them out…” Errol Maudrey shook his head, distracted for a moment, and then he focused his gaze once more on Ernie. “Is there anything else? You look as if there’s some sort of problem.”

 

“I think Potter suspects something. From what I’ve heard, he’s adamant that Malfoy isn’t responsible. It won’t be long before he starts nosing around.”

 

“Like I said yesterday, the only thing that matters now is that we get Draco Malfoy out of Hogwarts: the Ministry must believe he is responsible. The potion has been tested, and it worked, which the main point behind that little exercise—never mind that Potter, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t hurt. It doesn’t matter if Potter goes sniffing around now. They can’t associate you with anything. Pansy would look guiltier than you ever could. And no one would ever suspect you being involved with that little trollop.”

 

Harry, feeling stiff after having been sitting in the same position for so long, carefully stood up and slowly stretched under his cloak. He could’ve sworn he saw Ernie’s uncle glance briefly in his direction. Could Errol Maudrey see through the cloak as Dumbledore could?

 

“You really can be an idiot sometimes, Ernie,” Errol Maudrey spat at Ernie before his head disappeared from the fire. The next moment, Errol Maudrey was standing there, in the Hufflepuff common room, having floo’ed from wherever he had been.

 

“Accio cloak!” he yelled as he pointed his wand in Harry’s direction.

 

He can see through the cloak… Harry realised; he was exposed.

 

At the instant he saw Errol Maudrey’s mouth move again, Harry instinctively drew his own wand, casting a spell to deflect whatever was coming in his direction.

 

“Expelliarmus!”

 

“Protego!”

 

“My, my, we are good, aren’t we, Harry?” Errol Maudrey said silkily, walking forward. Harry moved further round the pillar, keeping it between himself and Errol. “Looks like a little memory charm wouldn’t go amiss, though…”

 

“Obliviate!” But Harry was ready for that one as well.

 

“Protego!”

 

“Ernie!” Ernie’s uncle shouted at him. “Stop standing there like a lemon. Come and help me. Go round the back there, will you!”

 

Harry whipped round the other side of the pillar as Ernie moved forward, catching Ernie by surprise.

 

“Sorry, Ernie,” he mumbled, not entirely sure why or, in fact, if he was sorry. “Petrificus Totalus!”

 

Ernie fell to the floor, his entire body rigid, legs clamped together and his arms forced to his sides.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Errol Maudrey appear from behind and raise his wand once more. All Harry could do was dive for cover behind one of the chairs and hope that the spell missed.

 

“Stupefy!”

 

He felt magic hit his leg as he launched himself forwards. He landed heavily, knocking his head against a table on the way down. The world blurred and everything gradually went black, with Harry hoping that the raised voices he thought he could hear were not his imagination. Don’t let him get away with this, don’t let him get Malfoy…

 

When Harry came round, it was too bright and everything ached, his head especially. His scar thrummed with discontent, and the back of his head felt bruised. Opening his eyes a crack, he looked over at the shape on his left. It was Malfoy, nonchalantly reading a copy of Quidditch Weekly.

 

“Malfoy,” he croaked. Harry reached out to touch him. He’s still here: the Ministry hasn’t gotten to him.

 

Malfoy beamed at Harry, and he held the outstretched hand firmly.

 

“So you’ve woken up, at last. I hear you’ve been playing the hero, again. Harry, are you ever going to learn? Or are you just trying to top my last stunt?”

 

Harry gave a weak smile in return, and he squeezed at the warm fingers interlaced with his own.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, slowly regaining control over his vocal cords. “I was worried that you’d been sent to the Ministry.”

 

“Fudge wanted me there,” Malfoy said dismissively. “He was furious when Dumbledore refused to let him take me. I would’ve loved to have seen the look on Fudge’s face when he found out who was really responsible: he was convinced it was me!”

 

“Is that why did Dumbledore kept you in his office yesterday?” Harry asked. “I tried to speak to him, but McGonagall wouldn’t let me; she just said he was busy.”

 

“It was partly because the Ministry was being funny about it,” Malfoy explained. “Dumbledore thought that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if the real guilty party was given a false sense of confidence. He also implied that keeping you out of the loop would probably be the best way to incite you to go snooping around—that old codger knows you quite well, doesn’t he!”

 

Harry chuckled, but had to stop when his head started to swim. “What happened to Ernie and his uncle?”

 

“They’ve been taken to the Ministry for questioning,” Malfoy stated. “Looks like his uncle might end up in Azkaban. Apparently Ernie’s mum has been causing havoc at the Ministry for months… Dumbledore reckons Errol Maudrey had both Ernie and his mum under the Imperius curse ever since they moved in with him.”

 

“So much for the Maudreys being well-known for staying out of things.”

 

“Who told you that?” Malfoy asked incredulously.

 

“Ron did, when Ernie’s dad was killed.”

 

“I’d double check anything he tells you in future,” Malfoy said with disdain. “I could’ve told you that Errol Maudrey’s done business with my father for years.”

 

“Have you heard anything…” Harry began to ask, but trailed off when he saw Malfoy sadly shake his head. It was silly to hope that Malfoy might get back some connection to his family; there seemed to be no going back for him now.

 

The doors to the hospital wing opened, and Professor Dumbledore walked in, smiling at both Malfoy and Harry.

 

“Ah, Harry. It’s good to see you’re awake.”

 

“What happened, sir?” Harry asked. He was starting to feel less groggy, and he had a lot more questions making an appearance in his thoughts. “How did you find me?”

 

“Whereas conversations through the floo network are allowed to be conducted privately at Hogwarts, unauthorised whole body movement does not go unnoticed,” the headmaster informed him. “As soon as Mr Maudrey arrived in the Hufflepuff common room, I was alerted, and the floo system was blocked.”

 

Harry frowned; he was starting to remember more details about the previous evening. “Sir, Errol Maudrey gave a bezoar to Ernie. It was to be planted in Draco’s Quidditch robes…”

 

“Yes, yes… That was found on Ernie’s person.”

 

“Can I ask why it was so important?”

 

“You may. It was used in the potion given to Professor Lupin in order to prevent the more potent ingredients from poisoning him. The stone absorbed certain qualities from the potion, and so it serves as a record of what it was used for.” Dumbledore looked upon Harry with concern. “I don’t wish to press you for information, but I find I am at a loss to explain all the details of what has happened adequately. I have my suspicions, but that is all… Harry, do you know of any other student who might have been involved: someone who had access to the Slytherin Tower?”

 

“Yes, sir. It was Pansy Parkinson.”

 

“Parkinson!” Malfoy spluttered. “Why that little…” He trailed off, remembering that the headmaster was right next to him. He looked up at Dumbledore. “But she left this morning, didn’t she? I thought her parents turned up.”

 

“Yes, she has left,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “I suspect that, once she heard what had happened to Ernie, she immediately sent an owl home. At least we do not have to worry about any unidentified students.” He turned to Harry. “Now, for the time being, I suggest you rest. You have been excused from classes this morning, and you may join the other students for lunch. I believe that you may have other visitors arrive during break time, which should be in about 10 minutes.”

 

“Sir,” Harry called out before Dumbledore turned to leave. “What is going to happen to Professor Lupin? Is he going to be all right?”

 

“Now that Voldemort has access to a potion that can render a werewolf dangerous at any time, Professor Lupin will have to lie low until we can find a way to counter that potion. In the meantime, we can only hope that they do not have access to the ingredients they require, otherwise there will undoubtedly be more attacks of a similar nature in the future.”

 

“I know they can get hold of more toad eyes without any trouble, sir,” Harry informed Dumbledore. “I overheard Errol Maudrey talking about being able to clone them.”

 

“That is not good news,” Dumbledore gravely acknowledged. “Thank you for informing me, Harry.”

 

The headmaster smiled warmly at both Harry and Draco before shuffling out of the hospital wing. As soon as the door was shut, Harry looked at Malfoy with a frown.

 

“Why aren’t you in lessons, Malfoy?”

 

“Because they couldn’t tear me from your side…”

 

“Yeah, right. I know Dumbledore wouldn’t let you pull that!”

 

“I’ve got a free period,” Malfoy relented. “And we’ve got ten minutes. Are you up to being taken advantage of before anyone turns up?”

 

Harry couldn’t restrain an enormous grin from appearing; within an instant, Malfoy was standing up and leaning over him. Their lips met, and Harry parted his to deepen the kiss, but Malfoy leant back with a scowl.

 

“You taste foul, Potter!” he pointed out, amused. “I think I’ll try again once you’ve brushed your teeth! And don’t pout—you look too damn sexy when you pout. What do you say to meeting up at lunch?”

 

“By the lake, like we were going to…” Harry trailed off and pulled a face. “I can’t, I’ve got to finish my detention off at lunch.”

 

“Well, I suppose I can wait until tonight,” Malfoy said, leaning forward and softly kissing behind Harry’s earlobe. “But we are going to have to think seriously about where we can go. I heard at breakfast that, thanks to big-mouth Parkinson, everyone has been reminded about the Room of Requirement; we won’t get any privacy there.”

 

“Who’s on speaking terms with you?” Harry asked, surprised.

 

“Bulstrode!” Malfoy said, equally surprised. “Granger also said hello this morning, and she even forced Weasley to give me a grimace of a smile!”

 

Pleased that the others were starting to accept Malfoy, Harry pulled him into an awkward hug.

 

“You realise that you’re going to have to thank them?”

 

Malfoy pulled back slightly with a pained look on his face.

 

“They helped me, yesterday,” Harry explained. “They were willing to snoop around for me, to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

 

“I think you’ll have to find an ingenious way to convince me,” Malfoy said suggestively.

 

“Oh, I will,” Harry reassured him, pulling him close once more, this time kissing his neck. “And don’t worry too much about the Room of Requirement,” he murmured into Malfoy’s ear. “I’ve found somewhere else. Although, I think you’re going have to carry out some positive-reinforcement therapy on me: I’ll probably be a little bit traumatised when I first go back there.”

 

“Positive-reinforcement therapy is not a problem. Tonight, Potter, I’m going to thank you properly for clearing my name. And there’ll be no alarm clocks this time!”

 

“Not even to let us know when we should be going down to breakfast?”

 

Malfoy beamed at Harry’s suggestion and at what else it implied. A whole night without having to worry about getting back to their rooms and the opportunity to sleep together without having to go back to an empty bed afterwards. Harry couldn’t wait. They might not be able to try their luck at getting a bed in the Room of Requirement, and the room he was planning to take Malfoy had a pretty disturbing memory attached to it, but Harry had a hunch that no one in the school knew about this little hiding place.

 

He smiled to himself and held onto Malfoy tightly, kissing that soft skin and not wanting to let go. After the stresses of the past few days, Harry finally felt content. He had Malfoy, he didn’t have to hide their relationship, and he still had his friends. He then thought back to how things had seemed at the beginning of the year; he had felt lost, and he had been overwhelmed by the prophecy with no conviction that he would be able to see it through. It was still a scary prospect, but with Malfoy in the picture, Harry now had someone to fight for.

 

 

Previous chapter   ~~~   Epilogue

 

 

Email me  ~~~  Leave a comment in my Livejournal