2. Friends and Foes

 

 

 

Harry found his luck dramatically improving over the next couple of days, and before long, his sixth year at Hogwarts became more settled.  He was still upset over having broken his broom, though, and his friends didn’t go out of their way to talk to him, not liking the way he snapped at people unnecessarily.  But he felt his touchy mood was more than justified, not only because of his broom, but also thanks to Occlumency lessons.

 

    He had been to see Professor Dumbledore at the end of the second week.  The conversation had been brief, but the headmaster had been completely honest with him.  Dumbledore believed the scar was a link that Voldemort could still abuse, and he admitted that he still felt uneasy around Harry because of this.  But with the destruction of the prophecy and the unsuccessful experience of trying to possess Harry when the boy was filled with his love for Sirius, Dumbledore was convinced that Voldemort had turned his attention elsewhere for now.  He then confirmed, much to Harry’s disgust, that Occlumency lessons were to be resumed with Professor Snape.  He had spoken extensively with Snape over the summer, and Snape had agreed.  Harry assumed that this was probably under excessive persuasion on Dumbledore’s part; there was no way Snape would have willingly volunteered.  Occlumency could’ve been worse, though.  To ensure that the lessons were fairly productive, rather than just descending into shouting matches, Remus Lupin was to be present for the first few lessons.  Harry took solace in the thought that at least the first Hogsmeade weekend was drawing near.  Until then, he just tried to stay out of any further trouble as best he could.

 

The day of their first visit to Hogsmeade was a clear, crisp October morning, and cheerful groups of students meandered down from the grounds of Hogwarts, chattering away as they made their way to the village.  Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down together and their conversation drifted from Harry’s frustrating Occlumency lessons to the cheerier subject of Quidditch. 

 

Harry had made a point of not missing a single practice since the first ‘incident’ of the term, and he had even gone so far as to squeeze in extra flying time on his own—anything to make up for having to use one of the school’s Cleansweeps.  As much as he wanted to spend time moaning about the prospect of having to fly against Malfoy—who would be using his Nimbus 2001—he knew it wasn’t really fair to Ron: Ron had never had the opportunity to fly anything better than a Cleansweep.  Harry resigned himself to the fact that he’d been spoilt with brooms ever since he’d started playing Quidditch, and he would now have to make do.  A small consolation was that, so far, he was finding it fairly easy to avoid Oliver Wood during these practices.  Harry felt slightly guilty about his own asocial behaviour, but he couldn’t help being relieved by their lack of encounters.  Although he hadn’t had any further dreams, he certainly didn’t want to tempt fate.

 

They wandered from shop to shop, buying essential supplies such as a large selection of sweets from Honeydukes, and they gradually filled their arms to capacity.  Throughout the day, Harry couldn’t help but notice the change in the usual selection of Hogwarts’ population that normally made it out to Hogsmeade.  On each occasion he had previously gone, there had always been a couple of teachers supervising the roaming student population, but this year, the contingent of teachers had more than doubled.  This, in itself, wasn’t entirely surprising given that Voldemort was still at large.  What piqued Harry’s interest the most was the notable absence of Draco Malfoy, along with a couple of the other Slytherins.  Harry mentioned this to Hermione and Ron when they had made it to their last stop for the day, the Three Broomsticks.

 

“I’d like to know what Malfoy’s up to,” Hermione mused as she sipped on her butterbeer.  They were sitting in a corner of the dusty pub that was full of Hogwarts students.  Animated conversations filled the room with a constant murmur of noise; cloaks, scarves and gloves had been removed and piled up, as the students made the most of the warmth permeating throughout the cramped room.  The local populace seemed to be putting on a tolerant face towards all this chatter and movement, which was an intrusion to their usual daily lives.

 

 Ron dismissed Hermione and Harry’s curiosity with a wave of his hand.  “I think he’s just got a detention but has hushed it up.”

 

“Ron!”  Hermione glared at Ron and she leant forward, speaking firmly as if to express the importance of what she was saying.  “What if he really knows something?”

 

“You’re not still paranoid he’s going to try to set Harry up, are you?” Ron asked.

 

    “Not exactly, but…” Hermione took a deep breath before trying to explain her train of thought to Ron.  “Why would he miss an opportunity to go to Hogsmeade, unless he knows something bad is going to happen?  Perhaps that also explains why there are more teachers here.  They might know something is planned, and they want to keep us out of any trouble…”

 

“But if Malfoy isn’t here because he knows something’s going on… that implies we won’t be able to stay out of it,” Harry acknowledged.

 

Realisation began to dawn on Ron and he tensed in his seat, subconsciously picking at a beer mat.  “So, er, do you think it would be a good idea to finish up and go back to Hogwarts?”

 

Hermione and Harry nodded.  They pulled their winter extras back on, quickly downing their drinks as they did so.  Bags were grabbed in haste, their sudden increase in noise and activity drawing attention from a couple of the tables nearby.  As they made their way across the room, winding between chairs and tables, Hermione suddenly stopped, causing the other two to plough into her. 

 

She turned her head back to the two boys and asked, “Can you smell that?”

 

Ron and Harry sniffed at the air and frowned.  The smell was distinctive, but at first, neither of them could put a name to the familiar rancid odour.

 

“It’s like… burning…” Harry began, tentatively.

 

“Carras root!” Ron finished for him, in a shout, remembering Harry’s chaotic Potions lesson at the beginning of term.

 

His raised voice could be heard throughout the pub, and a heavy silence momentarily descended upon the masses.  From this brief eerie vacuum came a flurry of activity and sound: chairs scraped back from tables; bags, coats and other personal items were rapidly collected together; and a tide of people pressed their way outside.   Moments after the last of them had exited, the building went up with a bang, expunging debris across the street.  At the sound of the explosion, Harry’s stomach sank in apprehension. He anxiously looked around at the people lining the street, trying to place all those that he remembered being inside.  No one made a move towards the wreckage, and he could only assume that this meant everyone had made it out to safety.  Faces were pale with shock, and a couple of the younger students were crying while Madam Rosmerta attempted to fuss over them, even though she was in tears herself.  To Harry’s relief, it seemed that no one had been physically hurt, but he knew it had been a near miss.  The emotion at the forefront of Harry’s mind, other than relief, was anger; anger that Draco Malfoy had known about it.  Malfoy could’ve done something, could’ve prevented it, but the Slytherin didn’t seem to give a damn about anyone other than himself.

 

Over the next few days, nobody within the school seemed to talk about anything else.  The fact that no one had been injured helped the students to distance themselves from the real seriousness of what could’ve happened, but ‘You-Know-Who’ was still brought up in many conversations.  No one seemed eager for the next trip to Hogsmeade, either. 

 

But as it turned out, the next trip was no longer an issue: all future Hogsmeade weekends had been cancelled until further notice.  As an alternative, the members of staff were arranging a ball for the third years and above.  Harry and Ron had grimaced at the memory of the last ball, and both had complained loudly.  Harry couldn’t completely understand Ron’s reaction.  Ron half admitted that, once he built up the required courage, he would be asking Hermione.  Ron had someone to take to the ball; Harry had no one, and he certainly didn’t enjoy the prospect of feeling pressured into taking someone, anyone, just for the sake of it.  And if he did go by himself, he wouldn’t be able to hang around Ron and Hermione; he’d just be in the way.  Harry couldn’t stop himself from feeling jealous.  Although he thought it was about time Hermione and Ron admitted their feelings to each other, Harry didn’t want to think about what it would mean for him.  Would they still have time for him?  Would their friendship with him remain the same?

 

     Gradually, the Hogsmeade gossip began to die down—being replaced by the initial stirrings of ball-related conversations.  Harry, much to his discomfort, was continually being questioned who he was going to take to the ball.  He couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to take as a ‘date’.  No one appealed to him, and everyone who showed an interest had an almost Colin Creevey-like admiration for him, being The Boy Who Lived.  He wanted to go with someone who was interested in being with him and spending time with him, but they were only keen to go with Harry because he was famous.  And of course, being so well known, it seemed that everyone thought it was their business as much as his.  He hated the questions from so many people, all asking the same annoying thing.  So, even though his anger at breaking his Firebolt had eventually subsided, Harry was still walking around in a foul mood, fed up with how frequently the subject of the ball was broached. 

 

Adding Occlumency lessons on top of all this, Harry decided, was not good for the soul.  Now that it had been established that he and Professor Snape would not be liable to kill each other when left alone, Lupin was no longer in attendance.  The Potions teacher had thoroughly resented having to teach such a subject in front of an audience, especially a Harry-biased audience.  Once Lupin was out of the picture, Harry found Snape’s dictatorial sadism came out in full flow.  But Harry was determined to not let Dumbledore down this time, and so he persevered, putting up with whatever Snape decided to throw at him. 

 

An encounter with Malfoy, after one of these lessons, was just the icing on the cake.

 

“I hear you and your lackeys saved the day at Hogsmeade, Potter.”  Malfoy’s smug voice echoed down the corridor.  “How would the wizarding world survive without you forever coming to its rescue?”

 

 “Couldn’t help noticing your absence, Malfoy.”  Harry stiffened and glanced at the Slytherin’s accompanying bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle.  “Or that of your hired cronies.”

 

They glared back menacingly, and he hoped that, if a fight was about to take place, Malfoy wouldn’t pull anything sneaky.

 

“You wouldn’t be implying that I knew anything about it, would you?”  Malfoy asked, pulling a face of mock innocence.

 

Even though he knew he shouldn’t expect any better, Harry couldn’t help feeling dismayed by Malfoy’s lack of consideration for those who may have been hurt.  “I can’t believe that you don’t care at all about what happened.  There were so many people in there…”

 

“If they were anybody worth worrying about, they would’ve known not to be there,” Malfoy continued smugly, “It’s a pity you made it out of the pub in time.  Perhaps I should’ve gone along just to delay you.  That would’ve been good news for my father, a little motivation for him to escape from Azkaban.  And he will get out, Potter.  Soon.  And I can’t wait to see you, Weasel, and that Mudblood suffer for what you did to him.  It’ll make what happened to your pathetic dogfather seem like a walk in the par—”

 

Harry had had enough.  He didn’t bother with his wand.  Rage wouldn’t help him cast spells, but it did help him rugby-tackle Draco Malfoy to the ground.  Crabbe and Goyle were too astonished to do anything at first; they both stood, mouths agape, as fists flew and as knees and feet both kicked and booted.

 

“What the devil is going on here?”  It was a crisp, Scottish accent that had punctuated the corridor and brought their altercation to a halt. 

 

Hearing Oliver Wood come towards them, Draco gave Harry one final push before standing up.  Malfoy turned to Wood, blood smeared across his face, hair tousled, fuming with anger.

 

“I’m not explaining myself to the likes of you,” Draco drawled before storming off down towards the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him.

 

“Well, Harry.  What was that all about?”  Oliver asked, concerned, looking at the cuts and bruises on Harry’s face.

 

“He said a few nasty things about Hermione and Ron, and… about Hogsmeade.”  Harry replied, rubbing at a place on his side where Malfoy’s shoe had left an imprint.

 

“So, you got into a fist-fight?”  Oliver had a look of incredulity upon his face.  Shaking his head, he continued.  “I think I know you, Harry, but every now and then you really surprise me.  I would never have expected you to initiate a punch-up!  Come on, we’d better get you to Madam Pomfrey.”  He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and began to lead him away.

 

“I wouldn’t have let him bait me like that, normally,” Harry explained, trying to ignore the welcome heat on his shoulder and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the attraction he had felt earlier on in the term.

 

“So, what’s up tonight?”

 

“I’ve just had an extra lesson with Snape.  It’s left me feeling a little bit wound up.”

 

“I would think that having one-on-one lessons with Snape would send anyone a little mad.”  Oliver squeezed his shoulder gently, and Harry tensed, hoping his discomfort at the physical contact wasn’t too obvious.  “Do you want to talk about it?” 

 

“Not really, I’ll probably only get angry.”

 

“So you just need something to take your mind off it… Okay, change of subject, then.  Who are you going to take to the ball?”

 

Harry wished then that he’d agreed to talk about Occlumency instead.  “Not you, as well!  Everyone keeps asking me that!”

 

“You shouldn’t be so surprised.  You’re a very attractive young man, Harry.”  Harry swallowed and felt his stomach flip.  Oliver continued.  “You should have your pick of the ladies at Hogwarts.”

 

Of course Oliver wouldn’t mean it in that sense, Harry berated himself before regaining control over his vocal cords.  “But every one of them is more interested in my status as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ rather than who I am.”

 

“Look, Harry.”  Oliver stopped and turned to face him. 

 

As Oliver proceeded to explain to Harry why he should try and be a little less cynical, Harry couldn’t stop his mind wandering back into the familiar territory that he had not contemplated since the Malaclaw incident.  He had to admit, now, that he had nothing to blame these feelings on.  Weeks after his luck had changed, the feeling was still there.  He didn’t want to be attracted to Oliver Wood, but going by its reactions, his body didn’t seem to care what he wanted.  He wanted to talk it over with someone, but the thought of admitting it to anyone made him feel sick.  Harry felt confused and very much alone.

 

Two days later, the first Quidditch match of the season was upon them.  Oliver was to be referee.  Harry tried his best not to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself from assessing the man to try and work out what it was that had piqued his attention.  It was proving to be a bit of a distraction for Harry during the game, and he hoped nobody caught his frequent glances at Oliver.  Harry was also anxious about having to play on such a slow broom, and Malfoy didn’t help in this respect, making a point of out-flying him at every opportunity.  When the Snitch was finally sighted, it was inevitable that a role reversal of a certain match in the third year would occur.  Malfoy was so busy showing off that he initially missed it when Harry made a dive for the Snitch.  The Slytherin Seeker soon realised, though, and his swifter broom allowed him to easily overtake Harry and win the match.

 

Condolences came from all directions, even from an unexpected Slytherin, as Harry found out that lunchtime.

 

“Millicent says she overheard Malfoy bragging about a speed enhancing charm that he’s put on his broom,” Hermione informed those who were in the Quidditch-debunking session: namely the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Seamus, Dean, and Neville.  “She thinks he was using it to rub your nose in it, but I think he was just scared that you’d beat him on the Cleansweep!”

 

Harry nearly choked on his potato.  In his five years at Hogwarts, he had never known Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin, to be sociable with Gryffindors.  “Hermione, since when have you been talking to Millicent?”

 

“She’s in our Arithmancy lessons.  She’s been really nice this year,” Hermione replied casually.

 

Neville nodded in agreement, and he added, “The three of us have been working together.  She says she’s had enough of being snobby like the rest of the Slytherins.”

 

Harry frowned.  Why would she have a sudden change of heart?  He found it difficult to believe the reason would be as simple as that; after all, she was still a Slytherin.  She certainly hadn’t bothered to make conversation with Harry this term. In Harry’s mind, the only person less likely to change than Millicent was Malfoy.  But as if to back up what Hermione and Neville were saying, Millicent stopped on her way out of the hall to offer her commiserations to Harry.

 

“Pity about the match.  It would be nice for Slytherin to have a chance for the cup this year, but not like this.”

 

“Er… Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, unsure how to react to her new face of amiability.

 

On their way up to the common room, several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws also gave their opinions of the match.  They were all of the similar belief that Malfoy had done something with his broom; even with a Nimbus 2001, he shouldn’t have been able to catch up the lead that Harry had gotten on him.  It helped Harry to feel a bit better about the match, but not much.  Gryffindor had still lost. 

 

Luna then gave Harry and the other Gryffindors something else to think about.

 

“Have you heard the rumours about Voldemort?” A couple of people winced at the name, but the rest of them merely looked at her blankly.  She continued.  “I overhead Ernie Macmillan saying to Hannah Abbott that he’d heard from one of the Ravenclaw seventh-years…”

 

“Get on with it Luna!” Ron shouted out impatiently. 

 

She glared at him, stubbornly not saying anything further until Harry had apologised on Ron’s behalf.  She then related the latest gossip: Voldemort was supposed to be recruiting a number of new Death Eaters, and several of the Slytherins were expected to be leaving once they had been given the Dark Mark.

 

 The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws soon moved on, and the remaining Gryffindors looked at each other in amazement.  Hermione was the first to comment.

 

“I don’t think that’ll really happen.  It would be far too obvious if they were pulled out of Hogwarts like that.”

 

Ron shrugged as they made their way up the staircase.  “I wouldn’t put it past someone like Malfoy to already have the Mark on his arm.”

 

“Ron, be realistic!” she chided.  “One of the teachers would notice!”

 

“Do you really think Voldemort would be recruiting his followers so young?” Harry asked, thinking about the mark on Professor Snape’s arm that couldn’t be concealed.  He felt he shouldn’t mention it, seeing as only he, Ron and Hermione knew of its existence.

 

“Well, he’s got to bulk up his Death Eaters somehow.  Why not start on the young and impressionable?” suggested Dean.  “Those who don’t have enough brain cells to think for themselves; Malfoy would be an ideal candidate in that case!”

 

They all laughed, and to Harry’s dismay, the conversation turned to the ball.

 

“I’m taking Sophie Huntly, one of the fourth year Ravenclaws, and Neville’s been asked out by Millicent,” announced Seamus, jabbing a blushing Neville in the ribs.  “Do you know who you’re asking yet, Harry?”

 

“No!” Harry snapped.  “I still have no idea.  I’ll probably turn up on my own and attempt to drown my sorrows in non-alcoholic punch…”

 

“There’ll be no need for that.  I hear Harold Dingle has got another supply of firewhiskey.  It’s going to be smuggled into one of the punch bowls at the back of the hall.”

 

 Seamus pulled a cheerful grin and Harry accepted that maybe the ball wouldn’t be that bad.

 

 

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