5. Redrawing the Boundaries

 

 

 

The following lunchtime, Harry had been left to wander down to the Great Hall without Hermione and Ron.  They had gone off together after the last lesson of the morning, blushing and whispering to each other as they went.  Harry tried not to be annoyed about this.  After all, Ron had told him that they were going to get some privacy in the common room while everyone else was eating; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t bothered to let him know.  But he still felt a bit lonely.  Seeing a couple of Gryffindor sixth years ahead in the corridor, he began to walk faster to catch them up.  As he drew near, he overheard Seamus talking.

 

“I wonder what that was all about,” Seamus pondered.  “Maybe they’re going to finally kick him out of the school!” 

 

Seamus was discussing the events of the morning’s Potions lesson.  Professor McGonagall had turned up part way through and asked if she could take Malfoy.  Malfoy had looked as if he was marching off to his own funeral, and Professor Snape had looked almost worried.  Harry inwardly chuckled at Seamus’s enthusiasm before halting abruptly.  Thinking of the lesson had made him realise that his bag was lighter than it should’ve been: it had definitely been heavier before Potions than it was now.  Frowning, he moved to one side of the corridor and began to rummage through the bag.  Oh, no.  I’ve managed to leave my Potions text behind, he thought.  I bet it’s in Snape’s classroom. 

 

He turned around and walked briskly back down towards the dungeons.  As he rounded a corner he ran smack into a fuming Draco Malfoy, who was coming the other way.

 

“You clumsy idiot!” Malfoy shouted.

 

“Me? It’s not as if you were actually looking where you were going,” Harry retorted.

 

“Oh, get lost, Potter,” Malfoy angrily spat at Harry before making to continue on his way.

 

“Malfoy!” Harry called after him.  “Why did you get pulled out of Potions today?” 

 

But Harry was ignored.  He decided to throw one last question in the hope that he’d be able to provoke a response and get some answers. 

 

“Were you ‘summoned’ for the Dark Mark?”

 

Draco stopped abruptly and turned round.  His face was now pulled into a sneer, but a very pale one.  “What do you know?”

 

“I have my sources,” Harry replied as calmly as he could.  Inside, he was reeling; he hadn’t expected his dig to be so accurate.  He had only hoped to goad Malfoy into giving a response, and this was not the response he’d anticipated.  Harry had never imagined it would be an issue whilst Malfoy was still at Hogwarts.  But Malfoy was really going to do it: he was going to follow in his father’s footsteps and become one of Voldemort’s pawns.

 

“You’re finally going to be rid of me,” Draco snarled, and he raised his eyebrows cockily at Harry, but he couldn’t hide the fact that it was just for show.  Harry had never seen Malfoy come across as being so unsure before.  “You won’t have to put up with me for much longer.  Tonight I’ll be out of here.”

 

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Harry pointed out, and then he decided to take another wild stab in the dark by throwing Draco a lifeline.  He didn’t expect Malfoy to take advantage of it, but there was no harm trying; one less Death Eater for Voldemort was never a bad thing.  “You don’t have to go.  There’s always a choice.”

 

Draco laughed derisively.  “No, there isn’t always a choice, Potter.  Not in the real world.  We are destined to be enemies, and that’s all there is to it.”

 

But once again, there was the underlying uncertainty; Harry couldn’t miss it.  It was obvious Malfoy was scared and didn’t want to go through with it, but he was still going to.  Why?  Harry could only assume that Malfoy didn’t know that there could be any other way.  As much as Harry disliked Malfoy, he hated the thought of anyone, even if it was Malfoy, being forced into Voldemort’s service.  It was up to him to provide another option that could be taken.  It was evident that no one else was going to try and stop Malfoy. 

 

“We don’t have to be enemies.  If you really don’t want to go, then you can talk to Dumbledore, ask him for help.”

 

“That geriatric crackpot?  What can he do to help me?  He’s just a bumbling old fool!”

 

“He knows enough for Voldemort to be scared of him.”  Harry frowned at the way Draco flinched uncomfortably.  He knew Malfoy didn’t like to hear the name, but Harry had never seen him reacting quite so strongly.  “Do you really want to spend your life on-call for Voldemort?  I’ve seen the way he summons his Death Eaters, Malfoy, feeling the Mark burning on their arm until they Apparate to him.  And I’ve seen the way your father sucks up to him.  Do you really want to live like that?”

 

     Harry knew he’d hit a sore spot.  At the mention of his father, Malfoy stiffened, clenching both his fists and his jaw, looking incensed.  But surprisingly, his fury was directed at his supposed future superior, not at Harry.

 

“Why are you doing this, Potter?  Can’t you stop yourself from playing the noble Gryffindor!”

 

“You may be an idiot, Malfoy, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you going to join the Death Eaters.”

 

Malfoy looked torn.  It was obvious to Harry that he wanted out, but Malfoy was proving to be very resistant on the matter.  “There’s no point in trying to stop me: I have to leave in an hour.”

 

“We can see Dumbledore now,” Harry retorted, determined to be just as stubborn.  Was Malfoy really prepared to let his own ego dictate his future for him?  Well, he might not appreciate having to accept help from me, Harry thought, but it seems I’m the only one offering it.

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Malfoy sneered.  “You really want to play saviour and be the one to bring me over to the ‘good’ side?  Well, you won’t do it, Potter, I might not want to be a Death Eater, but I won’t be converted.”

 

They stood there in silence, facing each other and glaring.  Harry wasn’t going to be the first one to walk away from this, and it appeared that Malfoy wasn’t so eager to walk away, either.  He wondered if Malfoy’s verbal admission of not wanting to become a Death Eater meant he was willing to see the headmaster.  Harry thought that, with a bit of persistence, Malfoy had to buckle soon; if there were no chance of it, surely he would’ve walked away from this conversation by now.

 

“I don’t want to ‘convert’ you, Malfoy, but who else is going to give you the opportunity to walk away from Voldemort?” Harry asked, watching with hope as an expression of distaste grew across Malfoy’s face.  “It’s not very Slytherin of you, placing your pride above saving your own skin.”

 

Frowning, Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking this over, before he grudgingly relented. 

 

“I’ll see Dumbledore, but you tell no one about this,” Malfoy spat, speaking quickly as if to get the bad taste of the words out of his mouth as soon as possible.  “Not even Granger or the Weasel.”  He finished with a scowl, making it clear that he did not like having to accept help from Harry Potter.

 

Now it was Harry’s turn to take a moment to consider things, but it didn’t take him long.  It wasn’t as if Ron and Hermione were showing that much of an interest in his life at the moment, anyway.  They were completely oblivious, so far, of his careful watch of Malfoy, and he couldn’t think of any reason why he should feel obliged to tell them of this latest development.  He certainly didn’t want to risk losing this opportunity of keeping Malfoy away from Voldemort.  “All right, I won’t mention this to anyone other than Dumbledore.”

 

Malfoy seemed to shrink visibly when they arrived in Professor Dumbledore’s office, taking an intense interest in the carpet as he walked over to one of the chairs opposite the desk.  Harry absently noted that the lighting didn’t do much for Malfoy’s complexion; then he looked at Dumbledore and decided that it was probably more due to nerves than the lighting.  The headmaster amiably looked over his glasses at them before speaking. 

 

“Mr Potter.  Mr Malfoy.  How may I be of assistance?”

 

Harry looked over at Malfoy, who still had his head turned downwards, feet shuffling on the rug, and his fingers clasped as if he could stop them shaking by sheer force.  Malfoy seemed unable to find the words he needed, or any words at all, and so Harry spoke for him. 

 

“Sir, you can’t let Malfoy go home tonight.  He has to stay at Hogwarts.”

 

Dumbledore glanced over at the apprehensive Malfoy, apparently trying to gain eye contact and failing, before turning back to Harry.  “Would you care to explain?”

 

“He’s supposed to be receiving the Dark Mark, but he doesn’t want it.  I told him to talk to you.  You can help, can’t you?  If he wants to stay, they can’t force him to go…” Harry trailed off as he realised he was almost whining at the headmaster.  The sudden idea that perhaps Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to offer Malfoy sanctuary at Hogwarts made an unwelcome appearance in his thoughts.

 

“No, Harry, they cannot force him to go.” 

 

Harry let a sigh of relief escape from his lips.  Dumbledore now turned his attention to Malfoy and continued, eye contact notwithstanding.  “Mr Malfoy, if you wish to remain at Hogwarts, then I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety.  I assume that Harry is correct when he says that you want to stay?”  Draco looked up and nodded gratefully, but he remained quiet.  “I’m pleased you have been able to come to this decision.  It must be difficult to go against the wishes of your family.  Do any of the other students know why you were called out of class today?”

 

“As far as I’m aware, only Potter knows.”

 

“Well, I suggest that it would be best for all concerned if we kept this quiet for as long as possible.  I, myself, will explain things to your mother, and I will endeavour to be as tactful as I can; I do not intend to destroy the relationship that you have with your family.” Albus gave a benevolent smile.  “Thank you for trusting me.  In making this decision, you have shown a level of maturity that does you credit.”

 

“May I go and unpack, sir?”

 

“I think that would be a good idea.”  Malfoy pushed himself out of the chair, and Harry went to do likewise, but the headmaster politely coughed to gain his attention. “Harry, may I detain you for a moment longer?”

 

Harry watched as Malfoy left the office.  Turning back to Professor Dumbledore, he found himself being offered a sherbet lemon.

 

“I am very proud of you, Harry.  You’ve been able to put aside the disagreements you’ve had with Draco in the past, in order to help him.”

 

“I don’t see how I could’ve done any differently, sir.  It was obvious he didn’t want to go.”

 

“You could’ve left him to his fate.  I don’t believe for one moment that Draco was the one to approach you with a plea for help.  You made the offer, even though he never asked for it, didn’t you?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Would you consider befriending him, Harry?  I appreciate that he will most likely resist your efforts, at first, but I am certain that he will need someone to talk to who he can trust, if he is going to stand by his decision.  I don’t think any of his previous friendships will be suitable in this situation, and we need to ensure that he won’t be tempted to join Voldemort’s followers in the future.”

 

Harry agreed, once again feeling as if there wasn’t any alterative given the circumstances, though, he knew it was probably just Dumbledore’s power of persuasion leaving him with this impression.  Harry wondered if Dumbledore had employed the same methodology when coercing Snape to continue with the Occlumency lessons.

 

When he met Hermione and Ron later on, they hadn’t even noticed his absence at lunchtime.  Nor had any of the other Gryffindors, for that matter.  At least I don’t have to lie to anyone, he told himself.

 

Harry kept wondering why Dumbledore had chosen him for this role.  There had to be someone more suitable in Slytherin, someone who wasn’t rooting for Voldemort and actually had something in common with the ferret.  He didn’t know how he’d go about befriending Malfoy, but he hoped that, just in getting Malfoy to stay at Hogwarts, part of the job had already been done.  He needed opportunities to get Malfoy on his own so they could talk more.  And if the opportunities did present themselves, Harry didn’t have a clue what they could talk about.  After all, they didn’t seem to have much in common.  Perhaps they could moan about Snape together, Harry reasoned to himself, as Malfoy was obviously still wary of the man. 

 

The first encounter with Malfoy occurred one evening when Harry had been walking from the library to the common room, in order to retrieve a book left behind. 

 

“Have you heard from your family?” Harry asked, feeling awkward with the forced situation and not knowing what else to say.

 

Malfoy only narrowed his eyes at Harry.  He was not happy with the Harry’s chosen topic.  “And why should I tell you?”

 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.  It’s not as if you’ve got anyone else to talk to.”  Malfoy snorted at this, but Harry could tell he was right in assuming Malfoy had a distinct lack of friends.  “I’ve kept my word so far: I haven’t said anything to Hermione or Ron about what’s happened.  They still hate you.”

 

“And you don’t?” Malfoy asked in disbelief, sneering at Harry as he did so.

 

“Not anymore.”  And it was true, Harry realised—he didn’t hate Malfoy anymore.  Not after he’d confided in Harry and had the courage to turn down the Dark Mark.

 

“Well, perhaps they’ve got the right idea about me,” Malfoy spat back.  But after staring at the resolute Gryffindor for several moments, he relented and motioned towards an adjacent classroom, glancing warily up and down the corridor as he did so.

 

Only when they were inside with the door closed did he begin to speak once more.

 

“Dumbledore told me that my family ‘understand the potential consequences of public exposure all too well’ and won’t risk pushing the issue of taking me out of school.  I haven’t heard anything.”  His face looked saddened for a moment, and then he fixed Harry with a steely-eyed gaze before speaking with unexpected venom.  “I missed my father over the summer.  And that was your fault, Potter!  And now… now he’s back, I still can’t see him, and I still miss him…”

 

Harry was taken aback by the anger in Malfoy’s voice.  He couldn’t understand it.  How could Malfoy really think so highly of his father, especially, as far as Harry was aware, when Lucius had ordered his own son to have the Dark Mark?  “You really still think that much of him, even though he was going to sell you off to Voldemort?” 

 

At this, Malfoy’s cold eyes bore straight through Harry.  He balled his fists.  “It’s not that simple, Potter.  My father made his choice a long time ago, and there’s no going back on that, now.  He’s far too involved to be able to do anything different, even if he wants to.”

 

Harry was speechless.  He seriously hadn’t considered that Lucius might be willing to give up Voldemort’s cause for his son but couldn’t escape his situation.  It did make sense, though.  Last year, Sirius had said something similar about his brother, Regulus: ‘…he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out.  Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort.  It’s a lifetime of service or death.’  Harry supposed that Lucius wouldn’t be much use as a father if he got himself killed.  It was either do the best that he could or let his son lose out completely.  Harry now found himself appreciating how much it might be affecting Draco Malfoy: to know that his father didn’t have a choice but to put him in second place.  But although he was feeling a little more sympathetic towards Draco, it didn’t stop Harry hating Lucius; he couldn’t, not after all he’d seen of the man.  He was still a Death Eater—he was still one of those who stood by and watched whilst Harry had been tortured by Voldemort.  And if he had gotten the prophecy last year, Lucius would have been only too willing to kill Harry himself.

 

“I just wish I could get back to my family,” Malfoy admitted.  “But someone’s got to finish off You-Know-Who before that’ll happen.  I suppose you’re probably the one who’s destined to be the hero of the hour.”  Harry shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to answer this.  Malfoy started, astonished at what had been unintentionally revealed.  “You are, aren’t you?  Bloody hell, Potter, is your addiction to playing hero an official medical condition, or are you just afraid of letting anyone else steal your limelight?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this…” Harry trailed off, thinking of the prophecy that he still hadn’t fully acknowledged.

 

“What is this?  I have to confide in you, but you’re above showing me the same courtesy?”  Malfoy let out a short, mirthless laugh.  “Well, tough luck, Potter.  I’ve already got the general idea, so you might as well fill in the details.  But if you really don’t want to tell me yourself, I can always ask around.  I’m sure if I talk to enough people, ask them if they know about you being destined to kill You-Know-Who…” Having made his point well enough, Malfoy trailed off, looking very pleased with himself.

 

As he felt his anger rise at Malfoy’s underhand tactics, Harry bit his lip and slowly counted to ten.  It would’ve been so easy to threaten Malfoy, to gloat over telling the rest of the school about Malfoy’s recent change of heart.  But that would’ve meant not honouring his agreement with Dumbledore: to befriend him.  As he calmed down, Harry came to the uncomfortable realisation that, in the process of making friends with Malfoy, quite a few secrets could be unearthed, and he’d probably have to let Malfoy in on most of them.  Harry reasoned that Dumbledore must’ve known Harry would have to tell Malfoy certain things in order to gain his trust. 

 

“There’s part of a prophecy, about me…” Harry reluctantly began, scowling at Malfoy’s smug grin. “Basically it ends with ‘neither can live while the other survives’.  At some point, I’m going to have to face Voldemort again, and only one of us will walk away.  I’ll either be murdered, or a murderer.”

 

“That sounds a bit melodramatic.  I don’t see the problem with having to kill You-Know-Who.  If you’re going to be a murderer, it might as well be that piece of scum who you kill.”

 

Malfoy’s blunt description of Voldemort left a weak smile on Harry’s face.  “I just don’t like the idea of having to decide when another person’s life should finish,” he explained.

 

“Why do Gryffindors always have to be so bloody honourable?”

 

Malfoy’s sarcastic quip helped to ease the tension between them.  They both chuckled, but Harry couldn’t help pointing out one of his nagging thoughts.  “I hope you realise that Hermione and Ron don’t know what the prophecy is about.”

 

Malfoy’s smug grin reappeared, and Harry questioned his decision to reveal the details of the prophecy.  He was sure Malfoy would be bound to rub it in and use it to wind him up, but Harry certainly wasn’t sure whether Malfoy would be able keep it to himself, or whether he would be spreading the rumours as soon as he made it back to the Slytherin common room.  Harry could imagine it now, ‘Potty Prophecy Potter!’  Most probably emblazoned on badges, knowing Malfoy.  He would just have to wait and see if putting his confidence in Malfoy would be something he’d live to regret. 

 

“I’m trusting you with this, Malfoy.  Don’t ask me why, because I don’t really know.  You now have the perfect opportunity to show me what an idiot I really am.”  

 

Malfoy’s complacency appeared to wane slightly at these words, and his gaze drifted, focusing at nothing in particular, as if mulling over the unexpected turn of events.  Harry took the silence as an opportunity to ask a question he was itching to know the answer to.

 

“So, why did you get pulled out of class like that?” he asked, hoping the disclosure of information would now work both ways.  “I would’ve thought you’d be summoned a bit more discreetly.”

 

Malfoy’s smile faltered a little bit more, but he surprised Harry by granting him an answer.  “I was supposed to be getting the Mark in April; I was due to go home for a long weekend.  But I sent a letter home saying I didn’t want to have it done… I guess they couldn’t cope with that and just wanted to get the whole business out of the way.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone when you went home at Christmas?”

 

“I couldn’t.”  The smile had now disappeared completely.  Malfoy’s words became lifeless as he looked blankly out of the window.  “You-Know-Who was there.”

 

Harry suddenly realised that he didn’t like Malfoy looking like this.  What had Voldemort done to him?  He was so used to the Slytherin being confident and sure of things that this new side—a side that had evidently been surprised and disappointed by Voldemort—made Harry forget that this was Draco Malfoy standing in front of him.  Harry found himself wanting to reach out and hug Malfoy, just as Harry had needed someone to reach out and take his pain away when Voldemort had hurt him.  A major illusion in Malfoy’s life had been shattered, and Harry had the urge to help, to take the pain away.  But he couldn’t, he knew Malfoy would never be able to accept that from ‘Harry Potter’. 

 

“Did he do something to you?” Harry asked tentatively.

 

“No.  He didn’t do anything to me.  I wasn’t the one who upset You-Know-Who by messing up his plans.  I wasn’t the one who got himself exposed and sent to Azkaban.”

 

Harry thought back to his scar burning just after Christmas.  It suddenly occurred to him that it must have been Lucius who was being tortured.  But Voldemort must’ve punished Lucius before.  Why it would make such an impact now, unless Draco had been present? 

 

“What happened to your father?  Did Voldemort… did he make you watch?”

 

“No, he didn’t make me.  They didn’t even know I was there, hiding in the back of the storage room with my book…” He trailed off for moment, and Harry could see Malfoy was having trouble explaining; his voice had a slight tremor to it, and his hands were shaking. 

 

Malfoy drew in a deep breath before continuing in a low, disgusted tone of voice.  “I used to go there a lot, whenever he came to visit, just so I could avoid him.  I wasn’t expecting him to use the room to do that to my father… He treated my father like an animal.  And my father just took it all… I never want to be like that.”

 

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Malfoy was implying that something more insidious had occurred than punishment by the Cruciatus curse.  Harry knew personally what it was like to receive that curse at the hands of Voldemort, and he didn’t relish the thought of watching someone he cared about go through the experience.  To Harry’s confusion, Malfoy seemed to be not only upset by it, but also repulsed.  But what could Voldemort have done?  What could be worse than an Unforgivable curse?  Harry then thought back to the other sensation that had passed through his scar, and he just managed to hold back from shouting out ‘bloody hell!’  He suddenly had a few ideas of what could have been worse than just an Unforgivable.  When he thought of Malfoy watching his father being abused in that way, Harry felt his eyes automatically start to well up.  This was sympathy that he was feeling, and tiredness was no excuse this time.  No one should have to witness something like that, not even Malfoy.

 

“So, what…” he tentatively began to ask, not even knowing if he wanted to hear Malfoy having to re-live it just to appease Harry’s curiosity.

 

“Don’t bother asking, because I’m not discussing the details with anyone.  Least of all you, Potter.”

 

“Well, if you ever change your mind… if you should ever want to talk about it… just…” Harry trailed off.  “Look, I’d better get going.  Hermione and Ron are waiting for me in the library—they’ll want to know why I’ve taken so long as it is.”

 

“I’ll see you later then, Potter.”

 

“See you later, Malfoy.”

 

As it turned out, Hermione and Ron hadn’t noticed how long Harry had been, or that he had forgotten the book he had been to retrieve: they were too busy making eyes at one another over their books.  Harry, feeling very much in the way, soon left them to it and ended up going to bed early.

 

Over the next few days, it became clear to Harry that he needn’t worry about Malfoy betraying his trust, which was a nice surprise.  Malfoy was also still keeping to himself and not being the instigator in any altercations.  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for certain Gryffindors, especially Ron.  They were still taking on the challenge of seeing how much it would take to provoke Malfoy, believing he was being less of a bully this term because he no longer had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up.  Ron was thoroughly enjoying the ‘sport’ of Malfoy-baiting: it was as if he had been offered Malfoy on a plate, and finally had the opportunity to get him back for all the grief he’d dished out over the past five years.  At least Malfoy now seemed to be putting up a bit more of a fight than usual.  But Harry still felt as if he had to try to put a stop to it before Ron got out of hand, and this had to be done without letting anything slip about his enforced association with Malfoy.

 

“Don’t you think it’s about time you eased up on Malfoy?” Harry asked, as Ron waited for Hermione outside the Quidditch changing rooms.  They had just finished the match with Hufflepuff, and Ron was tired and grumpy.  It had taken nearly three hours for Harry to spot and catch the snitch, and Ron had worn himself out in keeping the number of Hufflepuff goals down to eight. 

 

Although Ron had already given a couple of less-than-subtle hints that he wanted to be alone with Hermione, Harry stubbornly chose to ignore them: he was feeling far too annoyed with Ron’s latest childish amusement at Malfoy’s expense.  Harry had overheard Ron planning with Jack Sloper, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, and he found out that Malfoy’s broom was going to be sabotaged before the next Slytherin Quidditch practice.

 

“Ease up on Malfoy?” Ron spluttered around his mouthful of chocolate frog.  “Are you feeling ill or something?”

 

“It’s just that he doesn’t seem to deserve it anymore.”  For his observation, Harry received a look of disbelief from Ron.

 

“Doesn’t deserve it?  You must be joking!  After all that he’s done to us—especially for what he’s done to you!  Don’t you care about what he’s put us through?”

 

“But he hasn’t gone out of his way to hassle any of us lately.  What if… what if something has happened to him?”  Harry searched for the right words; he wanted to make Ron think, but not too much.  “What if he doesn’t want to support Voldemort anymore?  What if he wants to put it all behind him?”

 

“Since when do you care about Malfoy?  And anyway, how do you justify him transfiguring my owl into a mousetrap yesterday?  That bloody well hurt my shoulder!”

 

“You started that fight, Ron,” Harry replied, thankful for the diversion that Ron was blissfully unaware of.

 

“No, I…”

 

“So it wasn’t you flicking flakes of owl pellet at him?” Ron withered under Harry’s stern gaze.  “Ron, I haven’t provoked him since before Christmas, and he hasn’t started on me.  Maybe it’s time we all gave him a break.”

 

     Ron turned to Hermione, who was approaching, for back up.  After explaining what had been said, Ron was bitterly disappointed that she agreed with Harry, although it was for different reasons.  As far as Hermione was concerned, Malfoy was probably still up to no good, but they’d be more likely to spot what he was planning—or if he made any slip-ups—if Ron wasn’t distracting things by trying to annoy him all the time.  Harry felt relieved that Hermione had concurred with him: things had been awkward, to say the least, during the last altercation between Malfoy and Ron.  He felt as if he should’ve been sticking up for Malfoy, but he didn’t dare try to stop Ron.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to deal with that type of situation again.  Developing a friendship with Malfoy was going to be awkward enough without Ron picking fights all the time.

 

 

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