6. Trust and Mistrust
Over the next few weeks,
Harry saw less and less of Hermione and Ron.
When he did hang around with them—and when it was just the three of
them—he felt awkward, as if he was an intruder.
They were still his friends, but they were only available at certain
times, and then usually other people—such as Ginny or Millicent—would want to
spend time with them as well. At least
Harry had something else with which he could distract himself: Dumbledore’s
project of befriending the ferret. He
had continued to run into Malfoy in places where they’d be able to talk: the
astronomy tower, corridors that weren’t generally used, and in the stacks of
the library. He was pleased to note that
Malfoy seemed to be accepting their conversations quite well. Harry was tempted to think that Malfoy was
even enjoying them, especially all the opportunities he had to back Harry into
a corner and wheedle out more ‘private’ information. This ‘wheedling’ had started with Malfoy
implying he was going to let slip to a few people about the prophecy, and
things had snowballed from there.
One evening, they had bumped
into each other when Harry was on his way to an Occlumency lesson. Harry had to end the conversation prematurely
so that he wouldn’t be late, and he suggested that they continue
afterwards. Malfoy had agreed, and from
that moment on, they began to meet up formally.
Most often they met after Occlumency.
It should’ve been convenient because Hermione and Ron wouldn’t question
the lateness of his return, but Harry bitterly acknowledged that they probably
wouldn’t notice his absences, anyway.
Harry showed Malfoy the Room
of Requirement, and they frequently met up there. The room looked like a blending of the
Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, with green and gold colouring, sparse
lighting, and a warm feel to the air.
Two plush green chairs were placed at an angle in front of a glowing
fire, and sometimes a table complete with butterbeer and biscuits would be
present in front of the chairs if either of them happened to be hungry or
thirsty. Harry was pleased to note that
there were no pictures on the walls, as he had been worried about them
gossiping over his and Malfoy’s occasional rendezvous. Malfoy had been impressed with the idea
behind the room, but he was less than happy with its choice of décor. Whereas Harry had thought that this was the
best of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, Malfoy just ridiculed
the ‘poncy gold trimming’ and pointed out how pathetic Gryffindors must be to
need their common room so warm. Despite
the criticisms, Harry had been vastly amused by Malfoy’s initial inspection of
the room. When Harry had first shown him
the room, he had spent a good twenty minutes investigating the way the door
appeared and reappeared in the corridor.
Then he had insisted that they tried walking in again and again, in the
hope that the room might change into something more ‘stylish’. Harry suspected that Malfoy just wanted a few
novelties to look at and with which he could mess around—either that or he
didn’t believe the room adapted to your requirements at all. Malfoy had given Harry a look of mock disdain
when Harry mentioned that the point of the room for them was just so they could
talk, and so wouldn’t be likely to change.
When it came to extracting
information, Harry soon learned that Malfoy was more than capable of being as
persuasive as Dumbledore, if nowhere near as subtle. At first, Harry felt a little uncomfortable
with revealing so much to a recent enemy, especially on those occasions when
Malfoy chose to blatantly blackmail him into doing so. But he kept telling himself that he was doing
this as a favour to Dumbledore, and after a while, Harry realised that it was
turning out to be quite therapeutic. He
liked being able to talk about some of the things that had never surfaced in
conversation with Ron and Hermione, and it seemed that Malfoy wasn’t about to
tell anyone of their little chats.
Surprisingly, Malfoy proved to be an attentive listener, and he was even
capable of showing a bit of sympathy at times.
Although he couldn’t help making the occasional sarcastic comment, these
weren’t said with the same maliciousness as they used to be, and Harry usually
found them very funny. What stuck in
Harry’s mind the most was Malfoy’s alternative perspective towards life, one
that Harry initially thought of as selfish, but he had to admit that it was
also quite realistic. Malfoy’s point of
view often focused on the fact that the past can’t be changed, but the future
has the potential to be manipulated. It
was a more tainted and cynical view, but at the same time, more human,
too.
The exposure of Harry’s life
had begun with Malfoy pestering him about the events that had occurred in the
Ministry at the end of last year; Malfoy wanted to know exactly what had
happened to get his father thrown into Azkaban.
This had been the first time Harry had spoken about it openly, and he
felt ambivalent towards discussing it with Malfoy. He realised that he had a need to talk to
someone about it, but he wasn’t sure that that someone should be Malfoy—and he
certainly didn’t enjoy dragging up all the emotions associated with the death
of his godfather. This was when Malfoy
had first surprised him. As he talked
about Sirius, Harry felt a tear escaping and making its way down his
cheek. He heard movement from Malfoy’s
chair, and he then felt a comforting arm being placed about his shoulders.
“It wasn’t your fault,
Potter. Voldemort played you, just like
he plays with everyone else.”
Malfoy didn’t sound as if he
was being sarcastic, and looking up at Malfoy’s face, it seemed to Harry that
his concern was genuine. Harry had then
gone on to explain the real story about Sirius and Peter Pettigrew. Malfoy was a bit disappointed that Sirius
wasn’t the villain he’d imagined, and he had muttered something about ‘bloody
Gryffindorks’ that Harry was grateful he didn’t quite catch. Malfoy then questioned Harry about his other
‘family’, and he proceeded to pick apart Harry’s life at the Dursleys. Malfoy had found the whole family—and the
fact that it was just Harry’s luck to be stuck with people like them—highly
amusing.
On another occasion, Malfoy
nearly had Harry in tears once more, when badgering him over the events at the
end of the fourth year that concerned Cedric Diggory. When the moment came to tell of Cedric’s
death, Malfoy had leaned over again, placing his hand on Harry’s arm,
encouraging him in a surprisingly soft voice.
Harry was a little bewildered that he found Malfoy’s proximity very
reassuring, and it helped Harry to talk about Cedric without getting as upset
as he had expected. He felt relieved to
be able to get all of these experiences out of his system; he felt supported,
and it felt strange that this was because of Malfoy. He tried not to think too hard about it being
Malfoy; that inevitably led to Harry questioning what he was doing ‘playing
nice’ with the creep who had threatened to kill him last year. He found it difficult to reconcile the two
sides of Malfoy that he had experienced.
Whenever his thoughts strayed into this area, he reminded himself that
he was just doing this for Dumbledore, and then he resolutely found something
else to think about.
The revelation of personal
details worked both ways. Harry took
every opening given to get Malfoy to confide details from his own life. Harry learned a lot about Draco’s upbringing
at Malfoy manor, and what struck him was not how much Malfoy had been spoilt in
comparison to Harry—he had been expecting that—but that Malfoy’s father had
been there for his son at every step of the way—until Voldemort had risen
again. Malfoy explained that it felt as
if he had spent most of his childhood in his father’s company. He had enjoyed the time spent with his father
and the opportunity it gave him to learn from Lucius, revelling in the glow
when he made his father proud. He
observed his father’s interactions with others and how successful he seemed to
be, and Malfoy tried his best to imitate his father and to follow the beliefs
and principles that had apparently worked so well for him. This changed after Voldemort had
returned. Malfoy found that his father
had become almost unrecognisable during the few times Malfoy actually got to
see him. Lucius had become tenser and
more anxious. He still looked up to his
father, though, understanding that Voldemort would be putting him under a lot
of pressure. Malfoy also found that his
father was harder to please. It was as
if Lucius was upping the stakes, trying to prepare Malfoy for something that
was just round the corner, and he was scared that his son would fail. So Malfoy tried even harder, and this seemed
to help his father’s unspoken anxiety.
Now that Malfoy had seen just how much of a ‘sick bastard’ Voldemort
really was, he wanted to help his father even more, only in a different way…
Harry also brought up the
subject of the last Hogsmeade weekend, and to his surprise, Malfoy actually
showed some remorse. He told Harry that
it wasn’t a case of ‘being evil’, but of doing what’s expected of you because
that’s the only option. Harry’s
sympathies were tweaked when Malfoy explained that, at the time, he couldn’t
allow himself to care, so he didn’t even let himself think about it; he just
filled his head with reasons why those people were expendable without
questioning the logic of it at all. It
was necessary for him to keep quiet for his father’s sake. He had to deal with the knowledge any way he
could, and the best way was just not to think.
Malfoy knew he had been an arse; he knew that he hadn’t made the best of
decisions since coming to Hogwarts.
“Haven’t you ever made a
decision that you regretted, Potter?
Haven’t you ever looked back at your perfect Gryffindork behaviour and
realised that, because of something you’d done, you were responsible for
something really shitty, but it was too late to do anything about it?”
Yes, Harry thought as
he nodded soberly in response. I wish
I’d thought before I acted; I wish I’d remembered the mirror Sirius had given
me. So this is how you feel, Malfoy;
there is guilt and regret, somewhere underneath that arrogant
exterior. Finding out such things about
you is more than a little bit strange—I guess you are human, after
all.
The one thing that didn’t
strike Harry as odd was the fact that, even after all these personal
conversations, neither one of them could bring themselves to initiate using
their first names. After all, they
weren’t really friends; how could they be after all they’d been
through? This was a project, a mutual
convenience—a chance to share something with someone when there was no one else
available. So why
am I so bloody concerned about the ferret’s feelings all of a sudden?
Harry asked himself.
He had arrived at this
question when Ron had decided, yet again, to throw a few verbal insults
Malfoy’s way. And this had been
instigated by the loss of Neville’s toad.
Trevor had decided to make a leap for freedom in a busy corridor, not an
unusual occurrence for the toad. This
was followed by Neville bending down and craning his head around the mass of
ankles that were in procession from one class to the next. He was still searching after the corridor had
cleared of bodies, but Trevor had vanished. Ron, unfortunately, wasn’t taking Hermione’s
advice to give Malfoy a bit of slack to heart as much as Harry would have
hoped. He felt justified in taking the
toad’s absence personally, linking it to Pig’s earlier abduction, and taking
this out on Malfoy. Much to Harry’s
dismay, Ron succeeded in this respect more thoroughly than he realised.
They were in a
Transfigurations lesson, which was taken with the Slytherins this year, and
Neville was worrying that it had nearly been a week since Trevor had last been
seen.
“I bet Malfoy knew all about
it!” Ron had deliberately raised his voice, so the Slytherin could overhear
him.
“Ron!” Harry chastised in a hiss. Ron turned around from where he was sitting
with Hermione in the next row up, and threw Harry a scornful look.
“What? This would be just the sort of thing he’d
do! Or at the very least, I bet he had
inside information. After all, he knew
about Hogsmeade, didn’t he? And he’s
bound to know more about what happened to Ernie’s dad than he should; he
probably knows the Death Eater that did it.”
Ron was on a rant, and Malfoy was not going to escape from being the
victim.
“But you don’t know
that…” All Harry could do was to plead with Ron’s rational side, and not too
obviously, he hoped. His mind raced to
find something to say that would silence Ron, but nothing came to him.
“Why are you sticking up for
him, anyway? You know he doesn’t care
about innocent people! He doesn’t care
about other people’s families. As long
as Malfoy’s got his mummy and daddy to go home to, he doesn’t give a damn about
anyone else.”
But Harry knew Malfoy
couldn’t go home to his family. Harry
glanced over at Malfoy, who was studiously taking notes from his textbook and
tensely biting his lower lip. Seeing the
control Malfoy was exerting in not giving Ron the benefit of a reaction, Harry
found yet another reason to respect Malfoy.
“Ron, I think you’re going a
little bit over the top.” Harry’s voice
was firm. He couldn’t let Ron continue,
not after the comment about Malfoy’s family.
Without realising, Ron had hit Malfoy below the belt.
“What?”
“Just leave it. You’re just trying to get a reaction, and
it’s not working. If you keep on, you’ll
only get in trouble with McGonagall.”
Harry let out a sigh of
relief, as these last few innocuous words had appeared to have the desired
effect; he didn’t have to risk exposing his meetings with Malfoy. But he was still concerned how much Ron’s
words might’ve upset Malfoy, and it also left Harry thinking about where Malfoy
was going to stay come the end of the year if Voldemort was still at
large. One thing was certain: he
wouldn’t be able to go home.
Harry was stewing over this last thought as
they conducted another barrage of research in the library that evening. Hermione had insisted they do this in case
the disappearances of Pig and Trevor were connected. She believed that, if they could find out
what the animals were used for, they might be able to work out who was
responsible. But Harry’s mind was not on
the task at hand: he was thinking about Malfoy.
The only time he let his thoughts wander anywhere else was when he tried
to think of the last occasion that he had been this welcome to join Ron and
Hermione, on his own, for an activity that didn’t involve studying or research.
Even though they were
looking for potions that used Neville’s particular breed of toad, they still
couldn’t pinpoint any particular potion and had only narrowed it down to about
forty-seven potions that used both elf owl feathers and toad parts. Harry then pointed out they hadn’t yet taken
advantage of their access to the restricted section—which they now had thanks
to studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts—and so could still be
missing the right one, anyway. Hermione
frowned at his negative mood, saying that most of the ones they had listed
seemed to be similar in that they were potion versions of different
transfiguration spells. There were also
a couple used as alternatives to a lack of full moon: brewing certain plants in
one of these potions meant they didn’t need to be picked under the full moon
when this had been stipulated for other potions. Despite Hermione’s enthusiasm, Harry was
still completely apathetic to the research—he couldn’t understand what they hoped
to achieve by all of this, and he was too busy trying to think of places Malfoy
could stay over the holidays.
So far, he had come up with
a grand total of one: the Dursleys. He
knew that Malfoy would not like the suggestion much, and what
Harry went back to his
dormitory and arranged the pillows so the others would assume he was asleep and
would leave him be. He knew that Malfoy
had Quidditch practice that evening, and he decided to wait in the Ancient
Runes classroom by the Hufflepuff tower, where Malfoy would be passing on his
way to the dungeons. As he was making
his way there, he passed Luna Lovegood in the corridor and gave her a friendly
smile. She stopped to talk.
“I thought you hated him,”
she stated obscurely, although Harry had a nasty suspicion she was referring to
Malfoy.
“Who?”
“The one you’ve secretly
been seeing a lot lately: your new friend, Mr Malfoy.”
“We’re not friends…” he
began, and Luna responded with a disapproving look. Although Harry didn’t like the fact that
someone had found out about his meetings with Malfoy, he consoled himself that
at least it was Luna. After all, she
hadn’t gossiped to the whole school about his liking Oliver Wood. He only hoped that no one else had noticed,
that she only worked it out because of her ability to ‘notice extra things that
other people miss’. “It’s not like that…
we just meet up to talk sometimes… I thought we’d been discreet about it.”
“I don’t think anyone else is that clued up;
you’d soon know if they were. A rumour
like that would spread like wildfire at Hogwarts. So, why are you keeping it such a big secret? Are you dating him? Does he know he only comes in second place to
Oliver Wood?”
“No! No, it’s nothing like that!” he hastily
denied. But it was his
secret. This unexpected connection with
Malfoy was something that he had to admit to thinking of quite fondly. Besides the ‘real’ excuse, he didn’t like the
idea of it becoming anyone else’s business.
He figured he better let Luna know the ‘real’ reason and nothing more:
there was no point in giving her more fodder to chew on.
“It would upset things
between him and his family if they found out we were friends.”
“It seems a strange that you
haven’t even mentioned it to Hermione and Ron, though. You haven’t, have you?” She looked at him for confirmation, and Harry
winced. Luna seemed to have the uncanny
ability to hone in on information that he’d just as soon keep hidden. In an ideal world, of course he would want
Ron and Hermione to know, but his friendship with them had become less than the
ideal lately. He realised that he was no
longer sure how they would react to an admission of this kind. Would they be willing to trust his
judgement? But this was all speculative,
anyway. Malfoy didn’t trust Ron and
Hermione, and when Malfoy had first confided about the Dark Mark, Harry had
made a promise that he’d keep quiet.
“He asked me not to,” Harry
replied.
“Why doesn’t he want you to
tell them? I would’ve thought he’d love
to rub their noses in it.”
“He has his reasons,” Harry
said vaguely, not wanting to risk letting on about Malfoy nearly getting the
Dark Mark. “The main
one being a problem with his ego! But I’m sure he’ll get over it,
eventually.”
“And I’m sure you’ll come up
with a way to persuade him…” Luna commented suggestively before continuing on
her way to the Ravenclaw tower.
Harry waited in the Ancient
Runes classroom and absent-mindedly flicked through an old book that he’d
picked off a heavy bookcase at the back of the room. But he wasn’t paying attention to what was
on the pages; instead, his mind drifted back to what Luna had said. Dating?
Him and Malfoy! The idea was
ludicrous. Malfoy was an obnoxious,
self-centred, untrustworthy… Well, in public he was pretty obnoxious, but that
was mainly for show, an image he had to maintain for himself as much as for
other people. Harry could also
understand him needing to be self-centred when it came to life at Hogwarts—away
from his supportive family—or when dealing with things over which he had no
choice. Malfoy had to cut himself off
from others because of his family. He
had also proved to be trustworthy, or so Harry hoped. Harry had shared a lot with him lately, more
so than he had ever shared with Ron and Hermione. But did this actually mean anything? Was he still just helping Malfoy so that he
wouldn’t be tempted to just follow his father’s orders? Was that all it was? No, Harry conceded that he now considered
Malfoy a friend. But dating? Harry had to admit that Malfoy was striking
to look at; the whole school knew it, especially Malfoy.
An image came to mind of the
way in which Malfoy’s silky hair occasionally fell across his face in that
alluring manner, its perpetually immaculate appearance leaving Harry often
tempted to reach out and ruffle it so that it resembled his own scruffy mess. Malfoy also had a cute squat nose—something
that Harry would never dare to mention—and angelic eyes that glinted whenever
he was getting the upper hand in a verbal sparring match. Whenever Malfoy was talking, Harry found his
direct and focused nature bewitching; he talked about things that interested
him with so much animation. His body,
face, and voice would all mirror the emotions inside, while his eyes remained
firmly fixed on Harry's, never allowing Harry's attention to wander for a
moment—not that Harry ever had the desire to do anything but listen when
Malfoy was speaking to him. When Malfoy
spoke he was magnetic, almost flirtatious.
He would give a charismatic grin, and Harry wouldn't be able to restrain
from beaming right back at him. Even
when he scowled, Harry thought his features were hypnotic.
Harry had never considered
Malfoy as someone who was ‘dateable’ before now; he’d finally managed to stop
thinking about Oliver Wood and had deliberately avoided considering other
people that he might be attracted to.
This wasn’t the same as what he had felt for Oliver, which had been
basic appreciation of Oliver’s looks.
This was more than that—a hankering for Malfoy’s company, a desire for
both mental and—Harry winced—physical closeness, and Harry had to admit to
finding this notion very scary. Anyway,
he reasoned, I’m sure Malfoy wouldn’t be interested; after all, wasn’t he
dating that silly cow Pansy Parkinson not that long ago? Harry chuckled at his madness of even
entertaining the notion. What did he
think he was going to do? Ask Malfoy to
go out on a date? As if!
Harry snapped out of his
reverie as he heard a group of students making their way past the
classroom. Sneaking a look into the
corridor, Harry was pleased to see that Quidditch was finally over. As usual, Malfoy drifted along a little way
behind the rest of the Slytherins. Harry
motioned from the doorway and caught Malfoy’s eye. He felt his breath hitching involuntarily as Malfoy
flashed him an amused grin before hanging back even further and then quietly
slipping into the classroom.
“What’s up, Potter?”
Malfoy asked, noting that Harry was a little ruffled.
“Nothing really,” Harry
replied defensively, and quickly reminded himself of his original
intentions. “I guess I just wanted to
say sorry about today. About Ron, I
mean. I’d say he’s an insensitive prat,
but he’s not really. He just doesn’t
know what’s happened.”
“Do you mean to tell me you
just risked meeting me here like this to apologise on the Weasel’s behalf?”
Malfoy seemed quite tickled by this fact.
“I wanted to know if you’re
okay,” Harry admitted a little sheepishly.
“I’ve had far worse from you
in the past,” Malfoy stated pointedly, trying to give Harry a hard look, but he
couldn’t wipe off the smirk that was plastered across his face. “In fact, I’ve had someone closer to home
make a few digs today.”
“Who?”
“Bulstrode. She came down to Quidditch practice and
grilled me about Longbottom’s toad. It
seems the Weasel’s paranoia has rubbed off on her. She’s convinced I’ve been planning something
since the beginning of term, if not before that. She was ranting that I was putting my own
personal vendettas above the good of the Slytherin house. As if she’s ever cared
about that before!”
“Hermione seems to think
she’s turned over a new leaf… not unlike what you’ve done.” Malfoy curled a lip in disgust at this
comparison, and Harry laughed.
“I still don’t trust
her.”
Harry snickered at
this. Just whom did Malfoy trust? Harry couldn’t help hoping that he’d be on
the list.
“I can’t help wondering,”
Malfoy continued, “if everyone at Hogwarts who has a Death Eater for a parent
knows about me. Perhaps she’s just
laying it on thick in order to make my life difficult. Maybe she’s the one who’s taken that manky
toad and is using me as a decoy! Or
perhaps she’s trying to set me up…”
“You’re not really the
paranoid type, are you?” Harry replied sarcastically.
“With a Death Eater as a
father? I couldn’t survive any other
way!” Malfoy retorted.
At the mention of Lucius,
Harry was reminded of his concern for where Malfoy would be staying over the
holidays.
“Have you had any thoughts
about what you’re going to do when the summer term ends?” Harry asked, watching
Malfoy tense up and the barriers draw across his face. Evidently he didn’t have a contingency plan
set up.
“I’m relying on you
finishing off Voldemort before then.”
“Oh, thanks!” Harry was not
impressed that Malfoy seemed to be deadly serious about that. “As if I need any more
pressure!”
“Look, Potter, I really
hadn’t thought that far ahead; I don’t want to, either. If I can’t go home to my family by then, I
don’t know what’ll happen.”
“If you can’t find anywhere
better, I could ask about you staying with me at the Dursleys’. I know that’d probably be your idea of hell,
but we could avoid them a lot of the time.”
“Me? Living with three Muggles?”
Malfoy looked shocked, but Harry could also discern a faint smile. “I think I’d rather accept an invitation from
Voldemort! Thanks but no thanks,
Potter! It doesn’t sound too safe to me,
being around three blundering, wizard-hating Muggles. Doesn’t it make you an easy target for
You-Know-Who?”
“There’s a spell that
protects me,” Harry explained.
“How? If you expect me
to even consider your absurd suggestion, I want to know why it’s so
safe.”
“It works because my aunt
and my mother were related by blood.
Voldemort can’t harm me while I’m there.”
“What about those Dementors
last year?”
“They were sent when I was
out of the house.”
Malfoy just stood there for
a moment, a slight smirk across his face.
It was clear he was busy thinking, and Harry waited for the next
question or revelation to come.
“If the spell is to do with your aunt, why
hasn’t Voldemort just arranged for her to be killed?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that. I guess Voldemort hasn’t thought of it,
either. Perhaps he just doesn’t know enough about the spell, or maybe the spell
protects her as well…”
“So, I’ve been let in on yet
another big Potter secret. I feel almost
privileged!”
“Does this mean you’re
interested in staying?” Harry pressed.
“Could be. But I’m not going to admit to anything until
you’ve found out whether it’s definitely okay!”
They said their goodbyes,
and Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower in a very good mood. For once in his life, Harry found himself
looking forward to staying with the Dursleys.
Malfoy had agreed, in a typically Malfoy fashion, to stay at
Two days later, Harry was
summoned to the headmaster’s office after dinner. He had no idea what Dumbledore would want to
talk to him about, and he felt quite apprehensive when he entered the familiar
room and saw Professor Dumbledore looking at him very solemnly. So far he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak
to Dumbledore regarding Malfoy staying at the Dursleys’, and Harry hoped he’d
have the opportunity now.
“Please sit down, Harry.”
Harry cautiously perched on
the edge of the chair and wondered what was wrong. He then realised he hadn’t seen Malfoy about
that day, and he began to worry that something had happened to him.
“I’m afraid I have some bad
news for you,” Dumbledore said as he sat across from Harry, peering intently at
the boy. “I just received word that your
Aunt Petunia has been killed. As far as
any Muggles are aware, she died in a car crash, but the Ministry of Magic
detected something awry when it happened.”
Harry sat there,
stunned. Aunt Petunia, killed—and with
magic involved, it sounded like it was because of him. What would happen to Uncle Vernon and
Dudley? What would they do without her?
“I fear Voldemort was behind the attack, and
he has realised that this was one way to circumvent the protection you received
from your Aunt. I don’t think it would
be wise for you to return there, Harry.
With the link to your mother gone, you will no longer be protected. Until we can think of anywhere safer, I’m
afraid I must suggest that you stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays. We may be able to organise visits to your
friends, and you won’t be lonely here as Draco Malfoy will probably be staying
as well.”
Harry nodded to let the
headmaster know that he had heard and understood, but he still couldn’t say
anything. He wanted to know why it had
happened now, after all these years. He
had only been discussing this with Malfoy a couple of days ago. Should he mention this to Dumbledore? Surely Malfoy wouldn’t have told his father,
this had to be just a mere coincidence… He didn’t want to find out that Malfoy
had betrayed his confidence; he wanted to carry on trusting Malfoy. If they stopped meeting up, Harry realised
that he would miss Malfoy far too much.
There had to be another explanation.
How could Malfoy have betrayed his trust after all they had shared? He couldn’t have… Harry just couldn’t believe
that Malfoy would do it. He left
Dumbledore’s office in a daze, scuffling along the corridor, shoulders
drooping, eyes not focusing on anything, and not wanting to think about what
had happened. He had gone straight to
the dormitory afterwards; he sat on his bed staring into space, feeling numb.
It was Neville
who had wandered in on him like this.
“Harry,
Harry! Are you okay?”
Harry shook his
head. “Aunt Petunia’s dead…”
“Oh, Harry, I’m
so sorry…” Neville trailed off as Ron came through the door. “Ron, Harry’s aunt has died…”
“Oh, mate… Come
on, we’ll get Hermione and go for a walk, get you some fresh air.”
They wandered outside in silence, and when
they were away from anyone who might overhear, Harry relayed all that the
headmaster had said. He reflected that
he hadn’t confided in either of them this way for a long time. Malfoy had somehow taken their places, and
Harry now appreciated just how much easier he found it to open up to Malfoy
than to Ron and Hermione.
On the inside, he
winced at the sympathy they gave him. On
the outside, he knew he looked emotionally drained, but not for the reasons Ron
and Hermione assumed. They believed he
was upset over Aunt Petunia’s death, when really he was desperately trying to
work out how it could have happened without Malfoy betraying him. Harry was surprised about his own lack of
emotions, and he wondered if this made him callous, that he should have at
least some sort of anguish regarding his aunt.
Harry guessed that he should feel guilty about this lack of remorse, but
he couldn’t even feel that; all he felt was that he needed to talk with
Malfoy. They hadn’t arranged to meet
until the weekend, which was two days away, and he couldn’t hunt Malfoy down
until that evening without drawing too much attention.
Their
conversation on the subject was halted as a group of sixth years passed their
way. They exchanged polite hellos as
they passed, and Harry couldn’t help overhearing part of their continued
conversation. Ernie Macmillan observed
to Hannah Abbott that Malfoy had looked really pleased with himself over the
past couple of days. The last words that
Harry heard Ernie say before they drifted out of earshot were, “I wonder what
he’s been up to this time.”
Unfortunately,
Ron had also heard the remark, and he jumped on it immediately.
“Malfoy,
of course! I bet he knows all about
it!”
“Leave it alone,
Ron!” Harry snapped. “It doesn’t matter
what he knows. It’s not like I can do
anything about it now. It’s too late.”
But Ron was
adamant, and Hermione didn’t stop him.
She merely added fuel to the fire by agreeing with Macmillan’s comment
that Malfoy had definitely seemed more chipper that week. She added that his attitude would make sense
if Malfoy had known that something nasty was going to happen to Harry. It was just as well they didn’t know about
the conversation Harry and Malfoy had shared—if they did, Malfoy would have
been hung, drawn and quartered by now.
Harry had been hoping that Malfoy’s improved mood was due to him looking
forward to spending the summer with Harry.
As Ron and Hermione continued to point out the questionable motives for
Malfoy’s change of behaviour over the whole term, Harry couldn’t stop himself
from wondering whether he had made a very big mistake. Had it been a big act on Malfoy’s part in
order to get to Harry? Had this all been
set up from the start, ‘accidentally’ bumping into Malfoy before he was due to
receive the Dark Mark, Malfoy confiding supposed secrets to Harry in order to
gain his trust, and Malfoy feigning emotional troubles to win over Harry’s
sympathy? Could this really be true?
Harry decided not
to seek out Malfoy that evening. What if
they met up and Malfoy did throw it in his face? Harry didn’t know what he’d do. He had to admit that, at the moment, it would
be a toss up between bawling his eyes out and casting Avada Kedavra. Why did he feel so jilted? What did he really expect? This was Malfoy he had trusted. Harry supposed he deserved everything he got
for being such an idiot, but what about Aunt Petunia? Did she deserve what had
happened to her? Did she deserve to have
her life put at risk by Harry, for a whim?
Yet again, someone had died just because they had a connection to him.