Chapter 3
The rest of the summer was mostly uneventful.
They had a small birthday party for Harry at the Burrow but for the first time Harry wished he could be somewhere else. Ever since Mr. Weasley’s death, everyone had become quieter and the Burrow seemed dark and unwelcoming even with all the children back home.
“Don’t blame yourself for what happened to Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley had told him after Harry had tried to apologise, “He knew what he was doing.”
Yeah, Harry thought bitterly, but he was doing it because of me.
The only positive outcome Harry could see was that it had brought everyone back together. The tension between Percy and the others had all but vanished, washed away by the tears they’d all cried together, and when a rather timid Bill had announced that Fleur was going to stay with them for good, Mrs. Weasley had welcomed her into the family with open arms.
“At least there is still love in this world,” she’d muttered, hugging the French girl tightly.
Harry had never felt more out of place and he was ashamed to say that he was almost glad when it was time to go back home.
“Molly’s right, you know,” Sirius had said afterwards, “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is!” Harry had insisted, “If it wasn’t for that damn Prophecy then he would have never been there.”
“Were you the one to ask him to guard it?”
“No, but –”
“Were you the one to attack him?”
“No! But –”
“Arthur was a grown man. He knew the risk he was taking when he joined the Order, he knew the risk he was taking when he followed Dumbledore’s orders to guard the Prophecy. He made his choice, Harry. We need to accept that.”
In fact, it is awfully egoistical of you to presume you could right every wrong in this world, is it not? Saint Potter?
“But it’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not.”
It was hard, Harry found, to not feel responsible. No matter how many times people told him, no matter how many times they said that itwas their choice, he still felt guilty.
Returning to Hogwarts was a small mercy, at least he’d get some distraction there, especially since receiving the Quidditch Captaincy. What Harry hadn’t considered, however, was how to explain Malfoy.
“Erm –” Ron blinked helplessly at the blond that had followed Harry and Remus through the Barrier, and he wasn’t the only one. Around them, the entire Weasley family, Hermione, and Luna, were staring at Malfoy with a mixture of deep confusion and deeper hatred.
“What’s going on, Harry?” Hermione asked carefully, keeping her voice low and her eyes fixed on Malfoy.
“I’ll explain later.” He should have thought of this earlier, warned them maybe, but Remus and Sirius had urged him again and again to not tell anyone about Malfoy’s whereabouts, and now it was too late. He was all too aware of how tense Malfoy was, almost hiding behind him and Remus, and he felt almost sorry. Almost. “Let’s get on the train first.”
Narcissa had said that a student had joined the Death Eaters.
But who?
Harry’s eyes scanned his surroundings, seeing more unfamiliar faces than familiar ones, seeing families and children, seeing the normal buzzing and bustling that always filled the platform at the beginning of the school year.
Is it someone I know? Harry wondered as he watched what he thought were three third year Slytherins walk past. Or someone no one would expect?
“Come on.” Remus squeezed his shoulder and gently steered Harry towards the train, talking in a hushed voice, “I need you to listen, Harry, and listen carefully. What Severus told us is worrying to say the least and I want you to be careful, understood? Don’t take any risks. Don’t sneak out at night on your own. Do not try and solve this – if you happen to find something, bring it to me or Minerva.” Remus’ hazel eyes bored into Harry’s. “Promise me.”
Harry gulped. He had the Map and the Cloak, he had five years of experience of sneaking around the Castle at night, he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting back and not doing anything.
He also trusted Remus and Sirius. “I promise.” And they trusted him.
Remus pulled him into a hug, lips brushing his ear as he whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before letting go and turning to walk to Malfoy, probably to give him the same speech.
After also saying goodbye to Sirius and Mrs. Weasley, they finally did get on the train and Harry was eager to be alone with his friends to explain, to stop the suspicious looks they were casting his way, to make them understand that this was not his fault except –
“Prefect Carriage, remember?” Hermione said gently, leaving him with Luna and Ginny.
“Come on,” he said to the two girls, peeking into the compartments. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with more staring.
“Sorry, Harry,” Ginny said, “I’m meeting Dean.” And with those words she hurried down the corridor, fiery-red hair flowing behind her.
Dean?
“Hi, Harry.” The compartment door to his right slid open, revealing a smiling Neville, “Hi, Luna.”
“Hello, Neville.”
Supressing a sigh, Harry entered the compartment and sat down, wishing Ron and Hermione were here, or Malfoy. Not that Harry wanted to spend more time with him; he’d just gotten used to the blond’s presence.
While Luna and Neville talked about their summers, Harry did his best to nod along and smile, his mind travelling back to the previous year. Umbridge had been bad. Sirius and Remus had done their best to keep Harry out of the spotlight, not letting him say a word to anyone about what had happened during the third Task – “The Ministry wants to believe that they are in control, contradicting them won’t help, it will only make you a target,” Sirius had explained through gritted teeth, “If Dumbledore wants to pick that fight, he can do that, but you won’t.” – which in retrospective had been a blessing, really. Merlin only knew what would have happened had Harry spoken up. Not that that had made it any easier, and after she’d fired Remus and it had become clear that they couldn’t just let her win without a fight, Hermione had suggested starting the DA. They’d had two meetings before everything had gone south.
“-it was like having friends,” Luna was saying now, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was talking about. Instead of answering, Harry simply gave her a sympathetic smile.
The landscape outside got increasingly greener and wilder as they got further North and Harry once again tuned out the conversation around him. Waiting.
The door slid open and for some reason, some part of Harry’s mind expected Malfoy to walk in. He didn’t.
“Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna,” Hermione greeted the other people in the compartment, “Do you mind if Harry comes with us for a second? We need to talk to him. In private.”
Harry gulped. This did not bode well.
“Sure,” Neville answered, giving Harry a questioning look who shook his head and stood up to follow Hermione to a large compartment he’d never been in before where Ron was already waiting.
Must be the Prefects’ carriage, he thought, taking in the row of seats.
“Alright,” Ron said, an unusually serious expression on his face, “Explain.”
Harry would have loved to play dumb, to stall and buy himself some more time, but looking at his two best friends now and seeing their concerned and stern faces, he knew it was no good – he explained. He explained how McGonagall had called him to her office just before the summer to inform him that the son of Death Eater would be staying with them over the summer, how she had made him promise to not tell anyone, how he’d returned home and learned that it was Draco Malfoy, how Remus and Sirius had urged him again to not tell anyone, how Narcissa had warned them about a Death Eater amongst the students, how Snape had had a change of heart, how Malfoy had apologized.
“I want to forgive him,” he told them, “I really believe that he can change.”
What he didn’t say was that they had grown somewhat friendly, what he didn’t say was he felt for the blond, what he didn’t say was that Harry actually hoped they could finally start over and maybe be friends. Someday.
“Are you sure he didn’t just put you under the Imperius?” Ron asked, a deep frown on his face.
“Right,” Harry replied drily, “Me and Remus and Sirius and McGonagall.”
Ron shrugged. “I’m just saying. I don’t trust him.” Harry simply sighed, not sure what to reply which was, apparently, the wrong thing to do. “This is the part where you’re supposed to say, ‘neither do I’” Again, Harry remained silent. “Oh, come off it, Harry!” Ron cried out, “This is Malfoy we’re talking about.”
“Ron’s right, Harry,” Hermione chipped in, “Why do you trust him?”
“You should have seen him this summer,” Harry said, “He barely left his room, barely ate, he was clearly unhappy and worried sick about his mum. Besides, Narcissa and Snape risked their lives to warn us about someone attacking Dumbledore.”
Ron let out a disgusted snort. “First Malfoy, now Snape,” he grumbled, “What’s next? You-Know-Who’s not actually that bad but just deeply misunderstood?”
Harry did his best to glare at his friend, but he knew Ron had a point and no reason whatsoever to believe a word Harry was saying. There was too much history between them and Malfoy, too much bad, too much anger and resentment, and he couldn’t expect them to just forget about five years of bullying.
“You don’t need to be his friend,” Harry told them, echoing Sirius’ word to him from before the summer, “Just be civil.”
He was met by two blank stares.
And then Neville stumbled in.
“Here you are!” he panted, “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“What is it, Neville?”
“Professor Slughorn wants to see you in compartment C.”
“Who’s Professor Slughorn?”
“No idea.”
Frowning, Harry glanced at his friends who were frowning right back at him, although, Harry suspected, for a different reason.
“I’ll see you later,” he muttered, getting up to follow Neville through the train to see Professor Slughorn.
Lunch was torture. The new Potions Professor was a most unpleasant man, Harry found, who interrogated each and every student present on their relations and connections to various rich, famous, influential, or otherwise important people, making Harry cringe. All the while, he could also feel Zabini’s eyes boring into him.
“Go ahead,” he told Neville and Ginny after they were finally free to go, lagging behind slightly to wait for Zabini. If the Slytherin was surprised by Harry, he didn’t show it, simply arching a single eyebrow at him.
“What do you want from me?” Harry growled, cornering the other boy against the wall, one hand ready to draw his wand.
“Whatever makes you think I want something?” Zabini asked, sounding perfectly innocent and unbothered.
“You certainly did a minute ago when you were staring at me.”
Zabini smiled, baring his sharp, white teeth. “I heard you had a most exciting summer,” he said apropos nothing, “Positively domestic.”
“What do you want?” Harry asked again, not bothering to reply to the Slytherin’s cryptic words.
Zabini leaned in, reducing the space between them to mere inches, his breath brushing Harry’s cheek. “I want you to tread carefully, Potter,” he whispered, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Before Harry could reply anything, the other boy had already leaned back as if nothing had happened, giving Harry a wink and blowing him a kiss before smoothly sidestepping him and sauntering down the corridor.
What just happened?
His mind still occupied by the weird encounter with Zabini, Harry made his own way back to the compartment to change into his robes.
Maybe it’s him, he thought, maybe Zabini is the one sent to kill Dumbledore.
It was possible, of course. Harry knew next to nothing about the boy, even though Zabini had always struck him as the quiet sort, one of the few Slytherins to not seek confrontation and actively terrorise people.
Maybe that’s why, he mused, no one would suspect him. It’s perfect.
But before Harry could think about that any further, the train slowed down and Harry could see Hogsmeade outside the window.
I’ll be keeping an eye on him, too.
The Feast was uneventful, even though the Sorting Hat did, once again, urge them all to unite in the face of the enemy, which made Ron let out an indignant snort and shake his head while Harry, unlike the previous year, actually listened. It had a point, he supposed, even it was just a hat, it had a point.
Something had definitely changed over the summer. Harry wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with Malfoy or if maybe he had just grown up.
Or, Harry thought as he looked over at the Slytherin table where Malfoy and his friends were sitting, heads stuck together and talking in hushed voices instead of demanding the attention of everyone around, maybe a bit of both.
Zabini was part of Malfoy’s group, he noted, sitting closely to the blond and peering towards Harry every once in a while.
“I don’t like the looks of that Zabini guy,” Ron muttered, obviously having noticed, “What’s he playing at?”
Harry shook his head, frowning. I don’t know. Surely, Malfoy wouldn’t hang out with him if he thought he was working for Voldemort…?
“Come on,” Hermione said to Ron after dinner and once Dumbledore had finished his speech, “We need to bring the first years up to the Tower.”
Harry watched as his friends gathered the new students around to lead them up the stairs, he should go up as well, probably, but the thing was he didn’t want to. Not yet, anyway. Shooting one last glance at the Slytherin table and seeing that Malfoy was no longer there, Harry decided to make a detour to Remus’ office.
“Harry?” Remus asked, clearly surprised to see him, “Everything okay?”
Not answering, Harry went over to the free chair by the desk and sat down. He wasn’t even sure why he was here, just that he didn’t want to go to his Common Room just yet and where else could he go except to the man that was, along with Sirius, the closest he’d ever gotten to a father. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Remus make two teas, appreciating the quiet, the patience, the peace.
“Thanks,” Harry muttered when one of the teas was placed in front of him and Remus sat down, “I told Ron and Hermione about Malfoy. They weren’t happy.” He chanced a glance up at the other man, but Remus didn’t look like he was going to say anything anytime soon, simply cradling his own steaming cup between his hands. “They don’t trust him.”
“And you?” Remus asked, “Do you trust him?”
“I –” I don’t know, he wanted to say, I want to. “He apologised. The night of the full-moon, before my birthday. We were talking about his mum and then he apologised.”
Harry had no idea why he was saying this, why he was telling Remus, except he needed him to know.
God, what is wrong with me?
“What did you say?” Remus’ voice was perfectly neutral, calm and even, soothing Harry’s rapid heartbeat and allowing him to take a deep breath.
“I said I’ll forgive him.”
“You’re a lot like your mum, you know,” Remus said, a wistful smile on his lips, “She had the biggest heart.” He took a sip from his tea, considering Harry with a gentle look in his eyes. “You can’t force people to forgive each other,” he continued, “They have to do that themselves. If they want to.”
Harry nodded. “I know. It just –” It’s not fair. “—It’s complicated now. Before we were ‘us’ and they were ‘them’ and we hated each other and that was easy.”
“It’s never quite that easy, Harry. Not really.” Remus let out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. “Did Sirius ever tell you about his brother?”
Harry frowned. There was something he remembered, something Sirius had mentioned once. “Regulus?” Remus nodded. “He died, didn’t he? Years ago?”
“He did. Regulus was a Death Eater. He joined Voldemort after he’d left school, maybe even before. He was very close to Bart Crouch and Severus, as far as I remember. And he died. 18 years old.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“Not in detail, no.” Remus shook his head. “But we did find out that he tried to leave, of course, no one leaves the Death Eaters. We assume that Voldemort had him killed.” The Werewolf sighed. “I wonder sometimes, what would have happened had Sirius and Regulus been closer. They loved each other, in a – in a twisted sort of way. They saw each other, once, when we were already with the Order and Regulus was with a group of known Death Eaters…I still remember the looks in their eyes. As if nothing else existed, just them, on opposite sides of a battlefield, and they couldn’t hurt each other. Not really.”
“I thought Sirius hated his whole family.”
“He wants to,” Remus told him, “He does…sometimes…But it’s…complicated. Especially with Regulus.”
“It’s never quite that easy,” Harry echoed Remus’ earlier words, thinking he understood what the older man was trying to say, remembering Malfoy’s words – There’s more than just Death Eaters and not-Death Eaters, you of all people should know this, by know – “Thanks, Remus.”
“Anytime, Harry.”
“I should probably go to bed.” Ron and Hermione were probably already worried about him. Emptying his tea, Harry gave Remus one last smile and turned to leave.
“Harry,” Remus held him back, a small piece of paper between his fingers, “I found this in one of your pockets when I was doing laundry.”
Frowning slightly, Harry took the piece of paper. It was the receipt with Dustin’s number on it.
“I never called him,” the teenager muttered, “Bit late now anyway.”
“Did you want to call him?” Again, the man’s voice was nonchalant, casual, his face giving nothing away, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Harry blush.
I’m not –
It’s okay if you are.
“Maybe.”
Seemingly satisfied, Remus smiled. “Good night, Harry.”
“G’night.”
When he entered the Gryffindor Common Room, the first thing he saw was Ron and Hermione sitting by the fireplace.
“Where have you been?” Hermione asked, sounding borderline hysterical.
“I was with Remus.”
“Is he okay?” Ron stepped next to Hermione, looking concerned and Harry nodded.
“He’s fine. I just…needed to talk to him.”
His two friends exchanged a look that Harry couldn’t read before turning their attention back to Harry.
“Listen, mate,” Ron began, “About Malfoy –”
“Can we not do this right now?” Harry said before Ron had any chance to finish, “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
Ron frowned but stepped aside. “Sure. Good night, Harry.”
“Night, Ron. ‘mione.”
Acutely aware that both Ron and Hermione were watching him, Harry walked up the stairs to the Dorm, not surprised to see Neville, Seamus and Dean already fast asleep. He quickly changed into his pyjamas and, before he could stop himself, pulled out the Map.
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he whispered after drawing the curtains around his bed closed.
Draco Malfoy, it seemed, was also in bed, sleeping.