Chapter 45

Loyalty

xxx 

“The Flame-Freezing Charm,” lectured Flitwick from atop his desk at the front of the Charms classroom, “is the very same you’ve read about in History of Magic, most popularly used during witch-burning trials...”

Beside Harry, Ron sat slumped in his chair, cheek resting on his fist as he drew animated sketches of Quidditch players on the otherwise blank sheet of parchment in front of him. On the other side of Ron, Hermione sat diligently adding to the notes she’d already taken while doing the reading the night before. As for Harry, his attention was on something else entirely.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy sat hunched over his desk, chin resting atop his closed textbook; from the frequent fluttering of his eyelids followed by the noticeable jerking of his limbs, he was just barely fighting the temptation to sleep. From his profile, Harry could see dark circles blemishing his normally healthy, if not pale, complexion. His hair actually looked like it could use a wash. As for his attire, Harry couldn’t help but notice that his shirt was the same one he’d worn the day before. This was not typical Malfoy behaviour, and Harry had been noticing it more and more as of late.

The oddest part of it all was that while Malfoy had been demonstrating the same disregard for his appearance and the lectures in every class, every single professor had yet to reprimand him for his lack of attention. This struck Harry as particularly significant. As he had learned from his father’s painstaking attention to his schoolwork, the teachers in the school were not at all hesitant to mention when a student’s work ethic was slipping, especially to other teachers. Yet no one seemed eager to discuss what was going on with this particular boy.

And Malfoy had been avoiding him.

As soon as news of new Death Eater attacks had started leaking their way into the Daily Prophet, Harry’s first reaction had been to seek out Malfoy and find out what he knew... but when he had proposed the idea to his Father, he had been forbidden to do so. And while Severus was normally very honest with Harry, he had become very harsh as soon as Harry had begun to question his reasoning.

“All that I know is mere speculation,” Severus had answered shortly. “When Draco Malfoy’s problems become directly linked to you, trust me to inform you. Until then, you are not to approach him under any circumstances.”

All that Harry knew was that all of a sudden, everyone was singing a very different tune about how to handle the problem of Draco Malfoy. While Severus had previously wanted Harry to take control of securing Malfoy’s loyalty, he now was forbidding him to further the project. While Malfoy had previously been considered little more than an annoyance, numerous individuals were now tip-toeing around him.

Staring in Malfoy’s direction, Harry’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He only vaguely heard Flitwick’s voice in the background as he gave instructions on how to produce the charm, and it was only the sharp jab of Hermione’s elbow in his side that prompted him to lazily repeat the incantation after his Professor.

When Draco had first offered Harry his aid months before, Harry had considered it both suspicious and unnecessary. Now, with the prospect of losing that option, he was beginning to feel panicked. What did Severus know that he wasn’t telling Harry? Why was he again being told to let the adults handle the situation?

He was the one who would eventually have to kill Voldemort. He was the boy whom everyone depended on, but who was constantly being told exactly what to do in order to bring this about. Severus repeatedly told him he needed to grow up, take responsibility, and guide his own future; yet, when it came to the really serious matters—the things that were of the most vital importance to him—nothing was in his hands aside from a list of instructions with little justification behind them.

It was with this thought in mind that Harry rose from his seat as Professor Flitwick dismissed them.

“—we ought to gather our books and head for the lake, it’s such a lovely day,” Hermione was saying, to which Ron responded:

“That’d be brilliant—minus the books, of course.”

“What do you think, Harry, join us outside for a bit of light reading before Transfiguration this afternoon?”

“You go ahead,” Harry said absently, hurriedly shoving his books into his bag. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

Harry barely spared his friends a glance as he slung his bag over his shoulder and hurried after Malfoy, who had already slipped out the door and disappeared into the busy corridor. He missed the anticipatory glance they exchanged, and paid little attention as they attempted to follow expeditiously behind him.

It was late in the afternoon and the corridor bustled with activity; flustered first years dashed into their classrooms well ahead of the bell’s chime, and seasoned seventh years congregated with others, finishing off homework for the next class period. Harry’s focus, however, was not on the students around him.

Spotting Malfoy’s unmistakeable blonde head bobbing above many others in the horde of children, Harry twisted and turned his way through the crowd to catch up to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed Ron’s flaming red hair among the commotion; ducking under some of the taller students, he quickly lost his tail. With his target in sight, he followed at a safe distance until Malfoy turned down the next corridor, moving in an almost trancelike state towards the stairs. Harry narrowed his eyes in determination and continued to tail him closely.

In the back of his mind, his father’s words rang through his mind, a confused mixture of contradictory statements.

This is a war, Harry, and it is upon us. It's not just a prophecy anymore—it's happening. You need to realise that and start acting like an adult.

And then:

My instruction far more imperative than you treat it.

He did not mean to disobey his father. He did not intend to disregard his instructions. Yes, Severus had instructed him not to approach Malfoy. Yes, he had assured him that he would continue to keep him apprised of current events.

But he hadn’t, had he? Though he certainly told him more than anyone else was willing to, he still kept a considerable amount of information to himself when he deemed it inappropriate or inconsequential.

It was all very Slytherin. He kept his promises by creating loopholes in them from the beginning. ‘I will keep you informed of what you need to know’ had become, ‘I needn’t inform you because you don’t need to know’.

Well, Harry could follow his father’s example. ‘I will not approach Malfoy’ could become ‘I could not avoid Malfoy’ very easily.

As Malfoy finally turned the corner to an empty corridor on the fourth floor, Harry stopped before following. Glancing around to see that no one was watching, he opened his bag and tugged his invisibility cloak from deep inside; it had been quite awhile since he had been able to use it, and the feeling of the smooth material slipping between his fingers as he threw it over his head gave him a little jolt of adrenaline.

As quietly as he could, he sped to catch up with the other boy. It was not a difficult task; Malfoy appeared to be in his own world as he stalked down the corridor, shoulders slack with the evidence of exhaustion and his gait heedlessly steady, as though his destination was the only thing that wasn’t on his mind.

As Harry neared Malfoy he slowed down and steadied his breathing, walking practically on the tips of his toes in order to make as little noise as possible. Stealthily, he crept past Malfoy almost unnoticed; for a brief moment, Malfoy’s breathing hitched and his eyes cast warily about him, but he seemed to disregard whatever thought had occurred in that moment.

Reminding himself not to breathe a sigh of relief, Harry darted around the next corner and walked speedily down the corridor until he reached one of the benches tucked underneath the great stained glass window. Hastily, he removed his invisibility cloak and stuffed it in his bag, pulling out his Charms text and burying his nose in it.

The steady click, clack, of Malfoy’s dragonhide boots as they hit the hard stone of the corridor alerted Harry to his rounding the corner. He kept his eyes steady on the page before him, unseeing but moving rhythmically over the words nevertheless.

The measured steps ceased. Slowly, one foot hit the ground again. Then, the other. They stopped again.  

As though he had only just been made aware of Malfoy’s presence, Harry lowered his Charms book and raised his eyes to the Slytherin standing mere metres away from him.

“Malfoy,” he breathed in a low voice, furrowing his brow. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on the coolness of this greeting.

Malfoy did not immediately respond, except to slowly look Harry up and down. Then, as though he had never been spoken to, he turned his eyes forward and continued to walk down the hallway, past Harry and to the steps leading down a floor.

For a moment, Harry was dumbfounded. Had Malfoy really, unabashedly, without pretence, ignored him?

Indeed. Indeed he had.

Thinking quickly, Harry leapt to his feet and followed after Malfoy, who was hurrying down the steps.

“Malfoy!” He shouted from the top of the steps, quickly descending to meet him on the landing.

Malfoy halted in his tracks, seemingly debating whether or not to ignore this as well. After a brief moment, he spun around, glaring balefully at Harry. He huffed and shook his head, apparently searching for the right words.

“Can I help you with something?” he finally asked in a sneer, though his tone indicated that he already knew.  

Harry’s chest rose and fell with his angry, laboured breathing; he pressed his lips into a firm line, frowning at his opponent. He hadn’t considered what he would say if Malfoy did not approach him on his own; he had never known the other boy to resist an opportunity to apprise Harry of his own lack of worth, at the very least.

“Apparently not,” Harry found himself responding, willing Malfoy to challenge him.

“If it is so apparent, then what on earth are you bothering me for?” Malfoy asked irritably.

Frustrated that Malfoy wasn’t playing into his plan, Harry crossed his arms and answered, “I would rather like to know what exactly it is that you’re avoiding, Malfoy.”

“I’m certain I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Malfoy, but not nearly as blithely as he had certainly tried for.

“Eight months ago,” Harry said quietly, stepping closer, “you were insistent that you were invaluable to me. I know that Voldemort—”

“Shut up!” Malfoy hissed insistently as his fingers twisted in the fabric of Harry’s robes and he backed him off the landing and into the cover of the adjoining corridor. He looked around frantically as he released him and then turned his dismayed expression on Harry. “Do you know what will happen if he so much as hears that I’ve been speaking to you? Do you have any idea?”

Shocked, and torn between socking the other boy in the jaw or waiting for him to reveal exactly what it was he was hinting at, Harry straightened his robes in an effort to regain his composure, and began to respond, “I might have an idea if you—”

But Harry never got to complete that sentence. Footsteps moving frantically across hard stone echoed down the corridor, and Malfoy backed away, eyes turned in that direction.

With a final glare at Harry, he shook his head slowly. “Do not try this again,” he warned in a low voice, extending a finger in Harry’s direction for emphasis. “Got it? Or everything I’ve been through will be for nothing, you understand?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond that no, he did not understand anything other than the fact that Malfoy was a useless, cowardly prat, but the other boy was already heading in the opposite direction down the corridor, and the voices behind them were getting closer. Somewhat bewildered, but composed, Harry turned to walk away...

...and spotted Hermione and Ron, followed closely by none other than Kinnaird, heading in his direction.

A surge of anger flooded Harry’s brain and his heartbeat dropped to his stomach, disbelieving of the vision in front of him. His stride faltered and he stared at his friends, a sense of betrayal creeping its way into his chest. He had been so close, and his friends’ interference had thwarted him.

Kinnaird pushed past Harry’s friends and moved quickly to stand in front of Harry, his gaze focused on the Malfoy’s back as the other boy hurried down the corridor.

Turning to Harry, he asked in an absurdly gallant tone, “What did he say to you? Did he attack you?”

Rolling his eyes and shoving past the older man, Harry muttered, “No,” and moved to meet Ron and Hermione, who were speechlessly staring at him with guilty eyes.

Behind him, Kinnaird rambled on, “Have you any idea how terribly that could have ended? He is far more dangerous than you give him credit for—”

“I know, okay?” Harry snapped, whipping around to glare at Kinnaird and stopping him from uttering yet another audacious reprimand. “I know a lot more than you do about it, so just bugger off.”

Behind him, Kinnaird’s expression gave way to one of confusion; in front of him, Hermione’s face melted into one of nervous expectance, and Ron shifted his feet sheepishly.

“And you two—” started Harry, only to be interrupted by Hermione.

“Harry, I’m sorry—it’s just that we were trying to stop you, the Professor said just the other night about Malfoy, and when we couldn’t find you we got worried, and he,” Hermione said in a rush, gesturing towards Kinnaird, “was the only person we could find—”

“You don’t need to protect me, alright?” said Harry angrily. “I can handle myself, especially against the likes of Malfoy.”

“You realize I’m going to speak to Professor Snape about this,” interjected Kinnaird. “You’ve given me no—”

“You,” said Harry with an increased surge of anger, “can kindly stay out of this. I’ll tell him myself.”

Unsure of where he was going, but positive he didn’t want to stick around to be lectured by this lot, Harry stepped around Hermione with a final glare and headed back towards the stairs. Much to his chagrin, his friends followed.

“You always say you don’t need our help, Harry,” Hermione was saying as she hurried along behind him. “But how many times have you needed us in the past? Why won’t you trust us to help you?”

“There are just some things I need to do on my own, Hermione,” Harry said through clenched teeth as he began to descend the stairs. He stopped and turned to his friends, who came to an abrupt halt behind him. “That’s what this is all about, you realize. I am the one who has to defeat him in the end. I am the one who’s got to risk my life to stop him—”

“Oh, because we’ve just been cheering you on from the stands, is that right, Harry?” interrupted Ron, red faced and incredulous. “We’ve never risked our lives, right?”

Harry began to respond, but realized he had no retort to this. A little pang of guilt rippled through him as he considered how thick-headed he’d sounded; but that hadn’t been his intent.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking care to keep his tone level and calm. “I’m not ungrateful for all you’ve done before. But I did have everything under control.”

 Ron still looked a bit angry, and Hermione a bit put-out, but they didn’t respond. Harry turned and started heading down the stairs again; his friends kept at his heels.

“And now,” Harry said sorely, “I’ve got to go talk to my father, who is going to hex me back to the eighteenth century, because if I don’t, Kinnaird is going to run off to him and try to prove himself–”

Harry could almost hear Hermione’s guilt in the huff that emitted behind him; he looked over his shoulder, and she had halted on the steps.

“Listen,” Hermione said placatingly, “I’ll go take care of Kinnaird. You two just go to the common room, and I’ll meet you there. It’ll be empty anyway, and Professor Snape will be busy preparing for his next lesson, so Kinnaird’s not going to get to him till the end of the day, besides. We’ve got that long to help you figure out what to say.”

Seeming to take his cue from Hermione, Ron agreed and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, urging him back up the stairs. “Come on, mate. No need to ruin the day this early on with a dour Professor Snape.”

Harry wanted to object and insist that due to the circumstances, he had little choice in the matter; however, Hermione was already hurrying off to find Kinnaird, and Ron was standing there, looking at him expectantly. With a huff of irritation, Harry shrugged his shoulders and began to climb.

“There’s a good lad,” Ron said in jest, nudging him in the side with his elbow and climbing with him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. “Though I don’t know how Hermione thinks she’s going to convince Kinnaird to keep his mouth shut.”

“It’s Hermione,” Ron responded, as though that in and of itself was an explanation. “She’ll figure something out.

It was some time later when Hermione finally returned to the common room. She came through the portrait hole looking slightly worse for the wear, but gave the boys a weary smile of greeting nevertheless.

“Well?” Ron prompted, looking at her expectantly. Harry simply sat next to him, waiting for an answer, and preparing himself for disappointment.

“I caught up with him just outside of Snape’s classroom; he was waiting to catch him on the way to class. I think I convinced him that what he saw was inconsequential.”

“You think?” Harry repeated dubiously, eyebrows raised.

Hermione’s face twisted into a grimace, and she bunched up her shoulders as she splayed her hands at her side. “I told him that you and Professor Snape had dealt with Malfoy before, and you were planning on talking to him about it anyway. I thought, if Kinnaird thought that Professor Snape wouldn’t be surprised by the news that you two had been talking, that he wouldn’t be as tempted to use the information to gain Professor Snape’s approval.”

Harry privately agreed with Hermione on that point. He and Kinnaird rarely spoke; even more than that, Severus rarely gave Kinnaird the time of day. Though he had agreed to help train him to misdirect Voldemort through the use of Occlumency, he consistently resisted the idea of trusting the other Slytherin. Kinnaird seemed determined to fix this; he had offered Dumbledore his assistance in patrolling the castle regularly. He had voluntarily taken on a Remedial Potions study group in order to assist Professor Snape with some of the more dense Potions students. He had finally quit challenging the Potions Master at every turn; instead, he kept his mouth shut during their lessons.

Now, Harry worried that Kinnaird would jump at the opportunity to gain Severus’ trust by playing the hero to Harry’s impulse. Well, Harry would have none of that.

“We need to be sure,” Harry said, almost to himself. He looked up at his friends. “I’m going to tell my father that I ran into Malfoy in the corridor and—”

“And what?” asked Ron. “Casually stumbled upon the topic of Voldemort and happened to disagree? I don’t think Snape’s going to be convinced, Harry.”

Harry took a moment to stare at Ron incredulously before responding. “No.” His gaze flickered to the ceiling in annoyance; he took in Hermione’s expression of apprehensiveness, and continued. “My plan, before you two interfered, was to use whatever Malfoy said as a way to get even more information from my father.”

“And now?” asked Hermione.

“Now I’m going to say that I ran into Malfoy, he was a complete prat, and he must be up to something.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks of blatant disbelief.

“What?” Harry exclaimed.

Neither responded except to stare at Harry blankly, and he elaborated. “My father keeps telling me to leave Malfoy alone; he won’t tell me a damned thing. He keeps stating that the facts are muddled at this point. Well, I figure, if I tell him what Malfoy said, he’ll be distracted from the circumstances and tell me what in the bloody hell is really going on.”

“Not sure that’s going to work, but I wish you luck,” stated Ron, shaking his head and returning to the homework he was working on for his next class period.

“Don’t you think that the Professor would tell you what was going on if he knew?” asked Hermione carefully, as though she were afraid to upset Harry by the suggestion. “I mean, he clearly stated that he wanted you to leave Malfoy alone, and to tell him that you approached him and expect the outcome to be in your favour... I don’t know, Harry. It seems awfully far-fetched.”

Again, Harry felt compelled to remind Hermione that this situation was entirely her fault. However, the apprehensive look on her face, coupled with her purposefully mild and careful tone, told Harry that he didn’t need to remind her of the situation.

“Have you any other suggestions?” he asked tightly, staring aimlessly at the wall.

“If it were me,” Ron offered, glancing up from his homework, “I’d tell him Malfoy had hexed me, and get the arsehole in a load of trouble—”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped reprovingly. Ron shut his mouth and glared resentfully at her, but didn’t continue his sentence. Hermione focused her gaze on Harry, her look softening considerably as she addressed him. “Harry,” she began in a tone that indicated a lecture was to follow. “I would tell him the truth. He will find out eventually anyway.”

Harry snorted. “Right. Hey, Dad, remember what you told me not to do? Well, I did it anyway. That will work. That will get me the answers I’m looking for straight away.”

“Well,” Hermione said in a huff, “what is your grand idea, then?

“Simple,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not going to lie. I’m going to omit. There’s a big difference.”

“Like I keep saying,” Ron said without looking up, “too much time around Snape.”

xxx

It was late in the evening when Harry finally made it down to Severus’ office. He had planned to go right after classes, but Professor McGonagall had delayed him after Transfiguration for a talk about his most recently failed essay. He had planned to go before dinner, but Filch had informed him that Professor McGonagall would be requiring him to fulfil his detention for the very same failed essay that evening. He’d planned to go after dinner, but Hermione had insisted he stick around to finish off his Charms homework with her and Ron, since otherwise he might not get it done.

So, yes, it was very late in the evening when Harry finally trudged down the stairs to the dungeons.

He planned the talk in his head the whole way down. He thought about how he would explain Malfoy and himself running into each other in the corridor. He thought about how he would explain his own reaction to Malfoy’s hostility. He thought about many things, but when he was finally rapping his knuckles against the Potion Master’s office door, he nevertheless felt sick to his stomach.

There wasn’t much time for nervousness to take effect, as Professor Snape whipped the door open almost seconds after Harry had knocked on it. The Professor’s expression was stern and unchanging as he greeted Harry; the young Gryffindor got the distinct feeling that Severus had been expecting him as soon as he’d heard the sound of knuckles against wood.

“Come in,” Severus said curtly, stepping back and allowing Harry to enter. Once the boy was inside, Severus shut the door and moved quickly to his desk. “I am surprised to see you this evening,” he commented mildly as he sank into his chair. “I had thought you would be serving that detention with Filch.”

Harry’s heart immediately sank. He was already several steps behind; so, his father had heard about both his grades and his subsequent detention.

“Erm...yeah,” Harry mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I—”

“I thought we had already talked about you keeping your grades up,” said Severus as he folded his hands on his desk and fixed his stern gaze on Harry. “How quickly you seem to have forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget,” Harry responded, immediately set on edge by Severus’ condescending tone. He sat. “I just... misunderstood the instructions.”

“You were late to class and handed in an essay that Professor McGonagall told me looked as though it were thrown together in less than an hour.”

“Well, Hermione didn’t remind me until the last minute.”

“It is not Miss Granger’s responsibility to keep you afloat,” Severus responded slowly, the irritation in his voice increasing by the syllable.

“I know,” Harry muttered. “I am trying. I am just busy. I’ve had a heavy workload lately.”

Severus raised his eyebrow dubiously, and Harry got the idea that what he considered a difficult workload paled in comparison to what Severus considered difficult.

“You will re-write the essay,” Severus stated decidedly.

Harry frowned. He did not appreciate being treated as though he had done something wrong when he had made a simple mistake. Everyone slipped up every once in awhile, right? Still, he was here with a purpose, and so he simply nodded his agreement and said, “Sorry,” with what he felt was the appropriate amount of shame.

Severus did not immediately acknowledge the boy’s apology. He continued to watch his son with bright eyes, as though evaluating Harry’s level of sincerity and deciding on his response. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Harry, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, began to play with his hands in his lap.

“If you want,” offered Harry carefully, as the silence was becoming a little too stifling, “I could come back a little later—”

“That’s quite alright,” Severus responded shortly, though he still looked pensive. “Actually, I had been planning on calling you down here anyway, once I had finished my work for the evening.”

Normally, Harry would have been happy to hear that his presence was welcome. However, there was a foreboding lilt to Snape’s voice that told him this was not what he had meant.

“Well,” Harry said hesitantly, “why did you want to see me?”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “We’ve covered quite a bit of it,” he said vaguely, touching his fingers together. After a moment, he lifted his shoulders. “It is unimportant at the moment. Do I gather correctly that there are more pressing matters you wish to attend to?”

“I’m sorry?” asked Harry, not wanting to act on assumption.

“You came to speak to me for a reason, did you not?” replied Severus, eyebrows lifting to form an expression Harry had become very familiar with over the years.  “I had assumed this was not merely a social call.”

“Ah,” was all Harry had to say in response. Again, he fidgeted uncomfortably. After a moment of indecision, he rose to his feet. “No, it isn’t.”

Harry began to pace as he spoke. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m to be up against in the next year.”

As he paused, Harry’s gaze flickered to Severus, who nodded in prompt.

“Once we use the potion to break the connection between Voldemort and me, I’ve got to get to him before he can complete the Asterisus.”

“Certainly.”

“Even more importantly, we need to know how long we have until that happens, and we need to ensure that he has no idea what we are working on.”

“I’m glad to see you grasp the enormity of the situation,” Severus stated somewhat dryly.

 “I do,” said Harry, starting to feel uncomfortable as he moved on to the topic he really wanted to discuss. “which is why I’ve begun to realize that I need to be a more active participant in everything that is going on.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“For the last several months, I’ve let you make most of the decisions. When you and Dumbledore decided that Occlumency was a necessity, I learned. When you proposed this potion, I gave no argument. When you decided to trust Malfoy, I agreed. However,” and this was when Severus’ expression darkened, realizing the direction in which Harry was headed, “considering how much each of these decisions affects me—especially regarding Malfoy—well, I have to tell you that I really think it is a mistake.

Seemingly shocked into silence by the abruptness of this comment, Severus stared at Harry with a dumbfounded expression... which was not an expression that looked normal on the Potion Master’s stern face. After a moment in which Severus said nothing, however, and continued to stare at Harry with an expression of disbelief, Harry realized that he was not so much confused by what Harry had said as appalled that he had actually said it.

Promptly, Harry sat.

“Listen,” he said in a rush, attempting to fend off Severus’ harsh glare, “I ran into him today, and I know what you told me... but he was acting so strange, I thought I should tell you.”

Severus took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, splaying his long fingers as he said, “And what is it that concerned you so?”

Bolstered, Harry continued. “I ran into him in the corridor, and he said something that disturbed me. Do you have any idea what he will do if he hears I have been speaking to you,” Harry repeated, pointedly. “Malfoy has been looking worse and worse, as I am sure you have noticed. He’s not sleeping, he’s not eating, he looks constantly worn out; Voldemort has chosen him, I’m sure of it.”

 “You are aware,” said Severus, narrowing his eyes, “that we had thought this would happen. That fact should not come as a surprise to you. Malfoy is the obvious choice.”

“I do realize that, yes,” replied Harry, annoyed by his Father’s acerbity. “But if that is true, shouldn’t he have come to one of us by now? Shouldn’t he already be giving us some of the information that he promised?”

“What makes you so certain that he hasn’t?” asked Severus, raising an eyebrow. “What causes you to believe you must take this into your own hands to gain results?”

“Well, for one,” Harry said stiffly, “you told me you would tell me about those sorts of things.”

“So I did,” replied Severus.

“Yes.”

“So, as I have told you that I would handle the situation appropriately, why is it that you have taken it upon yourself to go after him when I expressly forbade it?”

“I didn’t take anything upon myself,” Harry argued. “Malfoy approached me.”

Severus was already beginning to respond, but promptly cut himself off as Harry finished speaking. His brows furrowed and he stared at Harry curiously. “He did?” he asked shortly, seeming somewhat taken aback.

“Yes.”

Severus didn’t speak for a moment; he settled back and kept his gaze on Harry. “Today?” he asked, after a moment.

“Yes. I was in the corridor on the fourth floor doing my homework, and Malfoy came along. When I asked if he was alright, he told me to bugger off. It went from there, as you can imagine.”

Frowning, Severus sat forward in his chair and, watching Harry carefully, said, “Harry, I feel compelled to tell you that you are not my first visitor this evening.”

As if his father had spelled it there, a hard lump instantly formed in Harry’s throat, hitching his breath and making his mouth run dry. So Kinnaird had reached him quicker than he had expected. Hermione had not been successful, after all. Quickly, he spoke.

“Listen, I know what Kinnaird may have told you, but it’s because he is trying to win your approval—”

“Kinnaird?” Severus asked, interrupting Harry. His brow furrowed and his eyes seemed, if it was at all possible, to take on an even deeper shade of onyx.

Again, Harry felt that he was at a loss for words.

“Harry,” Severus snapped, seemingly angered further by Harry’s lack of response. “Kinnaird?”

“Yes,” Harry said meekly. The jig, as they say, was truly up. “I thought—well, he was there, and I thought he had come to speak to you. I had told him I would tell you myself, but...”

“How interesting,” Severus said slowly, though his tone of voice did not suggest mere interest. He rose from his seat, and Harry unconsciously shrunk into his own. Severus came around to stand in front of the desk, leaning against it and staring hard down at Harry.

“Malfoy came to see me this evening, not Kinnaird. He seemed to view the events with quite a different perspective.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, though he had an idea of what Malfoy might have said.

“He asked me to remind you of how important it is that the Dark Lord hears nothing of Malfoy’s involvement with us,” said Severus. His expression unwavering, he added dryly, “He is under the impression that you are given to fits of impulsiveness which might give him away.”

“But, I told you, I didn’t mean to—”

“Harry, enough,” said Severus firmly, obviously irritated. “How is it that Kinnaird came upon you two, I wonder?”

“I—” Harry began to respond, and promptly stopped as Severus pursed his lips in frustration.

“Your friends went to get help when they noticed you following Malfoy, yes or no?”

How do you know that? Harry thought furiously, though he nodded defeatedly.

“Otherwise, Kinnaird never would have arrived,” Severus deduced, answering Harry’s unasked question.

Harry scowled. Severus folded one arm over the other and glared down at his son. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Harry half exclaimed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Severus replied in mock earnest. “I suppose you could apologize for overtly lying to me.  You could apologize for thinking I was daft enough to be lied to. Perhaps you could explain exactly what you thought you would accomplish by directly defying my orders. Any of those would do just fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and was displeased as even he heard the whine in his voice. “But don’t you find his behaviour even a little suspicious? Aren’t you concerned about the information he could give to Voldemort?”

“I am constantly concerned, Harry,” replied Severus, “But that does not give either of us an excuse to act rashly. In fact, you should be even more aware of how important my instruction is considering the delicate nature of these issues. Do you not trust my judgment? Do you consider me unqualified to make good decisions? I assure you, my experience in these matters far exceeds your own, though I understand that at sixteen years of age, you feel quite justified to take matters into your own hands.”

Severus’ words stung, but Harry kept his expression even, careful not to show it. It was not that he didn’t trust his father’s judgment; far from that, he understood that he was certainly the authority when it came to such important judgment calls. However, he could not deny that his own curiosity and concern caused him to disregard what he was told. Years of being held at an arm’s length by the adults surrounding him made him feel as though he had to seek out information when it was not constantly being provided. Unease over what his future held and a need to control whatever part of that future he could overrode his trust in others to make better decisions than he was able to. In short, while he trusted his father, he put more stock in first-hand knowledge more than he did in blind faith.

“I do trust you,” Harry said in a low voice, grudgingly. Severus looked dubious. “What?” said Harry incredulously, “I do! But you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information lately; of course when the opportunity presented itself I had to find out what I could. I didn’t do anything rash—”

Severus’ opened his mouth, undoubtedly to object, but Harry didn’t give him the chance to interrupt. “—that rash, anyway, not how you are making it seem. I’ll admit; I intended to test Malfoy when I saw him in the corridor. I did. I wanted to know why he has been so scarce and, like I said, it is obvious what he has been up to. But what I don’t understand is why you have been so quiet on the subject. I thought perhaps you hadn’t realized that our situation had taken a turn, and when I tried to ask you about it—”

“I told you exactly what I knew to be true, which nothing!”

At Severus’ outburst, Harry immediately stopped speaking and stared up at his father. He could see that the older man was through holding his tongue; he had no desire to provoke him any further.

“I told you that what I knew was mere speculation, because it was true,” Severus ground out with great annoyance. “I forbid you to speak to Malfoy because, as you say, it is quite obvious what the boy is going through; but consider, at this delicate time, antagonizing him is exactly what we must avoid. When he is ready, and when he feels it is safe, he may come to us—”

“But he hasn’t—”

“Or he may not,” Severus said, raising his voice above Harry’s and effectively drowning him out. “But I trust that he will not reveal anything truly important to the Dark Lord. Whether he chooses to risk himself or not, I cannot tell what he will decide. However, I am certain he does not wish to damn himself should we defeat his temporary Master. That, at least, he has made clear. Understand, Harry, that the Dark Lord is testing him heavily at this time. He at least deserves to have peace while he is among us; eventually, he may see that we offer him far more than the other side.”

“So, now you, what, feel bad for him?” Harry asked, his face contorted with a mixture of disgust and confusion.

 Unaffectedly, his father replied, “You don’t?”

Harry’s first reaction was to scoff at this rhetorical question. He crossed his arms and averted his gaze, eyes searching the room for something to focus on. He could not believe that his own Father was more concerned over Malfoy than him. After all, Malfoy had made the decision to yield to Voldemort; Harry had never been given a choice. In addition to that, Malfoy had done this under the pretence that he was doing it in order to help them... now, it was unclear what his motives were, and everyone was just standing by and watching it happen. Aurors undoubtedly allowed him to sneak out of the castle at night in order to fulfil his duties to Voldemort. The Headmaster had undoubtedly given the orders to do so. Teachers allowed him to slide on his studies, while they became even more heavy-handed with Harry.

It was pure, unadulterated injustice.

Harry did not appreciate it.

Still, Harry kept these thoughts to himself. He knew exactly what Severus would say were he to level these accusatory thoughts at him; he would tell Harry that he was being immature, that he just needed to trust him. Well, Harry was not interested in being told these things. In fact, at the moment, he was primarily interested in leaving. His friends would sympathize with the unfairness of it all.

“I am going to repeat,” Severus was saying, and Harry returned his attention to the man in front of him, “that you must not approach Malfoy, under any circumstances. And if I hear again that you have, you may be certain that I will find more inventive ways to keep you from breaking your word to me. In addition to that, I had better not receive any more reports of skiving off homework. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said glumly, aware that their meeting was coming to an end and dejected over the fact that it had diverted so far from the path he had intended it take.

“Good,” replied Severus, though Harry thought privately that his father did not seem satisfied. Harry stared resolutely at the ground, drawing shapes with the toe of his foot on the hard stone floor. Several moments passed this way, and finally Harry was aware that Severus had moved away from him and resumed his seat behind his desk.

“I had rather wished,” said Severus stiffly, as he pulled a stack of ungraded papers in front of him and began marking, “that we could pass the evening more pleasantly. I regret that such was not the case.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Severus had intended Harry to feel by that remark, but primarily, he felt guilt. Stubbornly, he pushed that thought away and shrugged his shoulders, though his Father wasn’t looking at him.

“I suggest,” continued Severus, his concentration now seemly devoted to the task of grading, “that you make your way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Kinnaird will be arriving shortly, and I seriously doubt you wish to run into him for a second time today.”

About that, Severus was correct. Harry rolled his eyes to himself. With each passing day, he grew to resent Kinnaird a little bit more. He was unsure if it were the man’s constant need to gain Severus’ approval, or the way he treated Harry as much younger than he felt. Either way, Harry was glad to comply with Severus’ suggestion.

Feeling an odd mixture of relief and dejection as he left the office, Harry muttered his goodbye and moved quickly down the dungeon corridor. Though he had been frustrated by their meddling earlier, he now found himself hoping that his friends would be waiting to hear of his harrowing experience. Just to be able to say everything he had not been able to say to his Father would be relieving, at the very least.

Just as he was about to turn the corner that would lead him to the stairway, footsteps coming down the hallway stopped him in his tracks. It was not incredibly late, but now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure of the time, and he had foolishly forgotten to obtain a pass from Severus. The Aurors who now frequented the halls were not always friendly, nor were they forgiving, when it came to catching students out after the considerably early curfew. Harry pressed himself against the wall, hoping the footsteps would pass quickly by.

As they drew nearer, Harry realized that not one set of feet, but two, were treading quickly towards the stairs. Harry remained where he stood, and quickly, the noise moved past him and up the stairs. Waiting a moment for the footsteps to become more distant, Harry decided it was safe to resume his walk to the common room.

The small rush of adrenaline he had experienced from hiding from the perceived threat slowly left Harry as he trudged up the stairs. He hadn’t noticed how harshly the day had worn on him; he now found himself mortally exhausted, emotionally drained, and somewhat defeated. He had felt so confident that his father would take him seriously when he told him his suspicions about Malfoy. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure what had given him that idea.

As Harry reached the top of the stairs, the heavy groan of the great doors in the entrance hall caught Harry’s attention. He stopped under the arch of the doorway, and saw that the two figures he had narrowly avoided running into in the dungeons had not carried on down another corridor, as he had assumed; instead, the two hooded men were leaving the castle.

In an instant, as one spoke quietly to the other, Harry realized what he was witnessing; before his very eyes, Kinnaird and Malfoy were together exiting the castle, almost certainly answering a summons. Harry visually searched the room and saw that he was alone.

With difficulty, Harry bit back on the impulse to follow the two. He reminded himself: the fact that these two were pledging loyalty to both sides was not a secret. In fact, after speaking with his Father about this very fact, he was certain that he shouldn’t have been surprised by this at all.

The idea of watching Malfoy, who had angered him so deeply earlier today and whose loyalty was becoming increasingly questionable, unabashedly walk out the doors to consort with Harry’s enemies, was unfathomable to Harry. Still, he reminded himself that there was little he could do about it at this moment.

Harry briefly considered returning to Severus’ office. At the very least, he could enlighten Severus of the fact that Kinnaird would not be attending their arranged meeting. At the most, perhaps Severus would tell him if he knew anything about why they had been summoned. Surely, either he or Dumbledore would have some idea of why these two had been leaving the castle.

As Harry turned this thought over in his head, he weighed the possible outcomes. He could very easily see his Father reprimanding him for lingering in the entrance hall to see what was happening. He also considered the mood he had left the man in; he was tense, irascible, and would probably balk at the insinuation that Harry could possibly have something of value to say about Malfoy.

No, Harry would let him figure it out himself, if he didn’t already know.

With that thought, Harry speedily crossed the entrance hall, still aware of the fact that he was most likely breaking curfew. He made his way up to the Gryffindor Common Room without further ado, and once the Fat Lady had allowed him to pass, he was glad to see Hermione and Ron sitting together on the sofa, apparently awaiting his arrival.

At least someone took his concerns seriously enough to want to hear what he had to say.

“How did it go?” asked Hermione hopefully, closing the book on her lap and turning her full attention to Harry.

“Well,” said Harry heavily, “certainly not as well as I had planned.”

And that, Harry thought to himself, was a gross understatement.

xxx

It took approximately fifteen minutes past Harry’s departure for Severus to give up on grading the horrific third-year essays. He had tried in vain to focus his energy on something productive, but his encounter with Harry had simply been too strenuous for him to continue working.

When Malfoy had visited him earlier that day, he had been hopeful that the boy was finally turning to him for help. Yes, it had been obvious for some time now that the pressures of his life outside of the castle were having a detrimental impact on him even while he was in the school. And, yes, he had to agree with Harry, it was almost certain that his weariness was not merely a product of the usual rigors of being a simple up and coming Death Eater; clearly, Voldemort had chosen him for a far greater task.

If he were able to reach Malfoy, if he were able to convince him that he could help, this boded well for the side of the light. The great trust the Dark Lord appeared to place in Malfoy’s abilities meant the boy might serve him far more efficiently than Kinnaird would ever be able to. Of course, Dumbledore would demand that Severus continue to help him as well, but Severus could convince him that they ought to keep more information from him. Strangely, the more Kinnaird tried to gain his approval, the more Severus felt inclined to distrust him. He simply seemed to want it too badly.

All of this was wasted thought, of course, now that Harry seemed to have pushed Malfoy even farther away. The fair-headed boy seemed even more fearful of helping them now than he had before; it seemed that Harry’s proclivity to compulsiveness had more than rubbed him the wrong way. Now, Severus would have to work even harder to convince him to keep his word, all while convincing Harry that they must keep their trust in him, even when all the evidence suggested otherwise.

The truth was, Malfoy was the better choice over Kinnaird because he was still mouldable as a spy. Kinnaird was too old; his own motives already took precedent over whatever either side was telling him. Whatever Kinnaird’s ambition was, it was for his own purposes. Of that, Severus was absolutely sure. 

Malfoy, on the other hand, still didn’t seem to have made up his mind. His actions earlier in the year suggested to Severus that he also had his own motives, but his were geared towards survival, and a less controlled life. Severus had hope that once the Dark Lord was sure he had his hold on Malfoy, his treatment would progress to a level sure to push Malfoy in the opposite direction.

Yes, Severus felt Harry had created a much more difficult situation for him. While he could understand the boy’s need for information, he begrudged him for his lack of judgment concerning such delicate issues.

At long last, a heavy-handed knock on the door interrupted Severus’ thoughts. Truth be told, he was glad for the distraction, even if it were such an unpleasant one. He glanced at the wall; their meeting had been scheduled for five minutes earlier, but it was just as well that he’d had the extra time. Still, he wouldn’t let Kinnaird know this.

Severus pushed himself up from his chair and moved fluidly to the door, swinging it open to the dark hallway.

“Ah, yes, Kinnaird,” Severus said long-sufferingly, stepping back to allow the other man entrance. As his thin lips curled into a smirk, he said silkily, “You’re late.”

Kinnaird stepped through the door, and though he seemed annoyed by Severus’ assessment, he replied easily, “My apologies. I’m afraid I got lost in a rather good book and hadn’t realized how quickly the time had passed.”

“Yes, well,” Severus said in response, caring very little for this excuse, “I suggest we not waste any time exchanging pleasantries. We have much to cover. Take a seat.”

And with that, Severus swung the door shut, and an audible bang echoed through the corridor outside.

xxx End Chapter xxx