Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Masks

Harry got up very early on Saturday morning. He crept out of the dormitory and out of the tower without encountering anyone. When he got to Dumbledore's office, the sun was just bright enough to light the colored windows to the east and cast a spot of blue on a sheet of long, red hair.

Bill Weasley turned from the fireplace and smiled.

"Oh, hello! Dumbledore's just stepped out to get the base from Professor Sn-- your father."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Bill coughed. It took Harry a moment to recall that was one of his more Snape-like expressions.

"How is everyone taking it?" he asked cautiously.

Bill shrugged. "About what you'd expect. Mum got home, broke down for a bit, and has been staunchly positive since. Dad's a bit leery of Snape having custody of you, but he's got nothing against you; he just doesn't trust Snape, and nobody blames him, really. Charlie shrugs and says it doesn't affect us; you're still you. Fred and George think it's a brilliant joke. How are Ron and Ginny?" As an afterthought, he added, "Percy doesn't know, of course."

"Ginny's been fine from the start. Ron was awful, at first, but he's been better since the meeting, though he said it was disturbing to see us together."

Bill looked thoughtful. "Seeing you at the meeting was..." He frowned. "Disturbing and reassuring both. It was the difference between knowing he sired you and knowing he's your dad."

Harry ducked his head. "I've never called him that."

"Still. You understand?"

Harry managed a tentative smile. "Yeah." He wanted to ask more about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but Dumbledore put an end to the conversation by stepping sedately from the fire.

"Good morning, boys." He extended a small porcelain bucket to Bill. "William, here is the medium."

Bill took the handle of the bucket. "Choose a seat, Harry. Wherever you're comfortable." He gave Harry a slightly predatory grin. "This can take a while."

"Oh, great."


In fact, the process took over an hour. Bill duplicated the photograph of Tonks-as-Harry, laid one copy on top of the stuff in bucket, and then cast a spell which melted the picture into the potion and changed its color from puce to marbled swirls of brown and white and pink. He took the second photograph, cast another spell on it, then stretched it over Harry's face. It stuck like a popped bubble of gum. With that secured, Bill dipped a brush handle, devoid of any hair, into the mixture. The potion stretched out in strands like melted Swiss cheese. Bill had to twirl the brush until all the mass was taken up on the invisible tip.

"Does that have hair or not?" Harry asked, moving his lips as little as possible.

Bill nodded. "From a thestral's fetlock. It might feel a bit cold."

Indeed, Harry flinched involuntarily back at the first wet touch. The second time, he was ready and stayed still. Bill painted over the photograph, and where he painted, the sensation of stretched bubblegum went away, leaving only a slight cool feeling, as if his face, and only his face, were in the path of a soft breeze.


It was an hour later that Harry left Dumbledore's office. He hoped no one commented on the change in his appearance. It was supposed to be subtle, but he had still found looking in the mirror startling.

He went straight to breakfast, and left his hair down to obscure the change. He kept his head down, as well, focusing on his plate.

"Harry?" Ron queried. "You all right, there?"

Harry glanced up and gave him a quick wink. "Fine," he said, and went back to shoveling in porridge.

Fudge had still not arrived by the end of breakfast, so Harry went up to the common room, tied back the front strands of his hair, and hid his face in his current book. He had just finished it, half an hour later, when Hermione stopped by to ask how he was doing.

"Fine," he said. "Just nervous."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she regarded him. She took the book that he extended towards her, but without looking at it.

"Regressing?" she asked.

She could have been referring to the book, which Harry judged to be aimed at a slightly younger audience, but Harry knew she meant his face.

"A bit," he replied. "Sometimes these things are necessary. I wish Fudge would show up!" He glanced around. People were milling about in preparation for the walk down to the pitch. "Should I go?"

Hermione snorted. "Well, it's where I'd look for you!"

She had a point, Harry decided. He stood up and offered her his arm. "May I escort you, then, Miss Granger?"

She curtsied. "Why thank you, Mr. Potter! I would be most pleased." Giggling, she put his hand through his arm, and they started off for the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match. The dignity of their departure was marred by the awkward maneuver of climbing through the portrait hole.

About half-way to the pitch, they were intercepted by Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter! The Minister for Magic has arrived. You are to come to the staff seating in the stands --" she sent a harried, but apologetic look at Hermione -- "alone, I'm afraid. Come along, now."


Fudge was already seated next to Dumbledore when Harry arrived. McGonagall took her seat on the other side of the headmaster.

"Well, there you are, Harry!" Fudge said jovially. "I must say I'm quite looking forward to a Hogwarts Quidditch game. Less stuffy than the professional sort, I always say." He motioned Harry into the seat beside him and said, in a pretense of a confidential whisper, "Not such fancy flying as if you were out there, eh?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said carelessly. "Draco Malfoy is quite good." Nearby, McGonagall stiffened, and Hagrid choked in his beard. "And the Hufflepuffs play hard. Not like Ravenclaw for strategy, though."

"Slytherin," McGonagall said dryly, "has its own sort of strategy."

Harry laughed. "If Draco spent half as much time recruiting quality players as he does making plots, they might win more often."

Ernie, at this point, had turned to glower at him. Professor McGonagall leaned forward. "Announce the players, Macmillan."

When the shouting started, Harry heard shrill voices and remembered the refugee families. They were in the stands near the staff section, but on the other side of it from his seat. This made them harder to see than if they were further away. It was easiest to see the spectators on the other side of the pitch. He craned his neck, but could only get a vague impression of people not dressed in black robes.

"Ah, the 'guests,'" Fudge said in a voice of disapproval. "A nuisance, I expect?"

"I forgot about them, actually. We only see them at games."

Fudge started to say something else, but Madame Hooch released the balls, and there was no point in trying to talk over the roar of approval as the players moved into action. Harry sat back to watch, and the Minister did the same.


The staff box was no more restrained or non-partisan than the rest of the audience; it merely held the various factions in closer proximity. When Goyle deliberately missed the bludger and clubbed a Hufflepuff Chaser on the knee, Harry was not the only one on his feet screaming "foul!" McGonagall restrained Ernie from holding forth on the injury, but Harry knew she had been shrieking herself, a moment earlier. Severus held that it was an understandable mistake.

Ten minutes later, with the score at fifty/sixty to Hufflepuff, Harry spotted the snitch. It was over by the stands, in front of a cluster of Ravenclaws, who were, of course, studiously ignoring it. He lost track of it a bit later. The score was up to a hundred to seventy, in Hufflepuff's favor, when he spotted it again, down around the base of the Hufflepuff goals, dangerously close to the center post. Approaching from the rear would be almost impossible, and approaching from the front would require a cross-body or left handed grab. Harry wondered if both Seekers were right handed. He thought so.

A gasp from the crowd redirected his attention up to playing level. Draco was diving, and the Hufflepuff Seeker swooping around to join him. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closer to the snitch, but the turn cost her. She and Draco were converging on the post from near-equal distances. The snitch spiraled up the pole, but then zipped back down to its original location. Harry saw Draco adjust his grip, and he tensed. The idiot! He'll miss it on a cross-body grab. "Left!" he screamed.

Draco did one better. He veered clear of the pole as he approached, swung his legs up to one side, and came in almost parallel to the ground. The Hufflepuff Seeker panicked and pulled up. With a reach above his head, Draco took the Snitch.

Harry jumped spontaneously to his feet. "Yes!" he yelled. "Draco!" He heard a strangled sound to his left, and the now-familiar choking gasp of Severus attempting not to laugh. Harry glanced over at Fudge, and found the Minister looking perplexed.

"I, er, thought -- weren't you supporting Hufflepuff earlier?"

"Much too early in the season for that!" Harry bounced a few more times before managing to sit. Ernie, in a strangled voice, was dutifully attempting to acknowledge Malfoy's spectacular move, but being drowned out by Slytherin cheering. "I don't care who wins this game. That was a brilliant dive though! Absolutely brilliant."

"But you were protesting --"

"That was cheating! They shouldn't cheat. If they got, oh, Beaters with brains and Chasers who worked together, they wouldn't need to."

"Ah! It's the skill you admire."

Harry collected himself. He glanced past Fudge and saw, beyond him, Dumbledore's amusement and McGonagall's glare. He was sorry Severus was behind him. He would have liked to have watched the looks that must be passing between his father and his head of house. McGonagall was completely ignoring Ernie as he announced the final score as two hundred twenty to one hundred, then, at Hooch's nod, officially declared Slytherin the winner of the match. Fudge clapped politely, and Harry with belated restraint. He could hear much more vigorous applause behind him.

Dumbledore and Fudge got to their feet, and everyone else, as if released, followed. Staff members began to file out of the stands.

"Anyway, this just brings them even with us," Harry commented, standing as well. "I can afford to be generous until spring." That got a knowledgeable look from the Minister.

"When you can, it's best, eh?" The Minister's face took on a jovial smile that was clearly as practiced as Lockhart's. "Well, Harry, the headmaster has given me permission to take you into Hogsmeade for a spot of lunch and to get a bit better acquainted. What do you say to that?"

Harry was obviously expected to consider this a great treat, so he forced an equally broad smile. "That sounds great!" He glanced towards the stairs. "May I stop and congratulate Draco, first, though?"

There was a bit of confusion at the stairs as McGonagall stopped in her tracks, causing Madam Pomfrey to walk into her. Harry ignored it, and Fudge didn't seem to notice its significance.

"Well, I don't see why not. Is that a captain's tradition?"

Harry bit back a laugh. "Not really. We're just friends." He couldn't resist another look at McGonagall. She was staring at him as if he'd grown another head.

"Well, I must say I'm a bit surprised," Fudge remarked, as they started down. "I had expected the boy to take after his father a bit too much to be friendly with The-Boy-Who-Lived. I mean, really!" He slapped Harry on the back. "Hardly a supporter of You-Know-Who, now, are you?"

"Draco doesn't care," Harry said casually. "It's not like he's one of them, you know." At least, he amended silently, I hope not. He hasn't tried to kill me yet.


Harry had to yell into the changing rooms for someone to fetch Draco, and he wasn't sure anyone would have, if Goyle hadn't been on the team. He seemed to have accepted Harry as an eccentricity of Draco's. The lumbering boy emerged briefly, looking annoyed, but not murderous. His eyes lit on the Minister for Magic and went wide, and he stumbled back inside again without having said a word. A moment later, he returned to say that Draco would be out as soon as he had changed.

Draco emerged a scant few minutes later, dressed in his school robes. He was pink from the shower, but his hair was magically dried. He shot Harry a quick grin, then turned his attention to the Minister.

"Minister. How good to see you again. Have you come to visit your famous ward?"

"I thought it best--" Fudge began stiffly, but Draco nodded pleasantly.

"Oh, of course. He hasn't had nearly enough of that." He looked cockily at Harry. "And what have you got to say, Gryffindor?"

"That dive was brilliant! I would have tried a left handed grab, or a quick twist round."

"No doubt catching the snitch, but ending up in the hospital wing for a day or two."

Harry laughed. "No doubt. How did you do it?"

"Oh, I've been practicing that trick for more than a year -- since the '95 European League finals, when Benoit tried it. I was starting to think I'd never get to show it off!" Draco sent Fudge a quick sidelong glance, then set his shoulders back and turned slightly, to face the minister. "I beg your pardon, sir. I'm being terribly rude. It's just excitement from the game -- Harry and I are both quite Quidditch-mad, you know."

"No problem at all," Fudge said indulgently. "Youthful high spirits -- entirely understandable." He paused. "So, the two of you are friends, are you?"

Draco sent Harry a challenging look. "Despite a bit of disapproval from other Gryffindors --"

"As if Slytherin is thrilled!" Harry scoffed.

"Well, yes," Draco said. "It is recent, you know -- both of us have grown up a bit." He hesitated noticeably. "And father -- his dislike --" Draco looked away. "It was educational...." He trailed off as if unable to finish.

"S'alright," Harry said softly.

"Well, there," Fudge said awkwardly. "Not your fault, of course -- not a bit of it. Harry, would your friend like to join us for lunch, perhaps? I don't mind some game chatter, as long as it's not non-stop."

Draco's head swiveled quickly back, and he stared at Harry.

"Oh, Draco probably has a victory party--"

"No, I'd love to!" Draco's quick frown was urgent, though his voice light. "The party will be going on all day, I expect." He glanced at the Minister. "May I change, sir? I always feel awkward in school robes, when I go into Hogsmeade."

Harry flinched. He hadn't even told Draco about his clothes! How had the Slytherin known to suggest that? Nonetheless, the Minister consented, then turned to him and asked him if he would like to change, as well. At Harry's agreement, he said he would clear things with the headmaster and meet them in the Entrance Hall. Harry was halfway up to the tower before it occurred to him that Draco might simply have meant what he said.


Harry was quite pleased with his reception when he returned. Draco's eyes widened, and the Minister's jaw dropped.

"Well, I must say," he blustered, "you clean up far better than I expected. Looking quite respectable, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded humbly. "Getting away from the Muggles, I expect. I can buy my own clothes, now." He sent Draco a shy smile. "And I'm lucky enough to have friends who can advise me."

Draco looked as indulgently pleased as if he really had helped Harry select his clothes. "You're learning." Fudge led them down the steps to a waiting carriage, pulled by two dapple-grey horses and one black, harnessed in unicorn formation with the black in the lead. A flag bearing the Ministry of Magic seal fluttered beside the whip, as if in a stiff breeze, though the air was still. Draco glanced approvingly at the ornate carvings and the uniformed coachman and attendant before returning his attention to Harry. "By the time you leave school, I expect I'll trust you in a shop by yourself."

They settled into the carriage, Fudge facing forwards, the two young men across from him. The carriage started off, and an uncomfortable silence settled. Fudge cleared his throat.

"So, Harry, I'm afraid we might rather have got off on the wrong foot, last year, what with your trial and all." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure you realize how incredible your ... er ... testimony...."

"But I understand completely," Harry said earnestly, over the creak of the springs below them. He had expected this subject to arise, and had prepared for it. "I mean, a Dementor! I must have sounded mad. But I didn't understand that, then. I was too young, and too -- too Muggle-raised." He widened his eyes. "And V- You-Know-Who is so -- so intense! I was back in the memory of meeting him every time I thought of it. I couldn't imagine then how it was different for someone without that experience, so I expect I was no good at explaining." He let his words tumble out with believable awkwardness. "It was too strong for me; I'd only been fourteen. In retrospect, it's not at all odd you didn't believe me -- what's strange is that Dumbledore did."

Fudge, his good humor restored, leaned confidentially forward. "I expect Dumbledore likes that sort of thing. The grand epic struggle, you know."

Harry forced himself to laugh. "The dramatic secret, too! But he does seems a bit of a mind-reader, as well," he added seriously. "He can sense a lie."

Fudge shook his head. "The man just knows how to intimidate people into confessions, that's all. Can't tell a bit more than the rest of us."

Harry forced a grin. "Well, that's a relief!"

Fudge was still chuckling when the rapid hoofbeats slowed abruptly and the carriage drew to a swaying halt, forcing all the passengers to sit back to keep from pitching off their seats. Draco motioned, with a subtle downward press of his hand, for Harry to stay seated. The attendant opened the carriage, and Fudge left first. Draco made little shooing motions, and Harry followed. Draco emerged at his heels.

Harry didn't recognize where they were, at first. Glancing left, then right, down the street, he finally spotted a landmark. On the near corner stood the little bookstore he had been to last Hogsmeade weekend. They were on a Hogsmeade side street, in front of what looked like a rather grand house with lots of windows.

Fudge preened. "My favorite restaurant here. Reservation only, but I'm sure they won't mind adding another -- especially the Malfoy heir."

Harry noted the Minister's covetous glance in Draco's direction and barely bit back a growl. He had to look away to compose himself.


The restaurant seemed more like someone's private, very grand home, but with five generously spaced tables in the dining room. They were seated at the one in the front corner, which had excellent views of the formal gardens both before and beside the house. Two other tables were occupied: one by a clutch of elegantly dressed witches with high, tittering laughs, and one by two elaborately robed wizards, who seemed to be negotiating a business deal with an equally elaborately robed witch who did not laugh. All cast occasional discreet glances at the Minister for Magic and his young guests.

Fudge let Harry get through his soup with light talk of Quidditch and food. Harry had already tucked into his roast lamb before the Minister said anything objectionable.

"So, Harry --" the Minister cleared his throat -- "I have been reviewing your ... er... schedule...."

Harry looked up. "And?"

"I think that your studies could be more ... hm... productively focused. Care of Magical Creatures, for example -- not a course for young wizards of any ambition. Rather a working class pursuit, you know, for those that can't do better." He cleared his throat again. "And then you have Defense Against the Dark Arts, which is respectable enough in itself, but considering the instructor--"

"Oh, but Lupin's brilliant," Harry burst out, before he could restrain himself. He backpedaled at Draco's warning scowl. "A pity, of course, about his condition, but he is an admirable teacher, still. And it's my best subject. It always has been."

"You seem to excel at the matter whatever your instruction," Fudge soothed. "Still, I maintain that studying under a werewolf is inadvisable -- especially in the current political climate."

"I do understand your objection, sir--" Inwardly, Harry wanted to scream at Fudge for what he understood, but he restrained himself -- "but he can hardly attack me in class. I am quite careful to never be alone with him."

Draco's eyes widened in incredulity. He covered his reaction by looking down to cut a neat slice from his pheasant.

"Still -- people will talk, you know. It lends him a dangerous respectability...."

"They will talk even more if I change my subjects in the middle of term," Harry argued. "And the conclusions will not be complimentary -- to either of us. Shouldn't it wait until the change will be a little less conspicuous?"

Fudge sat back with a deep breath of satisfaction. "Of course," he conceded. "Any changes must wait until the end of term." He made a decisive cut across his steak. "We might cover for it with other changes," he suggested brightly. "I have been considering moving you out of Hogwarts entirely -- perhaps to the British Academy of Wizarding Knowledge."

"The what?"

"It's a smaller school," Fudge said. "A bit more ... selective. Far more suitable to encouraging your political development."

"But I'm not interested in politics."

Fudge laughed. "Politics, regardless, are interested in you -- it would be best if you had some skill in the arena. The Academy is in London, quite popular with diplomats' families, and less ... haphazardly staffed than Hogwarts. A better sort of pupil, too, on the whole."

Harry lost all his careful stratagems. He managed not to protest, but he could not say anything useful. Draco stepped in for him.

"An admirable position, Minister," he said respectfully, "but I am familiar with that school, and I hold that a more varied environment also has educational advantages."

Fudge smiled indulgently at him. "Enough to be worthwhile in your case, perhaps, but in Harry's?

"I have watched him here." Draco's tone was polite, but his head haughtily high. "Harry is developing into an accomplished coalition-builder, who has wide influence in three houses. A more homogenous environment might stifle that particular skill, don't you think?"

"I'm more worried about developing the skills he lacks."

"Personally, I favor specialization. His strengths are clear."

"And you'd miss him, I wager?" Fudge suggested.

Harry did not expect Draco to accept such an obvious deflection, but Draco nodded readily.

"I would be so bored! Please?" Draco's even, considered voice changed to a wheedling childish tone. "And think! He wouldn't have the benefit of my social experience."

Winning the argument, Harry remembered, was not Draco's goal. Draco was doing a fine job of displaying connections to Harry. That reminded him that he did not need to win the argument, either -- merely to prevent any immediate changes. Provided my father can manage to not get killed in the next three weeks, that is.

Talk turned to social experience, and Harry dredged up a few amusing stories of being a confused, Muggle-raised child suddenly placed in a wizarding world. It made him think of Arthur Weasley, attempting to use matches, which made it easy to take the matter lightly. He explained trying to crack the code of clothing and hair, and other things that the two of them would take for granted. To his surprise, he found he was once again managing to be entertaining.

"Honestly, Potter!" Draco exclaimed, while Fudge was chuckling over Harry's comment that he might as well be naked if he'd left off trousers. "No wonder you get along with the Mudbloods!"

Fudge flinched.

"Draco," Harry said warningly.

"Yes, I say there, mind your language." The Minister was casting furtive glances at the other diners, but if anyone had overheard, they were not reacting. Draco had turned quite pink.

"Sorry," he said faintly. He gestured slightly at the rich room about them. "It's ... it's like being home."

"And do you speak that way at home?" Fudge frowned slightly.

Draco's embarrassment faded into a slight amusement. "Of course we did, sir. What did you think my father would call them?"

"Well, I know he was more civil in public."

Harry had the suspicion that Draco's comment would have garnered only a smile in the carriage, and Fudge was quite accustomed to such slurs from Lucius in private. Draco merely shrugged.

"Well, there. Harry is good for my manners as well, then." He sent Harry a curiously shy look. Harry wondered if it meant anything, or if it was merely Draco's attempt to look like a contrite child. "He has a lot to learn, but I suppose I have a few things to unlearn."

Harry nodded fractionally -- an arrogant acknowledgement that caused Draco's eyes to widen. Harry's dignity broke, and they both laughed.

"Language aside, you have a point." Harry picked up his fork, again. "People do tend to socialize with people they can understand, you know."

Draco's pale eyebrows arched in polite disbelief. "Is that so? Than what on earth caused you and me to tolerate being in the same room?"

"Kerner Dark Detector," Harry whispered confidentially, and they laughed again. Fudge cleared his throat.

"Oh, sorry!" Harry said. "Our joke."

"Kerner...."

"Something Professor Lupin showed us."

Fudge looked at Draco in surprise. "You are studying under that ... creature, as well?"

"How many chances does one have to observe a werewolf at close quarters?" Draco returned lightly. He lifted his head. "Besides, Father had intended to have me drop the course once it was optional. I couldn't resist shocking everyone by staying in it."


When the Minister for Magic left the table, briefly, Draco lifted his eyebrows slightly and whispered, "I'm impressed."

Harry leaned across the table to lower his voice even more. "And I'm going to retch."

Draco's eyes flashed in warning. "Public, Harry."

Harry let his voice get louder and anxious. "Well, you grew up with it -- important people, I mean. I can't stop myself feeling nervous; he's the Minister for Magic!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Poor little dear." He winked at Harry. "Eat your lunch." He looked at the lamb. "Trust you to pick the most suburban dish on the menu, even here! Would you like to taste my pheasant?"


By the return trip to Hogwarts, Harry had consented to look at brochures for the British Academy of Wizarding Knowledge. He had carefully not promised to consent to a transfer, and Fudge had -- no doubt equally carefully -- not promised to comply with his wishes, but they were not outwardly in conflict. Harry had, he thought, managed to seem polite, focused on wizarding matters, and sophisticated enough for his age and class origins.

He felt deeply relieved as they stepped from the carriage. Fudge was meeting with McGonagall, next, to review his marks, and then with Dumbledore, and he would be eating dinner at the staff table, so other than protecting his face and minding his manners at dinner, Harry's ordeal was over. And, he thought, with Draco along, it hadn't been that bad. He leaned toward Draco as Fudge was exiting the carriage. "Thanks," he whispered.

They all had indoor destinations, which left them walking up the stairs together. Harry had just turned to shake hands with the Minister and wish him a pleasant visit when he heard Hermione call his name.

"There you are! Ron and I talked to Lupin and we've been looking all over--" she stopped abruptly as she recognized Fudge. "Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Minister. I hadn't realized--"

"Quite all right, my dear," Fudge said. He turned questioningly to the boys. "Harry?"

Harry realized that he was expected to introduce this girl who had run up to him. Furthermore, although Fudge might not like Draco's choice of words, Harry had no doubt the Minister favored purebloods of old houses. He smiled politely.

"Minister, this is Hermione Granger, one of my first friends in Gryffindor." He decided not to mention that she was his girlfriend, or to point out that she and Fudge had met before -- reminding Fudge of the night of Sirius Black's escape seemed like a bad idea. If Fudge started putting down Sirius, Harry knew he would yell back something inappropriately honest.

"Granger, is it?" Fudge looked her over as he shook her hand. "The Australian line?"

Hermione's face tightened. With a courtesy Harry recognized as dangerous, she said, "No sir. British. My parents are Muggles."

Harry shot Hermione a warning look and she glared back at him for a moment before returning her attention to Fudge. "A pleasure to meet you Minister. Now, I'm afraid I need to get back to my studies."

Fudge stared at her departing back. "Odd girl. A bit moody, is she?"

Although Harry would normally have agreed with that assessment of Hermione, a strange guilt at his complicity kept him silent. Draco had no such compunctions.

"Astoundingly. Hits pretty hard, too." He gave Harry a disarming grin, and then nodded politely at Fudge. "Thank you for the lovely lunch, Minister. I look forward to seeing you again." He took on a deliberately cocky stance. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I am expected at my victory party."

"Have fun." Harry managed to make the words light. Draco left. Harry said a polite goodbye to the Minister, took his brochures, and went off to look for Hermione.


He didn't find her, or Ron. Since he didn't want anybody figuring out why he looked a bit odd, he refrained from asking around Gryffindor, or walking in places with too many people. Instead, he went and studied up in the dormitory, thinking, as often before, that social problems were doing wonders for his marks, this year. He thought of Remus ("that creature," Fudge's voice echoed in his mind), hiding in the library for summer term of his sixth year. He felt a wave of distaste at the things he had accepted Fudge saying.

"I accomplished exactly what I intended to," he said aloud. It was true. It didn't make him feel any less lousy, and he didn't like his tone of voice, either. I wonder if Slytherins feel like this a lot, or if they just don't care. I wonder if Percy feels like this. He remembered the gleam in Percy's eyes as he'd taken notes at Dumbledore's "confession" the year before. No, he doesn't. Right then. Feeling guilty is a good sign. At least I know I'm being a heel. He decided he should apologize to Hermione as soon as he saw her -- unless that was at dinner, with Fudge still watching. And won't she be thrilled if I'm avoiding her at dinner!

Harry considered the problem. He needed to discuss strategy with the Quidditch team. If they did that at dinner, there wouldn't be a free seat near him, and Hermione wouldn't want to sit with them anyway, thus avoiding the entire issue. Cheerily, he went back to the common room to ask Iggy to pass on a message.


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