Draco was busy reading his book and safe behind the stone walls of the Slytherin common room, but he still heard the shout. He probably could have been upstairs in the Prefect’s bathroom and heard it there.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
Draco stared at the wall. He remembered the spell; it was the same spell that Potter had used on him, Vince, and Greg when they played that harmless prank of dressing up like Dementors to scare him on the Quidditch field. He wondered why in the world someone would be using it in the Hogwarts dungeons.
No, why Potter would be using it in the Hogwarts dungeons, he decided after a moment of thought. He was sure that he had recognized that shout.
“What was that?” Vince asked. He had been deep in reading his Charms book, his forehead furrowed the way it always was when he read, and he kept a finger in place beneath the line he had reached when he looked up.
“I don’t know,” Blaise said. He looked as if he might stand up from his comfortable sprawled position on the floor, his Astronomy notes spread out in front of him.
“It was Potter, no doubt trying to play a prank,” Draco said, rising swiftly to his feet. Blaise’s eyes darted to him, and Draco looked warningly back. He had no idea whether Blaise was among the Death Eaters. He’d never seen him at the meetings, but he was kept out of so much that was important that that meant next to nothing.
Resentment stirred in Draco, because he had to prove that he was the one who was worthy of the Dark Lord’s confidence. Besides, Blaise was always pushing, when he could, to take away Draco’s prominence among the sixth-year Slytherins. Draco might have an important task and his parents’ lives weighing on his mind at every waking moment, but he still had time for House politics. His father had always said that they mimicked the politics of the outer world that he would be involved in sooner or later, when he left Hogwarts and became important because he was a Malfoy.
“I’ll go and see if it was,” he continued, shaking his arm so that his wand sprang into his hand. Pansy gasped and looked impressed. Draco gave her a narrow smile and ignored the way Blaise rolled his eyes. What did it matter if Blaise was sick of his “pretensions,” as he called them, already? So long as he fooled most of the people most of the time, Draco didn’t care about the few stubborn personalities he couldn’t influence.
He opened the Slytherin common room door and stepped out into the dark corridor, listening intently. For some reason, he had expected to see Potter right away, but the shout must have come from around a corner. Draco started walking to the right.
Then Potter bolted around the corner, his eyes so distended and his face so white that Draco stopped walking in sheer dread. Potter seized him and spun him into the wall, then leaned in behind him and whispered harshly, “Stay still, Malfoy. And keep quiet if you can. I don’t want the Dementors getting distracted.”
Dementors. Draco shivered, frightened for more than one reason. What if the Dark Lord had got tired of waiting for Draco to find a way to let the Death Eaters in and ordered someone else in the school to have the Dementors clear the way? His parents would die, and Draco would never get the chance to prove himself.
He turned his head to the side in time to see Potter take up a guard position near the corner, his wand clutched tight in one trembling hand.
*
Harry peered ahead. He knew he was breathing too fast and that he might faint in a minute, but he couldn’t help himself. The Dementors he had faced in the corridor were—different, somehow, even though they had still scattered from the Patronus. Larger, and more white then grey, and with long fingers that had reached out and left glittering red welts covered with silver dust on Harry’s arms. Harry scrubbed them absently and hoped that Dementors couldn’t Kiss you with their hands.
He wondered if Malfoy was creeping up behind him, and hoped that for once the git would have the sense to stay where he was.
And then.
The Dementors’ fear washed over him, indicating that they were just on the other side of the corner. Harry stiffened his muscles to keep himself from running away or backing down. He had the Patronus Charm. Someone would come in a minute, because people would have heard his shout. He was in Hogwarts, and there were wards and professors around.
His imagination reminded him that the Dementors had managed to get inside Hogwarts despite all the wards and professors.
Harry saw the shadow of a reaching hand. He thrust his wand forwards and focused as hard as he could on the memory of Sirius saying that Harry could come to live with him.
“Expecto Patronum!” he shouted again, and his wand flared and the silvery stag bounded out.
But instead of rushing at the Dementors, it halted in the middle of the corridor and turned its head back and forth so that its antlers pointed at the walls. Harry watched it, open-mouthed. What was going on with it? Were these special kinds of Dementors able to come through the walls the way the basilisk had slithered through the pipes in them?
The stag stamped a hoof and glanced back at him. Then it turned to face him fully, ears twitching. It tilted its head back and forth, as if to say, Show me the enemy and I’ll charge it, but I don’t see the enemy.
Harry glanced down at the ground. The shadow of the Dementor’s hand had gone, and he couldn’t feel them now. But he knew he had felt it. He knew he’d seen them scatter from the charge of the first stag he’d conjured. And even Dementors shouldn’t be able to just vanish out of Hogwarts like that.
“Well, go on, find them,” he said, feeling more and more stupid as the stag just stood there and he could feel Malfoy’s stare sharpening from behind him.
The stag tossed its head up and down and gave what looked like a disgusted snort, though of course it couldn’t make any sound. Then it stood there considering him in a doubtful way.
Harry listened as hard as he could. Other than Malfoy’s muffled snickering, though, he couldn’t hear anything.
“Fine, go away,” he said, and slashed his wand down to banish the stag. It went, and Harry stepped forwards and peered into the corridor. Yes, no Dementors. It was empty. Harry ran a hand over his face and cursed under his breath.
“Potter? What are you doing?”
Harry twisted around to glare at Malfoy. “What do you know about Dementors being in the school, Malfoy?” he demanded. “Is this another one of your stupid tricks?”
Malfoy sneered at him and yet managed to look innocent at the same time. “Yes, Potter, because I have nothing better to do than get you in trouble…” His voice trailed off and he leaned forwards to peer at Harry. His eyes were thoughtful, and Harry thought he was getting curious, even though he didn’t know why.
Then he remembered that he hadn’t finished casting the face-altering charm, and even though he couldn’t be sure the glamour had worn away from when he’d cast it last week, it probably had.
Shite! Harry spun around to face the corner again. “Did you hear that?” he asked sharply.
“No,” Malfoy snapped. “Hear what?” But Harry could hear him breathing faster and listening anyway, not quite able to dismiss Harry’s reaction.
Harry fiercely whispered the incantation for the face-altering charm and relaxed as he felt it wash over his features in a tingling flood of cool magic. Then he turned back to Malfoy. It’s dim out here and he has other things to think about, he told himself. He’s probably not going to notice, or remember what he noticed.
“I thought I heard something,” he said. “I want to know what you were doing out here, Malfoy. Most people don’t walk towards the sound of battle—”
“Potter.”
As Snape appeared from behind Malfoy, Harry fought the temptation to bury his head in his hands and groan. I am so fucked.
*
Severus might have had to rely on Legilimency to get the truth out of Potter—the moment the boy recognized him, he had tightened his jaw and acted as though rusty hooks could drag nothing from him—but Draco was in the corridor and more than willing to tell him what spell Potter had cast, and why.
Severus had crouched over the stone where Potter had claimed Dementors were and whispered a spell that would reveal traces of their passing as small silver marks. The light had not come. Severus cast the spell again to be sure; Potter was sensitive to Dementors, and not likely to mistake their presence.
Nothing.
That left three possibilities: that Potter had made up the whole thing to justify his insatiable desire to cause trouble; that the Dark Lord was sending visions to Potter again, though why he should wish to send a vision of Dementors Severus did not know; or the boy had finally gone mad and was going to bring all of them down in an apocalyptic crash because he did not have the manners or good sense to go quietly mad after the war was over.
Severus sent Draco back to his common room with a few sharp words. The boy bowed his head and went quietly enough, but the glance he darted at Potter was sharp with curiosity. Severus was glad that most people in the school would know of Potter’s detention by now. At least Draco would not question why Potter was in the dungeons in the first place.
He might question any number of other things, though, and Severus told Potter several of them in a low hiss as he escorted (perhaps prodded would be a better word) the boy to the Headmaster’s office.
“Do you want Draco Malfoy to begin spreading rumors that you are mad?” he asked Potter as they rode the moving staircase up. He would ordinarily have preserved a dignified silence, but the boy’s locked jaw and refusal to look directly at him were provoking beyond endurance. Five minutes out of my presence and he must be in trouble. “What he knows, Lucius Malfoy will, and what Lucius Malfoy knows is the Dark Lord’s.”
Potter gave him a slight, sarcastic smile and then turned to study the wall sliding past them as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Severus’s fingers crooked, but he did not grip and shake the idiot’s shoulder. Nothing that will leave visible bruises. The one he has on his leg from the moment when he tried to resist and ignore me is bad enough.
“You should not have lingered in the dungeons,” Severus said.
The boy tensed at that, but still didn’t reply, not even with the defense that Severus was sure he would have come out with: that the Dementors had attacked before he could get far from Severus’s office. And then they reached the top of the staircase and Severus had to knock on Albus’s door, with no more private time for trying to fathom Potter’s stubborn silence.
I need not worry about a death from spying, that is certain, Severus thought as he listened to Albus’s cheery call to enter. The boy will melt my brain with anxiety long before then.
“An uncertain pleasure, but not an unexpected one,” Albus said, when he saw them. He gave his head an admonishing shake and glanced at Potter. “My dear boy, could you not at least try to stay out of trouble until the second day of classes?”
Potter sighed and spent a moment fumbling with his fringe before he looked up. “I’m sorry, Headmaster,” he said quietly.
Spite went through Severus like a wasp’s sting. How was it that Albus could convince the boy to respond to him within a few seconds, and Severus had to hammer on his emotional shields for minutes before they fell? Even when he tried to offer him help that the boy would need to defeat the Dark Lord, it seemed that Potter refused to see the good in such an offer.
Then perhaps you should change your tactics.
That was not a voice Severus heard often anymore: the voice of his own mockery, turned back on him when he made a mistake. It had spoken often in his younger years, when he had required its advice, but for the last decade, he had taken only the most effective and necessary actions, and ceased to require its presence.
He had thought.
He grimaced and settled back into the corner to observe Potter’s interaction with Albus, content that no one was paying him enough attention to notice such things as the grimace.
*
“What happened, Harry?”
Harry glanced up, measuring, but Dumbledore’s face was nothing like the cold and distant expression he had worn last year. He leaned forwards and raised a hand slightly as if he would hold Snape back from charging forwards and wrenching Harry’s arm. Not that Snape had tried to do anything like that yet, but Harry was sure that he would, if someone wasn’t there to stop him. Uncle Vernon sure wouldn’t hesitate.
“I saw Dementors in the school, sir,” he said. “Ones in white cloaks, with longer hands than normal.” He swallowed and glanced down at his arm. He would have said something about the marks they’d left on him, but he saw now that they’d vanished. He would have been stupid to mention it. “And I sent my Patronus after them, and they scattered. Then I went around the corner, and Malfoy was there. But when I cast the Patronus again, they’d vanished.”
Dumbledore glanced over Harry’s head at Snape. Snape must have mouthed something or rolled his eyes, because Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Harry glared back at Snape. Snape simply sneered at him.
“I felt no Dementors break through the wards of the school,” Dumbledore said gently. “And there is no trace of their presence in the dungeons for those who can detect such things. Is there anything else it may have been, Harry? Perhaps some Dark creature that looks similar to a Dementor?’
“There’s no Dark creature that looks similar to a Dementor!” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him in turn, and Harry became abruptly aware that he was shouting and being rude. He coughed and tried to ignore the way his cheeks flushed. Snape was probably enjoying it, the bastard. “Sir,” he added. “I don’t think so.”
“And did you react the way that you usually do when a Dementor is around?” Dumbledore asked calmly. “I am only asking these questions because I believe that your answers may help us to work out what happened,” he added.
Harry thought about it. Then he sighed. “No, sir,” he whispered. “I didn’t hear my mother’s scream or—or anything like that.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Then this is something else, but that does not mean it is not powerful and dangerous in its own right,” he said. “I would like you to begin Occlumency lessons again, Harry, at your own discretion. I believe that Voldemort may be reaching through your scar and trying to distract you or influence your perceptions.”
Harry nodded. His scar didn’t burn, but maybe Voldemort had learned how to get around that.
He wanted to say that he knew what he had seen, and that Dementors had really been in the school, but the more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Why would Voldemort bother sending Dementors who didn’t Kiss anyone? Not enough people could cast the Patronus Charm to keep them all away if hundreds of them came into the school. And then more people would come after them, Death Eaters and probably Voldemort himself.
“I’ll try, sir,” he said. “I’m sure Hermione can help me find a book on Occlumency.” He heard Snape snort, and gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore him. Like I’m going to come to you again and beg you to teach me, arsehole.
“Good.” Dumbledore reached out to a bowl of yellow sweets on the desk, and his sleeve fell away from his arm. Harry stared when he realized that a thick scar encircled his skin towards the elbow, shiny pink lines that reflected the light of his fire.
Dumbledore followed his gaze and sighed gently. When he spoke, his voice was sad but firm. “We must all pay our tolls in this war, Harry,” he said. “I fear that your burden is heavier than I would want anyone to carry, but I must ask you to bear it for a bit longer. I have already destroyed one powerful Dark artifact that belonged to Voldemort, and this was the price. The next time I go after such a thing, I will take proper precautions.”
He leaned forwards again, holding Harry’s eyes with his. “I promise,” he said, his voice so soft that it sounded like the words of a vow, “you will not have to bear that burden for much longer. And I will do what I can to lighten it, by taking away all the chains which might increase it.”
Harry didn’t think a deaf person could have missed his emphasis on “chains,” and he looked to the side because Dumbledore was looking there, too. On a shelf among a few of Dumbledore’s silver instruments was a heavy golden locket on a chain. Harry thought he could see an S on the front, but maybe that was wishful thinking; it was most of the room away, and his eyes were starting to squint, he was so tired.
As if he could sense that, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and said, “Go back to your common room, Harry. I will trust you to keep me apprised of any future developments.” He looked straight into Harry’s eyes, and now he wasn’t smiling. “And not to take chances, and in general to conduct yourself like a rational adult. If we are going to be comrades in this war, I must insist on it.”
Harry felt his spine straighten. That was the best thing about Dumbledore: when he was paying attention to you and speaking about his confidence in you, then you felt as if you really could do anything.
“Yes, sir,” he said firmly, and marched away and out of the room when Dumbledore nodded to him, ignoring Snape. He wasn’t going back to the common room, of course; he had a meeting of the D.A. to attend. But at least he knew that Dumbledore trusted him again and didn’t blame him for what had happened in the Ministry last year.
*
The moment the door shut behind Potter, Albus slumped in his chair and closed his eyes. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow, and Severus moved immediately to his side, checking the scar around his arm.
The most powerful diagnostic charms he knew did not reveal anything amiss, however, and at last he took a step back and stared at Albus in perplexity. “What is wrong?” he asked. “I thought I had removed the poison.”
“You did.” Albus opened his eyes and gave Severus a grim smile. “It’s my most recent battle that’s weakened me, not that one.” He glanced at the golden locket he had shown Potter.
Severus studied it warily. He could feel a residual tinge of Dark magic, the kind that might come from being stored with cursed books. “I did not realize the Dark Lord was clever enough to conceal strong weapons under weakness,” he murmured.
Albus shook his head. “It’s harmless now.” Weariness coated every word. “It didn’t wound me this time. But I had to contain and then drain the Dark magic from it, and it was…fatiguing.”
“Yes, it would be,” Severus said, speaking sharply to disguise his worry. “Headmaster, what are these artifacts?”
“That is knowledge that I’m afraid I don’t trust outside my own head as yet, Severus.” Albus spoke in the same tone he’d used to inform Severus that the Marauders would not be expelled from Hogwarts for what they’d done. Severus clenched his teeth. Albus added after a moment. “I wish you to concentrate on building your bond with young Harry for the present. Did you notice anything different about him?”
“Yes,” Severus growled. “Over the summer he seems to have concentrated all his stubbornness in his ungrateful brain.”
Albus studied him thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips. Then he said, “Well. Perhaps you are right.”
Severus shifted uneasily. He had the feeling that Albus was hiding something from him, something far worse than the nature of the artifacts that the Dark Lord had accumulated, but he had no idea what.
*
“Harry! There you are!”
Harry grinned and waved to Hermione as he entered the Room of Requirement. Ron stood next to her, and Harry forced himself to say casually, “Hi, you lot,” before he looked around the room to see how many people had come.
More than last year, Harry felt his heart rise as he counted sixteen Hufflepuffs and twelve Ravenclaws—and what looked like the whole of the Gryffindor sixth, seventh, and fifth years. He took a deep breath, Dumbledore’s words running in his head. I’ll have to be strong for them. I’ll have to be a leader for them. I can’t afford to waste time worrying about my own stupid personal problems, like Snape being my bloody father.
“Where were you?” Ron demanded, drawing his wand. “We expected you an hour ago.”
“Sodding Snape,” Harry said, and saw Ron nod understandingly. He turned to face the rest of the crowd. “Right,” he said. “I think the first thing you need to know is how to do a proper Shield Charm.” Obscurely, he felt as though he needed to show Snape that lots of people could do Defense right if they were just taught right, and that Harry’s talent in Defense wasn’t anything extraordinary.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” said one of the Ravenclaw girls, her eyes wide and frightened. She nibbled her lip and looked towards the door. “I mean, isn’t it very advanced magic?”
“Everyone fourth year and above should be able to do it,” Harry said. “Watch me.” He took up a crouching stance, as though someone was trying to hurl a hex at him—because most of the time, someone would be—and moved his wand through the right motions. “Protego!”
Several people gasped as the silvery shield popped up in front of him, and Harry thought they were watching the magic instead of his hand. But the Ravenclaw girl relaxed into a smile. “I think I can do that,” she said.
“Good.” Harry nodded to Hermione and Ron, both of whom had showed him last night that they knew how to do perfectly good Shield Charms. “Ron, take everyone standing over to the right. Hermione, take the ones in the middle, and I’ll work with the people on the left.”
Hermione, beaming, moved to take up her position. Ron strutted over to the group Harry had assigned to him. Harry saw Lavender Brown, who was in the group, blush and smile at Ron. Harry rolled his eyes.
Some people just don’t have enough to think about, he decided, before he started showing the incantation and wand movements again to people who were probably never going to learn it in the Git with a Superiority Complex’s class.
*
Draco lay awake in bed, frowning at the ceiling. His memories of the moments when Potter had pushed him into the wall and yelled at him, then stood facing imaginary Dementors, were fragmented and confused by adrenaline and fear. And then Professor Snape had come around the corner and yelled at him, which was enough to put anyone off being able to pull minute details up in front of their mind’s eye.
But Draco was sure he had seen something different about Potter in the short time he’d been looking him in the face.
What, though? He still had two eyes—more’s the pity—and that stupid scar and that shaggy hair that looked as if he never took care of it. So it couldn’t be anything obvious. But anything small probably wasn’t worth the time and mental effort that he was devoting to it.
Draco shut his eyes and told himself to go to sleep, so that he could find some way to snatch time for going to the Room of Hidden Things in the morning.
But the image of Potter’s face chased him into his dreams, and the single, unanswered question that seemed to grow more urgent the more he ignored it.
What was different?
Details and Differences
To be continued...