The following week, when Harry next had occasion to come across Draco, it seemed that the other boy’s mood had only worsened. Harry had been hoping that the incident in the corridor after his detention was just a symptom of a particularly bad day, but Draco was still in a truly foul mood come Monday. As Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way down to the area by Hagrid’s Hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, he found himself watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. He was stalking down the grassy hill at a noticeable distance from the other Slytherins, staring pointedly at the ground with a scowl affixed to his face. Draco’s cheeks were also rather pink and flushed, which Harry knew as a surefire sign he was particularly angry or upset about something.
As the hill began to level out, Ron tripped and stumbled forward, cursing under his breath. Harry jumped out and caught his arm before he fell flat on his face.
“Steady on!”
“It’s these bloody robes,” Ron muttered angrily, his ears reddening. “My old ones are too short, but Bill was way taller than me at this age, so…”
“Can’t afford a decent tailor, Weasley?” Draco laughed scornfully. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I'd be hard-pressed to call those rags 'robes', though…”
“Don’t,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
“Shut it, Malfoy,” Hermione added angrily.
Ron didn’t respond for a moment, but when he did, his words were spat like thumbtacks. “You’re one to talk, Malfoy! I may be poor, but compared to you I’m up to my ears in Galleons!”
“You’re worthless, Weasel,” Draco growled, taking a step forward. “You and that wretched, dimwit father of yours -”
“At least my father doesn’t have a badly-hidden basement full of Dark Magic!” Ron said scornfully. “Why don’t you hurry up and join darling daddy in Azkaban already?”
Malfoy had his wand out in a flash. “Flipendo!”
Ron was thrown backwards across the grass, and landed about ten feet away with an audible thump. Ron started scrambling to his feet, but before he could react, Hermione pounced. “Petrificus totalus!”
Malfoy’s arms snapped to his sides and he fell backwards, stiff as a board, sneer still vivid upon his face. Hermione examined him haughtily as she tucked her wand away and brushed down her robes. “You’re pathetic, Malfoy.”
Harry said nothing. He had never felt so lost.
Hermione began to walk away from his frozen form, and Harry found himself able to act again. He scrambled up the hill and quickly helped up the red-faced Ron.
“He,” Ron panted, “is a git.”
Harry gave a vague grunt in response as he handed Ron his schoolbag. After all, nothing Ron had just said was false, because Draco was being a complete git. Insulting Ron and picking a fight for no reason was just downright mean. He should have the right to defend himself…
So why did Harry feel weirdly conflicted?
As they quickened their pace to rejoin the class, Harry could hear a few Slytherins laughing as they gathered around Draco’s frozen form. He assumed they’d release the spell on their classmate but, to his surprise, none of them made a move to do so. The closer he got, the more audible their voices became.
“Did you really just get bested by Granger, Draco?” Parkinson said with a giggle. “How sad!”
“Leave him here,” Goyle grunted. “It’ll be a right laugh.”
Several more Slytherins snickered and began to move away, excluding the one boy who hadn’t laughed at Draco last week when he’d been attacked by Buckbeak. Even he didn’t look particularly impressed.
“You shouldn’t start fights you know you won’t win, Draco,” he said, so quietly that Harry could only make it out because he was just passing by the two of them. “Being sloppy doesn’t suit you.”
He, too, stalked away. Harry couldn’t help but glance back at Draco on his way past.
Ron did, too, but only smirked. “Never thought I’d be agreeing with Slytherins, but I think we ought to let him sit there for a minute, too.”
“Er - alrigh’, everyone!” Hagrid called uncertainly. Harry cast one final glance towards Draco before heading over to where Hagrid was standing, looking incredibly unsure of himself. At least Hagrid would notice and sort this all out…
But Hagrid was incredibly distracted during their lesson. He kept losing his train of thought mid sentence and circled them anxiously as they tended to the flobberworms. He even forgot to take the register, so Draco’s absence wasn’t noted. When Ron and Hermione weren’t looking, Harry repeatedly cast glances over his shoulder to the obscured spot where Draco was still lying. No one had found him…
And when the lesson concluded, all of the Slytherins rushed past him without a second glance. Since Harry, Ron and Hermione had lingered back for a minute to check in on Hagrid, who was still rather teary and scared he’d be sacked at any moment, they were the last ones to go past him. Would anyone else go past and see Draco’s frozen, supine form? How long could he be stuck out here if someone didn’t do something?
Harry, after a moment of intense conflict, bit his lip, pointed his wand at Draco and whispered, “Finite incantatem.”
He began to hurry up the hill quickly. Ron gave him an indignant look. “What did you do that for?”
“It’s been an hour, we can’t just leave him there!” Harry said. “What if something in the forest came out and ate him? Besides, you don't want Hermione getting in trouble for hexing him, do you?"
“If you were in his shoes he’d leave you there, Harry,” Ron said shortly.
“Yeah, but we aren’t like Malfoy,” Harry pointed out. “That’s the whole point. We shouldn’t do things he’d do - don’t be an arse, Ron.”
“I still don’t know how you put up with him this summer, Harry,” Hermione said sympathetically. "Especially with Professor Snape added to the mix. He must have favoured Malfoy terribly!"
Harry let out a vague grunt and didn’t respond. She was right to a degree, since Snape had spent the first week favouring Malfoy to a ridiculous extent, but he had stopped eventually, at the very least…
Harry sighed. He wished he could go to Snape about all this, now - Harry was having the growing realisation that he really needed some help here.
As he thought more about the incident before lessons, though, Harry had an abrupt realisation. Even though Draco was clearly angry with him, why hadn’t any of his insults been directed at Harry? The last two years, the nasty comments towards Ron and Hermione had generally been directed to them in their capacity as extensions of Harry, since Harry and Draco were the main ones with the rivalry.
Today was different, though. He’d pointedly and directly come after Ron, and he’d largely ignored Harry’s presence. What could that possibly mean?
And why, even after Draco had attacked Ron, had Harry remained frozen in place with his wand in his pocket, when normally he’d be straight into the fray to defend his friend?
“D’you reckon Snape heard about Neville’s boggart, and the dress?” Ron whispered as they descended into the dungeons on Thursday.
“Oh, I hope not,” Hermione said with a visible wince. “He’s horrid enough to Neville as it is…”
Harry, who had told Snape about the boggart himself, wisely said nothing. He wasn’t in much of a mood to talk, at any rate. This was his first Potions lesson since his discussion with Snape during detention, and he was on pins and needles waiting to see if the man would behave differently. They were set to brew a Confusing Concoction, and Snape barked out their instructions with the usual stern tones he used. Well, Harry had said he wasn’t expecting the man to turn into Professor Sprout…
About half an hour in, though, Snape whipped around to Neville’s desk. “Longbottom!”
Neville violently jumped back, dropping the yarrow leaves he was holding onto the floor. Snape pointed at them. “You are supposed to use borage leaves first, boy, not yarrow! Fix it!”
Neville remained frozen in place, tense, clearly anticipating the usual stream of vitriol that would accompany a failure in Potions, but Snape simply swept away without another word. Neville stared after him, mouth slightly agape, like he couldn’t believe that was it. Only a hurried nudge from Hermione startled him into action, and he began hurriedly chopping his borage leaves.
So Snape really was taking on what Harry said. He smiled to himself, a facial expression he was fairly certain he’d never made in a Potions lesson before. That smile did fade slightly when Snape reminded Harry that he still had a detention that evening but granted, he was still rather happy. Progress was progress.
Ron frowned at Harry as they walked out of the classroom. “I thought you only had two detentions with him?”
Harry grimaced. “I got another one during detention.”
“That’s completely unfair!” Ron said indignantly. “He shouldn’t just be layering them on like that!”
“No, I kind of had it coming,” Harry said. “I yelled at him and told him he wasn’t worthy of respect, so -”
“Harry!” Hermione scolded. “You didn’t!”
Harry pulled a face and didn’t reply.
“You need to start reigning it in!” Hermione said severely. “You keep shouting at him, Harry, and you’re just going to get yourself in more trouble!”
With a disapproving look at Harry, she flounced on ahead.
“I think you should listen to her, mate,” Ron said in a low voice. “You don’t want to be on Snape’s bad side…”
“Well, he’s definitely going to make me regret it all this evening,” he said with a sigh.
Harry, of course, was correct. Snape decided to make Harry scrub the floor beneath one of the workbenches for his punishment. A Hufflepuff had spilled flobberworm guts there earlier that morning, a fact which Snape took great pleasure in informing him. Over the course of the day, it had hardened and was nearly impossible to scrub off. By the time he was done, Harry’s shoulders were tense and aching. Well, his last detention had just entirely been talking. Harry had gotten off rather lightly so far, all things considered.
He worked in silence, since Snape pointedly ignored any of the conversational questions that Harry posed. It was only when he went to leave the classroom at the conclusion of the detention that Snape spoke.
“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t mind seeing you outside of a disciplinary meeting, Harry.”
He cast a look over his shoulder and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind, either. Bye, sir.”
In a far better mood than was warranted post-detention, Harry walked out of the classroom, rolling his aching shoulders. He winced, realising that he still had to write his Herbology essay that was due tomorrow morning in this state. That was not going to be very fun… but maybe Hermione would take pity on him and let him copy some of hers? No, Harry doubted she would. Hermione had spent most of dinner lecturing him about the idiocy of goading Snape, and certainly wouldn’t be feeling all that sympathetic about him facing the repercussions of losing his evening to a well-deserved detention.
Harry was just beginning to debate the merits of lying and saying he’d forgotten his essay in Gryffindor Tower, since Professor Sprout was more sympathetic than most and likely to just take points instead of assigning detention, when he heard raised voices coming from nearby.
“Take that, Malfoy!”
“Look, Pucey, I just -”
There was a thudding noise, a loud groan, and raucous laughter, bouncing off the stone walls. Recognising Draco’s voice, an alarmed Harry hurried forward and peered a head around the corner. He spotted it at once - two Slytherin boys had Draco pinned against the dungeon walls.
“Is your father going to hear about this, Draco?” Pucey jeered, a sneer on his face. “Oh, wait - you can’t tell him much anymore, can you?”
Draco, strangely enough, didn’t respond. His face was flushed, and there was a bruise blooming under his eye. He looked defeated and utterly miserable.
Harry stepped forwards and shouted, “Petrificus totalus!”
The other boy with Pucey fell forwards instantly, but before Harry could hit Pucey himself with the spell, he had his wand out. A dark orange jet of light that looked rather nasty flew over Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to duck. Harry shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
To the immense shock of both Harry and Pucey, the spell landed. Pucey’s wand flew out of his hand and down the dark dungeon corridor. He swore under his breath and hurried after it. Draco also started running, but in the opposite direction. Harry followed, not particularly feeling up to a duel with an older and more experienced wizard. Besides, he really wanted to talk to Draco…
It took him a while to catch up, in the darkest and most twisted portion of the dungeon. “Draco, please stop!”
He whirled around, lips pressed into a thin white line.
“I’m really sorry, okay?” Harry said, holding his hands out. “I know that letter wasn’t nice, and the stuff I said about you in Flourish and Blotts really wasn’t, but can’t we try and move on? We’ve both done nasty stuff to each other before, way worse stuff, so can’t we please get past this?”
“No. We can’t.” Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry. “You’re the one who ruined my life!”
“I did not -”
“Don’t lie!” Draco’s wand was levelled directly at Harry’s throat. There was something dark and wild in his eyes. “Are you forgetting about the trapdoor to my basement Weasley mentioned? The one from the letter?!”
Harry’s mouth went dry.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Draco’s voice was cold. “That my father stored his Dark artefacts down there. Admit it!”
The last two words were shouted and with them, Draco drove the wand hard into Harry’s throat. There was no point denying it, so he simply nodded, feeling bitterly ashamed.
“How?!” Draco bellowed. “No one knew except for the family, how the hell did you find out?”
“Because you told me yourself!” Harry shouted. “I - I heard you talking about it! So you can stop blaming me for all of this when it’s your own bloody fault it got out!”
Something seemed to die in Draco’s face. The anger was overshadowed by a dark and pained expression that reminded Harry of the look on Snape’s face whenever he brought up Lily.
The hand pointing a wand into Harry’s throat went slack, releasing some of the pressure on his breathing. He went to step forward, but Draco roughly pushed Harry back up against the wall so hard that his head smacked roughly into the cobblestone and spun stars into his vision.
“I hate you,” Draco growled, every syllable dripping with venom. He practically sprinted down the corridor while Harry rubbed the goose egg that was rapidly forming on the back of his head with a wince. He didn’t bother following - Draco’s words had punctured him.
Harry wondered when the simple fact of Draco Malfoy hating him had become so painful to hear. He wondered why the other boy’s vehement words, which he so obviously meant, made Harry’s throat grow tight and scratchy.
Despite himself, Draco’s behaviour continued to get Harry down. His friends instantly picked up on his foul mood - Hermione stopped with her silent condemnation and allowed Harry to copy bits of her homework, while Ron loudly told Harry not to let the greasy git get him down. Even though Snape was not the one Harry was annoyed with, he at least appreciated the sentiment.
He didn’t tell them about the confrontation with Draco in the dungeons, though. There was something so painfully personal about it all, and he knew that Ron and Hermione would get very angry on Harry’s behalf. He didn’t deserve their sympathy, though. Harry was the reason Draco’s parents were locked up in Azkaban. It was no wonder Draco hated Harry, even if the Malfoys deserved to be in prison…
He wished things were different. As time went on, he missed Draco’s company more and more.
Even though Harry was determined not to talk about Draco to his friends, to his shock Hermione ended up raising the topic two days after his confrontation in the dungeons.
“Something’s rather odd about Malfoy at the minute,” she remarked, struggling to stuff a stack of textbooks into her backpack.
Harry jerked his head up sharply. “Oh?”
“He’s constantly in the library nowadays,” she said. “He never reads any books, though. I was going to do some further reading for Muggle Studies and found him holed up in the archive section, reading through all of these old copies of the Daily Prophet. I see him there almost every day, now.”
Harry frowned. “Weird.”
What on earth could Draco want with a bunch of dusty old newspapers? He’d never shown any sort of specific interest in history - in fact, he lamented his History of Magic homework over the summer with as much frequency as Harry did - so what would he be going through an archive of old newspapers for?
“I’m heading there now - I’ll let you know if I see him again,” Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Harry thought it was a wonder she didn’t topple over from the weight of it.
Ron frowned. “Malfoy doesn’t give you any trouble, does he?”
“No - I doubt he even realises I’m there,” Hermione explained, heading towards the portrait hole. “He’s too focused.”
“I wonder what he’s up to,” Ron said.
“Same,” Harry said thoughtfully.
The two of them headed out of Gryffindor Tower moments later, in pursuit of an early lunch that could delay the start to their homework. Moments before Harry could enter the Entrance Hall, though, he heard someone make a derisive, irritated sound from behind him. Harry stopped talking, turned around and felt his heart sink. Draco was staring at him and Ron, eyes glittering with hatred.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potty and the Weasel.”
Ron scowled. “Clear off, Malfoy!”
Draco raised his eyebrows into an expression of mock horror. “Oh, of course! I shan’t get in the way of the great Harry Potter and his little minion! Apparently, having a nasty great slash on your head makes you special nowadays…”
“Shut up,” Harry growled through gritted teeth. Draco knew how much he hated his fame now, and his choice to go back to the old insults really rankled.
“You think you’re such a hero, don’t you, Potter?” Draco spat, taking a step forward. “You just think you’re so perfect, and so important, always swooping in where you’re not wanted, famous little git -”
“Hey, just leave off!” Ron said angrily. Harry was too angry to speak, and he didn’t understand why. Draco normally wasn’t able to rile him up this easily.
“But you’re not really special at all, are you, Potter?” Draco said softly, his face inches from Harry’s and filled with an almost manic focus. “I know you’re not the brave little hero everybody thinks you are! Not anymore. No, I know every single one of your pathetic little secrets…”
Hot, boiling fury coursed through Harry like poison. Draco’s remark about Harry’s ‘pathetic little secrets’ could be in reference to any number of things that Draco had found out about, and every single possibility sickened him. He was throwing the Dursleys back in Harry’s face! He couldn’t believe Draco would even dare -
And before Harry could think twice, his wand was out. Malfoy needed to learn when to shut the hell up. “Veruccus!”
Draco shrieked as Harry’s spell hit him in a blast of yellow light. Oozing green pustules popped up all over his face and hands. Enraged, Draco’s wand was levelled at Harry, a spell on his lips. “Flipendo!”
Harry’s legs flew out from under him and he hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Draco’s face was alight with fury, and his wand was pointed at Harry, prepared for another curse before he got to his feet -
But Ron jumped in front of Harry and bellowed, “Rictusempra!”
While Harry found his feet, the two of them shot countless hexes and jinxes, half of which didn’t hit. Still, by the time Harry rejoined the fray, Ron had leeks growing out of his ears, and Draco had grown horns. Harry stood next to Ron and began to carry on the onslaught of spells.
Draco seemed to realise he was outnumbered, and quickly threw up a Shield Charm moments after Harry and Ron sent twin hexes. When they bounced, the jet of green light that Ron had shot at Draco hit Harry, the force knocking him from his feet once again. Icy sweat instantly layered over Harry’s skin, and his stomach gave an uncomfortable, twisting lurch. An awful nauseous feeling churned in his gut. It felt like the time Harry had eaten rotten food out of the Dursleys’ bin, and hadn’t been able to keep any of it down…
Harry was feeling so awful that he didn’t realise right away that the fighting between Draco and Ron had stopped. Before he could even glance up and work out why that was, a hand seized Harry’s collar in an iron grip and yanked him to his feet. It was Snape, Harry realised, struggling to hold back a groan of displeasure. His face was livid and white, dark eyes popping with fury.
“What on earth do you all think you’re doing?!” he shouted, eyes flitting between Draco, Harry and Ron. He shook Harry slightly. “Well?”
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t get a word out. The nausea he’d been experiencing had been significantly worsened by Snape shaking him around like that, and he really felt quite sick now. Harry opened his mouth again to attempt an explanation, but proceeded to vomit slugs onto Snape's shoes.
If Harry had thought that Snape was angry before, it was nothing compared to the look on his face when he shakily raised his head again. This was new levels of fury even he had not touched, judging by the vein bulging in Snape’s forehead and the snarling curl of his lips.
He jabbed a finger at Draco, who also looked rather worse for wear. “You. My office. Now.”
As Draco fearfully scurried away, Snape’s apoplectic face turned back to Harry. He begged the slugs to remain in his stomach. “You. Hospital Wing. I’ll deal with you later.” He conjured up a bucket and shoved it at Ron so hard he stumbled backwards. “Weasley, take him.”
Snape spun on his heel and stalked into the dungeons after Draco. Harry quickly snatched the bucket from Ron as more slugs came up.
Ron put an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”
There were several things about vomiting up slugs that Ron had not deigned to mention the year before.
Number one: the taste. There had once been a time where Dudley had forcefed Harry a worm, and it had been so thoroughly disgusting that Harry’s accidental magic had turned him oily and slippery, so he was able to wriggle away from his cousin’s clutches to spit the worm out and escape. This, however, was not something Harry could fix with accidental magic when the slugs had already made their way into his stomach. Every time he threw up, a layer of slime lingered in his mouth. Harry was going to brush his teeth for hours after this.
Number two: it was not particularly easy to vomit up some of the slugs, given their size. Harry occasionally felt them getting stuck in the back of his throat, which was thoroughly awful.
But none of this could compare to number three, the worst part: the slugs were alive. Harry could not understand why his stomach acid hadn’t killed the slugs yet, but he was cursed with the sensation of the creatures slithering around inside his gut, sending awful shivers through him and only worsening the nausea. It was such an awful feeling that it almost made the unpleasant process of repeatedly sicking up worth it, since at least that meant the slugs were getting out.
Unfortunately for Harry, there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do for him just yet. Apparently, the best course of action was to wait for the worst of the vomiting to subside so that potions could be properly absorbed by Harry’s body. At least, that was what he thought she’d said. Harry was too busy vomiting slugs to want to listen to potion explanations, or the chiding lecture from Madam Pomfrey that accompanied it about fighting.
“Ron?” Harry muttered. “That bloody spell never goes right for you, so maybe pick something else next time?”
Ron, whose own afflictions had been fixed with two minutes of spellwork, grimaced. “I’m really sorry, mate.”
Harry just groaned and leaned his head against the rim of the bucket, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the slugs within.
“Malfoy really ought to get it for what he did,” Ron growled. “And that stuff he was saying to you, Harry! What the hell is his problem?!”
“Good bloody question,” Harry grumbled. He was still furious at Draco, not least because he was partially responsible for Harry’s slug situation, but also because of those horrid comments he’d made. Any regret about what he’d done to start this whole mess was rather limited after that.
He heard something being set down on the table next to him. Harry looked up and saw Madam Pomfrey with three potions.
“Do you think you can stomach these yet?” she asked briskly. “They’ll kill the slugs and stop the vomiting.”
Harry, who was so desperate to stop the slugs moving, enthusiastically gulped down the potions with no mind to their foul taste. The one that supposedly killed the slugs burned like lava, but Harry was undeterred. He would do anything to make this stop.
He’d just finished drinking the last one when the doors to the Hospital Wing flew open. Snape stalked over in a flurry of black robes, face grim. His eyes landed on Ron, and he pointed a finger at the doors. “Out, Weasley.”
Ron looked like he was going to protest, but a second quelling look from Snape sent him on his way. Madam Pomfrey tutted at Harry and bustled away to her office. Snape folded his arms and looked down his nose at Harry, who was still feeling thoroughly miserable.
“These are well-deserved consequences, you know,” Snape announced. “Maybe this experience will at last put you off fighting, although I don’t hold out much hope…”
Harry glared at Snape, propping his head up on his hands. "How many detentions am I getting?"
"A question for Professor McGonagall. Your Head of House deals with matters of this nature."
Harry wasn't sure if that was better or worse than Snape punishing him. The man could be rather strict. Still, it surprised him Snape hadn't wanted to take things into his own hands -
"But as your guardian, I still want to have a conversation about what just happened."
Ah, a lecture. Of course…
"This ends now," Snape growled, looking remarkably angry. "I thought that at your age you finally had the capacity to navigate your own relationships, so I was trying to leave you and Draco to resolve this obvious rift alone. Once again, however, I find myself forced to micromanage you like children! What have you fallen out about this time?"
Harry didn't respond. He stared at his shoes and bit down on his lip. He couldn't tell Snape about the letter, Flourish and Blotts, and everything that had happened as a consequence. He'd be unbearably disappointed…
"Harry." Snape's hand clamped onto Harry's shoulder. He glanced up, startled, and saw Snape's eyes were narrowed and stormy. "Tell me what is wrong now. I want this to be fixed and behind us.”
"There's no point," Harry said miserably, wrapping his arms around his middle. His stomach ached from the slugs and the potions and the horrible, gnawing sadness in his core. "It can’t be fixed! I ruined everything."
"I highly doubt it," Snape remarked. "Explain yourself instead of talking in riddles, please."
"Fine." Harry took a shuddering breath and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "You guys wouldn't explain what was going on with Draco and his parents so… er, I sort of sent a letter to Ron and asked. It was in the first week, though, before everything changed, but the letter didn't come until our last day at yours. Draco found it and read it, and got really angry at me because he thought I'd been gossiping about him with Ron, especially because I said some rude stuff about him to Ron and Hermione in Flourish and Blotts that he overheard. And… well, he found out I'd passed on the information about that trapdoor in the Malfoys' basement where all the artefacts were."
"You knew about that?" Snape asked sharply. “How?”
“Er - he told me,” Harry said, refusing to meet Snape’s eyes.
“You’re lying,” Snape said sharply. “Don’t. How exactly did you find out?”
“I can’t say,” Harry said. He really couldn’t - it wouldn’t just be him getting in trouble, but Ron and Hermione, too!
“If you don’t tell me immediately, I will Legilimise you and find out myself,” Snape said in a low voice.
Indignance surged through Harry. He scowled. “You can’t do that!”
“I can and I will,” Snape said, glaring right back at him. “You’ve clearly done something dangerous or stupid, so you will tell me how you came across that information.”
“That’s completely unfair!”
“I don’t care. You have five seconds.”
Harry ground his back teeth and sighed loudly, knowing he wouldn’t get out of this. “Look - it was the previous school year. You aren’t allowed to punish students for things they did ages ago, right?”
“I will agree to a statute of limitations if you will stop talking in circles and tell me what happened already,” Snape said. “Make up your mind.”
“Okay, okay…”
Harry swallowed hard, and stared at the ground. If he could explain it himself, perhaps it wouldn’t sound as bad. Actually watching Harry, Ron and Hermione secretly brew Polyjuice in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom would probably be far worse than just hearing about it secondhand. Either way, Harry wasn’t getting out of this all without telling Snape what he knew. He sighed and started reluctantly explaining.
“Er - Draco did tell us about the trapdoor himself, like I said. But not us, see… we kind of thought Draco maybe was the Heir of Slytherin, so we, er - we may have sort of, um… Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle. We asked him what he knew, and Draco mentioned the trapdoor during that. Um. Sir.”
Snape did not respond immediately. Harry dared to look up, and immediately regretted it. Snape’s jaw was practically convulsing, and his lips were pressed into a thin, white line.
“And where,” he said, in a dangerously soft voice, “did you acquire Polyjuice Potion?”
Somehow, a quiet Snape was far scarier than a shouting, furious one. Harry’s mouth was as dry as sandpaper. “We brewed it.”
“You brewed it?!”
“Er…”
Snape opened his mouth, shut it with an audible click, spun on his heel and stormed out of the Hospital Wing. Harry rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He was completely and utterly screwed.
Where had Snape gone? Was he off to drag Ron and Hermione in here, too? Harry had tried not to incriminate them, but he and Snape obviously both knew who ‘we’ referred to…
Moments before Harry made up his mind about whether or not he should run out of the Hospital Wing to hide, Snape returned. He was holding a heavy-looking textbook, which he slammed down onto the table next to Harry with an audible thud. He then flipped through the pages until he landed on what he’d been looking for. On the page before him was a gruesome illustration of a legless wizard sitting in a pool of his own blood, face contorted with agony.
“This wizard,” Snape said in a tightly controlled voice, “brewed Polyjuice and forgot the lacewing flies. He no longer has legs.”
Harry cringed, but Snape was not done. He continued to flip through the pages, captioning every gory illustration and photograph with a detailed explanation.
“This wizard accidentally used goat hair instead of the hair of the person he intended to transform into and ended up like this - but you would be familiar with that particular botched Polyjuice side effect, wouldn’t you? Miss Granger coughing up furballs in the Hospital Wing for two months finally has an explanation, I see!” Snape’s eyes were dark and stormy with fury. “This witch died in agony as the flesh melted off her bones. She used half a gram more of boomslang skin than she was supposed to. This wizard picked his fluxweed at the wrong time of the month. After the potion wore off, he returned to his usual form missing a body part of a rather - ah - sensitive nature.”
“Okay, okay!” Harry said, covering his eyes to avoid looking at the particularly horrifying final illustration. “I get it!”
“Do you?” Snape hissed, slamming the book shut. “Considering your appalling Potions performances, I doubt you can even begin to understand how much danger you put yourself in by doing something this monumentally stupid! Most fully trained wizards struggle to brew Polyjuice Potion, let alone an unsupervised twelve-year-old with minimal Potions knowledge or skill!”
“Hermione knew what she was doing!” Harry said defensively.
“Did she?” Snape challenged. “Her cat-like state earlier this year doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence!”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you!” Harry said angrily. “I knew you were going to flip out -”
“Obviously!” Snape shouted, towering over Harry. “I am a Potions Master, Potter! You breaking about fifty school rules and the law to brew your own Polyjuice Potion and go on a wild goose chase over an absolutely stupid theory about the Heir of Slytherin was never going to please me! Are you truly so foolish as to think I would simply let this slide?”
“But you already promised you weren’t going to punish me!” Harry said quickly, shuffling away from Snape. He had gone an alarming shade of red.
Snape curled his hands into fists and glared at Harry, seething. “Eight feet on the dangers of Polyjuice from you and both of your hare-brained friends, to be submitted by Thursday morning.”
“That’s literally a punishment!” Harry complained. “You can’t, sir, you promised!”
“I have been struck by the sudden urge to assign extra homework, as a matter of fact,” Snape said coolly, folding his arms. “Consider yourself very lucky you haven’t just received a month of detention! Polyjuice Potion! You absolute fool -”
Snape cut himself off and took a very long, very loud breath in. He turned away, and Harry realised that he’d started to cower away from Snape slightly and did his best to shake his limbs out. When Snape turned back around, his fury had been buried beneath Occlumency shields, leaving his face blank.
“So, you found out about the trapdoor through blatant identity theft, then,” he said bluntly.
Harry winced. “I’m really sorry -”
"We will discuss this more later," Snape said rather ominously. He looked at Harry closely. “Let us return to the matter at hand. You do know this trapdoor was not the sole deciding factor that finally allowed the Malfoys’ crimes to catch up to them?”
Harry forgot his Polyjuice-related woes for a moment and stared at Snape. “Wait, what? Ron said -”
“Mr Weasley was confused,” Snape said. “The Malfoys are not stupid people - they would not have told their loose-lipped twelve-year-old son the intimate details of their Dark artefact stash. Nothing within that part of the basement would have netted Narcissa and Lucius anything worse than a hefty fine, Harry. There was actually a separate room within the basement that Arthur Weasley stumbled across containing the truly bad items which resulted in their arrest.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “So it’s not mine and Ron’s fault the Malfoys are in prison?”
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is Lucius and Narcissa’s fault that they are in prison, no matter the circumstances. I see Draco has confused certain facts in his mind. I will do my best to dispel these notions of your guilt in the matter.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. He hadn’t realised he’d been feeling so bad about the trapdoor until the weight of the guilt was lifted from his shoulders. Not because he was upset the Malfoys were in prison or anything - he simply wished he hadn’t had a role in making Draco’s life so difficult.
“And this letter - you’d sent it earlier in the summer?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get Ron’s reply until ages after I sent it asking,” Harry explained. “I tried to explain, but he won’t listen to me!”
“I will discuss things with him in a moment, then,” Snape said. “I still fail to see how hexing him would in any way endear you to him following a misstep on your part, though. You really should have had better control of yourself -”
“He deserved that,” Harry muttered, scowling at the memory.
“How so?”
“He - he said things!” Harry said angrily.
“Ah, yes,” Snape said in a monotone voice. “Things. I always appreciate the specifics with you…”
“He was saying how I wasn’t the brave little hero everyone thinks I am, and how he knew all of my pathetic little secrets!” Harry shouted. “I just needed to shut him up, because I thought he was going to tell everyone! He brought up them!”
A very angry look settled across Snape’s face. He glared into the distance, nostrils flaring.
“What was I supposed to do?” Harry hissed, hunching his shoulders. “If he’s going to tell everyone I should have the right to defend myself, so don’t get mad at me -"
“You are not the one I am deeply unimpressed with,” Snape interrupted. He drew himself up to his full height. “I promised you Draco would not reveal what he overheard. He and I shall be having a little discussion presently, I believe. Good day, Harry. Head straight down to Professor McGonagall’s office please, she’s expecting you.”
A very annoyed Snape swept out of the Hospital Wing without another word. Harry winced, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel all that bad for Draco. He hadn’t actually said anything, but even threatening or hinting to made Harry’s stomach turn. He didn’t know if Draco would have actually gone through with it, but Harry didn’t trust Draco all that much right now to be sure either way.
With a sigh, he started shuffling out of the Hospital Wing, downstairs to Professor McGonagall’s office. Well, at least one thing was out of the way - Snape didn’t think he was a deeply awful person for his part in the rift with Draco. The Polyjuice was another matter, of course, but Harry had always known that would get him in a ton of trouble if it ever came to light. He had a bad feeling that this was going to feature in Snape rants for the foreseeable future…
Speaking of rants, Harry was now approaching his Head of House’s office. He sighed loudly. The last thing Harry wanted to do while still ailed by a nasty stomach ache and a mouth full of slug slime was to head to Professor McGonagall's office for his second bollocking of the day, but he seemed destined to have the worst time possible right now. Harry sighed and prepared to knock on the door, feeling thoroughly disgruntled.
"This behaviour is getting out of hand, Potter!" Professor McGonagall said furiously. Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks explode from her flaring nostrils. "Three detentions from Professor Snape in scarcely a fortnight is bad enough, but duelling in the corridors is yet another offence on a growing list of broken rules!”
Harry shuffled awkwardly on the spot and did his best to look contrite.
"While I do understand that you and Mr Malfoy are now, I suppose, stepbrothers -"
Harry spluttered indignantly. "We are not!"
"Do cease with the dramatics, Potter!" Professor McGonagall snapped, her eyebrows contracting sharply. "You are perfectly aware that yourself and Malfoy now possess a closer relationship than simple classmates, so if there's a better word you'd prefer to describe the situation, do enlighten me!"
To Harry's immense irritation, there apparently was not a better word, although 'stepbrothers' still made him baulk.
"I do believe that families should be allowed to settle matters amongst themselves - what I do not approve of is when those very families decide to hash things out with dangerous duels in the middle of the Entrance Hall!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "So I must deal with this as a school matter! Detention, and thirty points from Gryffindor!"
Harry felt his shoulders slump. That was certainly not going to endear him to his house, especially considering all of the points he’d been losing in Potions last week…
"I do not want to see you in this position again anytime soon, Potter!" she added sternly. "I'd advise you to sort your behaviour out and figure out a way to resolve your quarrel with Malfoy before myself and Professor Snape find ourselves forced to intervene in a manner which the two of you will dislike deeply! Dismissed. I'll send a note with the details of your detention soon."
"Yes, Professor," Harry ground out before stalking from the office. He furiously hoped that whatever action Snape was taking against Draco would be just as annoying as getting thirty points removed and even more detention. He missed having free time in the evenings!
When Harry got into the common room, he found a doleful-looking Ron sitting in the corner. He grimaced at Harry commiseratingly. “Back from McGonagall?”
“Yeah,” Harry muttered, throwing himself down in the adjoining armchair.
“Bloody Malfoy,” Ron said angrily.
“Agreed.” Harry scowled. His eyes did a scan of the common room for Hermione, but found her missing. She was still in the library, he assumed. What he did find were two fifth-years completing a Potions essay. Harry cringed, and realised he still had to pass on the details of Snape’s punishment to Ron and Hermione…
“What’s your problem?” Ron asked, noticing his reaction.
Harry sighed. “You, me and Hermione need to do eight feet on the dangers of Polyjuice Potion.”
Ron gave him a baffled look. “Why?”
“Snape found out about us impersonating Crabbe and Goyle.”
Ron groaned and slumped back in his chair. “Harry!”
“Sorry,” Harry said, sighing loudly. “It’s my fault he found out, so you can just copy mine when I do it or something…”
“Nah,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “I did help brew it, didn’t I? Besides, you’re not going to manage that on your own. Eight feet? He’s sadistic!”
“Got that right,” Harry muttered.
Ron snorted. “Knowing Hermione, she’ll do ten, though.”
Harry managed a thin smile. “Maybe she’ll let us copy.”
“After we lost so many house points? I doubt it…”
Harry didn’t see either Draco or Snape for the remainder of the weekend. He had been assuming that Snape would hunt him down somewhere to carry on shouting at Harry, but he’d been conspicuously absent, even from meals. Draco was also missing from the Great Hall. Harry didn’t run into him again until Monday afternoon, during their shared Care of Magical Creatures class. He stared at Harry with wide eyes, pulled a face and stumbled slightly, then avoided looking at him again for the entire lesson. Draco practically sprinted back to the castle when the class concluded, ran straight past Snape, who was standing in the Entrance Hall, and vanished into the dungeons.
Snape himself subtly nodded his head towards a marble staircase, and Harry followed, wondering what he could want. After they’d walked far enough away from the main crowd of students, he decided it was safe to talk to Snape privately.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Hospital Wing,” Snape explained. “After last time, I wanted to ensure you actually attended your appointment.”
Harry, who had completely forgotten about the fortnightly meetings amid the chaos of his feud with Draco, didn’t complain about being micromanaged.
“Er - I thought you said you were going to talk to Draco,” Harry said quietly.
“I did.”
“But… well, he ignored me that whole lesson still,” Harry said, hunching his shoulders.
Snape slowed his pace and turned to look at Harry. “Give him time.”
“But what if things never get better?” Harry whispered.
“They will,” Snape said simply. “Both of you want to resolve this rift, you know.”
“We do?” Harry said, surprised.
“Draco and I spoke at length this weekend,” Snape said cryptically. “He is just as unhappy with the way of things as you are. As I said - you simply must give it time.”
Harry, who hated waiting, sighed and put his head down for the rest of the journey to the Hospital Wing.
The discussion with Madam Pomfrey was far quicker than it had been two weeks ago. After a quick spell to record Harry’s weight, she and Snape had a brief discussion where they weighed up the benefits and downsides of some sort of Nutrient Potion, and Harry was sent on his way and made it back to Gryffindor Tower just as Ron and Hermione were going down to dinner. They took their regular seats at the Gryffindor table, and Harry was about to start tucking into a steak and kidney pie when the Great Hall was flooded with at least a hundred post owls. They all descended onto the student tables with various hoots and squawks.
“What’s going on?” Ron asked, looking rather alarmed.
“There must be an evening edition of the Prophet out,” Hermione said with a frown as an owl landed in front of her. “That’s odd. They don’t normally do that unless there’s urgent news…”
“Is it about Black?” Harry asked, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Hermione’s newspaper. She was the only one of them with a subscription to the Daily Prophet. “Have they finally caught him?”
Hermione gasped and pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Hermione, what?” Harry demanded, getting to his feet for a better look. At last, he caught sight of the newspaper headline, and felt his heart drop into his stomach.
LUCIUS MALFOY FACES LIFE IN AZKABAN IN LIGHT OF NEW CHARGES!
“I knew it was coming!” Ron declared.
Harry didn’t respond. He snatched the newspaper from Hermione’s grip, ignoring her protests, and began to read the main part of the article.
This evening, Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour announced that Lucius Malfoy, 39, would be facing a retrial for crimes committed during the last wizarding war. Malfoy was sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban in July of this year for possession of Dark artefacts, assault of a Ministry employee, and perverting of the course of justice following the discovery of numerous Dark artefacts in the basement of his Wiltshire home during a Ministry raid.
Malfoy, previously esteemed philanthropist and special advisor to the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, was acquitted of numerous crimes following the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in early 1982 by reason of diminished responsibility. He claimed to have committed these crimes under the influence of the Imperius Curse, but recent developments have cast aspersions on this argument. The so-called ‘house of horrors’ discovered in the basement of Malfoy Manor contained numerous enchanted torture devices used on Aurors during the wizarding war, books of dangerous curses that Malfoy was renowned for during his service as a Death Eater, and a collection of cursed and deformed skulls belonging to a series of Muggles and Muggleborns who went missing during the war. It fails to paint the picture of an innocent man acting under duress.
Malfoy has now been charged with a slew of crimes, including terrorism, serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, murder through an Unforgivable Curse, torture through an Unforgivable Curse, mind manipulation, espionage…
“Bloody hell, this list is long!” Harry said. The charges laid out were so numerous that Harry’s eyes were actually starting to go a bit funny.
“I can’t believe he managed to wriggle his way out of this before!” Hermione exclaimed. “All he had to do was say he was under the influence of the Imperius Curse?”
“It happened a lot more than you’d think in the trials, you know,” Ron informed them. “It makes my dad furious. He always says if you have enough friends in the right places and money in your Gringotts vault, you can do however you please…”
…Malfoy was thought to be a trusted member of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s inner circle. Some of the most heinous crimes he was allegedly responsible for include the torture and murder of at least a dozen Muggle children residing in a London orphanage, the murder of Auror Edgar Bones during the Battle of Suffolk, and the use of Fiendfyre on a residence containing three Muggleborn Hogwarts students.
Minister Fudge, pictured below in attendance at a New Year gala held in Malfoy Manor earlier this year, has come under fire for his close connections to such a prolific criminal…
Harry stopped reading and looked up at the sound of loud commotion at the Slytherin table. He noticed that a pink-faced Draco was currently storming out of the Great Hall. Every single student seemed to be either pointing at him or discussing him loudly.
Harry glanced up to the staff table and realised Snape was absent. Before he could stop himself, Harry jumped to his feet.
“Harry, what are you -”
“I’ll meet you in a bit,” Harry said quickly, sprinting through the Great Hall to try and catch up to Draco. He didn’t quite know why he was following the other boy - after all, Draco had made it more than clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry - but nonetheless, Harry’s feet carried him onward. It was the same sort of feeling that had brought him to Draco’s aid when those older Slytherins had been attacking him: a sense of duty.
Harry couldn’t just leave Draco in a time like this - that would be unforgivable. There was no one else in the world to help him right now, and Harry owed him that support.
He squared his shoulders and began the descent into the dungeons.