Dark Beginnings

It was raining hard that afternoon. The sky was a heavy, leaden grey and it seemed to Jenna that evening had already come, for the lamps had to be lit in the empty classroom where she and Harry sat.

Actually, Harry didn’t sit so much as perch on a desk with one foot on a chair and the other swinging back and forth, back and forth. Jenna had simply cocked an eyebrow at his choice of seating and had taken the teacher’s chair; pulling the high-backed wooden chair into the middle of the room so that there was nothing between her and Harry.

They’d started by talking about nothing consequential; Harry’s lessons, his sessions with Snape, talking about Draco. He hadn’t said much about Draco, though; interestingly, Draco never talked to Jenna about Harry either, so it perhaps seemed only fair that Harry return the courtesy.

“Harry,” Jenna began then, resting her mug of tea on a desk beside her as Harry cradled his in his hands, “we’ve been meeting for a few weeks now and I think -”

“No.” Harry interrupted firmly. The force of his will, with all that magical power behind it, seemed to ripple in the air between them.

Jenna bit her lip, startled, and told herself once again that, at heart, Harry was a good lad; he wouldn’t lash out in cold blood. Just don’t get him angry, murmured a voice inside. She blinked, staring at him for a moment and then took a sip of her tea. “You don’t know what I was going to say.” She said quietly.

“You were about to say that it’s time we talked about the summer.” Harry stated, “You want to know what happened to me while I was with Voldemort.”

Jenna fought to suppress the involuntary shiver at the Dark Lord’s name but Harry evidently saw it and smirked, his eyes glinting.

“Actually,” she said, forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt, “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday and what happened while you were visiting Hagrid.”

For one tiny, split second, Harry froze and then sort of shook himself into being relaxed and at ease. He tossed his head to shake his dark fringe out of his eyes and then took another mouthful of tea.

“What about it?” he asked then, sounding aloof.

“What can you tell me about it?”

Harry frowned a little and inspected his fingernails as though they were far more interesting than this topic.

“Harry?”

He sighed and shrugged, looking across at her. “There’s not much to tell! Hagrid caught me unawares, Weasley wound me up and I lost my temper and control of the magic – all in one hit. But Draco was there and then Snape helped me to regain control.”

“Hagrid caught you unawares by inviting Ron and Hermione along for afternoon tea?” Jenna probed, leaning forward. Harry nodded sharply, averting his eyes. “And what did Ron do to ‘wind you up’, as you put it?”

Harry scowled, “For starters, Weasley is -” He stopped, biting his lip and frowning. He’d almost said ‘Weasley is a homophobe’, but that would just give the good doctor too much information.

“Yes?” Jenna raised her eyebrows, “Ron’s what?”

“Nothing.”

“Harry -”

“Forget it. It’s not important!”

They sat in silence for a few minutes and the rain battered relentlessly against the leaded windows as a wind howled around the ancient towers and buildings that made up Hogwarts.

“Did Ron say something about your…friendship with Draco?” Jenna asked then, leaning back in her chair in an effort to keep the conversation casual while keeping the conversation going at all.

For a long moment, Harry continued to glare at the floor and then, without looking up, he nodded once.

“Did he insult Draco?”

Another nod.

“Uh-huh.” Jenna drew a deep breath, “You care a lot for Draco…don’t you, Harry?”

And now, slowly, those vibrant green eyes lifted to meet hers. There was such depth, such pain, such torment there that she had to hold onto herself to keep from hurrying across and holding him tight.

“You feel…protective?”

A pause and then a nod, the eyes still locked with hers.

“Harry, tell me.” She beseeched softly, “What did Ron do?”

And then, suddenly, with no warning, no change of expression or posture, Harry linked his mind with hers and ‘showed’ her the events of the day before. She heard Ron’s words, saw his face as he realised that Harry and Draco were more than just friends. She saw too the image (an illusion, she somehow noted) of Harry and Draco together and then…and then…she glimpsed Harry’s own image of his magical power; straining and breaking it’s imaginary restraint and swelling in size and ferocity.

Jenna whimpered, her hands coming to her head as image after image flooded her mind.

Now, she saw Harry when he was just a child; attending a muggle school and being tormented by a group of heavy-set kids. She heard the names they called him: queer, faggot, shirt-lifter, pansy…fudge-packer.

It had been a particularly large boy that had called him the last. He was almost as wide as he was tall, with blonde hair and small, piggy eyes.

‘My cousin…Dudley.’ Harry’s voice murmured brokenly within her head and she felt sudden, hot tears roll down her cheeks as she felt all the rage and humiliation of the child, coupled with the emotions of the adult. And, coupled with that, the strange mix of emotions for the cousin now dead.

‘My fault…my fault…’

“No.” She shook her head, “No, Harry, that’s not true.”

And then, to the sound of breaking crockery, the connection broke and Jenna found herself back in the dim classroom with Harry still sitting on the desk in front of her. He had evidently dropped his empty mug and was folded forwards to grasp his knees with both hands, pressing his face down into his robes and visibly trembling.

“Reparo.” She whispered and the pieces of broken mug reformed. “Harry,” she said softly and reached out to touch his shoulder.

A tingle of energy gave her pause for a moment and then, drawing herself together, she closed the distance and touched him. Harry responded slowly; unfolding reluctantly and then looking up at her with a pale face and eyes the deepest, darkest green.

“Thank you,” she murmured then. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I think I’m starting to understand where you come from.” Then, trusting to instinct, she slid her arm around his shoulders and squeezed, pulling him towards her.

For a second, he succumbed and then, with a shake of his head, Harry pulled away and stood up. She could almost sense him regaining control of the magical energy; pulling it in and around him. He even seemed to be saying something – Jenna thought she heard the name ‘Caramon’.

“Um…can we leave it there?” Harry asked then and she looked at him, aware somehow that he was angry with himself for letting go.

“Okay,” she nodded, “but I want you to understand that you’ve done nothing that could be construed as bad or wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Trust me.”

“Hm.” Harry grunted in response and stared down at his shoes for a moment.

Jenna sighed. Two steps forward, one step back, she thought to herself. But even though they’d only been in this session for about half the time allotted, there was clearly no point in forcing Harry to remain here any longer. “I’ll see you Wednesday, okay?”

Harry nodded and turned, walking slowly towards the door.

“Harry,” Jenna called out as he reached for the door handle. He paused and looked at her, his eyes enquiring. “I meant what I said: your cousin’s death isn’t your fault. You didn’t kill him.”

“No,” Harry agreed, his voice low and quiet, “I didn’t kill him.” And with that, he left.

*~*~*

Severus was sitting at his desk, pot of vibrant red ink to hand and devilishly sharp quill grasped in his fingers. He was marking assignments and, whilst he might bemoan the task as nothing but an odious chore, he actually took a grim delight in writing caustic comments across his students’ work.

‘Once again, (he wrote) you have failed to read the entire chapter. I am quite certain that the late author is turning in his grave to hear you suggest that Digitalis root should be used in a Sleeping Draught, when in fact it should be the leaves. Or perhaps you have formulated your own potion and it is this to which you refer? Should we expect to find your own book of potions in our library, Mr Corner?’

He was about to add another line or two when the door opened and Harry stalked through with a face like thunder.

“Harry?” Snape called after him, only to hear the door to the boys’ room slam shut. He hesitated, reluctant to follow where Harry would wish to be alone and yet…

“Accio coffee.” He muttered and poured the dark liquid into a mug, murmuring a warming spell as he did so. Then, carrying the drink across the sitting room, he tapped twice on the door. “Harry, can I come in?”

An indistinguishable sound responded and, choosing to interpret it as a call to enter, Snape opened the door and stepped inside.

Harry lay on his bed, outstretched on his back with his arms folded across his face.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Coffee.”

Harry lifted one arm and stared at Snape for a second before groaning and rolling onto his side, shifting aside a little so that the Potions master might sit down.

“Here,” Snape said very softly and placed the mug in Harry’s hands. “Bad session with Dr Litworth?”

Harry groaned again and nodded, “The worst yet.”

“Hm.” Snape responded, his tone non-committal. He sat down beside Harry, “You didn’t talk very much then.”

“No, even worse.” Harry smiled humourlessly, “I did talk – or rather, I showed her what happened yesterday. And…and then…” he made a small, futile sort of gesture with his free hand.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “I think, if anyone could understand, it’d be you.”

Curious, Snape raised one very dark eyebrow.

“Well, yesterday Weasley called me something…something vile…and, well, when I replayed it for Jenna, I accidentally showed her another time when some kids in my old school used to call me the same names.”

Snape sat very quietly for a few moments and then asked, “What sort of names?”

“Fudge-packer was what Ron…what Weasley called me yesterday.” Harry said and Snape made a noise of disgust, “But the kids at school used to call me that too, as well as pansy, poof, shirt-lifter-”

“I think I get the message.” Snape held up one hand, “So Mr Weasley triggered something in your sub-conscious then? And were you often bullied at your previous school?” Harry nodded and Snape frowned, “Didn’t you tell anyone?” And then, before Harry could answer, he asked, “And why did you think I might understand, particularly?”

“Well,” Harry looked down into his coffee for a second, “I know you’re…well, you’re not exactly straight…”

“I’ve taken lovers of either sex, if that’s what you mean?” Snape responded with surprising candour.

“Mm.” Harry flushed slightly, “So do you understand what it means to be in denial? To keep telling yourself that you’re straight when really you know that the bastards of before were right. They somehow saw the truth.”

Snape drew a deep breath and stared fixedly at Harry for a few minutes. “Harry, I think I see what you’re saying but I have to confess that I haven’t shared a similar experience. Sexuality amongst witches and wizards isn’t normally such a big deal; we have more things to worry about than whom an individual might get into bed with. I can only imagine that Mr Weasley’s reaction was to Draco and not to your sexual orientation.”

“So no one ever called you names?” Harry looked at him with wide eyes.

“No,” Snape shook his head slowly. “Would you like me to talk with Mr Weasley?”

“No.” Harry sighed, “It’d just make things worse. If you say it isn’t a homophobic thing, I’ll believe you.”

A rare smile curved Snape’s mouth then, “Amazing. So why didn’t you tell your aunt and uncle that you were being bullied?”

Harry sighed, “No point. The ring-leader was their son - my own cousin.”

“Ah.” Snape nodded, suddenly understanding, “So the stories of your home life were true then?”

“If you mean, was I in a house where no one wanted to either see me or speak to me?” Harry asked bitterly, “Where my bedroom for ten years was in the cupboard under the stairs? Yeah, that’s true. I wasn’t beaten, though – well, only by Dudley and his gang – the stories told by the Harry Potter Fan Club” he sneered bitterly, “are nothing but exaggerations. Hitting me would require paying me attention and my aunt and uncle weren’t going to do that if they could help it.”

Snape sat, stunned and silent. He’d heard rumours of course; had even heard Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch discussing the matter and querying why, if the stories were true, Dumbledore had allowed Harry to remain with his relatives.

“Now though,” Harry said wearily, heaving a sigh, “they’re dead – and gone! There’s no more verbal abuse or chances to embarrass or humiliate me.” Snape remained silent, watching Harry’s face and gauging his emotions. “You know,” Harry continued with a very brittle smile, “I used to dream of them suddenly disappearing or of some distant relative turning up to claim me as their long-lost-nephew or something. I almost had Sirius.” He added in a very quiet voice, staring down at the bed spread.

Feeling a mixture of sorrow, sympathy and discomfort, Snape cleared his throat and shifted a little. He wished more than ever that Dumbledore hadn’t forbidden him from telling Harry about Sirius for, whilst he had broken a couple of the Headmaster’s rules, Snape wasn’t about to break this oath; the damage would be too great, he suspected. Rather, he wished that Dumbledore had never told him, he thought with an inward sigh.

“Harry,” he said then, only half-certain of what he was about to say next. “Harry, if you want, you can call these rooms your home for as long as you like. You can stay here for Christmas with Draco and myself. We’ll decorate it – just like you would at home.”

Harry blinked up at him, his eyes appearing large behind those heavy glasses. “I haven’t had a Christmas at – well, Hogwarts has been home since I was eleven…”

“Then this – these rooms – will be your home from now on.” Snape asserted firmly, his dark eyes sincere.

“Do you live here then?” Harry frowned, “I mean, all year round? Even the summer?”

“I find that there is always much that has to be done here during the summer,” Snape evaded, not looking at Harry.

“Uh-huh.” Harry nodded, “Do you have a house, though?”

“There’s the family home. I suppose you could call it mine as I’m the last surviving heir.”

“Would you show it to me one day? Please?”

“We’ll see.” Was all Snape would say. A moment later and they heard the outside door bang closed and Draco’s hurried footsteps sounded through the sitting room and then into their shared bedroom.

‘I saw you pass my classroom.’ He said, looking agitated. ‘Are you all right? Why did you finish early?’

“Why aren’t you in Transfiguration?” Snape asked as if he’d heard Draco’s words.

Draco made an impatient little flip with one hand but Snape caught it and held it firmly, holding his ward’s attention.

‘I told McGonagall that I had a sore throat and needed to lie down. When you’ve had half your throat ripped out, people tend to take notice when you say it hurts.’

“Draco -!”

“Severus, you’re wasting your breath.” Harry countered with the first hint of a smile since he’d left Dr Litworth.

“That’s as may be,” Snape frowned, “but I still intend to try and make this young man realise that -” he paused and glared at Draco. The blond young man was making talkative gestures with his hands and looking bored. “Mr Malfoy, I’ll let this go on this one occasion but I expect you to have finished your homework by dinnertime. Agreed? Good. And don’t, for one second, think I’ve forgotten this mornings infraction; I just haven’t yet decided how to punish you.”

‘You could always spank me!’ Draco retorted with a naughty smile, allowing his fingertips to trail from Snape’s forehead down to his jaw.

Snape, however, just shook his head and stalked away.

*~*~*

“Draco,” Snape said later, even as he continued to read his book by the fire, “stop pacing; you’re giving me a headache.”

Marching across the room, Draco pressed his fingers to the Potion master’s head. ‘I don’t like this! What are they doing in there! Why can’t I be with Harry?’

Snape sighed and looked up from beneath Draco’s arm. “Because this is something between Harry and Miss Granger. Because your presence might confuse him. We want Harry to get reacquainted with his friend because we want him to the way he was before, don’t we?”

‘You might. Dumbledore might.’ Draco scowled. ‘But I don’t. I don’t want Harry to be the insufferable, holier-than-thou prick that he was last year.’

“Hmm.” Snape responded disapprovingly, “If I remember correctly, Draco; last year, you were working with the delightful Dolores Umbridge and were trying your hardest to get Harry expelled. In fact,” he added with a spite borne of impatience, “I dare say you would have worked to get Harry -”

‘Don’t say it!’ Draco interrupted, his silent words delivered with a telepathic growl that brooked no argument. ‘Don’t even think it. I was a different man then; just like Harry.’

Snape drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “You’re right,” he murmured, “and I’m sorry. But whilst I much prefer the new you, I’m afraid that the new Harry is simply too wild and unstable. Are you aware that he could turn Hogwarts into nothing but dust if only he could get to grips with his abilities? I too prefer the element of bold self-confidence that’s evident in him now, but there’s also a darker side that’s fuelled by buried insecurities, a guilt complex the size of this room and a severe overdose of Dark magic.”

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully, ‘Maybe we could keep the aspects we like and leave behind the more antisocial qualities?’

Snape just sighed and returned to his book. So, with a frustrated sigh, Draco resumed his infuriating pacing around the room.

“Draco, please!” Snape growled menacingly, “Sit down! Read a book, do some homework! Do your Potions assignment! It might not be due in until next May, but you should at least make a start on it.”

‘Can I use your books?’ Draco asked, pausing by Snape’s chair again.

“You can but I suspect that the one you need has been lent out. Miss Parkinson asked me for it this morning.”

Draco sighed petulantly.

“Go to the library. Madam Pince has a copy in the Reference Section.”

‘No, I’ll go tomorrow with Harry.’ Draco pouted and sat down in his usual spot on the hearth rug. After a moments thought, he picked up his book, Dragons of Spring Dawning and found the page where he’d last left off.

“Is Harry still reading Dragons of Autumn Twilight?” Snape asked a few minutes later as he looked down at where his ward was leaning against the other chair.

Draco moved towards him and stretched up one arm to just about touch Snape’s head. ‘No, he finished that in no time! He’s almost finished ‘Winter Night now too.’ He sounded quite proud for some reason, as if it pleased him that Harry was as enthusiastic about his favourite books as himself.

“I remember buying those books for you,” Snape mused with a small smile. “Your father wasn’t impressed with the idea of letting you have something written by Muggles – as if you might catch something nasty or get funny ideas.”

‘Yes, well,’ Draco smiled humourlessly up at him, ‘that’s my father for you. But I don’t care what he thinks – now or then.’

Snape sighed a sad sort of sigh and regarded the young man currently leaning against his legs. His decision to betray his father had come as a surprise that had been somehow lost in all the excitement of rescuing Harry and then saving Draco himself, but Snape didn’t think for a second that it had been an easy decision to make.

“Don’t you miss him? On occasion?” he asked, looking into Draco’s wide, silver eyes.

Draco lowered his gaze and frowned slightly, the little crease marring his perfectly smooth forehead. And then he looked up once more and shook his head. ‘Not even a little bit.’

His tone, even delivered as it was, straight into Snape’s mind, bypassing his ears, was hard and resolute. Snape blinked a few times and sadly stroked a stray lock of the young man’s white blond hair as it flicked out, away from his face.

‘Mine was not a happy childhood.’ Draco added gravely, his eyes steady upon his guardian’s face. ‘As you well know.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Snape responded, using telepathy. ‘Your father changed; he wasn’t the man I knew from…well, from before.’

‘Before when? Before you became Death Eaters?’

Snape’s eyes grew distant as he recalled a time when life had seemed so much simpler. “No,” he said aloud, his voice soft and husky, “we were Death Eaters. I joined the Dark Lord as soon as I left school. No, your father changed when the Dark Lord lost his powers.”

‘After he tried to kill Harry, the first time.’

Snape nodded slowly, “Lucius didn’t take the news very well at all. Suddenly the life he’d planned for himself, his wife and his baby son were all being threatened by his association with a Dark wizard that was suddenly believed to be dead and gone. There were Ministry enquiries, interrogations, arrests. Your Aunt Bellatrix was charged with the attack on the Longbottoms – along with her husband, brother in law and the young Barty Crouch.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and alarm. ‘Longbottom? You mean, as in Neville Longbottom?’

“The same.” Snape nodded sadly, “The boy remembers nothing, thanks to a Memory charm. It may be that his ineptitude is a result of the charm but there’s no way to be sure.” He rubbed wearily at the side of his face. “So your father had to ensure that he didn’t face the same fate as the other Death Eaters. After all, if he was sent to Azkaban there would be no way that he could protect you or your mother.”

‘You mean, there would be no way that he could protect the Malfoy estate and his accumulated wealth!’ Draco sneered and Snape shrugged.

“So he swore blind that he’d been under the Imperius curse for the entire duration.” Snape concluded with a little shake of his head, “Fudge was the new Minister after Crouch’s son was sent to Azkaban – big scandal – and Lucius immediately had Fudge in his pocket with no messing about. Therefore, he made sure that no one would contest his statement and there would be no mention of Veritaserum.”

‘And all that changed him?’

The Potions master nodded, his thoughts still in the past. “He used to laugh. He used to see the bright side of everything and could see something beyond our Master’s vision that no one else could; not even the Dark Lord himself, I don’t think. But having to lie, to crawl and fight without the support that he’d had before – it just broke something within him. It made him cruel and snide and…” he paused and looked suspiciously at Draco, “What?”

‘Did the same thing make you cruel and snide?’

Before Snape could answer however, there came from the boys’ rooms, the sounds of raised voices and a moment later, Hermione stormed out.

*~*~*

It had actually gone quite well, Harry grudgingly conceded much later. Hermione had appeared at Snape’s office door, as arranged and he had brought her through the sitting room to the rooms he shared with Draco.

There was a small lounge there that he and Draco never seemed to use; preferring instead to share Snape’s. But now it seemed perfect for sitting in privacy with Hermione and…

Well Harry wasn’t very sure what they were supposed to do!

Hermione had mentioned playing a game but it seemed a little silly to be doing that when they’d not been on speaking terms for the past month. So, instead, they sat and made an attempt at small talk for the first quarter of an hour. Then, when that dried up and they lapsed into an awkward silence, Harry started to regret asking Draco to stay away.

It had seemed important that it be just himself and Hermione, this evening. Harry felt that he needed to keep tight control of his magic and his temper – especially after yesterday’s debacle – and Draco distracted him.

“So,” Hermione began and Harry looked up with a little jump after the prolonged silence, “are you o-okay? After yesterday, I mean?”

“Oh. Um…yeah.” Harry replied, feeling a little embarrassed, “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

Hermione scrunched up her nose and shook her head a little, “Just startled…a bit,” she said and then added, “I think you scared Ron, though.”

“Good.” Harry muttered darkly and Hermione blinked at him in surprise.

“He didn’t mean the things he said, you know. You just surprised him; he didn’t think that you and Malfoy…well, that you were together, like that.”

“I would have thought that even Weasley could work out that Draco and I are a couple.” Harry stated coldly.

“Well, Ron,” Hermione emphasised the name, “like myself, hasn’t seen much of you in ages. I don’t know how you would expect him to realise that you and Malfoy were an item, given that we didn’t even know you shared a room.” She looked around then at the rich indigo and pale yellow décor. The colours were chosen to avoid any obvious allegiance to either Gryffindor or Slytherin. “I like this, by the way. It sort of reminds me of sunlight through storm clouds.”

Harry smiled, “That’s what I said and Draco laughed at me. He said next I’d be writing soppy poetry and comparing him to a summers day.”

“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione laughed then, “Hardly a summers day with those cool, winter eyes. He’s a Snow Prince, if ever there was one!”

Harry nodded appreciatively and broadened his smile.

“I was watching you both at the Halloween feast,” Hermione mentioned a few minutes later and Harry looked intrigued.

He and Draco had wanted to stay behind in their rooms that evening but Snape had insisted. So they had sat in their customary spot at the far end of the Slytherin table and had had a party for two while the rest of the school celebrated around them.

“You looked good together.” Hermione remarked and then added, “Although, at the time, I didn’t realise that you were actually an item.”

“But you thought we’d make a good couple?” Harry raised an eyebrow with a vaguely sardonic smile.

“Well, yeah,” Hermione replied, looking abashed. “I mean, Malfoy’s always had that whole sexier than the devil look and you’re…well,” she flushed a rosy pink and Harry found himself to be slightly embarrassed and also curious.

“I’m what?” he asked. “What, Hermione? You’re not going to tell me that I’m good looking! I have the scruffiest hair and these hideous glasses…”

“And the sweetest face, the most vibrant green eyes I’ve ever seen and a body to die for.” Hermione finished, her face sincere. A moment later and she realised what she’d said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Ron I said that.” She muttered.

Harry’s expression turned wicked. “What? Don’t tell Ron that you fancy his arch enemy and Draco Malfoy?”

“You’re not his arch enemy,” she said, sounding somewhat weary.

“Yeah right. He hates me, Hermione. He couldn’t believe I’d choose Draco of all people and that’s why he went off the deep end. Not because he’s a homophobe – Snape explained about all that to me. It’s because my lover is none other than Draco Malfoy.”

“He just needs time.”

“He just needs an attitude transplant!”

“Oh, and you can talk, I suppose!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hermione stared at him and shook her head, “You don’t get it. Harry, don’t you realise how much you’ve changed? The old Harry would never have treated Ron and I like that. He’d never have let some new relationship get in the way of a long-standing friendship. And the old Harry would have apologised by now.”

Harry glowered at the carpet between them for a few moments. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice low, “but the old Harry hadn’t seen or done the things that I have.”

“What kind of things?” Hermione asked tremulously. She looked across at the man before her and wondered what had happened to the boy she knew. There were a wide variety of physical differences, as well as the ones below the surface. The new Harry had a kind of hard, tightness to his body as if he was desperately holding within something precious whilst, at the same time, he seemed to be refusing the rest of the world any access. Nothing was going to penetrate his hide and no secrets were going to escape.

His eyes, even when he was smiling or laughing, were cagey and nervous; their green depths often cold and calculating. And his general countenance was carefully crafted to give no one the advantage. She wondered if anyone – Malfoy perhaps? – ever saw a softening of those features.

“You know what kind of things.” Harry replied tensely. “You’re not daft, Hermione, and you’ve read countless books. You know what Voldemort used to do to his prisoners; I’m almost positive that you could guess what happened to me.”

“Harry…”

He shook his head, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just understand when I say that there are reason why I’ve changed.”

She sighed and looked at him with a monumental sense of sorrow. “And to think that Ron thought your problems were all to do with he and I being together. We thought you were angry that we were going out.”

Harry gave a mirthless little snort of laughter. “The only thing that bothered me was that my two best friends barely seemed to notice my return.”

“Harry, that’s not fair.”

“No? You and Ron are practically joined at the mouth. You have no time for me – you’re too busy caressing each other’s tonsils!”

“Harry!” Hermione cried, looking shocked, “That’s just not true!”

“Yes it is and you know it!”

“I didn’t bring him tonight, did I?” she retorted loudly.

“No.” Harry retorted coldly, “And, bloody hell, Hermione, you’ve been here over an hour! If you don’t get back to Ron quick, your lips might shrivel up and drop off from lack of use!”

Hermione stared at him, opening and closing her mouth; unable to find the words. Finally, without any kind of retort, she gathered up her ever-present book bag and stalked towards the door.

“Going?” Harry sneered.

“I’ll be back on Friday, if that’s okay.” Hermione said simply, holding her head proudly. Harry just shrugged and, with that, Hermione marched out of the room and out, towards the Slytherin corridor.