The Goodwill Games

October 3rd, 1998, Hogwarts Castle


It was Draco's least favourite class, the Defence Against the Dark Arts. Last year it had been his least favourite as well, but for entirely different reasons. Last year his heart had pounded in fear as he was threatened with Unforgivable Curses such as the Cruciatus if he did not cast whatever dark curse Carrow bade him to cast.

This year, it was more due to the horror that Professor Molly Weasley actually knew a thing or two about defence spells. And she seemed to think she was everybody's mother.

He sat in between Pansy and Blaise, who were occasionally speaking with him, more to amuse themselves by picking on them than for any real friendship, but it was the best that Draco had at the moment. He didn't want another catastrophe like the socks and underwear incident. Blaise and Pansy were currently passing notes to each other, disguised as little fluttering moths.

They all sat straighter as Professor Weasley entered the classroom, wearing her customary housedress and shawl, her wide face beaming with glee. "Good afternoon, class!"

There was a low rumble of greetings, most of which came from the Hufflepuffs, Draco noted. He bit back a smile, watching Ron duck and try to hide. The one joy in this class was watching the continuing humiliation of Professor Weasley's remaining children in school.

Professor Weasley waved at Ron, and Ron turned an interesting eggplant colour and scooted down even further in his seat. Blaise sniggered. But their instructor was already on the move, brandishing her wand with a smile. "This week we're going to work on something that I think every wizard and witch should know. While of course we don't have You Know Who to worry about any longer, there are still undoubtedly allies out there that you could run into, and this particular spell is good for holding back a Dementor, or sending a message for help. I know that some of you have already learned this spell thanks to Harry, Ron, and Hermione's little venture sixth year, and Ginny and Neville's efforts last year. If you attended the Dumbledore's Army sessions and already can cast a full Patronus, please raise your hand."

All the Gryffindors raised their hands, Draco noted. Luna, Ernie, Hannah, and a few other Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs raised their hands as well. It seemed mostly the Slytherin House had missed out on this particular extracurricular activity. Draco seethed inside as Professor Weasley had the gall to look sorry for all of them.

"Right! Well you can lower your hands now, children. I think what we'll do is have those who have already mastered the Patronus demonstrate it, and then we can break off into pairs, with those who already know how to cast the spell teaching those who do not. Now let me be clear in explaining one thing to all of you. This is an extremely difficult spell, and I won't be expecting any quick successes today if you have never cast one before. It takes time and practice! So go on, then. Harry Potter. You can show yours first." Professor Weasley gave Harry an encouraging nod, and stepped to the side, allowing Harry over to the casting area, looking, if anything, bored. Still the arrogant git, Draco could see. Then again, given this particular subject, perhaps he had a right to be.

As Potter headed up to demonstrate his talent, Pansy leaned over and whispered to Draco, "So, is it true?"

"Is what true?" Draco drawled, aware that Potter's friends--in particular Hermione--were still nearby and could possibly overhear them.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cried, and there was a blaze of light as a ghostly stag appeared. Draco was impressed despite himself.

Pansy made a little sound of impatience, and Draco reluctantly turned his attention back to her. "Is it true that Potter has a thing for you?" The way she said 'thing' made it sound like something slimy crawling up from the sewers. Draco shuddered.

He gave her a look to tell her she was clearly mad. "What makes you think that?"

She smiled and glanced over at Blaise, and the two of them shared a Look. "His helping you with the socks. The fact he always seems to be following you around. Looks he throws when you're not looking. You haven't heard any rumours?"

Draco glared at her; he still suspected she'd been knee deep in guilt about the socks. "What rumours?"

She looked like the cat who'd savoured all its cream. "Oh, you know. His break up with Ginny Weasley. That he's been talking about you. A lot."

It was just another set up, he was sure of it. And yet he remembered the feel of Harry pressed against him during the first game, the look of honest admiration in his eyes after. Draco shook his head. He couldn't afford to let himself think these things. Not without his own proof. It would be simply too perfect an opportunity for Pansy and Blaise to further humiliate him. "No, I can't say I have." He turned his attention back to the class, where Professor Weasley was dragging her son over to the practice area to demonstrate his Patronus. Draco sniggered when he saw what it was--a yippy small dog. Not exactly heroic.

Pansy tried to catch his attention further, but then they were being broken up into groups, with those who had never cast a Patronus being paired with those who had. Not Harry, please not Harry, Draco silently pleaded, but he was hardly surprised when Molly pulled the two of them together with a firm smile. "You two boys should be a good fit--you're both hard-headed. Harry, you'll be stubborn enough to make sure he gets this, won't you, dear?" She patted Harry on the head, who looked long suffering about it, and made her way to the next pair. Draco sighed. Harry was blushing again.

"Just tell me how to bloody do it," Draco said. He just wanted this whole school year over.

By the end of class, he'd tried it fifty-seven times (not that anyone had been counting) and hadn't even managed a wisp of vapour from the tip of his wand. About all he'd managed to conjure was a splitting headache. "I know I've got the inflection right," he said, voice tight with frustration. "I know I've got the movement right. So why isn't it bloody working?"

Harry seemed a touch frustrated as well. "It's the joy, Draco. I told you. You have to take the happiest thing you can possibly think of, hold that in your mind, feel that happiness, and then transfer it into the spell."

A wave of despair washed over Draco. He knew that was the problem; Harry had told him that from the start. But there simply wasn't anything happy in his life. There was nothing to draw from. "I haven't exactly had a cheerful past couple of years, Potter. You of all people should know that." He glared at Harry, but then had to look down. Draco could feel the prickle of tears at the back of his eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to catch him crying. Again.

Harry sighed. "I had a hard time with it at first also. You remember how scared I was of those Dementors. Fainting?" He gave a sardonic smile and Draco felt a little ugly pang of guilt. Yes, he'd given Harry a very hard time about it. It seemed so long ago now. "I finally got it to work just by thinking about my parents. How much they loved me." He scratched the back of his head, a nervous gesture, Draco had noticed. "I don't know how things are with your dad, but . . . I know your mother really loves you. She risked her life for you. I don't know if she told you."

Draco frowned at Harry, disturbed by the fact that he might know something Draco did not. He didn't want to admit that she hadn't said anything about this; well he'd known she and Father must've have risked much just to come into the castle during the battle. But how, they'd never told him. Harry had a point. Mother did love him, and showed it. Unlike Father. "I'll try that."

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco cried, trying to think of something happy--opening Christmas presents at his mother's feet when he was seven.

A fine white mist erupted from the end of his wand.

For a moment, he thought he had it, but the image faded to other memories--of how worried his mother had looked when she'd learned of his task sixth year, the fear, the lack of Christmas when the Dark Lord had lived with them. Draco cursed.

"That was better at least," Harry said in a quiet voice. Draco wanted to hex his bloody hair off.

"That's it for class, dears!" Professor Weasley announced. Draco gratefully took his wand and his books and headed out as quickly as he could, not wanting to endure another moment of Harry's kindness, or whatever it was. It couldn't be interest. Could it?

He passed down the hallway, recalling the path he'd taken during the blindfold game, the heady thrill of leading the hunt. Of having Harry's hands on him. A warm rush went through Draco and he groaned. He really couldn't afford to indulge in these stupid fantasies any longer.

Other students raced by them, hurrying downstairs for lunch, but Draco took his time. He came to the hallway where he'd frequented so often his sixth year, the hallway where the Room of Requirement had been hidden. Had. Until Vincent had destroyed it and himself with his Fiendfyre. Draco rubbed his pounding forehead, feeling very old, and very alone. They'd never been able to retrieve the body.

He put his hand on the wall, wishing . . . just wishing. Just for a proper chance to say goodbye. But it was all over now. He couldn't cast a stupid Patronus because there was nothing good left in his life now, and there probably never would be. He'd just be the outcast, the ex-Death Eater.

Draco was just about to turn away, when he noticed the door. It had moved a foot or so down from where it has used to be, but he couldn't possibly mistake it for any other door. It was the door to the Room of Requirement. Holding his breath, half wondering if he even wanted it to open, he tried the handle.

It was stuck. Or locked.

He jiggled it, pulled hard on it, tried to pry it open, all to no avail.

"Bloody tease," he told it. Something--a shadow--moved in the corner of his eye. He whirled, but there was nobody there. Somehow, though, he had a feeling. "Potter?" That stupid cloak. Harry probably still had it. Maybe Pansy had been right; maybe he really was still following him. Well it wasn't as if Draco had any dark missions this year. "Potter, just fucking show yourself."

Nothing.

Shaking his head, Draco finally headed downstairs. With Potter it was just one thing or another. He was bloody annoying either way.

Which made wanting him nearly intolerable.

***

October 10th, 1998, Quidditch Field, Hogwarts School of Wizardry


The next game was held on a Saturday, on a crisp clear morning on the Quidditch field near the castle. Draco had highly considered sleeping in and missing all the fun, but his over-eager first year roommate had woken him up with all his incessant chatter, and Draco had decided he didn't really need more explosions in Potions thanks to his teammates, so he'd gone ahead and dressed and come down to play.

This, he feared, had been a disastrous decision.

McGonagall had cast Sonorous to increase the volume of her voice, and was in top form, sitting perched above them on her broomstick to best observe the festivities. "Thank you all for making it out here on this fine morning for the second in our series of Goodwill Games. Today's game is rather special. As a lot of you know--especially those of you who were not able to attend the school last year--there was a great deal of prejudice last year against those who were born to one or more Muggle parents. Today we are celebrating the customs of Muggles by selecting games I understand are popular with their schoolchildren. We are going to have a relay race."

Some groans from some of the players, Draco noted. He kept judiciously silent.

She continued, "The relay race will be made of up to three parts, depending on how many you have on your team. For those teams with five students, you will begin with a three-legged race, followed by a piggyback leg, and finishing with, eh, hopping around in a burlap sack, whatever the Muggles call that. Please choose your partners for the three-legged and piggyback portion; the last leg only requires one person."

Draco glared at Harry. "We're not pairing up."

Harry shrugged, and Draco was annoyed to note that he seemed to be trying to hide a smile. "Fine. Do you want to pair up with Luna, then?"

"We're not pairing with him," Ernie declared imperiously, grabbing Hannah's hand. "We'll do the second leg."

Luna smiled and Draco quailed. "I'd love to partner with you, Draco. Or you could do the burlap sack. I was thinking that might be rather fun."

Harry blanched, looking over at it. "Maybe I'll pair with you, Luna." Which would leave Draco hopping around like a fool.

On second thought . . . Draco grimaced. "Fine. I'll pair with Harry." Anything to avoid the burlap sack.

"Okay," Luna said smiling. She gave a little shrug, then meandered over to the sac, trying it on. "This should include my luck, you know. It's a very old ritual for attracting Sploggers."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he looked dubiously at the black strips of cloth laid out at the ground at the starting point. "Right. Well, you were raised by Muggles, Potter. What do we do?"

Harry blew out a breath, looking nervous. Draco swore he was going to start giving the fellow some calming draughts if he acted this way every time they were partnered for something. "Well . . . we have to stand beside each other, and use those to tie my left ankle to your right ankle, and my left knee to your right knee. So it in effect gives us three legs to use, right? We have to time our strides right so that we're using those legs together."

Brilliant. And people wondered why Draco thought Muggles were witless gits. "Fine. Just get on with it, then," he told Harry, as Harry bent over to tie their ankles together. While he did that, Draco looked around at their competition. Goyle and Lavender Brown were standing over by the second leg of their run, and apparently Padma and Megan Jones were doing the three-legged part. Which left Ron in the burlap sack, Draco saw with a grin.

Pansy's team only had four people, so they were on the sidelines watching for now, waiting for the next heat which would only feature two events. He wondered whether Pansy would be stuck with Hermione on the three-legged portion, or carried by the likes of Zacharias Smith for the piggyback leg.

A touch to his knee brought Draco out of his musings. Harry was tying the second strip of cloth around their knees, rather painfully tight, Draco would add. "Let's try and not cut off circulation, shall we, Potter?" he sneered.

"Has to be tight, trust me," Harry said. He straightened, and Draco noted he was holding a third strip of cloth. Draco watched, horrified as Harry's hand strayed near his crotch . . . to tie the third strip around their upper thighs, Draco realised.

"No," Draco said, because just that tiny movement had made his cock twitch and come to attention, and there was no way he was going to allow Harry to find out just how much he affected Draco. Harry paused, his hand on Draco's hip.

"It would give us more stability," Harry said, but Draco could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"No. Absolutely not," Draco said, with emphasis. He was relieved when Harry's hands drew away. Harry swallowed, and Draco wondered if Pansy's words really had been true. Could Harry possibly fancy him?

Harry dropped the cloth and dragged a hand through his hair, making it even more unruly than usual. He was avoiding looking at Draco, Draco noted. The sound of a whistle split the air, and both of them jumped. "We'd better line up at the starting point," Harry said. Draco was uncomfortably aware of Harry's leg pressed full against him. Harry glanced down at their feet. "You'll have to time things with me. We start with the joined leg, then the other, back and forth. Make sense?"

The whole game made no sense as far as Draco was concerned. But he nodded anyway.

They took a few faltering steps to get over to the starting line, and Draco could see immediately what Harry had been talking about with stability. In all honesty, having their thighs tied together might have helped. As it was, they had to each hook an arm around the other's waist. Draco was beginning to think that the burlap sack might have been the better option after all.

He was given no more time to think about that, however. The whistle blew again, and Harry was moving them forward, stride long and sure, hurrying Draco on unless he wanted to fall down and bring Harry with him. It was the most awkward of things, having to time a step with Harry, and he realised that any of the teams who had picked different sized partners must be having an even worse time of it. At least they were similar in height. He could feel the strips of cloth straining to hold their legs together, feel the brush of Harry's hand on his hip . . . and had to hold himself back from throwing Harry down on purpose and get some relief for the parts of him that weren't being touched but desperately wanted to be!

It was a mercifully short run, thankfully enough. Harry handed off the baton to Hannah who jumped onto Ernie's back, and off they ran. Both Harry and Draco tried to bend to remove the tie, which of course caused them both to lose their balance. Draco found himself with a lapful of Harry. He only hoped the spectators were too busy watching the race to notice.

Draco was about to deliver a suitably scathing remark about Harry's clumsiness, when he made the mistake of looking into Harry's face. The words died on his tongue, and indeed his brain stuttered for a second to remember what speech was to begin with. He'd never seen those green eyes quite this close up before. They were rather remarkable, actually, and they were staring at him with an intensity that put a few stone's worth of weight to Pansy's theory. In fact, Harry looked like he wanted to kiss Draco. His lips were half parted, and there was a flush in his cheeks that Draco suspected had been there well before the race.

In a second of near madness, Draco nearly did it; nearly leaned in the short distance it would take to touch lips. But he wasn't quite that insane. Not here in public with half of Hogwarts watching. He licked his lips, aware that his heart was pounding and that he was probably sporting a bulge. "So you really do fancy me, do you, Potter?" He spat the name out, hoping it would garner the usual reaction. In fact, he prayed for it.

"What? I? No!" Harry pulled back, sputtering, giving Draco the chance to quickly untie their legs. A cheer went up; it seemed the race was in the final leg. Draco just had time to watch as Luna Lovegood, smiling like a loony and hopping for all her worth, crossed the finish line first. Ron had fallen after the second hop and was trying without success to stand up again.

Draco quickly stood up and assessed the damage; it looked like most everyone had been preoccupied with the race, but he did note that Hermione was glancing over in their direction, with a puzzled look on her face. Ah well; if anyone was going to notice strange behaviour in Harry Potter, Draco reckoned she would.

In fact, Draco decided, he'd make sure she would. One more rumour spread wouldn't hurt him, and he had to admit, he did so enjoy watching Potter squirm quail. He leaned in close, deliberately placing his hand on Harry's arse, and gave a little squeeze. "Well if you should change your mind . . ." He gave a wink, inwardly grinning at the look of absolute panic on Harry's face.

Then Draco walked off. He didn't care who won the races, and he had no intention for staying out in the chilly morning when he could be comfortably curled up in his bed. Wanking.

He also wanted to shove this in Snape's face. So his old Professor thought it couldn't be possible, that spark he'd felt? Oh, it was possible, all right.

Once at his room again, Draco pulled out the photograph. He resisted the urge to slide a hand down his shorts to fondle himself; there would be plenty of time for wanking once this chat was over. He planned to relive the experience of this morning over several times--with a few embellishments, of course.

"Snape!" Draco called at the portrait, rolling over onto his stomach to try and relieve the pressure of his aching cock.

It was only a moment before Snape sauntered into view, but by that time Draco was ready to start chewing on the bedclothes in frustration. "Yes? I'm surprised you aren't out with all the other idiots on the Quidditch pitch this morning. Conducting those silly games." Snape gave a sneer, flicking back a greasy strand of his dark hair.

Draco snorted. "I already did my part, thank you. I'll have nothing to do with the rest of it." He licked his lips, debating how to ask his question. "Have you heard any rumours around the castle? Pansy told me the other day in class that Potter fancies me. I didn't think much of it earlier, but I think now that she may be right."

Snape only blinked at him, which was about what Draco had expected. "And you felt the need to inform me of this--why?"

A good question. "Maybe because you're the only person I could tell who wouldn't blab it to everybody else." Draco suspected that the real reason Snape came when he called was not so much because Snape had been his godfather, charged to protect him, but because Snape, more than anybody else, knew what loneliness felt like. That sometimes one just needed a trusted friend to confide in.

Snape nodded at that, and tapped his wand to his lips. "And now I assume that you're thinking this could be the reason Potter saved your life."

Draco shook his head. "Not necessarily. It could be a new development." But part of him wanted to hold onto that idea, cling to it. He didn't know why.

"Well then, it seems to be the solution is simple. Ask him. The arrogant git can't lie to save his skin, believe me." Snape gave a harsh chuckle. Draco wondered what the joke was.

"But--" Draco stared to ask.

Snape waved a hand at him. "I refuse to discuss this further with you until you talk to him. I'm not here to listen to your half-conjectured theories and explanations. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

Draco let out a frustrated sigh. "No. I'm improving in my grades, except for the Defence Against Dark Arts. Potter's coaching me on the Patronus. That's about it, at the moment."

"You aren't being harassed as much now? I told you it would die off soon enough, if you ignored it."

Considering the names people still called out when he passed them in the hallways, Draco wasn't so sure. "It's better." At least his personal drawer was well warded now.

Snape gave a nod. "Then I will see you later, Malfoy. Give my regards to your family." He stepped out of the picture frame, leaving it empty once more.

Draco returned the frame to the drawer, and locked the door, ensuring himself some privacy.

Then he let himself dream.

***

October 12th, 1998, Hogwarts School of Wizardry


There was warm breath on his lower stomach, the softest brush of hair. Harry moaned, his fingers tangling in the fine hair, desperately hoping for the swipe of a tongue on his swollen cock to ease the pressure, desperately needing to come. He was in a bed of some kind, one he'd never owned, but the setting was familiar. He'd had this dream many times.

"Draco," Harry sighed, and the word felt funny on his tongue; that part of the dream was new. He seemed to recall that the hair of his partner in bed had once been ginger, the mouth hesitant, before the start of this school year. Now, however, it was always platinum blond.

All thoughts of that were torn aside as a warm mouth claimed him with obvious skill and determination, sucking. Harry cried out, looking down at his old rival, watching him swallow down Harry's length over and over . . .

Harry woke up with a raging hard-on.

He swore softly to himself, glancing over to see if Ron was asleep or up and about already. The latter, he decided, after ascertaining that the lump on Ron's bed was a pile of books and not Ron himself. Harry allowed his hand to slide down beneath his pyjama bottoms, wrapping his fingers around his cock and squeezing a little, drawing a little groan. This was getting ridiculous; he was starting to have this dream all the time now, and nothing to do about it except for the quick wank now and again. Would that damned Malfoy never leave him alone?

Slowly Harry began stroking himself, trying not to think about anything--or anyone. Just the feel of his hand sliding up and down his cock, the way the pleasure built up. Nevermind how much he really wanted to fuck . . . someone. Or how it would feel, plunging into flesh instead of . . . .

Oh hell.

Harry bit his lip as he came over his hand. It wasn't satisfying enough any more. It just wasn't.

He cleaned himself up, and headed down to the Common Room.

Hermione was there studying; Ron was probably downstairs eating breakfast, Harry reckoned. Ron was shooting up in height lately, and seemed to require the food for five people. Sitting down next to Hermione, Harry pulled out his potions book and tried to read, but images from his dream kept invading his thoughts. It was going to be another long day.

"Harry? Can I talk to you?" Hermione leaned in close, glancing around. There were a few other people in the Common Room, some reading, some quietly talking on the sofa by the fireplace. None of them paid much mind, but Harry leaned in closer as well, just in case.

"What about?"

Hermione licked her lips and looked nervous. "I heard a conversation last week in Molly's class, between Pansy and Draco. According to Pansy, there's a rumour going around that you . . . fancy Draco. That you've been following him around." She stared hard at Harry.

Harry could feel the colour rising to his cheeks, whether he willed it or not. "Really? Did they know you were listening in? Because you know it's possible they did and they were only talking for your benefit, you know." He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help it; suddenly his heart seemed to be racing and his mouth was dry. So that's how Draco had found out! He knew!

"Well that's true, that's true," Hermione conceded, but Harry could tell she was studying him like a hawk. "You're not suspecting him of something this year and following him, are you?" Harry shook his head. He tried to go back to reading but he couldn't really; not with her staring like that. He sighed and set his book down, waiting for her to speak. At last, she did. "So, Harry. Are you homosexual?" She said the word as if describing the purple spotted garden gnome, or a particular breed of fungus.

It was something he'd come to realise was true. Nevertheless, he wasn't exactly ready to talk about it just yet. "Well, uh--what about Cho? Ginny? I mean I've looked--a little--but that doesn't mean anything. I certainly don't know a bloody bit about fashion. Or hair." He smiled sheepishly, indicating the unruly mop on his head.

"True," Hermione said, "But why again didn't Cho work out? And what about Ginny? Are the two of you on or off? It seems to be like you've been rather off lately. I think she's been sneaking off with Blaise Zabini. Or hadn't you noticed?"

He hadn't, actually. But it didn't surprise him. "Yeah . . . I think I realised Ginny and I don't really have that much in common after all. I mean I still love her. Just not . . . that way." He shrugged.

Hermione nodded. "So you're still determining your sexuality--well that's common at this age. I think I can handle it if you decide you're gay." She grimaced. "But not Draco, please. I'm sure there has to be someone at this school other than him to fancy."

A headache was beginning to pound in Harry's temples. "Right," he said, just to shut her up. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any studying done here. "Well, I'm off to get some breakfast. I'll see you later!" It was a rather obvious attempt to escape, but he didn't care. The next thing she'd be doing would be asking about his dreams. And he really didn't want to go there.

After his Potions class, Harry went over to see the mysterious Room of Requirement door again. Hermione had been right about one thing. He'd been following Draco sometimes, wearing his Invisibility Cloak. And he'd seen how the door had appeared for Draco. Was it just because Draco and he knew how to conjure the room? Or was it something different? Harry hadn't asked Ginny or Neville about it, and they were pretty much the only other experts. He didn't want to talk to Ginny.

One other possibility was McGonagall. She was aware of the castle's healing process. She had to know about the room now, after all of the Order had used it to get into Hogwarts before the last battle.

Harry headed over to the Headmaster (now Headmistress) office, wondering if the password had changed. He tried the old one, but wasn't surprised when the gargoyle only blinked at him. Harry sighed. "Is McGonagall in? I need to talk to her."

The gargoyle was silent, but a moment later McGonagall emerged from the door, looking at Harry expectantly over her glasses. "I understand you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Have you been in the Room of Requirement since, you know, the battle?" He'd told her about how the room had been destroyed by Crabbe's Fiendfyre, when he'd been busy answering all the questions that had come out that day. He didn't want to mention names of those who had perished.

McGonagall shook her head, frowning. "No. I'm afraid it was destroyed."

A pain went through Harry at that, though he wasn't sure why. It just didn't seem right for Hogwarts to lose a part of itself like that. "Maybe not. I mean, the door survived, didn't it?"

"What do you mean?" McGonagall glanced around, and spotting some Gryffindor students heading back to their dorms, she waved Harry to follow her into the office. He did so, nervously glancing at the paintings once there. Dumbledore wasn't in his frame, he noted. Thankfully, neither was Snape.

"I mean I tried to get the door to appear, and it did. But I couldn't open it," Harry stated, his eyes falling on other items in the room, feeling the cold echo of loss. Fawkes's stand was still there, but of course Fawkes himself was no longer perched on it.

McGonagall sat down, rubbing the arms of her chair thoughtfully. "The door appeared for you? It hasn't appeared for me."

Now that was curious. "When was the last time you tried?" Harry asked.

"Right after the second game--the races. I check several things around the school after inter-House activities. I want to make sure what we're doing is helping the school. Which, I must say, it does seem to be. The cracks in the wall are healing, I've noticed." Harry nodded; he'd seen that as well. It was good that the torment he'd gone through in the race had been worth something, besides utter mortification.

But that was interesting that the door wasn't appearing for McGonagall. It had appeared for him that first week of school, and they were now a couple of months in. He'd have to ask Hermione, to see if it would appear for her. "Well, maybe . . ." Harry started to say that maybe it was only working for those who had last been inside it. But that would mean only himself, Hermione, Ron, Draco, and Goyle. "I'll let you know if I get the door to open." That seemed fair enough, anyhow.

"Yes." McGonagall said in that way only she could, with that imperative tone. "Please do, Mr. Potter. Thanks for informing me."

Harry thanked her for her time, and left.

***