The Knight Bus could not have been more adequately named. Harry was glad to escape Grimmauld Place, even if guilt nagged at him for such a sentiment.
He had managed to sneak out of the Drawing Room, softly clicking the door shut behind him. Harry was so mortified at listening to such a private conversation; that he resolved to never enter the room again. He’d managed to succeed in this aim for the rest of the weekend.
The four-some reconvened to go over interesting information they’d found. Aside from learning to channel hate for the three Unforgivable Curses, the spells were all rather standard. They quickly became disgusted when the books on Muggle torture had been brought out. Essentially, the books advised psychological warfare toward all people, magical and Muggle alike.
Then Harry recognized a quite unique spell that would, apparently, conjure a temporary ghost from an adversary’s past. The illusion would be an accusatory one, blaming the conjurer’s enemy for all its misfortune. Usually, the long dead personal demon was someone who used to be an important figure in the enemy’s life.
“This one sounds a lot like my dream,” Harry told them absently, once he’d explained the passage.
“If we were to practice that . . . well, it wouldn’t be pleasant. I don’t think any of us want to be tortured.”
“Let’s not work on that one,” Ron muttered.
At one point, Harry’d finally managed to approach Moody and ask him to teach him a defensive spell quickly. As an extra touch, he said, “We have to keep our eyes open for trouble. I want to be ready when it comes.”
Moody growled a bit, but Harry thought he saw the shade of a grin on the scarred Auror. He leaned in rather close to Harry’s face, the stench of bacon noticeable on his breath. “I know the Weasleys won’t appreciate me teaching anything to you lot just now,” he rumbled “but I’ll tell you this, Boy. No one can catch you if they can’t see you.” He stepped away and gestured toward his outstretched wand. “Fumos Ner,” he grumbled quietly. A small bit of very dark smoke spurted out.
Abruptly, he turned and continued gobbling away without further comment. Harry’s eyes were wide and his mind was spinning with possibilities.
The Weasley parents weren’t likely to catch anyone behaving badly. They rarely left the bedroom with the fireplace. Harry wandered past it on the way to the bathroom a few times. Each pass allowed him the chance to hear the sound of either endless sorrow, or deadly silence. The latter was becoming increasingly common. It wasn’t only Mrs. Weasley shedding her pain, however. The bass tones of a man grieving could often be heard.
Harry and Hermione often had to prepare a couple of meals a day. They would carry the brimming plates in and remove the hefty remains of prior meals. All the while, they tried not to look. Harry wasn’t sure if Hermione was doing it out of politeness, but he knew if he looked, it would surely affect him as deeply as when he overheard their conversation from the fireplace. They dead look in their eyes would likely remind him of Sirius; he didn’t need reminding.
The others couldn’t get more than an hour to themselves to take care of such necessary chores anyway. Ginny searched feverishly for any new spells that could aid her. “Once we know a good enough assortment, we can practice postures. Then, we can practice on each other!”
If the trio showed any discontent, her shrieks could be well heard throughout the house. If her parents heard, they couldn’t have been terribly concerned. Molly and Arthur were as yet only ever spotted when heading to the bathroom.
At night, Harry fell asleep to the sounds of the lapping water in the tub and assumed Mr. Weasley was carefully tending to his wife. It was at once the most pitiable and loving gesture Harry could think of.
A sudden stop brought Harry’s knee hard into the table and his mind out of trance.
“Hogsmeade!” shouted Stan from closer to the front. He seemed to have finally got a good look at one of their faces, because he began to say, “’Ey. Look ‘oo it is, Ernie . . . It’s-“
“-Your head if you don’t shut it now!” Tonks told him as harshly and as quietly as possible as they pushed through to the front.
The Weasleys were ‘indisposed’- as people put it- so Tonks, Kingsley, Lupin and Snape were present to ensure the safe passage of the teenagers. All were covered head-to-toe in robes that barely allowed them to see. Tonks was looking rather plain and ratty- no doubt to avoid attention. Kingsley was a person who naturally dominated a room, so he also was concealed by thick, voluminous robes. The Hogwarts professors faded into the crowd as easily as wisps of smoke.
Once off the bus, they walked briskly through town. They didn’t want to attract attention, so they bent their heads against the wind and made a point of hiding their faces. Still, their tense postures and quick steps were earning them interested gazes. Harry’s nervous tension transferred into a racing heart. He, for some reason, felt afraid without outwardly noticing any danger. His legs itched to run.
He felt strangely relieved when they finally reached the gates, although he was unsure what he had feared. Tonks and Kingsley stopped at the gates while the rest continued on. He felt the eyes of the two left behind, following his hunched body. They took a near-run to the castle. Darkness was creeping over the grounds, and soon, they would lose what little protection daylight offered.
As they approached the immense front door, they saw Dumbledore’s form emerge. He ushered them quickly inside with nods of greeting. With a flick of his wand, the doors closed slightly quicker than usual. A glance at Ron told Harry that his friends were now feeling the pinch of his being so closely protected.
“I took the liberty of sending a hot meal up to your common room. You’ve been excused from any homework due tomorrow, but the following day was the furthest I could push such matters,” he said with a touch of humour. Dumbledore could probably banish homework completely if he felt so inclined.
“So please relax and enjoy the evening to the best of your abilities. Classes will recommence for you all tomorrow. Professor Snape, thank you for your assistance. I know you have several important matters to attend to.”
Snape responded with a simple curt nod and a swing of his cloak. Seconds later, he’d rounded a corner and was gone.
The four began to move past him, but the headmaster caught Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, I’d like to speak with you and Professor Lupin in my office, please.”
He looked at his friends who’d paused to wait for him and motioned them to head up to Gryffindor Tower. They hesitated, but only momentarily, before warily continuing on their way. Harry pursed his lips and stalked off at a brisk pace toward the door to the circular staircase. ‘I just got back!’ he thought ‘Why does he want to bother me now?’
Lupin moved alongside him. “All right, Harry? You were a bit quiet on the Knight Bus.”
“Did you expect me to be giggling and having a jolly time while I was flying about the lower level; and with Snape acting so . . . like Snape? He was just trying to make me expose us.”
“Professor Snape can make you do no such thing. Only you control how you react. Remember that.”
Harry shot him a scathing look. He knew he had to control his emotions, but was tired of people acting like they were something to be turned on and off at a snap.
Dumbledore called out the password and Harry angrily rushed ahead. He really was not in the mood to hear what terrible news awaited him. The only remotely good thing that had happened was when Harry found the dark hallucination spell. Even that brought him back to the raw spot of Sirius’ death.
He burst into Dumbledore’s office only to see Malfoy. He’d frozen when Harry suddenly appeared. He’d obviously been poking around at some of the headmaster’s silver, whirring objects.
“What are you doing here?” asked Harry, somewhat less than civilly.
Draco slid away to the far side of the room- no doubt to distance himself from whatever he’d been fooling with. “I was invited,” he said smoothly.
Professors Lupin and Dumbledore entered the room, and were instantly verbally attacked. “What are you playing at?” he spat. He was not in the mood for whatever childish game of ‘Learning How to Share’ they wanted to force on them.
Remus stiffened. “We will not discuss anything until you calm down, Harry. We don’t appreciate being spoken to in such a manner.”
The headmaster crossed behind his desk and sat.
“Please, sit,” he said heavily, as a couple of spare chairs appeared to accommodate his guests. Lupin diplomatically sat between Harry and his nemesis.
They waited patiently while Harry collected himself. Thankfully, Malfoy knew enough to stay quiet for the time being. Dumbledore’s steepled fingers pressed beneath his jaw. He calmly watched Harry over his fingers.
Finally, Harry grit his teeth and muttered, “Could you please tell me why I’m here and why . . . he’s here . . . Sir?” It sounded more like an order, but the elder two must have known that it was probably the politest question they would get out of him.
So rarely in a rush, Professor Dumbledore paused for a moment. Just when Harry was ready to claw his own eyes out, he spoke.
“I know you have other matters on your mind, so I’ll get straight to business. Mr. Malfoy here will be joining your D.A. class.”
“What? ” he shouted. “Sir?” he finished moronically in a high-pitched squeal. He could have sworn he heard Malfoy snicker, but he was sure he’d kill the snake if he looked at him. “He’s a Death Eater in training. Why would he even want to be in my class?”
Remus Lupin, mercifully, appeared to be slightly surprised as well, although he hid it rather well.
“I had hoped you would accept him on your own, however strained a history you two may have endured. I suppose I was wrong.”
Harry snorted and sunk lower into his chair.
“Mr. Malfoy,” he continued, looking reprovingly at the both of them (Malfoy seemed to be enjoying every minute of Harry’s petulance), but returning his gaze to Harry. “Has decided to aid our efforts in the war.”
“Yeah right . . . Sir . . . He’s probably acting as a spy. He has been this entire time!”
“Things change . . .” said Lupin.
“Like what? He’s grown all of a centimetre- if that- and suddenly he’s not evil? He hasn’t changed!”
“Draco Malfoy isn’t evil, Harry,” said Dumbledore, careful not to show his irritation. “He’s suffered a major change in his life.”
Harry scoffed. “He’s never suffered, his family made sure of that.” Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw the Slytherin stiffen.
“Headmaster? I don’t think he really needs to be told-“
“- He certainly does. You two now have, sadly, some common ground. You’ve both lost your fathers.”
Harry felt an unsettling concoction of anger, vindictiveness, and pity. He ventured a glance at his enemy, unaware of his mouth hanging open. Draco had lost all the colour in his face and was determinedly avoiding Harry’s stare. His stomach clenched as he thought he knew the answer to his next question.
“How?”
“Lucius Malfoy escaped from Diagon Alley a week or so ago. When he returned to Voldemort, without you, he reported what had happened. As we understand it, it was his last chance to capture you. . . . Ineffective Death Eaters are not given unlimited chances . . .”
Malfoy’s nails were scratching the stain off of the wooden arms of his chair. Dumbledore nodded sympathetically at him. Harry had an idea of what had happened some time before, but didn’t waste thought on it. Perhaps he avoided the matter because he knew the truth. In essence, Lucius died because of Harry. He’d expected Malfoy to continue to lead his schoolhouse campaigns against him. He hadn’t expected him to go the opposite way of his father.
“He wishes to assist the Order for his own reasons,” added Dumbledore. It seemed as if he could read Harry’s thoughts. On this occasion, it was annoying.
After a moment, Harry stared his headmaster hard in the eye. “How do you know he can be trusted?” It was the same with Snape. The headmaster was always giving his trust away in neatly wrapped gift boxes to anyone who cared to drop by.
“I trust him.”
Growling loudly, Harry shoved the chair back, leaving it to crash to the floor. He quickly strode to the door, ignoring the sounds of protest from both of his professors. He wrenched the door open without a backward glance and barged his way through the corridors to reach Gryffindor Tower.