doing ordinary things

[sab]

So it's some sort of WIP-coming-out-of-the-closet-Day, and because I need a holiday in order to get anything done, here's a Harry Potter story I may never finish. It wanted to be about wiz kids grappling with kid issues, kicking it like Muggles, in situations that are hardly magical at all. Because I always love that story, you know, where someone has to teach Draco to use the phone. *g*

Anyway, taste! Lemme know what you think.

Title: Extraordinary People (Doing Ordinary Things)
Author: sabine101
Category: HP: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione

In which American politics corrupts and Wizarding power corrupts absolutely, Harry smokes pot and the new kid isn't in love with anyone.

Dedicated wholehearted and half-finishedly to prillalar and probably helenish too.



Extraordinary People


Winter came early to Hogwarts. The air was heavy and slow as they crawled toward next month’s holiday, and, before that, next month’s Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the traditional season kickoff. For Harry Potter, the days dragged on. Essays piled upon essays, preparations for the N.E.W.T. exams seemed to double and redouble in intensity with every class, and only the daily Quidditch practices seemed to pass too quickly for his liking. It had been an uneventful autumn. No one had tried to kill Harry, no one had tried to kill Harry’s friends, and even Karen Calico, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, was no nastier than the typical Hogwarts professor with her impossible assignments and tendency to hand out detentions like McGonagall handed out biscuits. Still, she showed no signs of dark influence, Voldemort mind control, or particular idiocy, and it was positively refreshing. And positively dull, dull, dull. Harry’s final year at Hogwarts, and everything bored him now.

He plugged away at his Charms homework in the Gryffindor common room, chewing idly on the feathery tip of his quill, while on the next armchair Hermione was trying to brush away Ron, whose barrage of kisses were making it near impossible for her to get any reading done.

"Later, Ron," she said, peeling his arms from around her neck. "I promise I’ll pay attention to you. Once I’m finished this chapter."

"You said that at supper," Ron whined. "You’re miles ahead in History of Magic anyhow. And I’m randy!"

Hermione swallowed a laugh with a snort, but her eyes were twinkling. "Charming," she said. "And this isn’t homework. I’m doing some research on the International Wizarding Senatorial Candidates. It’s an election year, you know."

Harry threw a glance at the notice board, peppered with stickers, slogans, voter registration pamphlets and enormous propaganda placards that chanted the names of various Senatorial candidates. "Really," he said. "I’d never have guessed."

"Honestly, both of you," Hermione grunted. "Next year we’re all going to be looking for real jobs; you’d think you’d take more of an interest in the wizarding government."

Ron muttered something that sounded like, "yeah, I know, I should, I really should," and tried to crawl onto the arm of Hermione’s chair where Crookshanks was already perched. Harry went back to his essay questions.

The truth was, Harry knew more about muggle politics than he did about wizard ones, and even that wasn’t very much. What he did know was that politics was a messy business, and one he’d prefer to stay far, far away from. The local government, in the form of the Ministry of Magic, had caused Harry and his friends more trouble than anything else, and beyond causing trouble, they didn’t seem to offer anything either to the wizard world or to Britain as a whole. The International Wizarding Senate, whose home base was somewhere in Romania, therefore had even less influence in Harry’s daily life. He knew the names of some of the candidates because their placards shouted at him every morning as he headed down to breakfast. The frontrunners included a French woman named Eloise Colette, currently waving a placard reading "Muggle-nomics: A Poor Choice for Wizards!" from her portrait on the board. Another was a Polish woman named Agniezka Zelinski who sat in her portrait, behind her desk, furiously scribbling more promises for the wizarding world, and an American fellow named Carl Barry was shown in a bright green playing field of some sort, giving a perpetual thumbs-up. They all seemed equally harmless, and, come Election Day in the spring, Harry knew he’d vote for whoever Hermione told him was best.

"I should really go to bed," Hermione said, closing her book. Then, to Ron, "you coming?"

Hermione had developed a particularly ingenious spell that would camouflage Ron as any member of the girl’s wing in Gryffindor, thus allowing him access to her private room in the otherwise forbidden dormitory. There was a bit of confusion the day Parvati Patil ran into herself heading to the loo, but Hermione explained that one away as a mirroring charm, and, since Hermione’s knowledge of spells so far exceeded any one else’s on the hall, no one bothered to question her.

Ron tossed Harry a wide grin, and then stood up and nodded at Hermione. She pointed her wand at him. "Feminus Gryffindor!" she commanded, and in a puff of smoke, Ron was replaced with his younger sister Ginny, who was eyeing Hermione lasciviously.

Harry’d grown accustomed to getting a little girl-on-girl action in the common room after Hermione conducted one of her spells, but this time Hermione only took Ginny’s hand to escort her up the stairs. It was probably for the best this time, Harry thought. He’d never been comfortable with the image of Hermione kissing Ron, so Hermione kissing Ginny would probably creep him out more than he could tolerate.

"Night," he called after them, but they were gone and Harry was alone in the common room. For a moment, anyway, until he heard the telltale creak of the Fat Lady portrait swinging open, and he turned to see who was coming into the tower.

Standing there, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a nylon duffel bag in the other hand was a boy Harry had never seen before.

"This is Gravenpuff, right?" the boy said, in a bored American drawl. "A hat told me to come up here."

"Gryffindor," said Harry, standing up to shake the strange boy’s hand. "I’m Harry Potter."

"Oh, I’ve heard about you," the boy said. "My dad said something about – you were in some mad fight, weren’t you?"

Harry shrugged. "That’s probably me," he said. "Are you a first year, then?"

"Um," the boy shrugged too. "I’m a senior. I’m doing, I’m here to take the Newt exams so I can get certified. I’m a transfer."

Harry had heard about students entering Hogwarts later in their school careers, but such people were rare, and always transferred from other schools of wizardry. He’d never met a seventh-year transfer student before, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible. "N.E.W.T’s" Harry corrected. "What’s your name? What school are you from?"

"Chris Barry," the boy said. "I went to Walt Whitman High in Huntington. That’s on the island. In New York. Dad’s here for the year because of some eligibility thing; he’s running for –"

"The International Wizarding Senate," Harry nodded, wishing he’d listened to Hermione more. "I’ve heard of him." Harry cocked a thumb at the message board, where Chris Barry’s father waved from his poster.

"Dude, what’s that, like a plasma screen?" Chris Barry asked. "Hey, dad," he said, returning the wave.

Harry wasn’t sure what a plasma screen was, but he thought it better not to ask. "I haven’t heard of Walt Whitman High," he said. "Then, I don’t know much of American wizard schools."

"Oh, it’s not a wizard school, just a regular public high school," Chris said. "And it really bites I got pulled in the middle of my senior year. I mean, I’m sure this is a cool place and everything, but, you know. I miss my peeps. This whole wizard thing is so lame, I just wish…" He trailed off, evidently realizing he might have insulted Harry.

"Well," said Harry, too puzzled to be insulted. "Anyway, welcome to Hogwarts."

"Um, yeah," Chris said, looking as perplexed as Harry felt. "Anyway, can you show me where my dorm room is so I can put this crap down and crash?"

*

At breakfast, Harry spotted Chris Barry over at the Slytherin table chatting with Pansy Parkinson. He thought about going over there to tell Chris that usually Gryffindors ate at their own table, but when Draco Malfoy slid in on the other side of Pansy, Harry decided to mind his own business.

"He’s good looking, anyway," Hermione said. "Very American looking. You know, big and strapping, with good teeth, like a horse. And nice shoulders."

Ron sniffed loudly.

"Just because I think he’s well-built doesn’t mean I intend to seduce him," Hermione frowned at Ron. "Relax."

"I don’t go on and on about other girls I fancy," Ron mumbled. "It’s not what people do."

"I don’t intend to censor my thoughts simply because you and I happen to be having sex," Hermione said, crunching a piece of toast. "He’s a good looking guy." She softened. "But I prefer your freckles." Ron straightened proudly, beaming like an idiot.

"Heads up, Potter," came an unpleasant voice, and Harry turned around to see Draco towering over him. Malfoy had shot up several inches over the summer, and now measured at over six feet, making his wiry frame seem even more elastic, and emphasizing his easy, lazy droop. He looked more and more like his father every day, Harry thought; the same piercing eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Draco had taken to wearing his white-blond hair long, held back with a binding charm today. Hermione had mentioned, more than once, to Ron’s increasing ire, that Draco had become a terribly attractive young man, a fact that Harry could not bring himself to dispute. He coughed.

"What do you want?"

"That new Gryffindor’s wandered out of his pen," Draco said. "If you’d be kind enough to bring him back home I’d appreciate it; his presence is spoiling our meal."

"You’re just upset he’s putting the moves on your girlfriend," Ron intoned, nodding toward the Slytherin table where Chris Barry was, indeed, leaning closer to Pansy and laughing at something apparently extremely funny.

"Pansy knows the difference between that piece of shite and a real man," Draco said, pulling himself up to his full height. "It’s simply that looking at a Gryffindor tends to put me off my breakfast."

"I’m sure you’d…" Harry started in, but they were saved the trouble of continuing this dialogue by McGonagall, standing at the head of the Gryffindor table and clapping her hands. Draco glided back to his own table without so much as a glance at Harry.

"Gryffindors, Gryffindors, eyes front please," she clapped some more, and the buzz of breakfast chatter dropped to some low whispers and the occasional clink of a glass or a fork.

"Today we are faced with a most unusual matter, but one I believe my Gryffindors will address with your usual integrity and consideration."

Now everyone was quiet, and McGonagall continued. "Mr. Barry, if you’ll please stand up from the Slytherin table and join us?"

Chris Barry, somewhere between embarrassed and confused, stood up where Draco was towering over him and shuffled over to the Gryffindor table to take the open spot next to Ron.

"Gryffindors," McGonagall said again. "It is my great pleasure to introduce Mr. Christopher Barry, the newest member of our house. He has come all the way from America to complete his studies and prepare for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s. Though it is somewhat unusual for Hogwarts to accept a transfer student, especially one so close to the end of his schooling –" Harry could swear he saw her exchange a glance with Dumbledore, who was sitting at the dais, calmly eating. "But Mr. Barry’s father is one of the candidates in this years IWS leadership election, and he believed, rightly, that Hogwarts was the best school in which his son could thrive."

"Helps we’re the only school in Europe that holds all its classes in English," Hermione huffed. "Obviously Barry’s father bought Chris a place at this school. I find it utterly reprehensible when politics tries to interfere with education."

"So I put it to you, my Gryffindors, to make sure that Mr. Barry is aided in anything he requires while he adjusts to life at Hogwarts. You are to – help him with his studies, if necessary, and make sure he understands the rules and regulations you have all spent your time here learning. Prefects, I am counting on you. You shall meet Mr. Barry after breakfast and escort him to his first class. Thank you all, enjoy your meals, and welcome, Mr. Barry, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Even the other three houses had hushed to hear McGonagall speak, but the room now resumed its usual breakfast-time chatter, eating and gossiping, though, Harry was certain, much of the gossip featured Chris Barry and his father. Harry turned to Chris and smiled.

"That’s always so embarrassing," Chris said, grimacing. "I hate being the new kid. It’s like, everybody’s staring at me, nobody knows if I’m cool, I could have been the most popular guy back at my school but here I’m just…" he trailed off, and Harry furrowed his brow.

"Who’s popular here?" Chris asked. "Like, who has the best parties, or, like, is awesome at sports?"

"Harry is the best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years," Hermione said, proudly. "Do you follow Quidditch?"

"Is that like cricket? When I left the states everybody was joking I was gonna have to start playing cricket. I don’t even know how that game works. There’s a guy with a bat, right?"

Ron, whose father had a cricket bat which he waved around proudly proclaiming to know everything there was to know about the sport, nodded. "Yeah, a bat, and, I think, wickets? Dad’s always talking about wickets and a bowler."

"Quidditch," Hermione said, bringing them back to the point. "Is a wizarding game. Seven players from each team fly on broomsticks, attempting to win goals by launching balls through one of three rings. Harry, the Seeker, spends the game’s duration hunting for the golden snitch – a smaller, winged ball whose capture gives 150 points to the team whose Seeker catches it, and ends the game."

Chris was laughing. "You’re kidding about the broomsticks, right? Witches on broomsticks? Do you have to wear pointy hats?"

"A pointed hat wouldn’t be practical in Quidditch," Ron said seriously. "It’d definitely get blown off, what with the kind of flying they do."

"So that’s – do you have other sports? Basketball? I played shooting guard on the varsity team my freshman year, I was hoping to get a game here."

Both Harry and Hermione sighed. They clearly weren’t going to get anywhere with Chris. Ron, who shared a bit of his father’s interest in muggle sports, started asking questions about basketball, but Harry looked at Hermione and rolled his eyes.

"Harry – can we talk? On the way to class, maybe?" Hermione leaned in to whisper.

Alexis Whitsey and Ian Bond, the fifth-year prefects, had come to the table and Ron was introducing them to Chris. They all waved goodbye as the prefects took Chris to his first class, and Ron, Harry and Hermione gathered their bags to get going themselves.

"So what do you think, Harry?" Ron asked. "Basketball, it’s this big orange ball and it bounces, but there’s hoops just like in Quidditch. You put a tall player – maybe a half-giant, or an animagus of some sort – to block the basket while the other players smack the ball with their hands to make it bounce around. We could set that up here, don’t you think so?"

Hermione shushed him. "Listen," she said, as they started to Harry and Ron’s Charms class. "I have a suspicion. Will you meet me in the library after supper tonight?"

"A suspicion about the American?" Ron asked.

"Later," Hermione whispered, and she leaned in to give Ron a kiss before ducking down the hall toward Arithmancy.

*

Harry had an early dinner with Ron and Ginny, but after witnessing Ron’s Feminus transfiguration the night before Harry admitted he was much more comfortable after they bid goodbye to the younger Weasley and set off to meet Hermione in the library.

When they arrived at her favorite carrel, the sight that greeted them was far more uncomfortable than any number of Ginny Weasleys. Hermione was hunched over a stack of books, and beside her, head also hunched so that his forehead nearly touched Hermione’s, was Draco Malfoy.

"Ron, Harry, excellent," Hermione said, turning round and gesturing for them to sit down at the next carrel. "Draco’s been telling me some rather intriguing tales of wizard politics, and we think –"

Harry had sat down, but Ron was still standing beside the desk, his mouth and eyes wide open, goggling at Draco. "What – Hermione, what’s this git doing here?"

Draco sniffed. "If you think I’m trying to seduce your shaggy-haired girlfriend, Weasley, I assure you you have nothing to worry about."

Hermione slapped Draco on the shoulder. "Be nice!" she said. Draco smirked, but looked – Harry couldn’t believe it – almost apologetic.

"Though she’s quite feisty, this one, and I’ll admit there’s something compelling about working with someone whose intellect matches my own," Draco went on.

"Shush," Hermione interrupted. "Draco and I have bumped into one another a number of times this term, as we’re both rather interested in the IWS elections. When it occurred to me he might have insight into the more…subversive aspects of wizarding politics, I decided to invite him to share knowledge with me."

"Share knowledge!" Ron coughed. "That better be all you’re sharing, Draco, or I swear…"

"You’ll waggle that second-hand wand at me?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Ron. This one" – she cocked a thumb at Draco – "mightn’t be my first choice to spend time with, but the truth is, he knows about government, and his History of Magic marks are nearly as high as mine."

"Very nearly," Draco growled, but he was grinning at Hermione.

Harry had been watching the exchange with a combination of horror and intrigue. Since the beginning of the term, he’d been aware that his own feelings toward Malfoy had started to change, but it had never occurred to him that his friends might also have begun to soften toward Draco. Now, seeing Hermione and Draco sitting here like old chums, he realized that Draco himself had changed. After Lucius Malfoy had been released from Voldemort’s army, Draco had begun to lose some of his arrogance, and had been less likely to attack unprovoked or mock others for sport. Maybe they were all just growing up, but whatever it was, this new acceptance of Draco was both thrilling to Harry and extremely confusing. He shot a look at Ron.

"Well – we’ll talk about this later, Hermione," Ron said, weakly, and took the seat next to Harry. "Now what’s so Merlin-fearing important?"

"Carl Barry worked in muggle politics as well as wizard politics in the States," Hermione said. "He’s been in a number of muggle elections…"

"Rigged a number of them, you mean," Draco interjected, but Hermione ignored him.

"Including a failed run in the Gubernatorial race in…Connecticut, was it?" Hermione consulted her notes.

"I thought Chris said he lived in New York?" Harry asked.

"Maybe Connecticut’s a part of New York somehow," Draco said. "Either way, the numbskull lost the election."

"Connecticut is not part of New York," Hermione sighed. "Anyway, that was two years ago, and Carl Barry disappeared from the muggle political scene after that."

"But not the wizarding one," Ron pursed his lips, still clearly off-put by Malfoy’s presence. "Right?"

"Indeed, Mr. Weasley," Draco said. "Fine bit of deductive reasoning there."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry hissed.

"Please," added Hermione. Draco sniffed.

"Carl Barry has had a seat on the NARHWAL – that’s the North American Regional High Wizarding Action Legislature – for fifteen years," Draco said. "For the last five years he’s been the Speaker-to-Arms…"

"Though we’re not precisely sure what that means --" Hermione put in.

"Which reports only to the High Congressional Leader, which is like our Minister of Magic," said Draco.

"He’s also served on the IWS for the last ten years as one of five witches and wizards from the United States," Hermione said. "They’ve named him their nominee for Senate Leader, as we all know."

Harry, who hadn’t known any of this beyond the fact that Carl Barry was running for something and liked to wave at people, nodded. "Sure," he said.

"I still don’t understand why I’m supposed to give a flying sod about this," Ron said.

"We know," Hermione said sweetly, and Harry bristled on Ron’s behalf. "We’re not done yet."

"Get on with it, then," Ron mumbled, his cheeks flaming.

"The American kid is a SQUIB," Draco said triumphantly. "The idiot can’t do a lick of magic."

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Draco taught me a rather ingenious spell," Hermione said, and the half-smile that broke out on Draco’s face made Harry want to throttle him, though whether for Ron’s sake or for his own he wasn’t sure. "This here –" she tapped a book. "Is the one-hundred-and-fifty-third revised edition of ‘Who’s Who in American Wizardry.’ It says…" She flipped open to a page she had marked. "Carl Barry, Speaker-to-Arms, NARHWAL, etcetera, etcetera, father of Christopher Barry, seventeen, blah blah, nothing out of the ordinary. BUT." Hermione gave Draco a nod, and he tapped the book with his wand.

"Reminiscio!" Draco said, and the gilt lettering on the book shimmered, the big "153rd Edition" squirming into the shape of a "147th."

"Now look," Hermione said, flipping back to Carl Barry’s entry, from which Carl, Chris, and a woman who could only be Chris’s mother sat posed for a photograph, blinking and shielding their eyes and fanning themselves in the hot sun. "Carl Barry, blah blah," Hermione read, "son, Christopher, five, shows no magical aptitude at this time."

"Well, maybe he didn’t know," Harry said, with an inexplicable desire to defend Chris. "I mean, he wasn’t in a wizard school, he’d probably never picked up a wand…"

"After intensive testing by both local wizarding school officials and representatives of the NARHWAL, Christopher Barry has been declared a non-magical person born of a full witch and full wizard; in common terms, a squib." Hermione read out.

"Well, can’t argue with that, can we," Ron said. "Fantastic. I’m sure I don’t care."

"I’m sure you don’t either, Weasley, but your darling Hermione and I do," Draco said, and Harry clenched a fist.

"What’s he doing at Hogwarts, then?" Harry asked, looking only at Hermione.

"Precisely the question we’re asking, Potter," Draco said, looking at Harry for the first time since they’d arrived.

"Dumbledore must know about Chris," Hermione said. "The question is – why would he let an exchange student with no magical aptitude enter Hogwarts – in N.E.W.T. year, no less?"

No one had an answer to that.

"Anyway," said Hermione, standing up. "I think this is worth looking into, don’t you agree?"

Harry looked at Ron, who was looking at the floor. "Sure, Hermione," said Harry. "It’s very interesting. Let us know what you find out."

Hermione was collecting her books, but she stopped to shoot Harry a glare. "You don’t think this is important? Don’t you care?"

"If it’s important to you, it’s important to me," Ron said, standing up to help Hermione with her books. "I’ll keep an eye on the American bloke, but, Hermione…"

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"I’d like to speak with you. Alone, if you don’t mind."

Hermione shrugged, shouldered her bag, and made to leave. "Let’s go for a walk then, Ron, dear," she said, smiling at him gently.

"Right," Ron said. "Later, Harry." Without so much as a look at Draco, Ron headed for the library exit, Hermione close behind.

Harry got to his feet. "Better get going myself," he said. "Transfiguration homework to do."

"Magical Evolution, is it? Fish with feet and that lot? I’ll teach you the spells in five minutes," Draco said. "But only if you agree to help me expose Chris Barry for what he is."

Harry shrugged. Collaborating with Malfoy wasn’t usually an activity Harry preferred, though looking at Malfoy, as long as he kept his mouth shut, always caused that unbidden stir in his stomach. Either way, Malfoy excelled in Transfiguration, and Harry had no doubt that Draco could teach him the spells far more quickly that he could learn them himself from Hermione’s notes. "Chris Barry’s a squib," Harry said. "Still. He’s here. I don’t see how it’s going to cause trouble, I mean, it’ll cause him trouble when he sits his N.E.W.T.s not to mention how he’ll handle the semester of classes we still have to endure, but he’s here. Dumbledore accepted him. What does this have to do with us?"

"I’d forgotten about your unwavering faith in Albus Dumbledore," Draco said. "Just because Dumbledore accepted Chris Barry to Hogwarts doesn’t mean he belongs here. My father…"

"The death-eater?"

Draco snarled. "My father was freed of the death-eater curse after your little escapade in the Ministry of Magic. You are not to address him that way."

"Then you’ll let up on Ron," Harry said boldly. "Or I won’t help you at all."

"Fine, fine," Draco said absently. "Listen, Potter. It seems someone or something has influenced Dumbledore to allow Mr. Barry to attend Hogwarts. Your relationship with our esteemed headmaster makes you invaluable to this investigation, and it’s only proper that you try and learn all you can about Dumbledore’s motives."

"Spy on Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"If necessary," Draco said. "Hermione was the one who suggested it, if that helps you see the larger picture here. Dumbledore has no business interfering with a proper wizard election –"

"He’s not interfering with the election!" Harry said, taking a step away from the carrel where Draco was gathering up his belongings. "Whatever decision he made about admitting Chris – it was his decision to make, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with IWS or ‘Who’s Who in American Wizardry,’ or you or Hermione either, for that matter."

Draco sighed. "You just don’t see it, do you," he said. "Hermione wanted to bring you into this, Weasley too, and if I didn’t have so much respect for her judgement I’d never have agreed to it. I see now that she’s let her personal feelings influence her decision making. You obviously have no understanding of the nuances of politics."

"I never claimed to," Harry said, crossing the room and opening the library door.

"Carl Barry will never be elected if it’s learned that his son is a squib," Draco whispered once they were outside, his lips uncomfortably close to Harry’s ear. "He’s obviously enrolled Chris at Hogwarts to make it appear as if he’s a true wizard."

"I’m not going to spy on Dumbledore," said Harry, brushing past Draco. "You and Hermione do what you want. Leave me out of this."

"She’s really grown into herself, hasn’t she?" Draco called after Harry. "Tell your friend Ron his girlfriend’s quite a catch. I might want to sample some of that myself, you know?"

Harry spun on his heel, wand raised, but Draco just threw him a wink and headed off for Slytherin tower, leaving Harry alone in the courtyard wondering what the hell had become of the life he knew.

*

Ron didn’t return home that night, and the next morning at breakfast, Harry took a seat next to Chris Barry. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen.

"How’re you liking Hogwarts, then?" Harry asked Chris around a mouthful of eggs.

"Dude, if I’d known wizard school was this much of a cakewalk I’d have made mom and dad send me years ago," Chris said.

Harry stopped eating. "So your, um, dad told you about wizarding schools before this?"

"Oh, yeah," said Chris. "When I was real little I took an admissions exam for a wizard preschool, but apparently I totally blew the test. When we moved to Long Island I visited the wizard high school in New York, but it just seemed so incredibly dorky, you know? So I went to public school. My grades would have rocked if I went to wizard school. I had no idea."

Harry had no idea either. "You’re doing well in your classes, then?"

"So far they seem really easy," Chris shrugged. "And, dude, I met the hottest girl in Care of Magical Creatures. You know this chick Ginny? From our dorm?"

Harry nearly spat his coffee. "Ginny Weasley?" he choked.

"Red hair, kinda tall, great rack?" Chris looked at him.

Harry nodded, laughing and gasping. "I know her. Her brother Ron’s my best mate."

"Yeah, the red-headed dude, I can totally see it," said Chris. "You think he’d mind if I asked out her sister? You know if she’s with anybody?"

"I have no idea," Harry said, still choking. He looked around, but Ron and Hermione didn’t appear to be anywhere in the Great Hall. Neither did Ginny, for that matter. "I have to run," he said. "I have the Defense against the Dark Arts capstone this afternoon. Auror training."

Chris obviously didn’t know what Harry was talking about, but he waved as Harry got up to leave. "Later," he said.

"Later," Harry agreed, and left the Great Hall, still laughing.

He didn’t see Ron until Quidditch practice that evening when Harry caught up with him in the field house where the team was warming up.

"You and Hermione okay?" Harry asked, stretching.

"She claims there’s nothing between her and Malfoy. Even agrees he’s a bloody bastard. But she seems to think he’s knowledgeable about this election thing, and I just hate…" Ron trailed off, focusing intently on tying his trainers.

"What?"

"You know Hermione," Ron said. "She gets these ideas, goes off on these wild campaigns, like SPEW, and she hates it when we don’t get as excited as she does."

"We always go along with her," Harry said, switching to stretch his other hamstring. "We just back off when she gets obsessed."

"Yeah," Ron pouted. "I know. She’s a little over the top. But I don’t – I don’t like it that she thinks Draco will listen to her more than I will. She told me last night. She’s glad she’s finally found someone who has a passion for learning."

"Draco Malfoy?" Harry spat, then lowered his voice when he remembered the Slytherin team was also using the field house for calisthenics. "A passion for learning, huh."

"I know," Ron said, sitting down heavily. "But you saw them. She was so animated, you know, talking with him. Why can’t I have a passion for learning?"

Harry shrugged. "You have a passion for Hermione," he said. "Isn’t that good enough for her?"

Ron rubbed his face. "I don’t know," he said. "But if this Chris Barry situation means that much to her, I’m going to get into it. I’ll show her I’m just as good as Draco Malfoy."

"You’re heaps better than Draco Malfoy," Harry said, as Draco himself entered the gymnasium in the Slytherin team uniform of shorts and trainers, loping along to join his house. "You know he asked me to spy on Dumbledore yesterday?"

Ron nodded. "Hermione told me," he said. "I think you should do it."

"What?"

"Come on, Harry, for me. She really wants us to cooperate, and she said she needs your help most of all…"

"No way," Harry said. "You want to prove yourself to Hermione, you spy on Dumbledore."

"Fine," Ron said. "I will. And thanks for nothing." He got up and headed for the track to run laps with the rest of the Gryffindor team.

It started to snow while they were warming up, so Gryffindor’s Quidditch practice was cancelled and Ginny, the team captain, told them they were welcome to free-fly in the field house if they wanted to but otherwise they should just shower and go home.

Ron, who hadn’t quite softened toward Harry, wanted to find Hermione, so Harry took his Firebolt to the indoor pitch alone, looking forward to the relative peace of flying after the week he’d been having.

A handful of Slytherins were playing half-court, and Harry noticed that Malfoy was among them, wheeling madly on his broom in search of the golden snitch. Harry swung a leg over his Firebolt and flew in beside him.

"Slytherins only, Potter," Draco said, feinting left and diving around a goalpost, Harry at his heels. "We can’t let you steal our tricks."

"I don’t want to…" Harry swung around on his broomstick and shot up, catching Malfoy skimming across the ceiling. "I don’t want to steal your tricks…just want to practice."

"Hey, Slytherins!" Draco called out, and the other students paused and turned their brooms to watch him. "Potter here wants to practice with us – what do you think? A little four-on-one?"

The other Slytherins looked around nervously. Draco was the team captain, but practicing with a member of another house’s team was not only frowned upon, it was completely unheard of.

"Never mind, you spineless ninnies," Draco said. "Pack up and go home. Potter and I will go head to head."

The other members of Draco’s team nodded grudgingly, and touched down on their broomsticks and took off for the locker room. Draco spoke the spell that signaled the end of the game, and the snitch flew up beside him where it hovered in the air between Harry and Draco on their brooms.

"Five minute countdown, eh, Potter?" Draco asked. "Indoors, no bludgers, should be a simple matter of good broom-eye coordination."

"Sure," said Harry, not at all sure, but fascinated by this new Draco who seemed – as much as a Malfoy could – almost friendly. "Start the clock."

Draco waved his wand and a glittering digital readout appeared on the window showing 4:59:58 and counting down. The snitch had disappeared and Harry took off for the ceiling to try and catch a glimpse of it.

One-on-one was, in some ways, a harder game than team Quidditch, because more emphasis was placed on bluffing and faking out the opposing Seeker who had no one else to watch. Draco took off for the south wall and Harry tried to ignore him, scanning the air for the snitch.

Something glittered halfway down the pitch and Harry sped for it, his broom tail catching Draco’s as he came in from the opposite direction. The snitch faked right and then took off for the ceiling, disappearing in the glare of the suspended lights. Harry shielded his eyes, arching back in a perfect Abel Maneuver, clutching the broomstick between his knees.

"Nice move," Draco spat as Harry wheeled past him, glancing up against the window where the clock read 3:44:04. "Where’d you learn that, ‘Quidditch for Dummies’?"

"Three and a half minutes left," Harry called over his shoulder, air whistling past his ears. "How’s your broom-eye coordination, Malfoy?"

Draco nose-dived for the floor, halting his fall mere inches from the parquet and taking off at a steep pitch for the north rings again. Harry was impressed. He cast around for the snitch but the glare of the lights and the sunset coming through the snowfall from the windows made the room a patchwork of shadows; the snitch could be hiding anywhere.

Harry circled a couple times, then tried a bluff and dove straight for the window near the south goal. He heard Draco breathing hard beside him and Harry stretched out a hand, rolling under his broomstick and holding tight with his knees. Draco slipped in beneath Harry and scraped at the air, but there was nothing to grab, and Harry took off for the ceiling again as Draco slowed his broomstick and tried to regain control.

2:01:31, the clock read, and Harry was sweating and exhausted, his hair plastered to his forehead. Draco was skimming the floor, rolling round and round on his broomstick as Harry had seen the Seeker on the French team once do on the Wizard Wireless Network. Then he saw it, the unmistakable glint of the snitch and its hummingbird wings, careening spasmodically above one of the south goals. Harry circled casually, waiting until Draco’s barrel roll pointed him away from the goal and then Harry took off, leaning into his broom and speeding for the snitch.

He reached out and his hand skimmed one of the glittery wings but the snitch wiggled and jumped before Harry could grab it. He’d lost his advantage, because Draco was coming up behind the goalposts and he’d obviously seen the snitch too. Draco’s arm was stretched, his long fingers reaching toward Harry, and he came around the goalpost in a tight curve trying to get between Harry and the snitch. The clock read 0:34:34.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Harry closed his eyes and reached out. His fingers touched something and he closed them around it, and then something closed around Harry’s hand. Draco’s hand. In Harry’s palm he could feel the snitch beating, and Draco’s fingers were curled around Harry’s, tight and strong and damp with sweat. The klaxon blared and the clock read 0:00:00.

Draco let go first, dropped down on his broom and landed lightly on the floor. Harry descended with the snitch and stood next to Draco.

"Good game, Potter," Draco said.

"Here," Harry said, handing Draco the snitch. "Good game."

"You’ve got some moves," Draco went on, swiping a hand across his forehead to brush a long shock of hair from his eyes. "You’ll have to teach me that one you did around the goalpost."

"You still owe me Transfiguration lessons," Harry said, still out of breath. "Maybe in trade."

"Okay," Draco said, putting the snitch back in its box. "Sounds fair."

Harry shouldered his Firebolt. "Anyway," he said, suddenly aware that he was alone in the cavernous Quidditch pitch with a sweaty Draco Malfoy. "I’m going to…shower, then I’ve got to…get to dinner."

Draco’s t-shirt was tight against his chest, and Harry could see him breathe through the thin fabric. "Shower," he said. "Good idea."

The image of Draco showering shimmered in Harry’s mind’s eye, and he shook his head to rid himself of it. "Yeah," he said, stupidly. Draco smiled.

"What’s the matter, Potter? Did I work you too hard?"

"You’re short of breath yourself," Harry said, smiling despite himself.

"As I said, good game," Draco nodded. "You’re not a bad Seeker."

"I suppose that’s why Gryffindor’s won every Quidditch cup since I started playing," Harry said.

Draco looked uncharacteristically sheepish. "Don’t gloat," he said. "It’s unbecoming."

Harry’s hand tingled where Draco had held it when he caught the snitch, and Harry made a fist. "Shower," he said. "Later."

"Maybe tomorrow we’ll work on that Transfiguration," Draco called as Harry crossed to the locker room. Harry stopped in his tracks.

"Maybe," he said, not looking back, but when he pushed open the door to the boys’ showers there was a grin plastered across his face.

*

Ron and Hermione were in the common room when Harry came up from dinner, and judging from their position on the couch Harry assumed they’d stopped arguing. He sat down on the chair opposite and pulled out a scroll to begin his capstone homework.

"Didn’t see you at dinner, Harry," Hermione said, her head in Ron’s lap and a book propped up on her knees.

"I stayed at the field house to practice," Harry said. "Didn’t get back till well past seven."

"Anyone else stick around?" Ron asked. "I saw Ginny and most of the rest of the team come into the Great Hall while we were eating."

Harry pursed his lips, but decided to change the subject rather than answer. "Oh, Ron, I meant to tell you before – it’s the funniest thing – that American bloke’s got a crush on Ginny!"

Ron sat up straight, and even Hermione looked interested. "Does he, now?" Ron asked.

"He does," Harry said. "Wanted to know if it’d be all right with you he dates your sister."

"And you told him in no uncertain terms I’d bash his skull in, right?" Ron hissed.

Harry laughed. "I told him I didn’t know," he said. "Tell him yourself."

"Good for you," Hermione said, sitting up now. "It’s Ginny’s own business."

"I thought you didn’t like Chris Barry." Ron looked at Hermione.

"I don’t think he’s a wizard, but I’m sure he’s a nice person," Hermione said. "There’s nothing wrong with Ginny dating a squib."

"Ginny is NOT dating a squib," Ron said. "Ginny’s not dating anyone. She’s my kid sister!"

"She’s been in more relationships than you have," Harry pointed out, and Ron threw a scroll at Harry.

"Well, we’ve all been in more relationships than you, Harry," Ron shot back. "Even counting your torrid affair with Cho what’s-her-name."

Harry flushed.

"Ron," Hermione whispered. "Apologize."

Ron nodded. "I’m sorry, Harry. It’s just, you know. My sister. I shouldn’t have said that."

"It’s okay," said Harry, still beet red, not looking at Ron.

"But really, Harry," Ron said. "Don’t you have a crush on anyone?"

"Ron, don’t pry," Hermione said, but she was looking at Harry searchingly.

"None of your business," Harry said, standing up.

"He DOES," Ron said to Hermione. "Let’s get it out of him."

"I thought we were talking about Ginny," Harry said, collecting his books. "Anyway, I’m going to go to the library. I need to get this essay finished for Auror training."

"How’s that going, anyway?" Hermione asked, obviously trying to help Harry change the subject.

"Fine, good," Harry said. "Professor Calico’s a lot better than any of our other Defense teachers have been. But I should –"

"Oh, don’t go in a snit, Harry," Ron said. "Really, I’m sorry."

Harry wasn’t angry with Ron, not really, but he didn’t feel like sitting in the Gryffindor common room and thought he’d go out and get a bit of air. He told them so.

"Night, Harry," Hermione called after him, curling back up in Ron’s lap. Harry pushed open the fat lady portrait and headed downstairs for the snowy commons.

In the muggle world, Harry had read, there was all sorts of social stigma attached to homosexuality, but Harry hadn’t encountered any of that in the wizard world and since his muggle knowledge was limited to the Dursley family, he hadn’t really encountered much in the way of sexual stereotyping there either.

Even at Hogwarts, male students dated other male students and no one so much as raised an eyebrow. After his disastrous relationship with Cho Chang in his fifth year, Harry realized that he didn’t understand women at all, and realized also that he didn’t really care to, at least, not in a romantic sense. All his subsequent crushes had been on boys or men, but none had been so strong as the feelings he now had for Draco, feelings he’d trade anything to be rid of.

Ron and Hermione would never let him live it down if they knew, and Draco – Draco was mean, arrogant, snide, and bigoted, features Harry abhorred in another person and would never be able to tolerate in a lover, he was sure. At the same time, Harry’s inner devil whispered, Draco’s sexy, intelligent, good at Quidditch, and admittedly a whole lot nicer than he’d been when Harry first met him seven years ago. Still, it was Draco.

Harry’d been there at the Department of Mysteries when Draco’s father was under Voldemort’s spell; Harry’d fought against Lucius and had watched him defeated, watched him being carried off to Azkaban. And though Draco hadn’t said a word about his father since he’d been imprisoned, it seemed, to Harry, that Draco had begun to realize his father wasn’t [blah blah blah]

Harry wiggled his chin more deeply into his scarf and was heading across the grounds to Hagrid’s when he heard Draco’s voice call his name. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised at all.

He turned to see Draco standing backlit under a luminescent post, hands shoved in his pockets and his Slytherin scarf fluttering out behind him in the wind. Draco’s hair was mussed, pieces pulled free of their binding cutting shadowy lines across Draco’s face.

"Hi," Harry said, crunching through the snow toward Draco. "’S’cold."

"Yeah," said Draco. "If it keeps snowing like this they might postpone the match, you know."

"Spare you the humiliation when Gryffindor defeats Slytherin yet again," Harry said.

"Not this year, Potter," Draco said. "This year’s different." Harry couldn’t argue with that.

"What’s brought you out here?" Harry asked, tossing a glance over his shoulder to where he could see lights burning in Hagrid’s hut.

Draco held out a gloved hand, palm up. "I know how you like to visit the half-er…Hagrid," Draco said. "Thought I might find you out here."

Harry didn’t bother to entertain the implausibility of it all; he was too busy processing the fact that Draco’d been looking for him. For him, Harry. "Me?" he asked, stupidly.

Draco laughed. "Yes, you nitwit. What did I just say?"

Harry stiffened, suddenly afraid. "What do you want?"

Draco stepped closer, out of the light and into shadow. He reached out and rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, then shook his head, almost disapprovingly. "Same thing you do, unless I’ve missed my mark."

Harry’s stomach turned cartwheels and he inhaled sharply through his nose and mouth, tasting bitter cold and snow though his cheeks were burning. "And…what’s that, then?"

Draco stretched out his other hand and cradled the back of Harry’s skull, his eyes fixed on Harry’s. "Potter, Potter," he sighed. "Despite your seemingly interminable puberty, you are human, aren’t you? All your…parts in the right place? Doing their thing?" He stroked the back of Harry’s neck with a finger and Harry shivered.

"My parts are fine," Harry said, and it came out sounding like a question.

Draco took his hand from Harry’s shoulder and slid it down Harry’s chest, tugging at the red and gold Gryffindor scarf. "Well, that’s all I’m saying, Potter. But if you want to go through your entire school career without getting laid, well, that’s your own problem."

He turned to go, but Harry caught him by the coattails. "Wait, Draco."

"Mmm?" Draco was looking at Harry impatiently, and Harry felt exactly like a silly child, though the heat pulsing through his body and the tingling sensation where Draco had touched him was anything but childish.

"I do," Harry said. "I do. I just…I thought…you and Pansy Parkinson…"

"I didn’t say I planned to go through Hogwarts without getting laid," Draco said. "And believe me, if I were in your position I would have fucked every Cho Chang or Ginny Weasley that ever clutched a copy of one of my ubiquitous news clippings. What’s the fun of extreme popularity if you’re saving yourself for Lord Voldemort?"

"Shut UP," Harry said, clenching his fists. "I am not."

"What’s your problem, anyway?" Draco crinkled his brow. "Here you are, the Boy who Lived, and why you’re not riding the Hogwarts Express is a complete mystery when you could have anyone in this place. Are you, what? You’re impotent?"

"No," Harry said, feeling even more uncomfortable than he had when Ron started down this line of questioning earlier. "I’m – busy. And what would you know about it anyway? My sex life is none of your business."

"You’re such a fucking queer, Potter," Draco said. "I was thinking maybe we’d have a go at it, have a little fun, but you’re far too screwed up for me."

[blah blah Harry entertains the possibility of having a little fun with Draco and can’t think of a reason not to; they tussle a little and kiss.]

"Hey," said a voice that wasn’t Draco’s and wasn’t Harry’s. Then Draco’s arm was gone and Draco’s chest was gone and Harry looked up to see Chris Barry standing before them in his wizard’s robes and a silver-blue ski parka, looking at them.

"Um. Hi, Chris," Harry said.

Chris looked from Draco to Harry. "Dude, my buddy owled me some really sweet hydro bud from New York, you wanna smoke up with me?"

Harry had no idea what Chris was talking about, and, judging by the look on his face, Harry figured Draco didn’t either.

"We were just…" Harry said, and then he stopped. Whatever they’d been just, Chris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, and since Harry really had no idea what they’d been just, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Gryffindors," spat Draco, shaking his head. "Don’t let me interrupt you gentlemen." He came round Harry and started for the castle. "Oh," he said, turning around. "Mr. Barry, Harry here’s been spreading the ugliest rumors about you. He claims you’re not a true wizard. You’d be completely within your rights to prove him wrong, you know, with a simple Cruciatus curse…"

And then, with a wave of his hand, Draco was gone across the grounds, back toward Slytherin tower.

Harry looked at Chris. "I didn’t say that!" Harry said immediately. "It was Draco, you’ve got to be careful with Slytherins, Chris, they have this habit of…"

Chris gave Harry a funny look, and then started walking toward Hagrid’s hut. Harry followed him. "Yeah, um. Whatever," Chris said. "I was never, like, super nerd or anything. I don’t care if that faggot thinks I’m a total rebo, and, whatever. This is such a fucking bizarre school, dude."

Harry couldn’t argue with that. He thought about just saying good night and going back to his dormitory, but he couldn’t resist asking Chris the question Draco’d so clumsily introduced. "Yeah, um. Chris. If you don’t mind my asking. Are you? A wizard, I mean. Not that I care personally, it’s just that…"

Chris shrugged, pushing open the gate to the pen where Hagrid kept his more innocuous critters and digging in his pockets for something. "I dunno," he said. "Dad’s a wizard and mom too, right? So as long as I pass my Newts, it’s like, no problem." His hand came out of his parka, holding a plastic baggie and a little brown wooden pipe. "Anyway, I just came out here to get baked, so, if you want a hit that’s cool but otherwise…I mean, I talk about schoolwork and shit enough during the day, you feel me?"

Chris sat down on a limuel cage, opened the baggie and removed a pinch of something crumbly, which he packed into the bowl of his pipe with a thumb. Harry sat down beside him, captivated. Chris carefully sealed the baggie again and replaced it in his pocket, pulling out instead a brass lighter of the type Harry’d seen Mr. Dursley use to light his cigars.

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling like Chris had asked a question somewhere in there and he should probably answer it. "Right, no problem. What’s…what’s that there?"

Chris fitted the pipe to his lips, lit it with the lighter and took a long draw off it. When he exhaled, Harry could smell the smoke, rich and peaty and nothing like old Dursley’s cigars. "Don’t you guys get high?" Chris asked, his voice sounding constricted and nasal.

Harry shrugged. Chris’s eyes widened.

"Ah, man, you’ll love it," Chris said. "Seriously." He handed the pipe to Harry, who took it and held it up to scrutinize under the light.

"I just…" Harry looked at Chris, who was standing there in his shiny parka and his robes and trainers, looking for all the world like the squib everyone claimed he was, grinning at Harry. And all of a sudden, Harry didn’t care any more. About anything. With a last glance at the castle where Draco had disappeared, Harry put the pipe to his lips.

"I’ll spark it for you," Chris said, leaning in with the lighter. Harry sucked on the pipe a little, and then pushed it away, coughing, his eyes burning, smoke coming out of his mouth and nose. He doubled over, clutching his chest.

"I…I think I did…I did it wrong…" Harry sputtered, swiping a hand across his runny eyes.

Chris laughed. "Nah, man, it’s hard if you haven’t smoked before."

Harry stood trembling a minute, catching his breath, and then put the pipe to his lips again. He drew smoke, and this time it went down a little more easily, strange and hot down his windpipe. He coughed some more.

"Not bad, right?"

Harry nodded, putting the pipe in his mouth again.

"Dude, don’t bogart my weed," Chris said, reaching for the pipe, which Harry handed him.

The door to Hagrid’s hut swung open, and heavy half-giant steps shook the cage where the little limuels were sleeping.

"Who’s there?" Came Hagrid’s booming voice, and Harry leaped to his feet.

"It’s me, Hagrid," he said quickly. "It’s Harry!"

"’Arry? Why’re ye out here in the snow? You can come inside, yer know. Oh." Hagrid had stopped on the other side of the gate to the pen, his eyes lighting on Chris. "’Ello there. Yer the new Gryffindor, from America, aren’t ye?"

"Crap!" hissed Chris. "Fuckin’ A!"

"It’s okay," Harry said to Chris, his head feeling strangely fuzzy. "It’s Hagrid. He’s my friend."

"Wot’s going on, then?" Hagrid called over the gate. "’Arry?"

"Ah, man, this is how I got busted last year," Chris said. "My father’s gonna fucking kill me."

Harry pulled himself to his feet. In front of him, Hagrid looked even more enormous and even fuzzier than usual, with snowflakes collecting on his beard and scarf. Harry suppressed a giggle. "This’s Chris Barry, Hagrid," Harry said. "Stand up, Chris, it’s okay. We were…what were we doing, Chris?"

"Um, nothing," Chris said to Hagrid. "I was just out for a walk with my boy here."

"Let Hagrid try some of that, whatever you called it," Harry said, looking around for the little wooden pipe. "Hagrid!"

"What’s this?" asked the altogether unpleasant voice of Professor Snape. He sniffed the air. "I know that smell, Potter," Snape said. "Hand it over."

Chris was looking around frantically, but Hagrid’s large body was blocking the gate to the pen and the boys were trapped. "Dude, we didn’t do anything!" Chris said, to anyone who would listen. Harry was feeling fuzzier by the minute, and he liked it.

"We’re seventh year," Harry said to Snape. "We’re allowed to be on the grounds if we want to."

"It’s true," Hagrid said, causing Snape to wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Marijuana is illegal in England," Snape said, looking right at Harry. "Or did you think that your status as a seventh-year student put you above national law?"

Harry looked at Chris. "What’s he mean? Mary Wanna?"

"Thank you, Hagrid, Severus." Dumbledore appeared beside Snape, dressed in his plushest of fur robes and wearing a tall knit cap with a bobble on the end of it. "I’ll handle the boys from here."

"Albus!" seethed Snape. "You most certainly must expel the American for introducing illegal drugs to the Hogwarts campus! And as for Potter, well, I think his expulsion is long overdue, and with this…"

"That’s enough," said Dumbledore, raising a hand. "Hagrid?"

Hagrid stepped aside, and Dumbledore opened the gate and gestured for Harry and Chris to follow him. Harry tromped out of the pen.

"Is this true, Mr. Barry?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at Chris. "Did you bring muggle drugs to school?"

Chris handed over the baggie, not looking at Dumbledore. "I didn’t know…my buddy from New York…I’m sorry, sir," Chris said.

Harry had never seen Chris like this, quiet, apologetic, almost servile. He tried not to laugh.

"Professor Snape is correct; drugs are illegal in this country and Hogwarts is not exempt from British law." Snape sniffed victoriously. "Still," Dumbledore said. "The wizarding community has a rather more relaxed approach to muggle narcotics, largely because we have so little use of them. A simple Intoxico charm produces quite the same effect, and without all the bother of pipes and lighters and what have you. You’ll also find…" and here Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. "It proves less of a drain on your pocketbook."

"That’s not going to help Chris much," Harry said, the words tumbling out. "I doubt he could cast an Intoxico charm if his life depended on it."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, his eyes steel. Harry sobered slightly.

"I’ll keep this," Dumbledore said, tucking the baggie into his robe. "Perhaps Professor Sprout can find use for it in her lessons. Anyway. Severus, Hagrid, you may go. Mr. Barry, I think a week’s detention with Professor Flitwick will be sufficient to teach you the nature of the Intoxico charm; for right now, however, simply return to your dormitory and get some sleep."

Chris nodded and took off across the grounds at a run. Harry started to follow, but Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder. "Walk with me," he said.

With a glance at Hagrid, Harry followed Dumbledore toward the castle.

"When you said you didn’t think Chris Barry could manage an Intoxico charm, Harry," Dumbledore said. "What did you mean by that?"

Harry shrugged. The drug’s effects seemed to be intensifying, and he didn’t trust himself to speak. "Nothing," he muttered, listening to the sound his shoes made as he clomped through the snow.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope he’d simply slip under the radar," he said. "By now I imagine many of the students and professors have noticed that Mr. Barry’s magical ability is, shall we say, sub-par."

"He’s a squib!" Harry said, and then gulped. "I mean, we think he is, Hermione and Draco and me…not that I believe anything that rat Malfoy has to say, but Hermione…and then tonight…"

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised at the mention of Draco’s name, but he let it pass. "I’m glad you’ve befriended our newest student," Dumbledore said. "If you’d be so kind as to leave the concern for his magical aptitude to me, I’d be most obliged, Harry."

They’d passed the lamppost where earlier that evening Harry’d stood in Draco’s arms. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and Harry shook his head to rid himself of the memory, though the tingling sensation where Draco had touched him remained. "Of course," Harry said to Dumbledore. "I’m sorry."

At the entrance to the tower, Dumbledore stopped. "Hmm," he said. "It seems I’ll need to rethink my strategy regardless. When Carl Barry asked me to admit his son, I didn’t count on the combined skills of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter all bent on exposing the boy."

"We’re not!" Harry said, backpedaling. "I mean, Hermione would never…and Draco…"

Dumbledore smiled. "I suppose I should simply take solace in the fact that you and Malfoy have found something in common besides animosity. Ever since his father was sent to Azkaban, I’ve worried about that child…"

"Worried? About Draco Malfoy?" Harry gaped.

"Without Lucius’s influence, he could be an asset to us," Dumbledore said, more to himself than Harry, it seemed. "A powerful wizard, Draco."

Harry shrugged, too stoned and too confused to answer.

"Ah well. To bed with you, Potter," Dumbledore said. "Though, you might want to ask your friend Ms. Granger to teach you a sobriety charm first, or else you run the risk of sleeping through your classes tomorrow."

Harry, who was fairly certain he wouldn’t be telling Hermione any of the night’s events, just nodded, and then went inside to bed.

*

Comments

rock!

[helenish.livejournal.com]

I still love it - but, by the way, if you aren't using that kiss I wrote, can I have it back? I could really use a kiss right now. I mean, I could really use a written kiss, yes. and a regular kiss, I suppose, but I can get one of those today, too.

Draco! woo. even if you don't finish this one, you need to write another one, because, the gym! and the! yay!

Re: rock!

[iamsab.livejournal.com]

The kiss is all yours! Thanks for the loan of it. It really did help. And if I use it someday I'll just...file the serial numbers off. Howzat?

duuude.

[mischa.livejournal.com]

Harry kisses Draco and gets stoned. you are my hero. ;-)

[unsated.livejournal.com]

(blah blah Harry entertains the possibility of having a little fun with Draco and can’t think of a reason not to; they tussle a little and kiss.)

Hahahahahaha. I have used one of those a million times.

(Some stuff happens, Faith and Lilah end up in a motel room alone and drunk)

A very entertaining story. My only comment is that Snape would never called Prof. Dumbledore by his first name.

I can imagine everybody in the Gryffindor common room blazing up. Blasting some Puffy remix of a Weird Sisters jam, then a mass exidus to the kitchen to laugh at the house elves and get their munchies on.