Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling, etc, etc. Anyone who thinks I do own Harry Potter is an idiot.

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and sucked thoughtfully.

'You wished to see me Albus?' Minerva McGonagall asked, standing in the doorway of the Headmaster's Chamber.

'Ah, yes Minerva, do come in. Have a seat.'

'Thank you,' she replied, doing just that.

'Sherbet lemon?' Dumbledore offered the tin of sweets.

'No thank you. Why am I here Albus?'

'Down to business then,' he said, putting the lid back on the sweet tin. 'I want to know what you make of Harry Potter.'

Minerva was surprised, but she covered it well. 'Like everyone else, I was astonished to see him in Slytherin. I will admit, I thought he was a shoe in for my house.'

'And the boy himself? How do you find him?'

'Quiet. Very clever.'

'You have no other impression?'

'What do you want from me Albus?' She demanded. 'Would you like me to say that he fills me with a deep feeling of unease. I could say that. Not because I can read him, but because I cannot. I have never seen him smile. He sits alone in class. I have seen him speak rarely, and then only with Severus. Perhaps you should question him?'

'I have,' Dumbledore replied. 'He assures me the boy is of good heart.'

'Yet you have doubts?'

'Lingering. Hagrid has spoken out for Harry as well.'

'Then what troubles you so?'

'As you have said, I too cannot read the boy. I have watched him closer than anyone. His actions are in conflict.'

'How so?'

'Are you aware that Harry is friendly with Draco Malfoy?'

'Surely not?' Minerva couldn't cover her surprise this time.

'Not only that,' Dumbledore went on, 'but I have watched him stand by as another student was bullied. He, in fact, even participated a little. Mr. Malfoy and his friends were taunting your students, throwing an object that belonged to Neville Longbottom between them.'

'That is worrisome…'

'But here is where things begin to contradict,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'After having his fun, Draco Malfoy threw the object into the Forbidden Forest. However, later that night, I witnessed Harry retrieve it from the forest, and later return it to Hagrid anonymously. Here is the note he left with it.'

Dumbledore handed her the piece of paper.

She read it quickly. 'I see.'

'Indeed.'

'Do you have any idea why he would act this way?'

'Only theories.'

'And you're looking for me to fill in the blanks.'

'I was merely hoping.'

'I'm sorry Albus,' she said, shaking her head. 'I wish I could help. Harry Potter is a mystery to me.'

'As he is to us all.'

'However, that he returned the object, it's a promising sign.'

'It is,' Dumbledore agreed, 'but I think the time has come for me to speak with Harry myself.'

Draco Malfoy tossed and turned in bed. He couldn't relax. Earlier that morning, he had received an owl from his father, asking about his progress. He still hadn't sent a reply. He feared to. He could only report his failure.

But damn it, Potter was a locked box with no key. No matter what Draco tried, he always failed. The other Slytherin refused to talk about his family, himself, or anything remotely personal. Draco didn't know what else to try.

He'd tried being direct about it, and Potter had nearly cursed him. He clearly didn't want to talk about his famous history. Thinking about it, Draco didn't blame him. If his mother had been killed when he was young, he wouldn't want to talk about it either.

He'd also tried being subtle about it, but using that tactic was useless. Potter didn't even reply to subtlety.

Draco threw his blankets aside and sat up. He needed to think, and since sleep eluded him, what better time than now? He quietly left the boys dormitory behind and went down to the common room.

Potter was there, reading a book closely.

'You're up late,' Draco observed.

Potter glanced up only briefly. 'Can't sleep,' he replied, his eyes already back on the page.

Draco marvelled. Potter was always reading something. The guy was nothing if not determined.

'Don't you get tired of reading?' Draco took a seat a space away from Potter and closed his eyes, head resting back against the cushions.

'No.'

'You do realise obsession isn't healthy.'

'I'll live.'

Draco laughed. Potter was bloody crazy.

'You're bloody crazy.'

'Maybe,' Potter said, 'but it's necessary.'

'Oh?'

'Never mind. It's not important.'

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Potter. 'I think it is.'

'I don't.'

'Yeah,' Draco said, his anger and frustration getting the better of him, 'well, if you don't tell me something, I'll take those books back. No more advantage for Potter. You can shuffle along with the rest of the damn sheep.'

Potter was looking at him now. He saw his anger reflected back at him, but also, fear. Potter was afraid of losing his advantage.

'Nothing to say?' Draco taunted.

Potter grit his teeth. 'What do you want to know?'

'Why are you so obsessed with learning those spells?'

'Survival.'

'You think someone's out to get you?'

'You don't?' Potter waved his hand around. 'Most people in this house would love to see me dead.'

'Snape forbade it.'

'That will only protect me for so long. Eventually, someone will think they can get away with it. When they do, I have to be ready.'

Draco nodded. It made sense. 'Tell me about You-Know-Who.'

'What about him?' Potter practically growled the words.

'What do you remember? How does it make you feel?'

'I don't remember it. I didn't even know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday.' There was a lengthy pause. 'I don't have any feelings on the matter. What happened… happened.'

Draco studied Potter closely. He couldn't read him. 'You don't care that your parents were murdered?'

Potter met his eyes with a blank expression. 'I never knew them.'

Draco looked away, feeling uncomfortable. 'You're a cold bastard Potter.'

'Are you satisfied?'

Draco nodded, though he didn't feel remotely satisfied. At least he had something to tell his father.

Potter closed the book he'd been reading and got up.

'Where you going?'

'Out.'

'It's past midnight,' Draco pointed out.

Potter ignored him. The door to the Slytherin common room shut silently. Draco waited for Potter to come back, but he was asleep before that happened. When morning came, neither mentioned their late night conversation.

Outside the Slytherin common room, Harry sat on the floor, tears in his eyes. His dreams flashed before his eyes - a bright green light, his mother's voice, and his laughter. He clenched his fists so tightly he drew blood.