Quantum Leap, by Scoradh <title> </head> <body><center><h3>Quantum Leap</h3></center> <br> <br> <p> <b>Author:</b> <a href='http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=scoradh'><img src='http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0;' /></a><a href='http://www.livejournal.com/users/scoradh/'><b>scoradh</b></a> <br> <br> <b>Rating:</b> R. <br><br> <b>Summary:</b> In a multiverse of endless possibilities, everything we imagine exists somewhere. The bad choices we didn't make, the good choices we should have made and, most of all, the choices we wish we'd made. This is a story about the choices that change the world. <br><br> <b>Disclaimer:</b> The concept of L-space belongs entirely to Terry Pratchett.<br><br> <b>Author's Notes</b>: Thank you to my betas – <a href='http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=jonem'><img src='http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0;' /></a><a href='http://www.livejournal.com/users/jonem/'><b>jonem</b></a>, <a href='http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=pooklet'><img src='http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0;' /></a><a href='http://www.livejournal.com/users/pooklet/'><b>pooklet</b></a>, and <a href='http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=mrsquizzical'><img src='http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0;' /></a><a href='http://www.livejournal.com/users/mrsquizzical/'><b>mrsquizzical</b></a> – for making this worth my while. <br><br> By dictionary definition, a quantum leap is 'an abrupt change or step, especially in method, information, or knowledge'. Or, as microwaves101.com has it: 'a tiny hop for mankind.' <br><br><br> <I>It's hard to see the writing on the wall when your back is up against it. </I><BR>(Sean Og O'Halpin)<BR><BR>Harry lay on his back with his arms tucked behind his head, the picture of slovenly indulgence. Ever since his second year at Hogwarts, his duties in the Dursleys' household had become less and less onerous. From scrubbing each individual kitchen tile with a toothbrush until it achieved a diamond-like glow, he had been relegated to mowing the back yard. The hot afternoon was one of a chain of sweltering summer days, which had dried out the grass to the point that it was so withered as to save Harry the trouble of cutting it. <BR><BR>The heat was attacking more than just the grass: the tarmac of Privet Drive was reduced to bubbling pools of tar and the pavement stones were cracking under the stress. It was most unseasonable weather for England in July, a month more usually noted for its incessant drizzle. <BR><BR>Uncle Vernon had taken to going around in his shirtsleeves, the awfulness of which was only bested by Dudley's string vest. His budding career as a heavyweight boxer had defined his muscles, but lard still ringed them in a manner unfit for public consumption.<BR><BR>Predictably, Uncle Vernon was no fan of hot weather. He was often heard to declaim that, "We never got indecent temperatures like this in my day!" Aunt Petunia had nothing to say on the decorum of the weather; but Harry had, on more than one occasion, seen her bite her lips as she checked the barometer. <BR><BR>A newspaper lay open across Harry's chest, fluttering with the movement of his breathing. No breeze was present to chase the pages around the dying grass. The air was still and heavy, as it had been for many weeks. Walking from one room to the next was enough to break a sweat. <BR><BR>Harry mulled over the unusual weather, trying not to pant in the heat so as to preclude swallowing his own perspiration. A month and a half of living in a sauna had put him off salt for life. However, his daily perusal of the Muggle Times was enough to help him attain some perspective. He greatly preferred drinking his weight in water every day to prevent dehydration than to live through forty-five tornadoes, like the people of Dover; or to experience an earthquake, such as the scale six on the Isle of Wight; or to endure the torrential rain that had driven inhabitants of even three-storey buildings from their flooded homes in Chester.<BR><BR>There was a more than slight possibility that Voldemort was behind these unlikely disasters. Harry thought the earthquake was going a little far – Britain wasn't remotely near a continental bridge, unless his fourth-form geography teacher had told the most vicious lies. People were bound to get suspicious...<BR><BR>His inadvertent sigh dislodged a corner of the paper, which allowed him to see the end of a headline: <I>–fear global warming to blame.</I><BR><BR>On the other hand, perhaps Voldemort was brighter than Harry gave him credit for.<BR><BR>If Voldemort did in fact stick to a plan of weather manipulation to rid England of the Muggle parasites, there was no way for any authority to pin it on him. The Muggles were hoist by their own petard in that respect. It didn't quench Harry's thirst for revenge, however: there were far nicer ways to die than by baking to death.<BR><BR>He supposed he'd better make a start with the lawnmower, given that he was being paid for it and everything. (Uncle Vernon had taken him aside the day before and hissed from under his moustache: "I'll give you ten pence if you cut the grass tomorrow. Don't tell your aunt – we overspent on the last phone bill." He'd first attempted to bully Harry into it, but Harry – two inches taller than him now, and with his wand in his back pocket – laughed in his face.) His t-shirt stuck to his arms and between his shoulder-blades, but Harry had learned the perils of shirtless gardening the hard way. As he walked to the shed, his flip-flops kicked up little eddies of dust from the disintegrating verdure.<BR><BR>He passed by the living room window to the sound of a cacophony of voices. Harry tried not to listen as he wrenched open the shed's door. This task was made more difficult by the fact that Uncle Vernon had had glaziers remove the glass from the back and upstairs windows a fortnight before. Glaziers all over Surrey were making a fortune through such requests, and had invested for the future by storing the removed glass 'free of charge (until retrieval).' <BR><BR>Aunt Petunia was dryly sobbing. Uncle Vernon bellowed something about 'abysmal performance.' The date on the newspaper was the twenty-fourth of July. Harry did some quick mental arithmetic and nodded. It was always about this time of year when Smeltings sent out their annual report cards. <BR><BR>Harry ducked into the shed, which was darker than outside and about two degrees cooler. It made up for this by being seventy Pascals stuffier. Harry pulled on some gardening gloves and immediately began sweating more profusely. He got his fingers around the handle of the lawnmower – the metal burned even through the reinforced fabric – and trundled the antique machine out into the sunlight, where bits of the plastic casing began to melt.<BR><BR>On the point of turning on the engine, Harry happened to glance at the fuel gauge. It was empty – useless. He reluctantly pushed the mower back into the shed. He had no choice, for it would turn into a half-mangled, half-broiled lump if he left it out in the searing heat. <BR><BR>By the end of his fruitless exertion he could smell himself, rather more eau de toil than eau de toilette. Unfortunately, water restrictions limited him to one two-minute shower a day, and the washing machine was put to use only once a month. Harry was already out of clothes, his wardrobe not being extensive to start with. He was going to have to shower clothed yet again. He never knew he'd miss bathing naked quite so much.<BR><BR>"Uncle Vernon," he called, stepping over the window sill into the kitchen, "I need some money for petrol."<BR><BR>There was no reply bar the yelling from the next room. Harry shrugged and stood in front of the fan for a while. <BR><BR>When the heat wave initially hit, most people failed to take it seriously. Only Aunt Petunia, an obsessively comprehensive housekeeper, had five freestanding fans squirreled away in her attic. When Dudley and Harry were sent to retrieve them, they were still wrapped in white paper decorated with silver bells. If it were anyone else Harry would have assumed they were superfluous presents – but this was Aunt Petunia, the woman with fourteen toasters. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd put all five fans down on her wedding list.<BR><BR>In the weeks that followed, while the sun made concerted attempts to bring the desert to Mohammed, a roaring trade in cooling devices began. It was far too hot to drive any great distance, as people ended up welded to the car seats, so the black market was confined to Surrey and the borders of neighbouring counties. Hand-held fans crossed hands for hundreds of pounds, antique jewellery or slave labour. People with large fridges and freezers were feted and held soirees for a chosen few, who got to stand in front of the open machines for a minutes at a time. <BR><BR>Aunt Petunia had already sold three of her fans for an undivulged sum. She spent all of her time in the living room, dressed in a French negligee Harry tried not to look at, and didn't seem to care if the rest of the house simulated Equatorial climates.<BR><BR>She was currently involved in bargaining away the kitchen fan, but fortunately for Dudley, who slept with his head in the fridge, and the rest of the family, demand had slackened of late. Fans brought the temperature down to merely very hot, but they recycled the same stale air over and over. Removing windows brought a greater, if equally temporary, relief to the inhabitants of Surrey – a proceeding that vexed Aunt Petunia greatly.<BR><BR>From the sound of her voice, Harry doubted that this was the matter at hand. Aunt Petunia was a sharp bargainer, who became shrill when things didn't go her way. She was sobbing at the moment, which effulgence of emotion she reserved for only one thing in her life: her son.<BR><BR>His curiosity overcoming his stunted caution, Harry grabbed the rare opportunity of appropriating a can of Coke from the fridge and sauntered into the living room. The sight that greeted him there would have made his jaw drop, if the Coke can wasn't already wedged under it to cool his neck.<BR><BR>Aunt Petunia was procumbent upon the floor, her nightie rucked up to alarming heights. Uncle Vernon, jowls a-quiver, was slapping a piece of paper as if it were Harry's face. The most curious thing of all, however, was Dudley. He was standing in the centre of the room, his arms crossed as far as they would go across his straining midriff. There was a look on his face Harry hadn't seen in a long time – since before Harry's nascent magic allowed him to escape the machinations of Dudley's gang.<BR><BR>It was triumph.<BR><BR>Uncle Vernon took a deep breath to stoke his ranting fire. Harry, seeing his opportunity, jumped in with, "So, the lawnmower? Needs some juice."<BR><BR>"Juice is just what I need," said Dudley. "Give me that." He attempted to wrest the can from under Harry's chin.<BR><BR>"Get your own, lazy-arse," said Harry, "or –"<BR><BR>"I know you can't use your poxy magic on me yet – unless – there're no Dementors around here, are there?" Dudley spun wildly, giving the appearance of a planet in orbit. <BR><BR>Harry cracked the tab on the can and licked the opening. "I was going to say, 'or I'll bite you,'" he said, "but your version works too. Anyway, my germs are on it now."<BR><BR>"Yuck. That better not have been the last can."<BR><BR>"It was, but there's plenty of Diet left." Harry smiled innocently.<BR><BR>Forestalling Dudley's lecture on the inherent deception of marketing 'diet' drinks with equal sugar levels as ordinary sodas, Uncle Vernon said, "Son, I have – nothing left to say to you."<BR><BR>"Great," said Dudley. "I've been waiting for this moment to come for, what? A whole hour?"<BR><BR>"I can't believe this," wailed Aunt Petunia, clawing the carpet in agony. "The shame of it! My own son! Expelled!"<BR><BR>Harry turned to his cousin. "They expelled you?"<BR><BR>"Yup." And there was the triumphant expression again.<BR><BR>Harry thought this over as he took a long sip of soda. Smeltings had put up with Dudley's bullying, his poor academic record, his gangland warfare, and the strain his obesity had put on their healthcare system, for five whole years. Only now, when they were finally getting some use out of him in the sporting arena, did they decide to expel him. It made no sense to Harry. He was forced to ask: "What for?"<BR><BR>"'Behaviour unbecoming in a Smeltings' man,'" intoned Uncle Vernon. He sounded as if he were reciting a dirge.<BR><BR>"Were they a little more specific than that?" <BR><BR>"We blew up the Vice-Principal's office," explained Dudley.<BR><BR>"While he was in it?" said Harry, aghast.<BR><BR>"Oh, no. He was at a swim meet in Cumberland at the time."<BR><BR>"So that was the 'behaviour unbecoming'?"<BR><BR>"No, I think that might have been the graffiti we sprayed in the gym. Piers is quite artistic, in certain areas." Dudley tapped his chin. "Or maybe it was the defacement of the founding fathers' portraits, the tutus on the antique statuary or the flashing during the Queen's visit. You know, I'm just not sure."<BR><BR>"I never thought I'd live to see the day," spat Uncle Vernon. "<I>My</I> son. A <I>ringleader</I>."<BR><BR>"You came up with all of this?" Harry was genuinely surprised. Such ingenuity was out of character for a Dursley. <BR><BR>Dudley just smiled.<BR><BR>"What shall we do?" shrieked Aunt Petunia. "Where will he go? Smeltings will have told all the best places by now – there's not a school in England that will accept him after this –"<BR><BR>"There's always Stonewall Comp," said Harry, not without a little amusement.<BR><BR>The Stonewall High of Harry's past, where he was to have been introduced to a toilet bowl head-first, was a long-disappeared relic. In its place was Stonewall Comprehensive, where students were encouraged to talk about their feelings and learn at their own pace. As a consequence of such enlightened thinking, it was obliged to take all comers. It was populated in the main by the worst thugs and delinquents in the catchment area, all of whom had been dumped there by despairing teachers in other schools.<BR><BR>"I think he'd fit right in," added Harry. He turned a face reeking with earnest compassion on his uncle. "Anyway, the lawnmower?"<BR><BR>"Petrol, was it?" As if in a daze, Uncle Vernon reached into his pocket and took out a ball of notes. "Here. Take Dudley. Your aunt and I need to have a serious discussion."<BR><BR>Harry crumpled the money in his fist before Dudley could take note of the denominations. By mutual and unspoken consent, he and Dudley repaired to the kitchen to stand in front of the rotating fan prior to leaving.<BR><BR>"How much'd he give you?" Dudley's fat face was almost languid, but Harry saw the beady look in his eye. Heat made Dudley slow; plus, he'd been relaxing in the fridge all summer while Harry attempted to mow what was left of the lawn. If push came to shove, Harry was pretty sure he could outrun Dudley, Saharan temperatures notwithstanding.<BR><BR>Harry hunched his shoulder away from Dudley and smoothed out the notes. There were two twenties; Uncle Vernon must have been seriously distracted. "Here." Harry held out one to Dudley. It hung limply from his fingertips.<BR><BR>"You'll get the petrol with yours."<BR><BR>"Yes," said Harry, rolling his eyes. It was quite a long trek to the nearest petrol station, but he fully intended on borrowing Dudley's bike and Petunia's sunhat. If he was lucky, he'd have change left over to buy sunscreen. And deodorant.<BR><BR>Dudley was rolling the twenty between his fingers, leaving it even limper with sweat. He appeared to come to a decision. "I'll get a box of ice lollies," he said, "and you can have one."<BR><BR>Harry gaped at this unprecedented liberality.<BR><BR>"Just one, mind," Dudley hastened to add; clearly something in Harry's face suggested the notion that six-packs of ice-cream could be split more fairly than in a ten-ninety ratio. "After all, you did save my life."<BR><BR>"I did?" said Harry. "Oh, I did. Yes. Accidentally."<BR><BR>"Thanks for that," said Dudley. After a difficult pause, he added, "Maybe two lollies?"<BR><BR>"Don't over-burden yourself with generosity," said Harry. "You might pull a muscle in your brain. I'm going to borrow your bike, okay?"<BR><BR>"Sure." Dudley waved this off, as well he should; Aunt Petunia's black market connections had ensured the construction of an ice-cream stand right outside Number Four. As Harry reluctantly tore himself from the fan, Dudley yelled after him, "Take Mum's hat, too."<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR><I>Meanwhile, in Spinner's End</I><BR><BR>Narcissa Malfoy Apparated on to a riverbank a few co-ordinates shy of where she'd intended, and stepped on a fox. The fox took exception to this and bit her ankle, so the first thing Bellatrix Lestrange heard upon Apparating to the same riverbank was the sound of her sister's screaming. Unused to hearing such a noise without being the direct cause of it, Bellatrix hurled off a Killing Curse in the approximate direction of Narcissa's squeals.<BR><BR>The fox dropped down dead, and Narcissa trod on its head. With an unpleasantly squishy crack, its skull broke under her foot. <BR><BR>"Oh, oh!" cried Narcissa. "You killed it! Why did you kill it?"<BR><BR>Bellatrix stared at Narcissa. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but don't you own several genuine fox-fur robes? That requires them to have been killed first, you know."<BR><BR>"Yes," and Narcissa was pouting, "but I don't do it myself. How perfectly savage. Besides," she added, "you could have killed me. That curse went right past my leg!"<BR><BR>"Good grief." Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Have you so soon forgotten our Lord's teaching? Killing Curses will rarely take effect unless they catch the victim in the head or chest. At most I would have given you a necrotising gangrene, and you can certainly manage with only one leg."<BR><BR>Narcissa scowled, which for the first time lent some strength to her babyish features. "Of course I listened. I also heard a part about care and caution, not to mention refraining from killing unless absolutely necessary. I don't imagine that fox posed a significant threat to your well-being. I think," she said with relish, "I'm going to add this to your tally."<BR><BR>It was Bellatrix's turn to scowl, an expression which momentarily lifted her from femme tres fatale to pantomime dame. "See if I care!"<BR><BR>"You will when the Dark Lord returns," taunted Narcissa, "to see five new tallies in three days. I don't think he'll be pleased."<BR><BR>"You waste time," sniffed Bellatrix. "Pray lead me to your destination, so I may return to serving my Lord in more useful ways."<BR><BR>Narcissa merely lifted an eyebrow to this. She turned on her heel and tripped lightly across the bridge. In the blessed silence she could feel her heart beating an erratic rhythm at every pulse point. Sparring with Bellatrix had distracted her from her purpose, as it always did; but now Bellatrix was following in sullen silence, leaving Narcissa alone with her thoughts.<BR><BR>"Are you sure you won't go back?" said Bellatrix in a wheedling tone. Narcissa almost welcomed the interruption. <BR><BR>Almost. "Haven't we discussed this already?" she snapped. "Oh, wait – we have! Forty times! Don't you think you'd have talked me out of it by now, if you were going to?"<BR><BR>"Forty-first time's the charm," panted Bellatrix. Stouter and less active than her younger sister, and weakened by years of incarceration, Bellatrix was finding the steep climb up the riverbank tough going.<BR><BR>Narcissa waited for her at the top of the bank. A chilly mist sprayed droplets in her hair, where they glittered as if trapped in a spiderweb. She felt the first moistness coalesce on her nose as the mist gathered around them. <BR><BR>"Oh, oh, disgusting," she said. "Dementor sperm." With exaggerated revulsion she wiped off her face with her sleeve, taking care not to smear her lipstick, and Vanished the droplets from her hair.<BR><BR>"You should not speak ill of our Lord's creatures," reproved Bellatrix, but not as sternly as she might have done. She had a cat's dislike of water, and this water was trying to be up close and personal in a way she thought unwarrantedly forward.<BR><BR>"I'm not speaking ill of them," said Narcissa. "I just wish they wouldn't reproduce on me. These robes are new, I'll have you know." She shook her silver silk sleeve in Bellatrix's face for emphasis.<BR><BR>"Our Lord's followers should dress only in black."<BR><BR>"Yes, and?"<BR><BR>"That's not black."<BR><BR>"Black drains my face, as you are well aware." Narcissa wielded her wand. "<I>Expecto Patronum</I>! Remember the time Mother tried to get us in the family robes for that portrait? Shield form, please. I looked like a vampire."<BR><BR>"I thought it was Uncle Wilhelm who looked like a vampire?"<BR><BR>"No, Uncle Wilhelm <I>was</I> a vampire. But he rouged, so he didn't look it. I, on the other hand –" Narcissa shook her head over this ancient woe "- did."<BR><BR>"I don't think this charm is –" Bellatrix began, looking at the glowing shield that had grown from Narcissa's elephant Patronus.<BR><BR>"You can come under it, if you like."<BR><BR>Bellatrix wrung out her hair and made no further objections.<BR><BR>They made their way down the dingy street, glowing silver from the Patronus' shield. Bellatrix's wand hand quivered as she fought the urge to blast the filthy Muggles to oblivion. Narcissa knew the tic well; it had last been responsible for a blown-up street and fifty additions the tally.<BR><BR>The Black family motto was officially <I>Toujours pur</I>, but any fool could see that made for a lot of nutcases and fruitcakes. While paying lip-service to that motto by marrying their cousins, Blacks of latter days had invented their own adage: stick by family, family first. That was the reason why Narcissa was exposing herself in this horrible shanty town in the first place.<BR><BR>Voldemort's decision to have Draco murder Dumbledore was his way of punishing Lucius for his many failures, including the latest and greatest. Lucius was perfectly willing to sacrifice his own son's safety in favour of his own, just as he had been perfectly willing to carry out Voldemort's other orders to the letter, but had been prevented by circumstance. The circumstance in question was his own over-inflated ego and sad lack of cunning. The Malfoys were another family in which inbreeding was rife. <BR><BR>Although closely related to the Blacks (Lucius was Narcissa's second cousin, once removed), the Malfoys did not share their single-minded devotion to family. This went some way to explaining why there was rarely more than one Malfoy child per generation. The other explanation – that 'they're a bunch of poofy fairies' – was not one on which Narcissa liked to dwell, although it had been tendered by her own grandmother on the eve of Narcissa's wedding.<BR><BR>Narcissa's duty to her son was greater than the duty she owed to her husband; which was greater again than what she owed to her sister. And there was no greater duty than ensuring that her son had a future. What Lucius and Bell didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and if they believed she was here to help her son in his appointed task then it was all to the purpose.<BR><BR>At last Narcissa recognised Snape's house. His description had been fleeting – 'The one that looks like God picked it up after an earthquake in Rio de Janiro and drop-kicked it to England' – but it was the only establishment with a light in the window.<BR><BR>"We're here," she said.<BR><BR>"What a dump," observed Bellatrix.<BR><BR>"Yes, well, less of that to Snape." Narcissa regarded the insalubrious hovel with disapprobation, but she wasn't here to give Snape's DIY skills marks out of ten. She raised her hand to knock, saw the dirt that had collected in the splintered wood, and said, "You do it."<BR><BR>"Why?"<BR><BR>"Knock or I'll put ten new marks on your tally!"<BR><BR>"No need to be nasty about it," muttered Bellatrix. She gave three smart raps on the door. The dirt smeared across her knuckles seemed to bother her not at all; although, given the state of her two-inch fingernails, Narcissa wasn't surprised.<BR><BR>After a long wait and some muffled cursing, the door was wrenched open. Wormtail peered out, blinking in the bright light of the Patronus.<BR><BR>"Who's there?" he quavered. "Am I dead? Are you God?"<BR><BR>"You've been reading too many Reincarnation manuals," snarled Bellatrix. She and Wormtail were not on the best of terms, each being jealous of the other's apparently favoured position with the Dark Lord.<BR><BR>"Those are my orders," said Wormtail. "The Dark Lord said, and I quote, 'Go do some research on life after death and stay out of my way.' And all the books say there's supposed to be white light and you're supposed to walk into it and there's supposed to be an angel who guides you –" He stopped short at the sight of Narcissa, radiant in the light of a streetlamp. "I <I>am</I> dead."<BR><BR>"No, you're not," said Bellatrix, "although it's only a matter of time. Make yourself useful and go fetch Snape."<BR><BR>"No need." Snape's oily voice preceded him into the vestibule. "Ah, Narcissa, Bellatrix. Welcome to my humble abode. Forgive the delay; Wormtail just exploded my kitchen for the third time this week, and I had to set it to rights."<BR><BR>"I was making baked beans," Wormtail simpered at Narcissa.<BR><BR>Snape raised his eyebrows. "That explains the orange things on the ceiling." He turned and smiled at Narcissa, showing off cracked and yellowed teeth. "Perhaps we might adjourn to a more comfortable apartment?"<BR><BR>"I could help you – with the clean-up, I mean," offered Narcissa. "I'm a whiz in the kitchen."<BR><BR>"I thought you had house-elves." Bellatrix frowned.<BR><BR>"I could come," said Wormtail. "I could make you some baked beans."<BR><BR>"No!" said Snape and Narcissa, at the same time. Narcissa softened her denial with, "Be a dear and show Bell your research. I'm sure she'll be happy to make the Dark Lord a full report of your progress."<BR><BR>"Certainly," said Wormtail. Bellatrix's eyes lit up. She wasn't the only one with a tally.<BR><BR>As soon as Wormtail led Bellatrix away, Narcissa grabbed Snape by the elbow and yanked him down into the kitchen, guessing her way by the smell of burning. <BR><BR>"We haven't got much time, so I'll make this quick," she said, pointing her wand at the door and layering it with a Silencing Charm.<BR><BR>"Your passion overpowers me," drawled Snape. "Come, have your way with me right here on the singed kitchen table."<BR><BR>"Enough of that nonsense," said Narcissa. "Lucius overheard you, you know, the last time. It's a good thing he doesn't know what VPL is or you'd be a dead man." She smoothed down the front of her robes in a vain attempt to stop her hands from trembling. <BR><BR>"Out with it," said Snape, in a tone that wouldn't have sounded a mite gentler except to the trained expert. Narcissa, who'd known Snape for twenty years, was one such.<BR><BR>"Draco's been sent to kill Dumbledore," said Narcissa baldly. "I'm not allowed to tell you. I'm not allowed to tell <I>anyone</I>, I'm just supposed to stand by and let it happen – but I won't. I tell you, I won't!"<BR><BR>"I never thought you would." Snape, whose arms were crossed, sent a spell at the outside door under his elbow. Narcissa, overwrought with the force of her emotions, didn't notice. "I'm glad to be proved right. You're one of the few people I'd call a friend, and I wouldn't like to think you could happily let your son walk to his death."<BR><BR>"So it's true," breathed Narcissa. "It is just a trap, to kill Draco and punish Lucius?"<BR><BR>"You know the Dark Lord," said Snape. "Do you think he would arrange it any other way? – that he would have his most feared enemy vanquished by a callow boy?"<BR><BR>"You've got to help him." Narcissa's voice was ragged with fear. "Please, please help him. I'll do anything. I'll swear any vow, only save my son. Kill Dumbledore for him."<BR><BR>"Now, now," said a new and, to Narcissa, not wholly unfamiliar voice. "I don't think we need to go do such drastic lengths – do you, Severus?"<BR><BR>"I take it that's a rhetorical question," said Snape, but Narcissa didn't heed him. His voice faded into so much white noise as she looked into the smiling face of one Albus Dumbledore.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry woke up sweating, yet it was not entirely due to the sticky night air. He'd been having a nightmare, one that involved tall dark men falling through curtains in a flash of blinding light. The light was sometimes red and sometimes green, but it always blasted the insides of Harry's eyelids when he blinked himself awake.<BR><BR>Of late he'd made his bed on the floor, using a thin blanket and a pillow. The threadbare carpet trapped less heat than the mattress that lay directly under the window frame. He'd begun the summer wearing pyjamas as normal, but had gradually pared down his night attire to airy cotton boxers. He would have forgone any clothing at all had not his natural modesty, and frequent need for nocturnal bathroom visits, prevented him.<BR><BR>He decided it was as good a time as any to fetch another glass of ice. Even refrigerated water failed to stay cool for very long once exposed to the outside air. Ice was a reasonable, if less convenient, alternative. Harry wiped off the excess sweat with the sheet from his bed and stood up, only for his head to collide with Hedwig as she soared into the room.<BR><BR>Harry fell back on to his bed in a flurry of feathers. Hedwig, much affronted, dropped the letters she was carrying on his nose. <BR><BR>"Ow, papercut!" Harry rubbed his nose and glared at her. Insomuch as she could, Hedwig looked smug.<BR><BR>There were three letters in total. Harry recognised Hermione and Ron's handwriting on two. The third was addressed merely to 'Harry Potter, esq' in florid purple ink. Harry ripped open his friends' correspondence and hastily perused the opening paragraphs. Both Hermione and Ron complained vociferously of the cold, wet fog that enveloped the Burrow and surrounding environs. Harry shivered with reflexive delight at the thought of the cold. His birthday, with its attendant visit to the Burrow, couldn't come soon enough.<BR><BR>If they had urgent news to impart they probably wouldn't have eulogised on the weather first, so Harry felt safe in leaving the rest of the letters for the moment. He creaked down the stairs to the kitchen, where the fan was still whirring valiantly. Harry stepped over the recumbent form of his cousin. Little crystals of frost were gathering in Dudley's hair where it lay in the freezer compartment; the rest of his body glistened with sweat.<BR><BR>Harry reached into the deep freeze in the pantry, relishing the sub-zero tingle as he scooped up a handful of ice. He was about to dump it into a glass when Hedwig landed on his shoulder with soft whump. She dropped the third letter on top of his glacial booty.<BR><BR>Grimacing, Harry picked up the letter with his other hand and broke the seal with his teeth. Watermarks from the ice had already soaked through, leaving the parchment dotted with lavender bruises.<BR><BR>"I get it," said Harry. "Urgent message in the dead of night. I promise to read it right away, so you can go to sleep."<BR><BR>Hedwig hooted her assent and flew out the kitchen window. Harry spread the letter open on the counter with his elbow.<BR><BR>"Dear Harry," it ran. "I have taken the liberty of commandeering your postal service, as I recently had need to visit your friends Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. It will be necessary for me to pay a call to your uncle's home in the coming days, on a matter of some urgency. But do not be alarmed, my dear boy. It is mainly good news that I come to impart. Yours, A. Dumbledore."<BR><BR>"Interesting," Harry mused. He popped an ice cube into his mouth and began to suck, only to choke at the pop and swish of several people Apparating into his kitchen. Almost immediately the sounds were followed by bumps and exclamations of pain, as said people tripped over Dudley.<BR><BR>"What in the world –" Snape flicked his robes away from the still-snoring sleeper, abject disgust pinching his features. "Let us leave at once, Dumbledore, you've Apparated us into a zoo."<BR><BR>"I should think that vastly unlikely." Dumbledore stepped around Snape. The rising sun glinted off his spectacles. "Although I cannot be certain while his head is hidden by a cabbage, I would strongly guess that the creature you refer to is Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter's cousin."<BR><BR>"Much," said Snape, sneering down at Dudley, "becomes clear."<BR><BR>"Hello, Headmaster," said Harry. He pointedly excluded Snape from his greeting – a snub Snape apparently didn't register, rapt as he was with horrified fascination.<BR><BR>"Salutations, Harry. I trust I find you well on this fine night."<BR><BR>"Not bad," said Harry. He fished some ice from his already-melting stash and ran it over his forehead.<BR><BR>"I think it best we begin – wait." Dumbledore held up a finger. "We appear to have misplaced one of our number."<BR><BR>"I'm here," said a third voice. Harry groaned. That cut-glass accent could only belong to one of his hated enemies (differing, as it did, from Snape's contemptuous drawl and Voldemort's noseless hiss). "I fell over the dog."<BR><BR>"How clumsy of you," murmured Snape. <BR><BR>Draco clambered to his feet, using the table for leverage, as Dumbledore looked on benevolently; Harry wrathfully; and Snape studied his fingernails. On seeing that Dudley was not, in fact, a dog, Draco gave a great start and banged his hip against the breakfast bar.<BR><BR>"Good grief," he said, "it's a walrus! We've accidentally Apparated to a zoo."<BR><BR>"Severus, I give you the floor," said Dumbledore.<BR><BR>"It's not a walrus," said Snape. "It's related to Potter."<BR><BR>"Ah." Draco curled his lip. <BR><BR>Harry, scowling, took proper notice of him for the first time. While Snape and Dumbledore were dressed as usual, in narrow black robes for the former and flowing sapphire with gold dragon embroidery for the latter, Draco was Draco as Harry had never seen him before. He was wearing a voluminous white shirt that spun out moonlight. It was tied with strings at the throat. This unlikely garment was tucked into tight-fitting blue trousers. The outfit was completed by knee-high leather boots with silver spurs and finishings. <BR><BR>Clearly, he'd been on his way to a fancy-dress party, dressed as an idiot.<BR><BR>"I'm sorry," said Harry to Dumbledore. "Obviously you were on your way to Azkaban and Apparated to the wrong place."<BR><BR>Draco and Snape raised their eyebrows at each other. "That wasn't very witty," said Draco. "Zero out of ten."<BR><BR>"If everyone could restrain themselves from denigrating my Apparation skills for <I>just</I> a moment," said Dumbledore, "I would like to explain the situation to Harry."<BR><BR>"You're wasting your time," said Draco. "It's all in one ear, out the other with that boy. You'd be better off telling the walrus." He kicked Dudley's shins, not very gently, and Dudley woke up.<BR><BR>"Ow," he groaned. "I think I got frostbite of the ear again."<BR><BR>"Some hazards are to be expected, when one sleeps in a fridge," said Snape.<BR><BR>"What on earth is a fridge?" demanded Draco.<BR><BR>Snape paused. "It is ... a Muggle device, for cooling food and beverages."<BR><BR>"Oh," said Draco. "Like a house elf, you mean?"<BR><BR>"Muggles don't keep slaves!" shouted Harry.<BR><BR>"How very plebeian of them," said Draco, leaning back as if Harry's breath smelled.<BR><BR>"Silence!" thundered Dumbledore. He waved his wand, and Harry felt his mouth freeze in position – he'd opened it wide to begin yelling in earnest. Draco's was caught in a knowing smirk; even through the facial paralysis he seemed to be laughing at Harry.<BR><BR>"That's better." Dumbledore smiled. Beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. He pulled a lilac-scented handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face with it. "My word, but it's very close in here. Perhaps we should open a window."<BR><BR>Harry tried to speak, failed, and pointed instead. Dumbledore turned to survey the night and the small army of midges, frogs and crickets that had advanced through the glass-less window. <BR><BR>"How very odd," said Dumbledore. "You don't often see Eleutherodactylinae Barycholos here in Surrey."<BR><BR>Harry shrugged. The fan was faltering in its appointed task, and Harry could feel heat building across his skin. He shovelled up the last ice-cube from the gloopy mess in the glass and crushed it into his chest. Draco's eyes blazed open at this, then shut very tightly. <BR><BR>"Now that we're all ready to listen," said Dumbledore, "it may be best to begin at the beginning." He surveyed the ceiling for a moment, where a number of heat-struck spiders dangled from their webs. "Or perhaps not. Suffice it to say: for the safety of the students, I have shut up Hogwarts Castle."<BR><BR>Harry tried to scream his protest, forgetting again that his tongue was spelled motionless. <BR><BR>"Hogwarts, the institution, I will not suffer to fall under Voldemort's sway. As such, I have made arrangements for those who cannot be taught at home to be farmed out to Muggle schools. I made sure to choose those with ties to Hogwarts, through siblings or cousins. Stonewall Comprehensive is one such. You will be enrolled in the fifth form come September first."<BR><BR>Dumbledore smiled at Harry. At the news, even Harry's brain fell silent.<BR><BR>"To ensure that no one falls behind in their magical studies during this time, every group of students will have a Hogwarts teacher to guide them. I have established an L-space portal in the living quarters of the students so that they may access Hogwarts' library, while giving the teachers a safe means of travelling between their charges. Your tutor is Professor Snape, here, and young Draco will be living with you. If you have any questions, you should address them to your new house-mates – I must be off. I have four hundred other students to settle in the next month."<BR><BR>Snape was making fierce gestures at Dumbledore, which he at last deigned to notice. "Have I forgotten something? Oh, yes, of course." Dumbledore retrieved yet another letter from inside his robes. "For your aunt and uncle. Explanations ... and a little monetary recompense." Dumbledore winked and Disapparated.<BR><BR>Harry tried to say something very rude indeed, but his mouth was still magically uncooperative. Snape – face still bland despite the fury flashing in his eyes – whipped out his wand and voicelessly cast the counter-spell.<BR><BR>The four men in the sweltering kitchen stared at each other in cyclical horror. After a few minutes of this, Harry dashed to the calendar and grabbed Dudley's fat fist to check his high-tech watch. <BR><BR>"What are you doing?" asked Draco.<BR><BR>"Checking that it's not April Fool's Day," said Harry. "It's not, actually. And it's also five-thirty pm in Mozambique."<BR><BR>"I wish I was in Mozambique," sighed Draco. <BR><BR>"I'm sure they have plenty of slaves there," said Harry. <BR><BR>"Slavery was outlawed in 1878," objected Dudley. "By the way, am I dreaming this?"<BR><BR>"If only," said Snape. "It truly is unreasonably hot." And indeed, Snape's waxy cheeks were lit up with two flares of pink. Draco didn't look much better.<BR><BR>"That explains your clothes – or lack of them." Draco tilted his chin the direction of Harry's boxers and, for the first time, Harry felt a little self-conscious. "It pains me to say this, but for once I think Potter's sartorial contribution is the right one."<BR><BR>"I can't take much more tonight," said Snape. "Direct us to our quarters and leave us be."<BR><BR>"Your what?"<BR><BR>"Our rooms, Potter," said Snape, "the place where we are to abide, the chambers fitted up for our use. How much simpler can I make this?"<BR><BR>"You don't have any," said Harry. The full force of Snape and Draco's glares would have cowed a lesser man. "Get off it! Dumbledore only told me about this whole thing five minutes ago. Besides, it's a ridiculous idea. Me and, and him -" he waved dismissively at Draco "- just, no. And I don't think you're very happy to be living with me, sir. I'm sure Dumbledore will think better of it in the morning."<BR><BR>"Well, that gives him approximately two minutes," said Draco, nodding at the pinkening sky.<BR><BR>"You've known Dumbledore for five years." Snape suddenly sounded infinitely weary. "I've known him for thirty. Believe me when I say, heaven and earth will not move that man."<BR><BR>Harry made a face. Draco felt it indigent upon him to observe, "He means the old coot won't change his mind."<BR><BR>"You – don't talk like that about Dumbledore in front of me!" Harry felt himself turning red. He really didn't need the additional sweat that arguing made him extrude. "He's ten times the human being you are, you – you dung-weasel."<BR><BR>"Yes, the requests for his canonisation are flooding in," said Draco. Harry hated the way he managed to sound so bored when he, Harry, was furious. "Please. Dumbledore isn't as snow-white as you think, Grumpy."<BR><BR>"Hush," said Snape. Amazingly, Draco did. Snape turned to Harry. "Regardless of your feelings on the subject – and of mine," he said, "will you accede to the Headmaster's request at least for the night? I mean, the day."<BR><BR>"I suppose," said Harry, very reluctantly. "I don't know where you'll sleep, though."<BR><BR>Dudley had remained quiet throughout these proceedings, engrossed in searching the fridge for a solitary non-Diet Coke. His quest foiled, he now piped up.<BR><BR>"There's always the basement," he said.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry left Draco and Snape in the basement a scant ten minutes after guiding them there. It had been a long, tiresome day, despite being only six hours long. He didn't think he could stand any more interior decorating advice from Draco – "How about some Grecian pillars? You can never go wrong with Grecian pillars" – without giving in to his not-so-sublimated urge to paste Draco across the nearest wall. <BR><BR>Harry fell asleep again as gaudy streaks of gold claimed the sky, only to be subjected to the same nightmare from which he'd previously awoken. He wasn't in the Department of Mysteries this time. He and Sirius were having a picnic in a park with improbably emerald grass, surrounded by the chirping laughter of children. But between one cress sandwich and the next, the sky was rent by purple lightning. A curtain enveloped the world. Sirius was sucked into its folds. Laughter turned to wailing; Harry shouted his godfather's name, and woke himself up.<BR><BR>He lay on the floor with his breath coming in harsh rattles. As he gradually calmed down, he thought to check the time on his clock-radio. It was eleven am, three hours past Aunt Petunia's habitual hour of rising. Harry was surprised not to have been awoken earlier by screams of discovery coming from the basement.<BR><BR>Harry went to pull on the still damp t-shirt of the day before, and was suddenly reminded of the disapproving way Draco had looked at his boxers. Although he could ill afford the change, Harry took a dry and clean – if sadly wrinkled – t-shirt from the drawer and donned it instead. He exchanged his boxers for surfer shorts that reached his calves (Dudley had gone through a phase), the heat not permitting him to wear both at once. His feet in flip-flops to stop the soles being scorched by the ground outside, and he was ready, and more sincerely regretful of his lack of deodorant than he would have supposed possible yesterday.<BR><BR>Dudley was still slumbering in the kitchen, so Harry poured some cornflakes into a bowl with milk and drank it standing. It was too near to the midday zenith to attempt mowing the lawn, so Harry reluctantly went to check on his visitors.<BR><BR>In the living room Aunt Petunia was holding court, having sent her husband off to work in swimming trunks several hours earlier. She was grandly serving iced tea to none other than Professor Snape.<BR><BR>"- I'm afraid I've had several higher offers," Aunt Petunia was saying. "You will have to at least match them to gain a foothold in the bidding."<BR><BR>"Tea," said Snape, not appearing to heed her in the slightest. "In a heatwave, the English offer tea! All the ice in the world will not cool this little hand, oh no."<BR><BR>"Morning," said Harry, loudly enough to alert the two orators to his presence. <BR><BR>"That's my nephew, Harry. Likes to loiter," said Aunt Petunia. "Harry, meet Mr Snape. He's come to bid on the kitchen fan."<BR><BR>"A plague! A plague on both their ice-houses!" cried Snape, staring wildly. Aunt Petunia chuckled.<BR><BR><a href=http://bigbang.inkubation.net/forum/images/zoom/URCDSJ/myrafur_-_bigbang_quantumleap.jpg rel="lightbox" title="Harry & Petunia, by Myrafur">"He drives a hard bargain, all right," she said.</a><BR><BR>"I'm going to ... the basement," said Harry, after racking his brains for a good reason and finding none. But Aunt Petunia's mind was on greater matters.<BR><BR>"See if there's any iced tea there," was all she said. "Mr Snape's already drunk three pints of it."<BR><BR>Harry stared at his professor as he walked to the basement door. Snape was still dressed in his robes, although they were in considerable disarray and loose around the collar. Visible sweat patches stuck out under his arms, quite a feat in black cloth. His face was bright red, his hair plastered to his skull. <BR><BR>"Probably sick," Harry muttered to himself, not caring as hard as he could.<BR><BR>Miracles had been wrought in the basement overnight, although they were not the sort to feature in Better Homes and Gardens. An ornate stone doorway leading to blank breezeblocks suggested the successful establishment of an L-space portal. Oil lamps flickered from the walls, bathing the room with a sickly glow. <BR><BR>The heat was intense. It looked like Draco's aspirations for a temple-like abode had been halted, for there was nothing ornate in the room except two camp-beds laden with velvet cushions, quilted blankets and silk sheets. In the middle of one lay Draco, shirt undone, sleeves rolled up, and barefoot to the knee.<BR><BR>"Well, if it isn't my favourite Potter," said Draco, his voice thick and hazy. "Wait. That was supposed to come out more sarcastic than it did."<BR><BR>"I figured." Harry ventured further into the room, trying not to breathe too deeply. The burning oil made the air cloying as well as arid. "What did you do with all the junk that was here?"<BR><BR>"You're looking at it." Draco thumped the bed. The exertion seemed to weary him excessively, for his hand rolled uselessly off the pillows. "Snape went ... he went, and it's so very hot in here ... I think we have the fever."<BR><BR>"No, it's just hot," said Harry. "There hasn't been a temperature under forty since the first of May, including during the night. You need to get Snape to cast some Cooling Charms down here. If you stay, that is."<BR><BR>"Oh, we're staying." Draco laughed: a clamouring, humourless hack. "No doubt about that, no siree."<BR><BR>"You'd better come upstairs," said Harry, "where there's a fan. Two hundred people have died of heatstroke in the last few months."<BR><BR>"I didn't know you cared."<BR><BR>"I don't," said Harry, "but Dumbledore would probably be upset. A little bit, anyway. C'mon, get up."<BR><BR>"You're so masterful," said Draco, making no effort to move. "There's one tiny flaw to that plan, however, and it is: I can't get up. Too weak. Dying of thirst. Et cetera, et cetera."<BR><BR>"I'll get Snape," sighed Harry. He propped open the door at the top of the basement stairs and spent some futile minutes attempting to waft cooler air through it. Then he went to rescue Snape.<BR><BR>Who was sprawled on the sofa, being fanned by Aunt Petunia. The peacock feathers distributed as much dust as refreshment, especially with Aunt Petunia's level of enthusiasm for the task. <BR><BR>"What happened?" asked Harry.<BR><BR>"He fainted," said Aunt Petunia. "Very cunning business ploy – I must remember to use it myself some time."<BR><BR>"I think he's gone heat-mad," said Harry. "You – you'd better undress him. I'll get the ice."<BR><BR>As Harry once more plunged his hands into the sweet, sweet relief that was the deep freeze, Dudley spluttered into wakefulness. He trotted into the living room and, a few seconds later, ran back into the kitchen.<BR><BR>"There's a naked man in there!" he half-screamed.<BR><BR>"Naked?" Harry dropped the ice in dismay. "What'd she take <I>all</I> his clothes off for?"<BR><BR>Dudley's eyes narrowed. "You know about this? I could have been scarred for life!"<BR><BR>"Calm down," said Harry. "It's just Prof – Snape, from last night, remember? He and Malfoy only went and slept in the hundred-degree basement all night. They're both going heat-mad."<BR><BR>"Didn't you tell them not to do that?" asked Dudley. Harry didn't care for the implication of neglect in his question.<BR><BR>"I forgot, all right! Besides, it's not as if they're the two nicest people on the planet or anything. Quite the opposite, in fact."<BR><BR>"I thought all you magic freaks stuck together," said Dudley.<BR><BR>"You wouldn't believe how much that's not the case," said Harry. "Do me a favour? Take some ice down to Malfoy?"<BR><BR>"Okay." Dudley bumped Harry aside with his bulk and thrust his hands into the freezer. "Ah-h, lovely."<BR><BR>Harry returned to the living room with a wok full of ice, thankful to discover that Snape still had on his underpants. From the grey, frayed appearance of said underpants, Harry was of two minds as to whether they were the same ones his father had exposed several decades before. <BR><BR>Aunt Petunia was nowhere to be seen. Harry dithered, his conscience warring with some painfully poignant memories. In the end his conscience won, but mainly because Snape grabbed his hand and pulled him down so they were nose-to-nose.<BR><BR>"Lily," he whispered hoarsely. "Where's Lily? Got to save her. Got to save Lily, save them all."<BR><BR>"Er," said Harry. Instantly Snape's eyes grew less dim.<BR><BR>"As eloquent as ever, I see," he snapped. "Tell me you've brought some ice."<BR><BR>"Here." Harry handed over the wok, immensely grateful to be spared the task of touching Snape's pale, weedy body.<BR><BR>"Where'd that woman put my clothes? My wand's in the robe pocket." Snape began rubbing himself down with ice, his arms trembling with effort. "Bring them to me. No, don't touch my wand! What are you, an idiot?"<BR><BR>As Snape's insults went, it lacked panache, so Harry waited a minute for a more cutting rejoinder before saying, "No."<BR><BR>"Glad to hear your certainty in the matter." Snape stuck his wand in his mouth and cast a garbled spell. Ice began forming a web across his skin and turned his hair into so many icicles. He next pointed the wand at his robes, which crackled with frost. <BR><BR>"Did you check on Draco? No, of course you didn't." Snape struggled to get his arms into his solid robes, gave up, and spelled them on.<BR><BR>"He's weak. Thinks he has a fever," said Harry. "I sent Dudley to give him some ice."<BR><BR>Snape stood up in a swish of thawing linen, betraying no surprise or hint of apology. Harry was angered by his lack of response, but as this was a baseline reaction to having Snape in his vicinity, he didn't pay it much mind.<BR><BR>"Transfigure his stupid shirt into some shorts and flip-flops," he said to Snape's retreating back. "And get rid of the stupid oil lamps."<BR><BR>"And some advice for you: find a synonym for stupid," said Snape, without turning around.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. It used, of recent times, to consist of dishes that could be served cold – sandwiches, quiche, and a lot of ice-cream. In honour of their house-guests, however, Aunt Petunia had laid out a spread fit for company – and they were all suffering. The boiling tomato soup, roast lamb and baked Alaska would have been enough to melt an ice-cap had there been one handy. <BR><BR>Snape and Draco, under the protection of interwoven Cooling Charms, picked at their meal. The indefinite upkeep of one charm would have tested any magic-user's endurance; the effort of two was starting to show on Snape's face. Harry caught himself idly considering Owling Hermione, in case she could come up with a theoretical solution. The cumulative effect of sun damage was clearly taking its toll. In the cooler climes of Scotland he would never have thought something so charitable regarding the two Slytherins.<BR><BR>Otherwise, the atmosphere in the kitchen was polite but strained. Harry had been privy to his aunt and uncle's conversation upon Vernon's arrival home. The 'monetary recompense' had obviously been substantial; at any rate, Uncle Vernon's indignant bellows were abruptly cut short when Aunt Petunia waved the letter in his face. All Harry had to contend with was the minor fact of having his schoolboy nemesis and most hated teacher under one small roof. <BR><BR>He had never realised it before, but hatred took a lot of energy, and heat sapped more of it. The former drain ousted the latter by a magnitude of ten. Even the sniping Harry would have expected was rarely in evidence, probably because Draco and Snape were too exhausted to make the effort.<BR><BR>Snape had taken Harry's advice and Transfigured Draco's clothes into a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. The t-shirt was still white, with laces at the neck, and the flip-flops were black and silver, but Harry felt he'd carried the point. Snape was still in robes, trusting the strength of his Cooling Charm. He was slowly turning pink, so Harry decided to keep an eye on him. It was not a purely altruistic move: he didn't want to have to see Snape undressed again if he could help it.<BR><BR>"So you lot are wizards, eh?" grunted Uncle Vernon. He'd made no pretence at liking his visitors; but to be fair, neither had they.<BR><BR>"No," said Draco, "we're circus performers who have tragically lost our way." He turned to Snape. "<I>Must</I> we?"<BR><BR>"Yes," said Snape, in the tones of one who'd answered this question many times before, and knew he would again.<BR><BR>"I think the other thing would have been easier," muttered Draco. He prodded his baked Alaska, plainly with every expectation that it would prod back.<BR><BR>"As you are sixteen," said Snape, "and foolish, I am sure you do."<BR><BR>"How do you like your pudding?" Aunt Petunia asked them.<BR><BR>"Is that what this was?" said Draco. Snape coughed, covering most of the question.<BR><BR>"It is, without doubt, a culinary feat," said Snape. Aunt Petunia simpered.<BR><BR>"I understand your son is to attend Stonewall Comprehensive in the autumn," continued Snape. Uncle Vernon glared at his wife.<BR><BR>"That's not settled –"<BR><BR>"But, darling –"<BR><BR>Their verbal skirmish was lost on Harry. How did Snape know that? And, more importantly, why did he care?<BR><BR>"Draco, d'you fancy an ice-cream?" asked Dudley.<BR><BR>"More than you," said Draco, and they both laughed. Harry stared. Dudley lumbered into the pantry and Draco hummed to himself, meticulously avoiding Harry's gaze.<BR><BR>"- I find it incumbent upon me to enrol my charges there, temporarily. For security reasons."<BR><BR>"Not much security at Stonewall," rumbled Uncle Vernon. "Unless you count keeping all the neighbourhood thugs locked up in one place for eight hours a day."<BR><BR>Aunt Petunia tittered dutifully. Slowly, Snape raised one eyebrow. "Indeed," he said. "In any case, if you're collecting one of those forms Muggles love so much, I wonder if you would bring two extra on my account."<BR><BR>"That's no trouble," said Uncle Vernon. "Rum thing to do, though. Foisting all these deviants on honest, hard-working people like ourselves. Bit late to try and make them normal by this stage, ain't it?"<BR><BR>Harry felt his scalp prickle as he built up a fountainhead of rage. In deference to the heat, it was a small one.<BR><BR>"I really couldn't say," murmured Snape. <BR><BR>"So." Draco surveyed the table and the ravages of his baked Alaska. "We'll all be going to school together: you, me, and Big D. Won't it be peachy?"<BR><BR>"What?"<BR><BR>Draco rolled his eyes. "Keep up. They're discussing your parole terms for the next year."<BR><BR>"I'll be at Hogwarts for the next –"<BR><BR>And then the knowledge, which had been kept back by a dam of too-early awakenings, unwanted guests and general befuddledness, crashed in upon Harry like a tidal wave. He gibbered, clutching the sides of his chair for support. There was to be no Hogwarts for a whole year. He was stuck here, with Draco and the Dursleys and Snape, with no escape – no Hermione and Ron – no Quidditch – no Hagrid – <BR><BR>He took a huge gulp of lukewarm water and felt his throat contract as he almost retched it back up. "Dumbledore," he snarled, "you bastard."<BR><BR>"Now, if that were the only thing I'd ever heard you say," said Draco, "we could have been the best of friends. Except for the part where you're a total prat."<BR><BR>"Nah," said Dudley, meditatively, "Harry's always been more of a geek, I thought." He handed Draco an ice-cream.<BR><BR>"A man after my own heart." Draco unwrapped the ice-cream and licked it delicately. Harry wanted to smash it into his face. He wanted to strangle Draco with his own tongue. <BR><BR>But – unpredictably – this was not Draco's fault. He was as much a victim of circumstance as Harry. This was all <I>Dumbledore's</I> doing.<BR><BR>Harry recalled Dumbledore's speech from the night before. He'd talked about safety, and four hundred children, and ... 'those who cannot be taught at home.' <BR><BR>Harry instantly brightened. The Weasleys were sure to be taught at home, and Hermione along with them. It was a mere oversight that Harry had not been included in their party. He would write to Dumbledore straight after dinner, pointing out the facts, and requesting a transfer.<BR><BR>Thus engaged, he failed for some time to notice that Dudley was trying to get his attention. Dudley had to resort to waving his offering in Harry's face before Harry blinked himself back to the present.<BR><BR>"I told you," said Draco. "Slow-witted. Probably dropped on his head as a child."<BR><BR>"Well, yes – but it was only the one time!" protested Dudley.<BR><BR>"What is it?" snapped Harry. <BR><BR>"The ice-cream I got you," said Dudley. "Do you want it or not?"<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry was drinking his cereal the next morning, and minding his own business, <a href=http://bigbang.inkubation.net/forum/images/zoom/DLAJGU/glockgal_-_quantamleap1.jpg rel="lightbox" title="Breakfast, by Glock">when he was rudely interrupted.</a> Milk streaming down his chin, Harry turned to confront Draco, who was prosing from the prime spot in front of the fan.<BR><BR>"- funny thing, Snape's charms get really weak really quickly, and it's not like Snape doesn't have the tenacity of a bulldog. His charms should last for days without him needing to top them up. Yet here I am, boiling to death. The incongruity is striking."<BR><BR>Draco's hair was blowing back from his face. Tendrils were getting caught in his mouth as he prattled on. He kept tugging them away. <BR><BR>"I think –" Draco paused, his lip curling. "You have milk. On your chin. Oh sweet Merlin, are you drinking from the bowl?"<BR><BR>"The milk sours if you leave it out too long!"<BR><BR>"It won't if you don't want it to," said Draco. "You have magical powers - remember those? The Underage Wizarding restrictions were put in place to curtail excessive magic-using in children, but they can't legislate for unconscious wish-fulfilment. Here." He yanked the bowl out of Harry's hands. "Get a spoon. The milk won't spoil."<BR><BR>Harry did as he was bid, with bad grace. However, when he swallowed the first mouthful he discovered that the milk was icy cold – just the way he liked it.<BR><BR>Draco was watching him. "I'm surprised the Mudblood didn't tell you about that loophole. It's hardly possible she didn't know about it."<BR><BR>"Don't call Hermione that!" Harry slapped the spoon into the bowl so hard that milk splashed everywhere. Draco flinched. "This is my home – sort of – and you're only here on sufferance, so be civil or be quiet."<BR><BR>"Civil it is, then," sighed Draco.<BR><BR>Harry ate in silence for a few more minutes, before Draco felt obliged to mar his peace once more.<BR><BR>"What's this Stonewall place like, then?" he asked. <BR><BR>Harry shrugged. "Dunno," he said with his mouth full. "Never been there."<BR><BR>"We're going to be spending the next six months there, at least. Aren't you at all curious?"<BR><BR>"No," said Harry. He slurped away the last of his breakfast, enjoying the pained expression on Draco's face, and clattered the bowl into the sink. "See you."<BR><BR>"Where are you going?"<BR><BR>"To check on my owl, see if she's brought letters from my friends the pureblood traitors," said Harry. "And then I have to mow the lawn."<BR><BR>"I shall ask Lee if he wants to visit our new school together," announced Draco.<BR><BR>"Wow, I'm sorry," said Harry. "Are you mistaking me for someone who cares what you do?" He shoved his shoulder into Draco's. "Move."<BR><BR>The weather had to be turning them all a little loopy, Harry decided. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought he'd just had a half-civilised conversation with Draco Malfoy.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry was ensconced in the shed, filling up the petrol tank in the lawnmower, when pitiful wails tore through the silence. Forces were at work that were greater than his comprehension; someone really didn't want him to mow the lawn.<BR><BR>Harry abandoned his task and stepped out into the blazing morning sunshine. A small, offensively ugly monster was rolling around in what was left of the herbaceous border. Dumbledore stood over it, a gold watch dangling from his fingers.<BR><BR>"Ah, there you are," said Dumbledore, as Harry emerged. <BR><BR>"Did you get my letter, sir?" asked Harry eagerly. <BR><BR>"I did. And I'm sorry, but your request is impossible for me to fulfil."<BR><BR>"But why?" Harry was severely disappointed. "The Weasleys are getting taught at home, and Hermione with them – they said so in their last letter. I don't see why –"<BR><BR>"Don't you?" Dumbledore stroked his beard. "You can't think of one reason why it would be safer for you to remain here, under your aunt's protection?"<BR><BR>"Oh, well, but," said Harry, "it's not very safe for <I>them</I>, is it? While I'm here?"<BR><BR>"Actually, the protection works both ways," said Dumbledore. "So long as you remain under this roof, Voldemort will not be able to attack you. When you are at Hogwarts, he has ample opportunity to raze this place to the ground. That he has not already done so merely means he regards you as the prime target. But he would not scruple to do so, if he thought it would anger you."<BR><BR>"It wouldn't," said Harry. A flame of defiance forced the words from his mouth, although they left him slightly sickened.<BR><BR>"I am sorry to hear that. I understand that your aunt and uncle, as guardians, are not ... all that I could have wished. However, to know that you do not care if they live or die – that is deeply mortifying to me."<BR><BR>"I'm sure it is. It was your decision to abandon me here, after all." The contemplation of a bleak vista, which encompassed a houseful of Dursleys and Slytherins for months and months, made Harry sharper than he intended. "I can still go to the Burrow for my birthday, can't I?"<BR><BR>"But of course," said Dumbledore. "Only between sun-up and sun-down, however. You cannot stay the night, or the protection will fail."<BR><BR>"Better and better," muttered Harry.<BR><BR>"I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you brought an extra guest," said Dumbledore. "Or two."<BR><BR>"If you mean Malfoy and Snape," said Harry, "then I hope you're joking. Living with them is bad enough, never mind taking them somewhere I actually want to enjoy myself."<BR><BR>"So charitable!" called Draco, from the kitchen window. "One might almost have mistaken you for a Hufflepuff." He disappeared again, sniggering. Harry bit back a snarl. <BR><BR>"See what I mean?" he exclaimed.<BR><BR>"My dear boy." Dumbledore laid a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "You are not the only one with burdens – not the only one with a grim road to travel. If kindness has not often been shown you in your life, there is all the more reason why you should cultivate it in your own self."<BR><BR>"I'm extremely kind to Malfoy," said Harry. "For example, I haven't killed him at all yet."<BR><BR>"Malfoy!" The creature rolling in the dirt sat up, its exultant tone belying its grubby, tear-streaked face. "Did I hear the name of the beautiful son of the House of Black, the pureblood hope?"<BR><BR>"No, you heard the name Malfoy, idiot supreme and racist twit," snapped Harry. "Professor, what is that slimeball of an elf doing here?"<BR><BR>"His name is Kreacher, as you very well know," said Dumbledore, "and it has recently fallen to my lot to deliver him to you, as part of your inheritance."<BR><BR>"That's okay, I'm good."<BR><BR>"The situation is a little less simple than that." Dumbledore tucked his watch into his waistcoat, after noting the time. "Twelve point three minutes of continuous bewailing of your lot. Impressive."<BR><BR>Kreacher preened. "Kreacher thanks the traitorous Muggle-loving pervert."<BR><BR>"Oy, that's enough out of you." Harry aimed a kick at Kreacher's head. It failed to connect and he instead toppled some of the rockery. <BR><BR>"Since your godfather and his brother both died leaving no issue," intervened Dumbledore, who was starting to look as though he felt the heat, "and Sirius' will leaves Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place in your possession, we must perform the test that ascertains your ownership of a pureblood estate."<BR><BR>Harry's fingers and toes tingled as the blood drained out of them. The world swayed around him, and he grabbed the nearest thing to support himself. Unfortunately, this turned out to be Kreacher's bald head. Harry snatched his hand back.<BR><BR>"Sirius' will?" he repeated. "Sirius made a will?"<BR><BR>"Of course. It was during his imprisonment in Azkaban, I believe, when he thought he would never leave."<BR><BR>"And he still willed it to me?"<BR><BR>"You were the only thing left in the world he had permission to love," said Dumbledore gently. "There was no worthier candidate for his inheritance."<BR><BR>Harry gulped back a sob. "So he's really – he's really – but the curtain, I thought, maybe –"<BR><BR>"I'm so sorry, Harry." Dumbledore gripped Harry's shoulder again, hard enough to bruise. "You've suffered so much loss already. I wish I could say people return from Hell's Portal, but I have never heard of it happening."<BR><BR>"Hell's Portal?" The words stuck in Harry's throat. "Sirius is in hell?"<BR><BR>Dumbledore looked uncomfortable. "An unfortunate misnomer. The curtain is not in the Department of Mysteries for nothing. No one knows where it leads; the only fact known is that no one who once ventures through ever emerges again."<BR><BR>"Oh." Harry took a shuddering breath. His glazed eyes took in Kreacher, who was caressing the dislodged stones from the rockery with a meaningful expression.<BR><BR>Sirius hated Kreacher. Sirius would want him to honour his inheritance. Sirius was dead.<BR><BR>"What do you want to do?" Harry asked the house-elf. <BR><BR>"Kreacher misunderstands the filthy half-blood," said Kreacher, but there was definite confusion on his face.<BR><BR>"Do you want to stay at Grimmauld Place? Or is there someone else you'd rather serve?"<BR><BR>"Kreacher is – Kreacher does not know –" Kreacher looked down at the ground and up at the sky, as if they would inspire him.<BR><BR>"You can do what you like," said Harry, infinitely weary all of a sudden. "My only order to you is to tell no one else what you've heard in Grimmauld Place since Sirius ... since he died. Including Mrs Malfoy. Is that clear?"<BR><BR>Kreacher mimed a zipping motion across his mouth.<BR><BR>At that moment Draco sauntered into the garden, nibbling at his fourteenth ice-cream of the day. "Does anyone happen to know if these are all fat-free?" he asked no one in particular. "I know Lee's supposed to be on this diet, but I also know he buys full-cream tubs of the stuff on the sly."<BR><BR>"Who is Lee?" said Harry in disgust.<BR><BR>"Oh, Potter. I didn't see you there, all skulking-like." Draco sent Harry a brilliant smile, which was a little dimmed by the strawberry smudges around his mouth. "I was referring to your cousin. Large individual, sleeps in the ice-box? I've decided to call him Lee. Dudley is a most unfortunate name."<BR><BR>"I see what you mean, <I>Draco</I>," said Harry. <BR><BR>While this conversation was taking place, Kreacher had stopped his perusal of the inspirational cumulous and sidled up to Draco, an adoring expression on his face.<BR><BR>"Kreacher wishes to serve the beautiful master," he simpered. <BR><BR>"How perfect," said Harry. "Perfectly sickening, that is."<BR><BR>"You did promise –" began Dumbledore.<BR><BR>"I know. Malfoy, say hello to Kreacher – your new house-elf."<BR><BR>Draco, to his credit, looked neither affronted nor alarmed, although Harry would have felt both on being confronted with the nauseating smile on Kreacher's face.<BR><BR>"You're serious," he said.<BR><BR>"As cancer," said Harry. "He was mine, now he's yours, you're not allowed to tell him to kill me, enjoy."<BR><BR>"House-elves are forbidden from doing mortal harm to humans," whispered Dumbledore. <BR><BR>"Excellent," purred Draco. He patted Kreacher's head and didn't even wince. "A dry Martini on the rocks, no twist, and keep them coming."<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>"– and now they're living in the basement with Kreacher," finished Harry. <BR><BR>He was sitting in state at the head of the Weasley dining table. Hermione and Ron were clustered as his elbow, and Ginny listened in as she polished off the treacle tart.<BR><BR>"Phew." Ron gave vent to his feelings. "That's full-on, mate. What was Dumbledore thinking?"<BR><BR>"Or was he even thinking? I'm just not sure," said Harry.<BR><BR>"Well –" Hermione looked thoughtful, chewing absently on her little fingernail "- perhaps it's his way of ensuring House solidarity."<BR><BR>"Yeah," said Harry. "Because everyone knows barely-concealed murderous urges are the way to go with that." He shivered. "Is it me, or is it freezing in here?"<BR><BR>Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. They were both bundled up in chunky sweaters and scarves. <BR><BR>"That might be because you're in shorts and sandals," said Ginny, her chin tucked into the collar of the lambswool dressing-gown she'd pulled on over her party frock. "Er – not that it isn't a good look for you."<BR><BR>"They're flip-flops, actually." Harry wriggled his toes, which were turning blue. <BR><BR>"We did tell you about the mist," said Ron. He turned to Hermione for confirmation. "We did tell him about the mist?"<BR><BR>"It's the Dementors," she said. "Ever since the break-out from Azkaban, they've been multiplying like mad. This miasma is actually clouds of despair."<BR><BR>Harry was caught on 'multiplying.' "Dementors having sex?" He pushed away his dessert dish. "I've suddenly lost my appetite."<BR><BR>"It's probably more like binary fission." Hermione sounded disapproving.<BR><BR>Ginny hooked Harry's dish with her spoon. "No need to be coy. There's nothing more natural than the physical act of love." <BR><BR>"In this case, I'm all in favour of enforced sterilisation," said Hermione dryly. "Of course, the Ministry's trying to play everything down, not to mention that it fits right in with the weird weather everywhere else in England."<BR><BR>"I'm going to grab a jumper," said Harry. "You don't mind?"<BR><BR>"Of course not." Ron waved him away. <BR><BR>Harry expected to be swamped with longing when he entered Ron's familiar bedroom. He'd been forced to endure the Dursleys for two months, and Snape and Draco for a week that <I>felt</I> like two months; his desire to leave should have increased exponentially. And he no doubt that it had, except that he had no room at the minute to feel anything but the cold creeping into places it really shouldn't.<BR><BR>He hurriedly hauled on a ragged polo-neck and a Weasley jumper, teeth chattering. He was still looking for some jeans or tracksuit pants when Ginny knocked at the open door. Not waiting to be invited, she slipped inside. She was wearing high heels with gold straps that matched her dress. They made her the same height as Harry, who'd grown a few inches since May.<BR><BR>"Aren't you cold?" asked Harry, in reference to the fact that Ginny had forgotten her dressing-gown. Her dress was strapless, baring smooth freckled shoulders.<BR><BR>"Nah," said Ginny, who was briskly rubbing the circulation back into her arms. <BR><BR>"Really? I still am. And I can't find a pair of trousers anywhere."<BR><BR>Ginny stepped in behind him and threaded her arms around his waist. "Let me warm you up." Her voice was muffled against the prickly wool of Harry's jumper. <BR><BR>"That's okay," said Harry, "I'm fine, really –" He yelped as cold lips met the back of his neck.<BR><BR>"Did I hurt you?" cried Ginny, as Harry stumbled over the desk chair. She put out two hands to steady him and Harry found himself staring straight down her cleavage.<BR><BR>"Um," he said, blushing furiously. <BR><BR>"Are you still cold?" whispered Ginny. "I'm feeling pretty ... hot."<BR><BR>"You are? Oh." Harry jumped when Ginny leaned down. "Aren't you – Dean Thomas?"<BR><BR>"Well, yeah." Ginny shrugged. "Dean isn't here, though. Don't you want to kiss me?"<BR><BR>"No!" Ginny stepped back, looking hurt. "I mean, yes! Very much. I'd like to kiss you. But not when you're going out with my friend."<BR><BR>Ginny looked instantly more cheerful. "What if I broke up with Dean?" She brushed her fingers across Harry's lips, making him shiver: her hands were cold as ice. <BR><BR>"Then, after a certain mourning period, we could possibly do a lot of kissing," said Harry firmly. He felt a twinge of regret at passing on this fine opportunity; but on the other hand, the first time he kissed Ginny he'd quite like to be able to <I>feel</I> it.<BR><BR>Ginny heaved a great sigh. "It's your call." She sauntered to the door and struck a pose, hand on hip. Breathing suddenly became difficult as Harry realised just how gauzy the material of her dress was, and how little she seemed to be wearing under it. The cold had one – or two – advantages that he could now appreciate. "But you don't know what you're missing. I'm a great kisser." She blew him a kiss and wandered downstairs.<BR><BR>"Oh boy." Harry took a few deep breaths. He looked down. "Why can't we ever agree?" he demanded. "Now is not the time."<BR><BR>Then, because it was too cold to do otherwise, he wrapped himself in Ron's quilt and went back to the living room, where there was a fire.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR><I>Meanwhile, back at the ranch</I><BR><BR>"It's huge," said Draco, awestruck.<BR><BR>Dudley nodded his agreement. "I've never seen a bigger tub of ice-cream in my life. Not even in Tesco."<BR><BR>"Kreacher did well?" Kreacher clasped his hands, trying, and failing, to look winning.<BR><BR>Draco looked around Dudley's bedroom. At nine o'clock that morning, it had been a stuffy ruin, coated with dust and bird droppings. Dudley hadn't had reason to use it since the heatwave hit, sleeping, as he did, in the kitchen, with his Playstation hooked up to the living room television. <BR><BR>Now it was a veritable wonderland. By making full use of Kreacher's kleptomaniac tendencies, the two boys had assembled no less than three desk-fans, mounted in various corners of the room. The place was sparkling clean; all that was broken, fixed; and a mountain of goodies took pride of place next to the fish tank.<BR><BR>"I think it's safe to say you've pleased your master," said Draco. "Although, I'm still not entirely convinced about the goldfish."<BR><BR>"Kreacher likes a snack now and then, gracious sir."<BR><BR>"Now I'm convinced and nauseated," said Draco. "You may retire for the evening, Kreacher. Lee tells me there's a cupboard under the stairs you can sleep in."<BR><BR>"Beautiful, kind master," crooned Kreacher. "If sir needs anything else, sir only has to call Kreacher and he will come running!"<BR><BR>"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," murmured Draco. With a crack, the elf disappeared.<BR><BR>"That's well cool," said Dudley. "Wish I had one."<BR><BR>"I wouldn't count on it," said Draco. "Muggles can't own slaves, remember?"<BR><BR>Dudley looked very much as if he would make an exception in this case. To distract him, Draco handed him a spoon.<BR><BR>"He even got the TV working!" said Dudley. "The man at Currys said it was beyond repair."<BR><BR>"What happened to the TV?"<BR><BR>"Oh, I put my foot through it when a show got cancelled," said Dudley. Draco looked at him in admiration. It was just what he'd have done.<BR><BR>"What do you want to watch?" asked Dudley. "I have all the Rambos, all the Bonds, and a lot of porn. And Seinfeld."<BR><BR>"I somehow doubt your porn would be to my tastes," said Draco. "What's this Seinfeld about, then?"<BR><BR>Some hours later, Draco had got over the first wonder of television. He'd stopped answering the onscreen actors as if they were talking to him, and eventually remembered to blink. Dudley was just as happy to eat the ice-cream without him.<BR><BR>"That," said Draco, slightly shaken, "was quite seriously impressive."<BR><BR>"Yes, it was." Dudley burped. He cast a regretful glance at his weight machine, but in spite of the three fans it was still too warm to attempt a work-out.<BR><BR>Draco leaned back against the bed and stretched out his long, still frightfully pale, legs in front of him. Malfoy Manor was very poorly situated in the middle of a dell, and caught no sunlight from any direction. He'd had every intention of doing some serious sunbathing that morning, but Dudley had chased him inside with dire imprecations on his dangerous plan.<BR><BR>"Why are you here?" asked Dudley.<BR><BR>"Because my mother had a duty to produce an heir for my father," said Draco promptly. <BR><BR>"No, I mean why are you here - here in this house? You aren't friends with Harry."<BR><BR>Draco shuddered. "Perish the thought."<BR><BR>"So why?"<BR><BR>"Do you really want to know? I'm not supposed to tell anyone."<BR><BR>"Then don't go into specifics," said Dudley. "That always got me out of trouble. Until I was expelled."<BR><BR>"I'm supposed to murder someone so my father won't be killed," said Draco in a great rush.<BR><BR>"Well." There was no sound for a time bar Dudley's heavy breathing. "That was actually pretty specific."<BR><BR>"No, specific would be the plans I came up with to carry out said murder, before circumstances intervened."<BR><BR>"Such as?"<BR><BR>"The first thing I thought of was a cursed necklace," said Draco.<BR><BR>"Cursed?" Dudley looked blank.<BR><BR>"Ah, Muggle. I forgot." Draco struggled for a moment to translate. "It has spell on it – you know what spells are, yes? – that makes anyone who wears it die."<BR><BR>"Hmm." Dudley shifted around on the bed. It creaked under his bulk. "Can these spell things be traced? You know, like fingerprints?"<BR><BR>"I think it's possible to identify the magical signature, as long as the spell isn't too old," said Draco. "Why?"<BR><BR>"Because that makes it a stupid plan," said Dudley. Draco bristled. "If it were an invisible spell, okay, maybe. But someone puts on necklace and kicks the bucket straight off, people are gonna be suspicious. They're gonna ask, 'So who gave the stiff the necklace?'" Warming to his theme, Dudley sat up in bed. "Plus, if they can trace the magic back to you, they will. It's not like they're looking around for some killing object they don't know about, while the spell gets cold. They have it right there, fresh off the mark."<BR><BR>"Huh." Draco pulled his lip. "I never thought of that. Good thing I abandoned that idea anyway. I actually decided to poison them instead."<BR><BR>"Better," acknowledged Dudley. "But how were you going to do it?"<BR><BR>In a small voice, Draco ventured, "Poison some wine and give it to someone who'd pass it on to the person as a gift?"<BR><BR>"Covering your back: always a good move," said Dudley. "Unlikely anyone would be able to pin it on you this time. On the other hand, there's too many intervening variables. What if someone else drank the wine? Or the pigeon you gave it to didn't give it away like he was supposed to? Poisoning is something you have to do over a long time, sprinkling a bit in their food every day, so they look like they're getting sick naturally."<BR><BR>"I wouldn't have enough access to the person to do that," said Draco. "Hey, you're rather good at this."<BR><BR>"I watch a lot of cop shows." Still, Dudley couldn't help but preen. <BR><BR>"What would you do, in my position? Where you had to kill someone you didn't particularly like, but didn't hate either, to save your family?"<BR><BR>"That's easy," said Dudley. "I'd make us new identities and head to Brazil until the fuss died down."<BR><BR>Draco nodded. "That's pretty much what happened to me. My mother made Snape and I swear an Unbreakable Vow that neither of us would kill D – the person I'm supposed to murder. The Dark – the man in charge doesn't know it yet, but once he does, we're officially on the run."<BR><BR>"Or you could pretend," said Dudley, "that you're still on the mark's tail, I mean. You could act like that's why you moved here – to stalk him better."<BR><BR>Draco was much struck. "That's not a bad idea at all," he said. "Lee, I'm very glad I met you."<BR><BR>"Likewise," said Dudley. <BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry hadn't imagined that he would have such good luck as to find a trundle wheel in Uncle Vernon's shed; but Uncle Vernon was the sort of man who paid other men to put up shelves for him, and consequently there was not even so much as a measuring tape on the property. Harry was forced to resort to rummaging in Dudley's second-hand junk for a ruler, which he was now using to measure the perimeter of the house.<BR><BR>Somewhere between the laundry window and the back door, Draco emerged from the house. He crept up on Harry as noiselessly as a cat and watched him work with an expression of deep amusement. <BR><BR>Harry was alerted to his presence only when he started to measure across Draco's feet. Draco obligingly fell back a pace or two and said, "I'd ask what you were doing, but then you might stop, and this is too entertaining to miss."<BR><BR>"What makes you think I'd answer you anyway?" growled Harry. He shuffled a few inches across on his knees, wishing there was some way to speed up what he was doing and save his dignity. <BR><BR>"Fair argument," said Draco. "Then again, you've always been dreadfully easy to provoke."<BR><BR>Harry sat back on his heels to dispute the point, only to realise he was proving it. With careless unconcern, Draco set about unfolding a deck chair in the scant shade of a dying sycamore.<BR><BR>"Where'd you get that?"<BR><BR>"It was in the basement," said Draco. "Lee said I could use it."<BR><BR>"Stop calling him that!"<BR><BR>"Why? He doesn't mind." Draco brushed off the worst of the dust from the chair. "There. Not bad for Muggle workmanship. Now all that stands between me and perfection is – Kreacher!"<BR><BR>Kreacher materialised, breathless. "How may I serve the exquisite master today?"<BR><BR>"Make me some lemonade," said Draco. Harry couldn't suppress a derisive snort. "Oh, and whatever he's having, I suppose."<BR><BR>"What do you want, stain on the honour of my House?" Kreacher asked Harry's feet.<BR><BR>"I'm good," said Harry, and added belatedly, "Thanks?"<BR><BR>Kreacher sniffed and disappeared. Draco twitched the chair into a better alignment, then went to work on the lacings of his shirt. Harry didn't think it was the same shirt Draco had worn on the first day – for one thing, it was blue – but it was of the same Regency style cut down to beach-bum casual. <BR><BR>It didn't dawn on Harry what Draco was doing until Draco pulled the shirt over his head. "Hey, what!" Harry protested. "You can't do that!"<BR><BR>"Do what?" Draco sounded genuinely puzzled as he wadded up his shirt into a pillow. He stretched out on the deck chair and tucked his arms behind his head. Harry was horror-struck, unable to tear his eyes away from the smooth shift of muscles beneath marble-white skin.<BR><BR>"Be – naked like that," spluttered Harry. "Not around me."<BR><BR>"Jealous, are you?" Draco smirked and ran a hand down his pecs. <BR><BR>"Hardly." Harry snorted again and decided to refrain from doing so in future; it stung his throat.<BR><BR>"Then what's the problem?"<BR><BR>"It's ... indecent." Aware of the lameness of his complaint, Harry huffed a sigh and returned to what he'd been doing. Unfortunately, Draco had made him lose count, and he hadn't thought to make a note of the measurements he'd already done.<BR><BR>"No, seriously, I can't contain myself any longer. Just what are you doing?"<BR><BR>"Measuring the size of the house, all right?" grunted Harry. <BR><BR>"Surely there are easier ways to do it than that," said Draco. "Snape. Kreacher. A measuring tape."<BR><BR>"No measuring tapes," said Harry. "And no way am I asking those two for anything."<BR><BR>"Why do you hate Snape so much?" asked Draco. "I know <I>we</I> have a long-standing history and you're a total prat, which makes my disparagement of you and everything about you easy to understand, but Snape?"<BR><BR>"He started it," said Harry. "First day of school, I don't know him from Adam, and he starts ragging on me like I'd killed his pet toad. Turns out my dad bullied him in school and somehow that's <I>my</I> fault."<BR><BR>"You could try being the bigger man," said Draco. "Live and let live, let bygones be bygones and all that."<BR><BR>"A philosophy to live by," agreed Harry. "Except not for you, of course."<BR><BR>Draco shrugged. "What can I say? You'll be a prat until the end of time, and short of Obliviating me I'll never forget it."<BR><BR>"There's that winning charm again." Harry shut his eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. He had stuff to do, most of which included avoiding everyone else in the house. He needed to stop Draco getting to him. That's what Hermione had said, but unfortunately she had no firmer advice than that; Draco still got to her, after all.<BR><BR>"Ah, here's Kreacher with the lemonade." This was said in tones of heartfelt satisfaction. Harry didn't turn around, merely listened to the chink and tinkle of refreshments being served as he slowly added twenty centimetres to twenty centimetres. "Sure you don't want some?"<BR><BR>"No thanks," said Harry. "Kreacher'd probably spit in it."<BR><BR>"Kreacher would."<BR><BR>"Your loss," said Draco.<BR><BR>For the next five minutes all Harry could hear was Draco slurping at his drink, loudly and undoubtedly by design. Harry'd nearly got to the edge of the house when Draco spoke again.<BR><BR>"Indulge me: what is the purpose of you scrabbling around in the dirt like a dog? Not that I don't think it's a very fitting place for you."<BR><BR>"You know what? Shut up!" Harry shouted. "As a matter of fact, I was measuring the house to figure out where to create nodes for the spell I asked Hermione to design. If Snape casts it, it'll put a matrix bubble of Cooling Charms over the house. It would mean Snape wouldn't have to keep casting charms to keep the two of you from dying of heatstroke. But I don't think I'll be bothered now!"<BR><BR>He stared at Draco, who for a full second looked something like discomposed. Then his customary expression shuttered his features once more.<BR><BR>"Temper, temper," he said. "We don't need that anyway. Kreacher will steal us some more fans, won't you, Kreacher?"<BR><BR>"Kreacher would be glad to be of service to the delightful master!"<BR><BR>"There, see?" Draco smirked at Harry and took a long sip of his lemonade. There was a lemon slice and an umbrella in it.<BR><BR>Harry felt rage curdle his blood. In a few short strides he'd crossed the parched lawn and grabbed up the lemonade pitcher, which he dumped over Draco's head before Draco – or, more to the point, Kreacher – could do a thing about it.<BR><BR>Draco spluttered and wiped his stringy hair out of his eyes. <a href=http://bigbang.inkubation.net/forum/images/zoom/MITDVO/naadi_-_lemonade.jpg rel="lightbox" title="Lemonade, by Naadi Moonfeather">He looked like a drowned kitten, with his sopping locks and lemonade dribbling down his pale chest</a>. Harry felt a vicious satisfaction.<BR><BR>"I hope you fry to a crisp, you inbred loser," he said. <BR><BR>"I have sunscreen, you know!" Draco shrieked after him. Harry closed his ears. He passed the kitchen table, where Hermione's carefully drawn plans were spread across several dozen sheaves of parchment. In an angry gesture, Harry crumpled them up and threw them at the bin with unwarranted force. <BR><BR>He felt all the impotence of being sixteen and unable to legally drive or use magic. The heat stopped him from walking far in any direction. There was nowhere for him to go – except...<BR><BR>Harry smiled – though it was difficult when his face was cast so heavily into a frown – and headed for the basement.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry passed a contented few hours in Hogwarts' library. The portal was simplicity itself to open: all Harry needed to do was to touch the handle and the concrete blocks were replaced by an ornate oak door, which obligingly swung open to let him pass.<BR><BR>Never had Harry taken a stroll around the library with more pleasure. In the past it had been the scene of frantic research or frantic swotting. He'd never before noticed the many squashy armchairs that were dotted around the stacks. <BR><BR>He had planned to be happy in reading over one of his textbooks, but a quick survey revealed that there was no need. He found shelves full of remarkable books of the sort that often caught his eye in Flourish and Blotts. He chose one entitled 'From Bedknobs to Broomsticks: A Short History of Magical Flight' and settled in for the afternoon.<BR><BR>He emerged, blinking, six hours later. The library was dim and enchantingly cool, and the changeover was strong enough for Harry to feel like an animal coming out of hibernation. He could hear voices from outside. They didn't sound agitated, but Harry decided to investigate anyway.<BR><BR>The other inhabitants of the house, minus Kreacher, were arrayed in the back yard in what looked like battle formation. Each of the Dursleys stooped over a small object, while Snape was firing incantations at a football boot and Draco was tensed as if for flight. <BR><BR>"Look who decided to join us," crowed Draco, glancing up as Harry tripped over the stoop. <BR><BR>Snape looked up also, but without halting his spell-casting. He jerked his head in the direction of a kettle on the ground beside Dudley. Taking the hint, Harry crouched down beside it.<BR><BR>He looked down the row and saw Dudley holding a dustpan for dear life; Aunt Petunia with her hands around a toasted sandwich maker; and Uncle Vernon wheezing over a Folio collection of Shakespeare that, to the best of Harry's knowledge, had never before been touched.<BR><BR>"What are you doing?" asked Harry, just as Snape finished his incantation with a flourish.<BR><BR>A ribbon of light exploded from the football boot at his feet, arrowing up into the air. Draco raced around to the front of the house as the ribbon floated down and across the roof, where it lay winking in the sunlight. Harry grabbed the kettle as it began to dance in place, fighting the vibrations that clattered his teeth in his skull. Beside him, Dudley threw himself bodily on the dustpan to hold it still. <BR><BR>"Got it!" Draco's voice echoed. At once, Harry's kettle stopped shaking. Snape picked up the boot and disappeared around the front of the house. Harry jumped up to follow.<BR><BR>By the time he reached the front lawn, Snape was kneeling with the boot while Draco cupped the end of the ribbon of light in both hands. He seemed to be trying to tug it down to the ground. Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Irving from Number Eight, out for a walk with their five corgis, watched with unqualified amazement.<BR><BR>"Hi," called Harry. "We're having some problems with the, um, electricity. Got some men in to help with the wiring."<BR><BR>Mr Irving nodded slightly. Mrs Irving gathered up the dog leads and hustled him away, muttering something very audible about 'there goes the neighbourhood'. <BR><BR>Snape finally managed to attach the ribbon to the boot, at which point it ballooned out in a blaze of light, then faded to nothing. <BR><BR>"One down, four to go," said Draco. Snape merely grunted.<BR><BR>"Are you –" Harry looked at the football boot suspiciously. Hermione had suggested using objects that usually stayed inside the house as keystones for the nodes. "This is the spell I was trying to set up earlier!"<BR><BR>"No," said Snape, "it's the plan you tried to throw in the bin. Very gracious of you, I must say, trying to deprive everyone else of it like that."<BR><BR>"But I didn't!" exclaimed Harry. "He –" Harry gesticulated impotently at Draco, who smirked.<BR><BR>"I, for one, cannot wait to live in a proper, magically-cooled house," he said. "Those pitiful fan things just don't cut it."<BR><BR>"And I'm very grateful to you for bringing it to my attention," said Snape. "Now can we get on?"<BR><BR>"Certainly, Professor." Still smirking, Draco brushed past Harry on his way to the back yard. <BR><BR>Harry had time to appreciate the fact that, added to his other crimes, Draco was now sporting the beginnings of a fine, even, honey-coloured tan. Not even the tip of his nose was remotely pink. Harry's hand went unconsciously to his own nose. In the first week of summer Harry, in his innocence, had taken off his shirt when sweat dyed it from grey to black. He'd been in agony for days afterwards. Even now, his nose was still peeling a little. The skin there was far darker than everywhere else, with a dozen blotchy freckles.<BR><BR>"Try lemon juice," advised Snape. <BR><BR>"What?" Harry snatched his hand away.<BR><BR>"For those unslightly blemishes," said Snape. <BR><BR>Harry scowled. "What would you have done if I wasn't there to stabilise the last keystone?"<BR><BR>"We would have managed," said Snape airily. "If you want to go and lose yourself again I'm sure I won't object."<BR><BR>"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," snarled Harry, leaning in. He realised he was now as tall as Snape, who had to lean back instead of looming over him.<BR><BR>"How very like your dear father you are," said Snape. "He, too, could only grant a favour grudgingly, and only if he thought it wasn't really wanted."<BR><BR>"Maybe if you were more like my dad," said Harry, struck with sudden inspiration, "my mum would have taken more notice of you."<BR><BR>Snape's eyes narrowed, but not before Harry saw a flash of fear in them. "Your mind wanders alarmingly, boy. Perhaps you need a cooling compress."<BR><BR>"Whatever," said Harry. He felt a rare sense of satisfaction: something told him he'd won that round.<BR><BR>It took them the better part of the evening to complete the spell. The few Muggles abroad in the swelter of sunset seemed to buy Harry's explanations, but he was still worried. On the other hand, if the Ministry was going to berate anyone for performing magic in front of Muggles it would be Snape, not him. <BR><BR>Sweat was running in rivulets down Snape's face by the end. He'd even gone so far as to take off his outer robe, revealing a loose black shirt and breeches much like Draco's. Harry wondered if they were a half-way house to underwear. Certainly the Weasleys had never worn anything like them – that Harry knew of – but then again, the Weasleys might not have afforded such fripperies.<BR><BR>"I think the spell will hold," panted Snape. "Quick, take the keystones back inside."<BR><BR>The Dursleys scurried to do his bidding. There came a concerted 'ah-h' sound as they entered the house. Dudley poked his head out the front door. "It's like Antarctica in here," he said gleefully. <BR><BR>"That ... was difficult." Snape took a few deep breaths. "I can feel a force fighting it. This is no ... natural weather."<BR><BR>"It's not," said Harry. Draco and Snape turned to face him. "At least, I don't think so, and neither does Hermione. We reckon Voldemort's behind it." He noted the twin flinches at the mention of the name.<BR><BR>"The ... Dark Lord," said Snape, carefully, "is no lover of hot weather."<BR><BR>"That wouldn't be a problem unless he was in Surrey," said Harry. "Scrimgeour's not denying that Voldemort's back, but he's got enough on his plate, I reckon, without acknowledging that Voldemort's wreaking havoc all over the Muggle world too."<BR><BR>"The wizards would surely have noticed –" objected Draco. Harry shook his head.<BR><BR>"Hermione's looked into that," he said, "of course. The wizarding villages, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, most individual wizards' houses – they all have enchantments and protective spells built into their walls. Given that we can move around without actually going outside at all, I think it's safe to say few, if any, wizards have noticed the changes. And how many wizards read Muggle newspapers?"<BR><BR>"My father always used to say they'd rot my brain," said Draco.<BR><BR>"Little did he know it was already too late." Harry rolled his eyes and turned slightly away from Draco. Snape was a spiteful individual and there was no love lost between them, but at least he was an adult. "I think it's part of Voldemort's plan to take over England – get rid of as many Muggles as he can, first. Is it?"<BR><BR>"The Dark Lord has many plans," said Snape in lofty tones. "I am not privy to all of them."<BR><BR>"You don't know, in other words," said Harry. "Or he didn't trust you enough to tell you, which makes a lot of sense."<BR><BR>"Watch your tongue," said Snape. <BR><BR>"What, are you insulted by the idea that someone might not trust a double-dealer?" taunted Harry. "Or are you still trying to buy your way back in?" He thrust his fist in Snape's face. "I'm here, defenceless, unarmed. Take me to your master. Win back his loyalty. No one will stop you."<BR><BR>"That's where you're wrong," said Draco. Snape and Harry whirled around. Draco's face looked like he'd both smelled and eaten something impossibly sour. His hands were balled into his pockets like a naughty child. "Uh, Professor Snape, if you're in any way tempted by Potter's offer, it's my duty to inform you, uh, that I'd have to stop you –"<BR><BR>"Be silent, both of you!" thundered Snape. He massaged his temples. "Thank god I never had children."<BR><BR>Harry bit back a grin and accidentally caught Draco ducking his head to hide a smile. He was shocked by the notion that they both might have been thinking the exact same thing.<BR><BR>After a minute, Snape's hands slackened. "If your ... notions are correct," he said stiffly, "why haven't you informed the Ministry? Someone has to be casting these spells, someone they could arrest."<BR><BR>"Of course! Great idea. Because the Ministry's always been such a fan of mine, and never tried to have me committed for insanity or anything."<BR><BR>"Ah yes." Snape's fingers ground into his head once more. "And the Muggles themselves? What do they have to say about this? It's been a long time since I had reason to keep up with their current affairs. Is Fidel Castro still in power?"<BR><BR>"Yeah, I think so," said Harry. "But even in his hey-day I don't think he had control of the weather. You must be thinking of the X-Men."<BR><BR>"Then how are they explaining this – excessive heat?"<BR><BR>"And earthquakes, freezing mist, floods and tornadoes?" Harry shrugged. "Global warming."<BR><BR>He was met with two blank expressions. His heart sank at the thought of explaining the greenhouse effect and hydroflurocarbons – topics he barely understood himself – to people who'd never used either aerosols or carbon-based fuels. <BR><BR>"I think I'll have to pass you on to Dudley, for that one," he said weakly.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Snape was still deep in conversation with Dudley long after Draco had given it up, satisfied to learn that Muggles had put a hole in the sky, and not much beyond the fact. It was, after all, of a piece with everything he'd been brought up to believe about Muggles. <BR><BR>His skin was beginning to tingle, so he sent Kreacher off to procure some after-sun lotion for him. It was probably the last few hours setting up the spell that had done the mischief, when he'd been too busy to remember to top up his sunscreen. Otherwise, he felt complacent about the outcome of his day's sunbathing. It would have taken a full month to get such sun exposure in Malfoy Manor, not to mention that his father would be forever calling him away from the patio to discuss his grades or his duties as a Malfoy or, latterly, his devotion to the Dark Lord.<BR><BR>Draco felt a little guilty about enjoying himself in this misbegotten hellhole. He was with Muggles and Potter - theoretically, he hardly knew which was worse. <BR><BR>In practice, the Dursleys were tolerable enough. The uncle was at work all day, the aunt sequestered in the living room, and Lee was certainly an acceptable companion. He had more wit than Goyle and Crabbe put together, which made sense, because he probably weighed the same as the two of them. Television was an unlooked-for boon. Snape was usually off on errands through the L-space portal, and as for Potter...<BR><BR>Draco thought about Harry as he sat in the now habitable parlour and smoothed lotion into his stinging legs. <BR><BR>Harry was quieter than Draco remembered, if still as liable to go off at odd moments. During the grey hours of that July morning, when Draco had awoken to the shock of his mother packing his trunk <I>by herself</I>, he'd picked up something of the history of the underground group with which he was now, apparently, affiliated. Draco had much rather simply skip town for a few years and not be affiliated with anybody, but as yet the Order of the Phoenix hadn't asked him to kill someone, and that was a definite plus in their favour.<BR><BR>In between Draco's swearing of vows and checking that he'd brought his favourite pair of socks, Snape mentioned something about Sirius Black's death. Draco learned enough concerning Black to realise he was a sort of criminal and also related to Harry Potter, which was exceedingly apt. <BR><BR>Harry didn't seem the sort to throw himself on a long couch and weep over the death of a relative, even such a long-lost one as Black, despite it being really the only appropriate course of action. But if Draco had to put a name to Harry's behaviour of late – taking into account his long silences, his more than usually gloomy expression, and the way his angry outbursts seemed to end on a half-sob – he would have called it grief. Of a sort. Harry was evidently too manly and Gryffindorish to own up to his true feelings on the matter.<BR><BR>Draco wiggled his toes in his dusty flip-flops. The lotion was doing its job. He lay back on the stiff, brocaded sofa and wondered if one of the ugly cabinets held another TV.<BR><BR>What sounded like an elephant in labour reverberated through the hall. It could only be – "Potter," groaned Draco. He'd wanted a moment's peace and quiet, so of course Harry had been divinely ordained to annoy him.<BR><BR>"Did somebody say my –" Harry stopped in the doorway, mouth hanging open. It went well with his general appearance: that of a village idiot. "What are you doing here? In Aunt Petunia's good room?"<BR><BR>"I could ask you the same question." Draco smirked. He knew he had a tendency to smirk and talk too much when he was nervous or troubled, and he also knew he didn't have a Crabbe or a Goyle to back him up here. Still, Harry invited the mocking. Draco's fingers itched to pick up one of the almost spherical cushions and lob it at Harry's head.<BR><BR>Harry bit his lips as if chewing down a retort. He'd clearly been doing that a lot of late: his mouth was red and chapped. "What did you mean by what you said before?"<BR><BR>Aware of how it would annoy Harry, Draco squished himself down into the sofa before replying. "You're going to have to narrow that down a bit. I say a lot of things."<BR><BR>"I'd noticed." Harry toed off his flip-flops and walked into the room barefoot. Given how little difference in cleanliness there was between feet and shoes in this heat, Draco took the act for merely symbolic. In keeping with pointed gestures, he propped both his feet up on the fussy coffee table. Harry frowned, but went on, "About having to stop Snape, if he tried to hand me over to Voldemort."<BR><BR>Draco shivered reflexively at the name. He'd accuse Harry of bravado if he hadn't known Harry had seen the man in the flesh, many times more than Draco had. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It's just a little promise I made to my mother – nothing that concerns you."<BR><BR>"It does concern me," persisted Harry, "if you're making promises about my safety."<BR><BR>"It wasn't about your safety, it was about mine," snapped Draco. "It had everything to do with family loyalty – something you'll never understand."<BR><BR>Draco knew his slings and spurs nettled Harry, offended his pride and dignity, but never before had he felt that he'd actually wounded Harry by anything he said. The feeling was not as pleasant as he'd imagined.<BR><BR>"Right, well." Harry seemed at a loss. "Dinner in five minutes."<BR><BR>"Have Snape and Lee concluded their discussion?" Draco made a derisive noise. "Holes in the sky! Honestly, Muggles will bend over backwards to be stupider than they are to begin with."<BR><BR>"Did you ever stop to think that they have to try and explain something they're not allowed to understand?" spat Harry. "They don't know magic exists outside of films and fairy-tales. It's logical enough that changes in gas and atmospheres and things would cause funny weather, especially when you don't have any other reasons!"<BR><BR>"So cry me a river." Draco picked up a hideous crystal ornament and used it to scratch his leg. <BR><BR>"You're insufferable, you know that?" <BR><BR>"I can but try." Draco slit his eyes and smiled lazily at his foe. Harry looked ready to beat him into a pulp. "I haven't got all day. Either hit me or make some noble speech about how I'm not worth it."<BR><BR>"You're not," said Harry tightly. "You're not worth a damn thing."<BR><BR>He turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. Draco shrugged and lounged back.<BR><BR>For some reason, that had stung just a bit more than it should. It was probably the sunburn.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>The following week brought both some relief from the awful weather and the open day at Stonewall Comprehensive. Snape, his duty done by filling in the application forms with some judicious lies and informing Draco of the date of the open day, would have nothing more to do with it. He unbent only enough to put a Cooling Charm on Uncle Vernon's car, so that they could drive to the school in relative comfort.<BR><BR>Relative being the operative word, thought Harry. Aunt Petunia, naturally, rode shotgun. Harry, by dint of being skinnier than Dudley and less capricious than Draco, was squashed between the two on the hump. <BR><BR>Draco found much to marvel at in such an inconvenient, uncomfortable and protracted method of travelling.<BR><BR>"Your knee bumped mine," he remarked to Harry as Uncle Vernon took a corner. "I shall get a bruise."<BR><BR>"If you don't stop complaining," said Harry through gritted teeth, "you can get out and walk."<BR><BR>"I wasn't complaining," said Draco. "I was just stating a fact. Ow, there you go again."<BR><BR>Harry crossed his arms, determined to remain silent. Both Draco and Dudley then accused him of jabbing them with his elbows.<BR><BR>Knots of sunburnt people decorated the carpark into which Uncle Vernon drove. Either the place had been ramshackle to begin with – thin gravel, an abundance of weeds, and no lots painted – or the sun had done its worst. The three boys oozed out, Harry and Draco both picking at their sunburn. Dudley disdained to go outside at all, so he was white as a lily. He'd refused to say that Draco's tan was nicer than Harry's – 'I think tans are awfully common, actually' – and consequently Draco was in a sulk with him.<BR><BR>Uncle Vernon lead the way to a tired-looking banner saying 'Welcome,' Aunt Petunia on his arm. Harry followed at a distance, trying to pretend he wasn't associated with any of the other four, while Draco and Dudley did the same. <BR><BR>"There are tours every hour, arrows on the walls if you want to explore, which you are encouraged to do," a gum-chewing girl was droning to a nervous family party. "The teachers are on hand to answer any questions you might have." She caught sight of Draco and suddenly looked significantly less bored. <BR><BR>"She mustn't think tans are common," whispered Draco triumphantly, to Harry, who jerked away from him.<BR><BR>"Did you have to spit in my ear like that?" he growled. <BR><BR>The girl was definitely checking out Draco as she repeated her spiel to the Dursleys. Harry glared at Draco, wondering what it was she saw in him. His tan was the colour of light toffee and very even, because of his propensity to strip down no matter who was around to be bothered by it, and his hair sun-bleached to a sort of white-blonde. He was wearing a cream vest with the inevitable laces, shorts, flip-flops, and a leather necklace with a shark's tooth that he'd conned out of Dudley after becoming deeply enamoured of Home and Away. <BR><BR>Harry saw nothing there worthy of the half-smile on the girl's face, or her sultry glances. Of course, he wasn't supposed to, because Draco was a boy and Harry was a boy, but he wished Draco looked more like the git he actually was. <BR><BR>The girl wasn't that pretty anyway, Harry decided, as she gave him and Dudley a 'bitch, please' once-over.<BR><BR>"Piers!" cried Dudley once they were free of the reception booth. "Thought I recognised that rat-tail. How's things, dude?"<BR><BR>"Not bad, dude." The boy belonging to the nervous family high-fived Dudley. Harry had to stare hard at him to find any remnant of the boy who'd been the second-greatest bane of his childhood. <BR><BR>Piers was still short and with a tendency towards weediness, but he'd worked with nature instead of against it. His lank, ash-blonde hair was peeled back into a ponytail, and he was wearing a loud waistcoat over a white muscle t-shirt, white shorts and Birkenstocks. He looked like the star of a video warning kids about the dangers of drugs. <BR><BR>"Draco, this is my old friend Piers Polkiss," said Dudley. "And of course you know Harry."<BR><BR>"He's grown a bit," said Piers, looking up the ten inches that separated his eyeline from the rest of Harry. "Draco. That's an interesting name."<BR><BR>"So is Piers," said Draco flatly. Harry was a little astonished that Draco didn't have the same instant approbation for Piers as he'd had for Dudley. "Delighted to make your acquaintance. Potter, don't we have to go see the science labs?"<BR><BR>"Er," said Harry. He let Draco take his arm and drag him away, remembering too late to wrench it out of Draco's grasp. Draco's fingers were dry and warm, but his fingernails bit into Harry's flesh. <BR><BR>"What are science labs, anyway?" asked Draco. "Is that where Muggles make potions?"<BR><BR>"Yeah, if you like." Harry was aware of a few curious glances and herded Draco into the first room he saw. It was, indeed, a science lab, fitted up with long desks on which a number of experiments were quietly bubbling. Flasks were filled with chemicals of every available colour, Bunsen burners flared and the burettes sparkled in the sun streaming in through the slatted blinds. It looked, to Harry, like a torture chamber.<BR><BR>Little wonder, then, that Draco adored it. "This place is great!" he enthused. "What are these things?" He picked up a Bunsen burner.<BR><BR>"Something that is on fire." Harry snatched it away, the flame uncomfortably hot until he remembered how to turn it off. Draco had already turned to the next toy: a flask full of potassium permanganate.<BR><BR>"Are we allowed to use this stuff in school?" he asked, eyes shining. Harry shrugged. Science had never interested him one way or another; he'd mainly liked geography, as it seemed to be a way to plan escape routes.<BR><BR>"We should find the others," said Harry. The idea of being trapped in a small room with Draco and fire did not appeal. Draco idly twirled the flask of crystals, looking stubborn.<BR><BR>"Do you know that Piers person?" he asked.<BR><BR>"Yeah," said Harry. "He used to hold my head over the toilet bowl while Dudley flushed it. Why?"<BR><BR>"I don't – he didn't seem very nice to me," muttered Draco. Harry was about to make a remark wondering how Draco could tell, when he realised a delightful fact.<BR><BR>"You're jealous!" he laughed. <BR><BR>"Am not!" Draco's head snapped up.<BR><BR>"Are too!" Harry felt full of glee. "You're jealous that Piers will steal away your precious Lee and you'll have no one left to play with except Kreacher."<BR><BR>"With enemies like you, who needs friends?" asked Draco, and threw the crystals in Harry's face. Harry, expecting something of the kind, was already ducking. The crystals rained down on a basin of water containing a number of flasks and glass tubing. The water immediately began to fizz alarmingly. Harry and Draco scrambled backwards, ending up crushed against the same desk.<BR><BR>"If we are blown up," gasped Harry, "I'm holding you fully responsible."<BR><BR>"Don't be ridiculous." Draco shielded his face with the empty flask. "You provoked me."<BR><BR>"You're dreadfully easy to provoke." Harry's face twisted up into an expression that was more malicious than a smile. <BR><BR>"Hey!" Draco took his hands down. "You stole my comeback!"<BR><BR>"Ha, ha," said Harry meanly, while also being aware that it was hardly a comeback worth stealing.<BR><BR>The door the lab opened. Draco shoved the flask into Harry's hands and stepped away, the picture of innocence. Harry looked from the door to the bubbling water and back, but it was too late. <BR><BR>A man in a shabby short-sleeved shirt, knife-pleated khaki shorts and socks with sandals shuffled into the room, holding a cup of ice water and an armful of folders. <BR><BR>"Oh, hello," he said, his eyes creasing up. "Here for the open day, are you? How do you like the experiments?"<BR><BR>"He did it!" said Draco, pointing at the bubbling and now bright purple water. <BR><BR>"Potassium permanganate? I do like to see the spirit of scientific endeavour." The man creased up his eyes at Harry. It seemed to be his way of smiling, for he didn't move his mouth. "Good for you."<BR><BR>"Actually, I did it." Draco slid smoothly between Harry and the man. Harry had to shake his head at Draco's blatant attention-seeking.<BR><BR>"Would you like to see some more experiments? I'm Mr Blake, by the way."<BR><BR>"Would I!" exclaimed Draco. "I'm Draco, this is ... well, never mind him."<BR><BR>"Harry," interposed Harry.<BR><BR>"Draco, the dragon." The eyes creased again. "Interesting. Harry short for Harold, slain by William the Conqueror? Or Henry after many of our great kings?"<BR><BR>"No, it's just Harry." Harry felt obscurely sorry that his name wasn't short for something. <BR><BR>"Hmm, well, come along, come along." Mr Blake ushered them to the top of the room. "Have you taken chemistry before?"<BR><BR>"Nope," said Draco and Harry together. Draco sent Harry a scathing look, as if he'd done it on purpose.<BR><BR>"Hmm," said Mr Blake. "You're in for a surprise."<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry and Draco caught up with Dudley and Piers in the English Literature classroom. They had been corralled by a young woman in a shapeless, flowing garment the colour of fresh compost, with innumerable beads strung about her person. As he came closer, Harry discovered that she smelled about as good as she looked: fresh and old sweat intermingled with a scent of sour apples.<BR><BR>Her face couldn't be older than thirty, and she seemed to be in love with William Wordsworth. <BR><BR>"There is such a freshness, such a vivacity, to all his descriptions of nature – frankly, boys, I'm quite overpowered. The Daffodils sends me into new raptures every time I read it. Oh! To 'wander lonely as a cloud' sounds like such a delicious fate, don't you think? And 'oft when in my pensive mood' I sometimes go to the threeway crossing outside my house, where there's a bit of dirt. In spring, I mean, when the daffs are out." She took a deep breath, her sack-dress quivering. Harry wondered just how recently she'd been standing in dirt: her toenails had a distinctly earthy look to them. "And his Lucy poems – poor Lucy, so young, so lamented! He says she will be forgotten but of course we all remember her –"<BR><BR>"Was Snape here?" Draco glanced back at the door. "Did she just get hit with a Confundus or what?"<BR><BR>"She's talking about poetry," said Harry. "I think."<BR><BR>Draco's eyes glittered. "You don't mean like ... 'his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad'..."<BR><BR>"Shut it," hissed Harry. But Draco was not to be repressed.<BR><BR><a href=http://bigbang.inkubation.net/forum/images/zoom/QVPTZL/spaggel_-_25722yh.png rel="lightbox" title="The Sonnet, by Spaggel">He fell to his knees before Harry.</a> Harry shoved at his head, but was left with a handful of fine gold threads as Draco didn't move an inch, simply clasped his hands and looked up at Harry with an expression distressingly akin to Kreacher's.<BR><BR>"I'm warning you –"<BR><BR>"'His hair is as dark as a blackboard'!" roared Draco, attracting the attention of the teacher. Dudley and Piers had been staring at them for ages, hoping that they represented a way out. "'I wish he was mine, he's really divine –"<BR><BR>"Oh my." The teacher fussed with her bracelets and came towards them, taking fluttery little steps as if she were dancing a miniature waltz. "Did you compose that, how shall I say, little ditty, yourself, young man?"<BR><BR>In lieu of answering, Draco whispered, "The hero who defeated the Dark Lord," a look of sinister aspect on his face. With a whimpery sigh he fell forward and wrapped his arms around Harry's legs.<BR><BR>"But, how charming!" said the teacher. "You, you have been the recipient of a love sonnet! Or, not exactly a sonnet – I can't say it was in iambic pentameter – but it is traditional to call such offerings sonnets. Indeed I do believe it could be called a sonnet, if we stretch the term far enough."<BR><BR>Harry could feel Draco shaking against his legs. It took him a minute to realise Draco was laughing. Harry stared at the woman with dumbfounded shock. <BR><BR>"How do you feel?" the teacher addressed herself eagerly to Harry. "Perhaps, do you think you could, address something to the young man in turn? I am sure it would be nice, it would be very nice. Even a negative answer, kindly and, of course, poetically expressed, would be welcome. I daresay it would be welcome, don't you think?"<BR><BR>"No," said Harry. He kicked Draco before he could mutter something about Harry never thinking. "Malfoy was only having a laugh."<BR><BR>The teacher's eyes widened. They were an indeterminate shade, somewhere between blue and grey, and gave her the appearance of a sombre rabbit. "I see, I do see! It was comic poetry, an attempt at comedy."<BR><BR>"That's it exactly." Draco hopped to his feet. "For no one could seriously write love poems for Potter." He stretched out his hand and, when she held out hers, he turned it and kissed it. "Draco Malfoy, at your service."<BR><BR>"Oh, my," said the teacher faintly. "That is, I think it is rather inappropriate. Mr Malfoy, it was inappropriate."<BR><BR>"But very dashing, don't you think?" Draco winked at Harry, very much as if to say 'look at the two birds I've bagged!'<BR><BR>Harry felt the strong urge to sit somewhere quiet and then, maybe, bang his head against a few walls. <BR><BR>Dudley and Piers tried to slip out while the teacher was explaining to Draco that her name was 'Helena Thompson, which is to say, Helena with an a, and Thompson with a h – you cannot conceive how many people get that wrong' and that his behaviour 'might have been dashing, yes, I can agree that it was dashing, but it was still inappropriate.' Alas for them, Miss Thompson (with a h) spotted them.<BR><BR>"Oh, Piers, oh, Dudley," she cried, "we haven't yet finished our discussion. I'm sure we haven't finished our discussion, for we haven't spoken of Tintern Abbey at all. You must stay and tell me what you think of Tintern."<BR><BR>"That's a great idea, Miss Thompson," said Draco, exactly as he used to all those years ago with Snape. He didn't do it so much with Snape any longer, Harry had reason to recall. Probably Snape had seen through him. Harry hated to think well of Snape in any way, but he wasn't fooled by flattery, however he might turn it to his own ends. <BR><BR>Then he realised that Draco was saving him.<BR><BR>"- and I have an appointment with Mr Blake," Draco was saying. "I know he'd spare us if he could, but..." Draco turned his palms to heaven and put his head on one side. Despise the boy as he would, Harry couldn't help but think it a winning performance.<BR><BR>"Of course, Mr Blake has a higher demand on you," said Miss Thompson, "I understand it perfectly, Mr Malfoy. Only do come later and we can discuss love sonnets. You and I and your friend can discuss love sonnets."<BR><BR>Draco smiled – a sort of genuine smile, Harry noticed, but he was still hung up on 'your friend'. As Draco hurried him out of the room, Harry said, "Did she ever get that wrong."<BR><BR>"Poor woman," sighed Draco, clearly on an entirely different train of thought. "She'll never catch a husband looking like that. If only Pansy were here – I notice Mr Blake wasn't wearing a ring, and he's not very old –"<BR><BR>And try as he might, Harry could not get Draco to notice Miss Thompson's appalling oversight. <BR><BR>It wasn't until much later that Harry realised it might not have been an oversight – that Draco's rescuing of Harry as well as himself, might, in other lives and circumstances, earn him the right to be called a friend.<BR><BR>+++<BR><BR>Harry lay on the floor of Dudley's bedroom, reading a motorcycle magazine that was four years out of date. From downstairs, the sounds of a dozen ladies lamenting the awful heat outside drifted upwards. Aunt Petunia, thanks to Snape's spell, was now the toast of the Little Whinging set. People came to visit her for the luxury of air-conditioning that actually lowered the temperature, and stayed for the novelty of eating hot food.<BR><BR>Harry had been outside for most of the day. The troops of admirers weren't the sort of people he liked to share breathing space with, and he was bound to run into either them, Draco, Snape, Kreacher or one of Dudley's gang if he limited his movements too much. That he was now in Dudley's bedroom, where Dudley and Piers were sprawled on the bed and Draco had commandeered the easy chair, was a hypocrisy on which Harry chose not to dwell. There had been offers of ice-cream and an alleviation of his dreadful boredom: nations had fallen for less.<BR><BR>Draco was sitting backwards in the chair, which, because it was a bespoke item designed to accommodate Dudley's unique load, left his feet dangling several inches from the floor. "I've signed up for Chemistry, English Literature, Art and History," he announced, for the topic of discussion was Stonewall Comprehensive. <BR><BR>Tomorrow was the first day of term for Dudley, Piers, their friend Cherub and, of course, Harry and Draco. The only person who felt an abiding interest in the fact was Draco, but Piers and Dudley seemed happy enough to oblige him in it. Harry was tuning them all out by carefully inspecting every page of his magazine, hoping to find a machine that resembled Sirius'.<BR><BR>"I'm taking the same subjects as I did at Smeltings," said Piers. "Hopefully they sent over our files – I was getting straight As before we were expelled."<BR><BR>"They probably burnt them," snorted Dudley. "Besides, this is a progressive school, remember? They don't believe in grades."<BR><BR>"In which case, poor marks like yours won't matter," said Draco. Harry, try as he might to ignore the conversation, had to snicker at this. "What's your problem?"<BR><BR>"A is the highest grade you can get in M – in Piers' school," said Harry. <BR><BR>"Like an O, you mean?" Draco smiled lazily. "I got five Os in my OWLs."<BR><BR>"Not to worry," said Piers, probably feeling the same level of academic sympathy for Draco as Draco did for him. "This school is meant to be a clean slate for all of us."<BR><BR>"All of us?" echoed Draco.<BR><BR>"Yeah," said Piers. "Me and Lee –" Piers had quickly picked up the new nickname, which smoothed his rocky path to becoming friends with Draco "– and Cherub were expelled from Smeltings, Harry was expelled from St Brutus' –"<BR><BR>"Wait, what?" Draco sat up straight. "St Brutus'? What's that?"<BR><BR>"St Brutus' School for Criminally Insane Boys," said Harry, before Piers had a chance to gloat. When he'd first discovered Aunt Petunia's cover-story for his prolonged habituation of her house, he'd been doubly annoyed: not only that everyone thought him criminally insane, but that he was supposedly too criminally insane for even a hard-line detention centre to handle. <BR><BR>"O-oh," sighed Draco, a long and heartfelt sound. He twirled his chair around, making his hair fly out in a buttery halo. "That is so completely the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, I don't even know what to say."<BR><BR>"And you're here under Witness Protection," continued Piers. "With your dad."<BR><BR>"My dad?" Draco stopped spinning abruptly, a look of abject disgust pulling at his mouth. "You don't mean - Snape? Oh, now you've made me think of Snape reproducing – Snape having sex –"<BR><BR>"Don't!" Harry kicked Draco's chair, but not before some very unholy images started appearing in his brain. <BR><BR>"He's not your dad, then?" Piers frowned. "But you look so alike."<BR><BR>Harry held his stomach and laughed and laughed at the look on Draco's face. <BR><BR>"If you're quite finished," said Draco, "I was going to ask –"<BR><BR>Harry thought about Draco having the same nose as Snape and wheezed a bit more.<BR><BR>"- what you're all wearing tomorrow. I don't quite understand this 'no uniform' rule."<BR><BR>"It's not a rule," said Dudley. "Making us wear uniforms is a rule. Stonewall is pretty much against rules in general."<BR><BR>"That's no fun," complained Draco. "How do you know when you're breaking them in that case?"<BR><BR>"Why do you care?" asked Harry. "You always preferred dobbing in other people to breaking the rules yourself."<BR><BR>"Shows how much you know," sniffed Draco, "in other words, nothing."<BR><BR>"Oh, so when Ron and I got detention for getting Norbert off the Astronomy Tower, that was someone else's fault? And don't even get me started on the Inquisitorial Squad –"<BR><BR>"Think of it as payback for all the times you single-handedly stole the House Cup from the Slytherins –"<BR><BR>"Don't even <I>try</I> to make this about the bloody House Cup. You're not that stupid, you had to know what Umbridge was!"<BR><BR>"Yeah – she actually punished you for a change, so she was fair!"<BR><BR>"She made me cut myself for telling the truth. How is that fair?"<BR><BR>"What are you blathering on about?"<BR><BR>"Here." Harry struck his hand in Draco's face. The livid lines had faded, but it was still possible to read the words formed from the pale scars. <BR><BR>Draco shook himself. "I mean fair in a general sense, not in a ... specific sense," he said. He didn't sound quite so confident now.<BR><BR>"Why am I not surprised? You'd go around chopping off people's hands for stealing, I bet."<BR><BR>"Like you're any different," sneered Draco. "You'd cut me to ribbons if you had the chance, just because I'm not very nice to you."<BR><BR>"Sure, I'd beat you up in a fair fight any day," said Harry. "I wouldn't attack you from behind. That's what being a Gryffindor means."<BR><BR>"Utter stupidity is what being a Gryffindor means," retorted Draco. "I mean, honestly, what else do you call trying to offload a dragon in the middle of the..."<BR><BR>"Maybe – talking about magic in front of Muggles?" Harry whispered furiously. Dudley looked intrigued, and Piers was leaning forward, hands on knees.<BR><BR>"Hang on," he said, "do you two know each other? Like, from before?"<BR><BR>"We go to school – I mean no, of course not," said Draco. <BR><BR>"You seem pretty angry for people who don't know each other," Piers pointed out.<BR><BR>"What can I say?" said Harry. "Malfoy just inspires that sort of blind hatred in people."<BR><BR>"Malfoy? Who's Malfoy?"<BR><BR>"He's Malfoy." Harry jerked a thumb in Draco's direction.<BR><BR>"No, he's Draco," said Piers.<BR><BR>"Yeah. Draco Malfoy." Harry was tired of this conversation.<BR><BR>"Anyway," said Draco, sending Harry a fiery glare, "I was thinking of wearing a blue t-shirt and these shorts. I had Kreacher – I mean, I washed them yesterday, so they should be okay, right?"<BR><BR>Piers didn't seem to have caught Draco's sentence about the dragon, or else he thought it was obscure slang. Harry breathed easier and returned to his magazine, until Draco's drawl ripped his concentration away from it yet again.<BR><BR>"Pleas