Harry made his way up to the hospital wing, wondering desperately how it was all going with Draco. He didn't think he would want to face a whole hall filled with angry parents. He hoped Draco was keeping his cool. He doubted it, but he still hoped.

He waved to Madam Pomfrey who directed him to a hospital bed behind a screen. Harry poked his head around and a bruised Treeloft turned a sour expression toward him. "What are you doing here…sir?"

"I just came to see how you were doing. What happened?"

"Someone pushed me down the bloody stairs. Sir."

"So I see." Harry pulled out a chair and sat. Treeloft's normally spiked hair drooped and he had dark circles under his eyes. "Pomfrey taking good care of you? Anything still hurt?"

"I'm all right!" he huffed. He clamped his arms over his chest.

"Look, Malcolm. As long as we have some time here together, I'd thought we'd have a chat."

"More about Muggles?" he sighed dramatically. "Why do I hate them and all?"

"Well…yes."

"There is no special reason. I'm a Pureblood. That's all."

Harry measured the fifteen-year-old. "I just wondered if you learned anything from that essay I had you write…the one about how Muggles have helped Wizarding-kind."

Treeloft sighed. "I learned that research is tedious."

Harry laughed in spite of himself. Treeloft stared at him, surprised. Harry rubbed the back of his head and chuckled. "Yup, I remember having to do those things in detention. They sure were boring."

"You had detention?"

"Oh, loads of times! Mostly from my old potions master because he didn't like me, but I got plenty from my head of house, too."

"What did you ever do?"

He caught Treeloft's expression and got an idea. "Don't you think Harry Potter ever got into mischief? Plenty, I could tell you. But on second thought…I don't think it's a good idea to go into too many details. Suffice it to say, I was caught in places I shouldn't have been, doing things I never should have been doing. And I started in that when I was younger than you are. So. Maybe you can tell me what you were doing to get pushed down the stairs. You weren't anywhere near Slytherin, I hear tell."

Treeloft reddened and tucked his chin down. "I wasn't doing anything! I was just near the top of the stairs and someone bloody pushed me."

"You were near Hufflepuff."

"So what if I were? I wasn't out past curfew."

"All right. Did you see anything?"

"No. Just some footsteps and over I went."

"Footsteps? Then it probably wasn't Peeves."

"Who said it was? I didn't."

"So you were near Hufflepuff…"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"It was seven at night. Out for a little mischief?"

"With all due respect, sir, if I were, do you think I'd be telling you?"

Harry laughed again. It seemed to disconcert the boy. "No, I guess you wouldn't. You know, Malcolm, I think there's some things I should tell you about me."

Treeloft's eyes widened slightly and he held his breath.

"I was raised by Muggles." Treeloft deflated and sunk down on his pillow, staring at the far wall. "And they were awful!" The boy perked again, darting his eyes back toward Harry. "They hated me. Hated wizards and magic and all that went with it. They made my life a living hell for the seventeen years I lived with them. My cousin would beat me up and my uncle would yell and boss me around and my aunt would starve me. I even had to live in the tiny cupboard under the stairs until I was too big to fit."

Treeloft grimaced. "What did you end up doing to them? Did you kill them?"

"Kill them? NO! I…I didn't do anything to them."

"You mean after you were of age you didn't do anything to them? They certainly deserved it."

"No. Not that I didn't entertain the notion…but no. And you're right. If anyone deserved to be treated badly it was them. But not because they were Muggles. But because they were just evil people. They could easily have been wizards and witches. They were cruel for no better reason than prejudice. Don't you think it's wrong to hate someone just because they're different?"

Treeloft stared at Harry for a long silent moment before he turned away. "I think you should have done something to them," he muttered.

"Well I didn't and I'm glad in the end that I didn't. In my eyes, it makes me the bigger person to not hold a grudge. But I learned a lot of useful things as a Muggle and I want you to learn them too. So I have a little project for you."

Treeloft frowned. He looked like he was certain he wasn't going to like this.

"I've talked to my friend Ron Weasley who works for the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and he has agreed to apprentice you for a few hours for a few weekends. That way, you can have a better understanding of things Muggles have to use to get by. They don't have it as easy as we do."

"Work in the Ministry? On the weekends? What if I have homework?"

"Then you'd best get it done during the week. Mr. Weasley will be here on Saturday to escort you through the floo. I expect you to be polite to him and to listen to him when you are there. If I hear anything bad about you, there will be more punishment than detention, I can assure you."

Treeloft swallowed. Even with his posturing, it was clear he was afraid of Harry. Harry rose and looked down at him. "Meanwhile, I'll try and find out who shoved you. I don't like the idea of students getting away with that much mayhem. I'll see you later in class, Malcolm."

"Good-bye, Professor," he said sullenly.

Harry left the hospital wing in thought. So it wasn't Peeves who shoved Treeloft. Who did it then, and why? He walked thoughtfully all the way back to the Defense classroom, raised his head when he entered, and was suddenly confronted with the startling aspect of Cymbeline Sorenson. Blimey! thought Harry. He's really too good-looking for himself.

"Hi," Harry said, extending his hand.

Sorenson took it. "Hi, Harry. Or should I say, Professor Potter?"

"Only when the students are present."

"So…" he looked around the empty classroom. "What am I going to be doing today?"

A student poked their head in and looked up surprised to see Harry. "Oh! Sorry sir! I didn't expect to find teachers in here."

"What's up…Smelting, is it?"

"Yes, sir," said Ursula Smelting. "I was looking for Antonia Adams and I thought she came this way. Have you seen her?"

"Nope. Sorry."

Smelting shrugged. "Oh well. Sorry to bother you. Sirs." And she ducked away.

Harry looked back at Sorenson and smiled. Sorenson smiled back most disarmingly. "What was I saying?" asked Harry.

"You were telling me what I was going to do today?"

"Oh yes! Well, the fifth years will be here soon and I want to start them off lightly on a little blocking."

"Are you are a Legilimens yourself, Harry?"

"Yes."

"But not good at Occlumency?"

"No. Not really."

"Would you also like to learn?" He took a step closer to Harry and the room suddenly felt distinctly warmer.

"Well…it probably wouldn't hurt."

Sorenson took another step closer until there was only a foot between them. "We'd probably have to do that privately. Not something one should do in front of the students."

Harry was watching his eyes-those deep, blue eyes-and suddenly he got confused as to what Sorenson was saying. "What?"

"Occlumency? Not good to instruct the teacher in front of the students. Bad form."

"Oh! Oh yes! Right! Good thinking. Yes. Maybe something private."

Sorenson took one more step closer and smiled at Harry. "Maybe later today."

Harry took a breath and stepped away, fooling with the buttons on his robe and then dropping his hand away. "Students should be here soon," he said, moving toward the desks and chairs. "The room okay as it is?"

"Yes," said Sorenson drifting toward Harry again. "They'll need to sit and face each other.

"All right. Sounds good."

He was relieved to hear the first shufflings of students entering and he could maintain some distance between Sorenson and himself.

Rupert Fenwick came in first and Harry headed him off and pulled him aside. "Look Mr. Fenwick, have you heard about Treeloft?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Wonder who it could be, since the whole school hates him," he said with vehemence.

"Well, I'd like to start turning that around and I'll need your help."

"With what, Professor?"

"I was wondering if you'd mind partnering with him in class. And maybe outside of class, too. I think Treeloft's biggest problem is he doesn't have any friends."

Fenwick grimaced. "Too right, he doesn't! Because he's a git… Sir."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, well. Maybe he's a git because he has no friends, ever think of that?" That seemed a little too abstract for the thin boy to absorb. Harry went on. "I'd consider it a personal favor. And it will mean extra points for your house…for bravery." Fenwick made a weak smile. "Can I count on you, Mr. Fenwick?"

Fenwick stared at the door as more students entered and he slumped his shoulders. "All right, Professor Potter. For you, sir."

"That's the spirit. Hey. You're Hufflepuff, aren't you, Rupert?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see anything last night? Anything that would help figure out who did this to poor Malcolm?"

Fenwick shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I was in my common room doing homework."

"Very well, then." The class filled and soon even Treeloft shuffled in and took his usual place at the back.

"Good morning, class. Sorry about the delay in schedule but Professor Malfoy is having a conference with the parents this morning." There were a few sniggers but Harry tried to ignore it. This wasn't the time or place to get into it with the students about a teacher.

"We have a guest today. This is Mr. Cymbeline Sorenson and he will be helping us out this month. We are going to work on Occlumency: how to hide your thoughts from the invasion of another. Now I know some of you have already been working on your own on Legilimens and I'm pairing you up with the others today. Grittney and Hudson, Rosencratnz and Seely, Fenwick and Treeloft…"

Treeloft's eyes widened and he sneered at Fenwick who moved boldly toward him without flinching. Ten points to Hufflepuff, thought Harry. Definitely for bravery.

The students settled and sat facing one another. Sorenson walked slowly through the room explaining to them how exactly they could block out the thoughts of another. This made more sense to Harry than what Snape tried to tell him and he found himself mentally practicing too.

The students stared nervously at one another. Most had never had someone enter their mind before, and though most did not have thoughts that were harmful, surely most of them had embarrassing thoughts they would rather not share with others. Fortunately, the Legilimency skills of the students weren't great and so the blocking was going on better than Harry expected.

A chair slammed to the floor. Harry whipped his head around. Treeloft had jumped to his feet, his chair lying on its back behind him. The boy turned a stark expression to Harry, shied from a baffled Fenwick, and ran from the room.

* * *

Draco looked at the man in front of him and lost his breath completely. The man held the parchment toward him but he couldn't lift his arm to take it. Someone started clapping after the man's pronouncement taking away Draco's right to teach, and then others joined in. Draco looked helplessly around the room as most all of them applauded. He knew they hated him, but this much? Hated him so much that they were pleased to see his livelihood, his only happiness, wrenched out from under him? He felt like hexing the lot of them. If this weren't a good reason to return to Dark magic, he didn't know what was.

Then Dumbledore rose and took the parchment from the man instead and stared at all the faces in the room. Under his stern eye they all began to quiet. "Certainly you have little understanding what is transpiring here," he said in a chastising tone, "or you would not act in this disrespectful manner to a Hogwarts teacher. All my instructors are carefully chosen and most decide to stay with the school for decades, ensuring a continuity of instruction from generation to generation. I firmly believe that in Draco Malfoy we have the makings of an extraordinary teacher who will prove himself to be one of the greats with this timeless quality. I will therefore, Mr. Loengrin," he said, looking at the man from the board of governors, "take this matter under consideration as is my prerogative as headmaster according to rule number seven hundred and eight in the governor's charter-added two years ago-that gives me that right concerning my teachers. Professor Malfoy will continue to teach until I say otherwise-which according to that rule is also under my authority. Now if you will all excuse us, Professor Malfoy has a class to teach. I will be happy to take your further questions. Perhaps while we enjoy some refreshment." The tables were suddenly covered with pastries, savories, tea and pitchers of pumpkin juice.

Draco looked at Dumbledore who grasped his arm reassuringly before he pushed him off with surprising strength in the direction of the doors. Draco didn't need a second prompting. He hurried down the aisle, his robes flapping behind him. As soon as he cleared the doors and they closed at his back, he gripped his robes. Tears squeezed at the corners of his clenched eyes but he swiped his hands at them furiously. They wanted a fight, they were going to get a fight. And thank goodness Dumbledore was on his side. He didn't know what was going to happen in the next few hours, but right now he had a class to teach. "Thanks to Dumbledore I do," he breathed and hurried down the corridors to the dungeons.

He entered the potions dungeon and slammed the door behind him, sweeping in a fury to the head of the room. His students-oblivious to his turmoil-turned wide eyes to him. They were oblivious now, but just wait an hour, he reasoned. It wouldn't take long for word to spread.

Instead of his little meeting with the parents to allay their fears, it only seemed to stir them up into a frenzy. Bugger it. Never cross a Malfoy. Someone had, and they were going to pay.

He swept the room with his gaze and saw an empty seat. "Where the hell is Adams?"

"I don't know, sir," said Smelting. "I was trying to find her earlier. She's got my homework assignment."

Draco barely heard her. He was trying to figure out what he was supposed to teach today. He reached his podium and the potions book and flipped through the pages. It was no use. He couldn't concentrate. "Class, we're going to review today. Brew whatever potion you have learned in the last three months. I suggest something at which you excelled. Baskem. I'm afraid you're on your own."

The students flipped through their own books, went to the potions cabinet for their ingredients, and set to work. Draco sunk into his chair and stared at the floor.

* * *

Harry stood and stared at the empty doorway out of which Treeloft had fled. He turned to Fenwick whose face had reddened. "What was that all about Fenwick?"

"Have no idea, sir. Should I go after him?"

He nodded and Fenwick grabbed his book bag as well as Treeloft's and ran out the door. Everyone was looking at Harry. "Well…I think that's all for today. Class dismissed. Oh, work on your Occlumency and your Legilimency." They scattered and finally emptied the room.

Sorenson sidled up to Harry, his hands in his pockets. "That didn't go very well."

"No, it's not your fault. Maybe it went too well."

"I've got some stuff to do in between classes so I'll see you in a bit."

"Sure, sure." He walked out and Harry found himself still staring at the open doorway. He wanted to kick himself. He was no good at this. He wanted to help Treeloft but everything he did seemed to only make it worse. "Please be someone else's prophecy," he whined, hoping he wouldn't be the one to face Treeloft when he went all Voldemort.

Harry wondered if the parent conference was over and what happened. He looked at the clock. No, too early for it to be over. Since he had some free time, he thought he'd do a little investigating about Treeloft's accident.

He moved down the empty corridors. Students sure could disappear when a class was over. He remembered it well himself whenever he was let out early. Of course he, Ron, and Hermione were always heading somewhere they shouldn't go, like Hagrid's hut or a forbidden corridor. He hated to admit it, but he missed those days, though no one was gladder than he that Voldemort was gone.

He thought he'd wander toward Hufflepuff's common room and thrust his hands in his pockets, taking his time to saunter. He found himself outside the abandoned girl's lavatory and suddenly a head stuck out the wall. He jumped back and grabbed his wildly beating heart. "Myrtle! I wish you wouldn't do that!"

"I'm sorry," she whined and flew all the way through the wall to hover in front of him. "Excuse me for being dead!" she shrieked. Talking to ghosts was always disconcerting when you could see the rest of the world through them on the other side. And Moaning Myrtle was far more annoying than Nearly Headless Nick, though not quite as annoying as Peeves. She seemed to calm quickly, though, and glided to the other end of the corridor, looking down the length of it. "There's been so much activity lately," she said, looking around brightly. "So many people here."

"You mean in the toilet?"

"Yes," she said nodding. "Adults. People coming and going. It's been fun to scare them."

"Dumbledore said you are not to do that."

She frowned and picked at a spot on her chin. "What else am I supposed to do? You've never come to see me, and I thought you were a hero or something. Aren't heroes supposed to always tell the truth?"

"I'm sorry, Myrtle. I guess I'm more into living people. Can you blame me?"

"Oh yes," she said with a sly look to her milky eye. "And I know which people. I didn't know swishes could be heroes."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's not a very nice thing to say. I thought you liked Draco."

"He's a very sensitive man. I don't know what he's doing with you."

Harry found himself looking up and down the corridor for anyone passing. "Look, Myrtle," he said quietly, "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that outside of me and Draco."

"Oh I would never tell! I think it's romantic!"

"Oh." Harry blushed. He needed to change the subject. "Well, you haven't seen anything about Malcolm Treeloft getting shoved down the stairs, have you?"

"No. I don't like to wander far from my toilet or from any of the plumbing, really. And I like to be left alone. And I don't like that Slytherin girl who keeps coming round here. I told her I don't want to share my toilet with her but she isn't afraid of me."

"Which Slytherin girl?"

"She's that very small one. Adams, I think her name is. She's very rude to me."

"Does she come to this toilet a lot?"

"She's the only one. I told you, she's not afraid."

"Why do you suppose she comes?"

"So she could talk to her jewel."

Harry stopped a moment. "What?"

"She talks to her jewel. She has a pin with a jewel on it and she talks to it."

"What does she say?"

"I don't know. She talks too softly. But I get the feeling she thinks it's talking back. I think she's nutters."

"Thanks, Myrtle." That was interesting. The last time he saw someone talking into a jewel was Tonks. The Aurors had a communication device like that. What was Antonia Adams doing with one?

* * *

Harry decided to go to his rooms and wait for Draco. The schedules were all delayed today and so Draco's potion classes were running longer. He hoped it went well. Draco had had a little too much against him in the last few months. They both just wanted it to all go away.

A knock on the door startled him and he stared at it. A few brisk strides took him to the wooden door and he grabbed the ring. With a wry smile he said, "What's the matter? Forgot the password?" but when he pulled the door open, he stopped abruptly. It wasn't Draco, but Cymbeline Sorenson.

"Were you expecting someone else?" said Sorenson. His lips were twisted in a playful smile.

"Er…no. Of course not. Um…come in. Can I help you with something?"

"Well, actually I thought I could help you." Sorenson walked in and made a cursory look around the warm room with its tapestries and expansive view of the mountains and forests. "I was wondering something."

"Yes?" Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable with the handsome man standing in his bedroom. He wondered himself why Sorenson thought this would be appropriate rather than waiting for Harry in his study.

Sorenson fixed his haunting blue eyes on Harry and walked right up to him. His hand darted out and fingers enmeshed in Harry's dark hair. He pulled Harry in as he moved closer until their bodies touched. Before Harry knew what was happening, Sorenson leaned in and closed his mouth over Harry's, his tongue stabbing in. The hand at Harry's head held him firm while he plundered Harry's mouth, kneading his lips sensuously, grinding his body into Harry's.

Harry felt a slight pricking at his neck just as he regained his senses and shoved him back. He rubbed his neck and Sorenson was looking apologetically at his ring. "I'm sorry about the ring scraping you. Did I do something wrong?"

"Look…I'm…it's just…"

Sorenson's enigmatic smile widened. "Did I mistake you, Harry? I thought you were...you know."

"I'm…in a relationship, is all."

"Oh! Bugger it." He adjusted his ring so the sharp part was turned away from Harry and approached him again, taking his shoulders. Harry wanted to shrug him off but didn't know how to do it politely. "What a shame. You really are the handsomest thing I've seen in a long time. Your pictures don't do you justice."

Harry looked at the hands on him, thinking the man would take the hint. Sorenson didn't and moved in again. He touched his lips to Harry's and this time Harry shook himself free. "Well, if you ever find yourself not in a relationship, I hope you call me."

"Look, Sorenson. I don't think this is going to work out. I think maybe it's best if you leave Hogwarts."

He frowned. "That's a very unfriendly attitude, Professor Potter."

"This is a very unprofessional thing you are doing, Sorenson."

He shrugged. "Well! No harm done." Harry walked him to the door and wanted very dearly to shove him out of it. Sorenson turned to him again and trailed his hand along Harry's face, tracing his lips. "Next time, Harry. See you." And he walked away. Harry turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

But what he did not see, was Draco Malfoy standing in the shadows petrified and devastated.


On to Chapter Seven
"Transformations"

Back to Chapter Five
"Parent's Day"

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