Chapter Two of 'Corybantes'- Appearances and Memories

[lomonaaeren]

Title: Corybantes (2/10 or 12)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, OC character death, profanity, sex, mentions of random fetishes and suicide. Ignores the DH epilogue.
Summary: A mysterious death has occurred at Draco Malfoy’s club, Corybantes, which specializes in using magic to make its clients’ deepest fantasies come true. As Auror Harry Potter investigates, he finds himself admiring Malfoy’s courage and determination in achieving success. Which could be a problem, as there’s a fairly large chance that Malfoy is the murderer.
Author’s Notes: Corybantes were servants of the goddess Cybele who worked themselves up into ecstatic trances with drumming and dancing. Though applying to a different kind of ecstasy, it seemed a fairly good name for Draco’s club. This story will be about ten or twelve chapters long.

Chapter One.

Thank you for all the reviews!

Chapter Two—Appearances and Memories

The room that Keatson had died in was ordinary enough, with a couch in the middle of a sea of carpet that made Harry grimace. He didn’t understand why you would want a carpet that felt as if you could sleep on it. Carpets and beds were separate things with separate purposes.

Although the purposes of things are perhaps less sharply defined here than elsewhere.

He stood in the doorway and spent a few minutes looking in every direction, checking for obvious clues such as spilled blood or the lingering presence of Dark magic. There was nothing. They had cleaned the room because they needed it for other people. Of course they had. That was typical of the stupidity that Harry was coming to expect from Malfoy and his employees.

He drew his wand and whispered an incantation that should let him detect the spell-nets. It would make them gleam with white light that only Harry would be able to see.

The next moment, he was almost blinded. There were spell-nets in every direction, threading under the ridiculous carpet, through the walls, through the material of the couch, and especially concentrated in the corners where walls met ceiling.

That would make sense, Harry thought as he rubbed his jaw. Few people spent much time peering into those corners, unless they were the sort who found spiderwebs intolerable and must check for their presence in every new room.

“Lord Malfoy said that you wanted to speak with me. Auror Potter.”

Harry had to swallow, hard, to keep from bursting into laughter at the silly title Malfoy made his employees call him. That wouldn’t earn him Shadow’s sympathy, and he needed her sympathy, or at least her cooperation, in order to make sense of what the evidence was telling him. He turned around and gave her a small smile. The sapphire eyes and small teeth and other things, when he was braced for them, weren’t so surprising. “Yes. I understand that you were the one to approach the room and call for Keatson to show himself when ten minutes past his deadline had elapsed.”

Shadow nodded. She seemed reluctant to come close to him, as if Harry was the one who had unknown Dark magic implanted in his body. “Yes, sir. The rooms never fail to work like that, so I knew something was wrong right away. But it made sense once I understood it. The rooms are designed to eject living people who overstay their welcome. They don’t get rid of objects, and the corpse was just another object to it.”

Harry made a soft interested noise in the back of his throat, another possibility for the murder occurring to him. “Could someone else have brought in an object and left it concealed in the room, to kill Keatson when he arrived?”

Shadow gave him a blank look, which she was good at with gems for eyes. “Everyone who enters the club is searched for weapons, sir.”

“What if it was something that didn’t look like a weapon?” Harry had seen plenty of things during his career as an Auror that fit that category, but had turned out to be deadly to someone all the same.

“We would still find it, sir, and ask that person what he was doing with it.” Shadow looked disapproving.

“I’d like a list of the people who used this room before Keatson.” Harry turned around to pace through the room, suffering only a slight qualm about turning his back on Shadow. He would have been far more uneasy if Malfoy was still with him, but “club business” had called him away. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that someone managed to leave something here.”

“But then they would have to have access to the club’s roster of clients,” Shadow said. Harry could hear her shuffling back and forth. Generalized nervousness, or is she fearful I might find something here that she doesn’t want me to know about? “No one has access to that except Lord Malfoy and the employees of the club—and even us, not until right before we’re scheduled to bring someone to a room. Someone who brought and left a weapon couldn’t have known that it was Keatson they were going to kill.”

“Hmmm.” Harry didn’t want to expose all his theories at once, and he thought he had given Shadow quite enough to carry back to Malfoy, but even if what she said was true, there were explanations and possibilities. One was that the killer had been a Dark wizard who didn’t care whom he killed, as long as someone died; Harry had met people like that, too. The second was that the security around the list wasn’t as tight as Shadow thought it was and someone had managed to get hold of it.

Shadow did some more fidgeting while Harry examined the place on the floor they had already told him the body was found. Yes, all trace of blood was gone. Harry rolled his eyes. Kingsley better let me have a long holiday after this.

He already knew what would happen if he really asked for a holiday, of course. Kingsley would tell him that no one could handle cases like he could, with the perfect combination of swiftness, skill, and discretion, and herd him gently back into doing his job. Harry did get to relax occasionally, but only when most of the criminals in Britain decided to take a simultaneous nap.

While seemingly staring intently at the floor, he conjured a mirror in his palm so that he could see what Shadow was doing without looking over his shoulder. She was staring in another direction, bored.

Harry hissed the spell he had already decided he needed to use under his breath. A sharp-edged wind, turned sideways, slashed a scale from Shadow’s hand and fluttered it over to him. Harry left it floating beside him, within the shadow of his robe, for now. He didn’t want to touch it and possibly contaminate it. Some of the alterations that people made to their bodies with transformational magic were notoriously fragile.

“Did you feel a bit of a draft in here?” Shadow asked. The mirror showed her rubbing her wrist. The wound wouldn’t begin to pain her until hours later, and by then Harry would be gone.

Harry glanced back at her curiously and shook his head. It wasn’t hard to conceal a victorious smile. He had the scale now, and he could easily compare it to the scale that had been under Keatson’s fingernails and see if it was the same. It certainly looked the same.

“Hmmm.” Shadow sighed and stared at the floor.

“You don’t seem overly concerned about what happened here,” Harry noted, standing up and turning around to face her. “Why is that?”

Shadow hunched her shoulders and glared at him. Her forked tongue flickered out, accompanied by another small plume of flame. Harry would enjoy charging her with multiple crimes if it turned out that she was the murderer. “The magic used in the rooms is complex and new,” she said stiffly. “It isn’t such a surprise that someone would die in one someday. I know that none of us caused his death, so I’m more worried about the idea that you’ll decide we did and shut us down.”

“You didn’t care about Keatson?” Harry let a sympathetic lilt enter his voice. Keatson had seemed the kind of man who would be hard for a woman to care about, if all he wanted was their worship.

“He was a client,” Shadow said. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but I’m more concerned about the way it affects Corybantes.”

You weren’t acting concerned, Harry thought, but decided to let it go for now. Shadow could be an innocent person who just didn’t think about the way her actions and words made her appear—and Harry knew plenty of them—or she might have something to hide. If so, Harry didn’t want her to think he had any reason to suspect her. He nodded and looked around the room one more time before he said, “I think I’m done here.”

He stepped out, and Shadow shut the door behind him. Then she caught his hand. Harry held still, settling for a raised eyebrow. He did have to wonder if Corybantes had trained its employees in a special wrist-grasping program.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Shadow said. “I think that we all knew you would walk through our doors someday.”

We being the employees of Corybantes, Harry translated to himself. He let his shoulders relax and his eyes grow bright with curiosity. “Because you expected a death in one of those rooms someday?”

Shadow stamped her foot on the floor with frustration, which Harry hadn’t observed in anyone above five years old. “No, that’s not what I meant. The source of our knowledge about you—”

“That will be all, Shadow.”

Malfoy’s voice swept the corridor like a desolating breeze. Shadow froze, then bowed and scurried away. Harry turned to face Malfoy, who leaned on the wall with his arms folded and a disapproving scowl on his face, and kept his voice light, though his mind was buzzing with the possibilities. “You don’t like your employees gossiping with the Chosen One about his fame?”

Malfoy ignored the question entirely, staring at him in a way that made Harry wonder wearily why their hatred from Hogwarts had lasted for him. Then Malfoy said, in a voice that sounded as if every word had been hammered out of bronze, “I think gossip like that is terribly vulgar, yes, but that’s not why I intervened. I know you have questions. I prefer that you ask them of me, and not Shadow.”

“All right,” Harry said. “The first one. If the fantasies are supposed to appear from the mind of anyone who walks into a room, why didn’t your fantasies appear? Or Shadow’s, when she took me here?” He jerked his head at the door of the death room.

Malfoy gave him a thin smile. “You ask one that isn’t any challenge to answer,” he said, and he obviously wanted to make Harry feel that he had failed somehow. Harry raised an eyebrow back. Malfoy dropped the smile and adopted the intense voice again. Harry wished he knew why. “It would distract the clients if the spell-nets reflected the fantasies of people who worked here, even if they only did so for a short time until we could leave the room. Everyone in Corybantes is keyed to the spell-nets so that their mental images don’t show up.”

Harry nodded. “How sure are you that someone didn’t go into the room that Keatson died in and leave a weapon there that could have slaughtered him?”

“Sure.”

The tone of that response gave Harry pause. Malfoy sounded as if he would have staked his life on the answer. Harry was used to lies, but he had learned to detect truth as well—or at least lies that someone believed in as the truth. If someone had left a weapon in Keatson’s room to claim a random victim, Harry was sure it had not happened with Malfoy’s knowledge.

Harry spent a few moments studying him before he spoke again, trying to decide why Malfoy unsettled him so. Yes, he had kept hold of a childish hatred that he should have allowed to die out as the years advanced, but Harry had not been as polite as he could have since he entered the club, either. And it was not as though Harry had expected to be comfortable here. Corybantes represented an indulgence that Harry found intolerable, because it reminded him of the worst excesses of the Dark wizards he hunted.

Perhaps that was it. He had to think of Malfoy the way he would think of a Dark wizard while not being able to arrest him or show his scorn openly, the way he often did. The tension between the two options was wearing at him.

But none of that changed who Malfoy was as a person. None of that should make Harry less able to do his job. Most of the problems he had with Malfoy were his problems. Harry couldn’t have expected Malfoy to have matured into someone perfectly polite and reliable, who shared his values, but he’d acted like that was a reasonable expectation.

Harry took a deep breath and straightened, deliberately relaxing. It was Malfoy’s turn to raise a brow, but Harry tried to keep his voice temperate as he said, “Can I have that list of pseudonyms you promised?”

Malfoy’s smile was a smidgen wider, this time. “Tell me why no fantasies came out of your head when we went into the first room.”

Harry held his temper sharply under control when it would have responded for him. Be polite even if he isn’t, he reminded himself. This is the way you got your reputation. You can’t decide what other people do, only what you do.

“I learned Occlumency,” he said calmly. “After several unsuccessful attempts, a bad case convinced me that it was for the best if I could keep my thoughts caged. I have my own fantasies, but I doubt your spell-nets could reach out and recruit them.”

A bad case. Yes, that was one phrase for the several days of torture he’d endured at the hands of Geoffrey Rosier, a Legilimens who specialized in drowning people in their own thoughts. He had made Harry believe that his skin was being flayed off him, that he was being impaled, that he was turning into a swarm of insects, and that Ron and Hermione had betrayed him. Harry had killed him by sheer luck, and worked grimly on his Occlumency afterwards until he mastered it.

No one was going to invade his head again without his say-so.

From that case, too, had come Harry’s distaste for many of the kinds of indulgences that Corybantes offered. Why would you want to walk into a room and let your thoughts become real around you? There were monsters hidden in the depths of the subconscious. Harry thought they were closer kin to the fantasies than most people knew.

He looked up to find Malfoy watching him with parted lips, his eyes soft and his face bright. Then he said, “That’s an excellent reason, Potter. Thank you.”

Harry blinked, a bit unnerved, and nodded. “Can I have the list, now?”

“Yes. Of course.” Malfoy turned around, and then paused. Harry waited, wondering if Malfoy would demand another revelation from him. He would give it if he absolutely had to—his job was more important than keeping Malfoy ignorant of him—but he would choose his words with more care this time. He thought Malfoy had learned some things from that last confession that Harry didn’t want him to know.

“You know, Potter,” Malfoy whispered, “not all the pleasures that we give our clients are dark. Some people want violence and worship, but others simply want someone to listen to them, or laugh with them, or cradle them in loving arms.”

Harry put a bit of grim humor into his voice, because he had no other way to answer those words. “Those are hardly the kinds of cases I’m likely to be called in about, though, are they?”

Malfoy gave a glance back at him. His eyes were brilliant with pity.

“No,” he said, “I reckon not.”

Then he left to get the list, and left Harry feeling more open and exposed than he had since the Rosier case.

*

“How soon do you think you’ll be able to give me an answer on the Corybantes case, Harry?”

Harry leaned back on his couch and gave a faint smile at Kingsley, whose face hovered in his fire. The Minister looked grim and worn. He always looked like that, though, and only the more grim if no immediate threat was in the offing, and so Harry was not concerned. The day Kingsley showed up with a bright smile, he would know to take out his wand, because Voldemort had come back from the dead and possessed the Minister.

“I can’t estimate at this point,” Harry said. “I have a suspect, but it’s a suspect who could have an innocent explanation. I have the suspicion of secrets in Corybantes, but I don’t know that they’re the right kind of secrets.” The more he thought about it, the more he thought Shadow had been about to reveal something embarrassing to the club, rather than something incriminating, when Malfoy interrupted her. Malfoy would already have sacked Shadow and turned her over to the Aurors if he suspected her. “They’ve cleaned the death room, so possible clues from the blood stain are gone. I did come to a tentative truce with Malfoy, and he gave me a list of clients who indulge in the same kinds of fantasies that possibly killed Keatson. Progress is going to be steady, but slow.”

Kingsley sighed. “I know, Harry, and I shouldn’t try to press you. I simply have several well-connected Wizengamot members breathing down my neck on this one, and I’d like it solved as soon as possible.”

“I know,” Harry said dryly. He had never understood why money and freedom to act seemed to dispose people to be as decadent as possible, but arguing with it was like trying to argue with gravity. “I’ll solve it, sir. I promise you that.”

Kingsley gave a second martyred sigh that Harry grinned at. After so long in the same business together, they’d become friends, and it didn’t hurt at all that the horrible things Harry had seen during his cases and was silent on encouraged him to not talk about other things. The Harry Potter Kingsley had hired out of Hogwarts would never have been able to keep his mouth shut about half the political secrets he knew now.

But Harry wasn’t that Harry Potter anymore—sometimes to his own discontent and other people’s, but once again, it couldn’t be helped.

“Have you thought of taking a holiday, Harry?”

Harry kept from rolling his eyes, though the effort made his head ache. And this was another part of the camaraderie he and Kingsley shared, proposing impossible things that neither one of them could do.

“You know that you’re not serious, sir,” he said.

“Well, no,” Kingsley acknowledged, looking unrepentant. “But I still think it would be good if you could make the gesture on occasion. Hermione sometimes comes by and glares at me as if I were a slavedriver.”

Harry hid his wince at the mention of Hermione’s name the same way he’d hidden the way he wanted to roll his eyes. He still saw his best friends every week; he ate over at their house when time permitted; he was little Hugo’s godfather.

But time had put distance between them, time and Harry’s job. Ron had dropped out of Auror training inside a year and started helping George with the joke shop. Hermione thought that Harry should do something similar.

“Being an Auror has made you a harder person, Harry,” she’d told him a thousand times. “And you don’t talk to us anymore.”

Harry had tried to explain that he didn’t want to disturb their innocence with his stories. Ron and Hermione still didn’t know much about what Dark magic could do; their experiences in the war were the limits of their knowledge. Harry didn’t want to see horror in their eyes that was associated with him, either because he had suffered that horror or because he’d told them about it. He didn’t want them to start out of nightmares the way he did, or see a mention of a spell in a book and know exactly how it felt.

But Hermione only glared at him when he said that and continued on complaining that he could tell them anything. And Harry didn’t, and the gap that none of them wanted to acknowledge went on growing.

“Harry? Are you listening to me? About that holiday…”

“I’m not taking one yet,” Harry said, coming back to himself with a small jerk of his head. He’d ignored Kingsley, and that was unacceptable. Kingsley had more to do than he did, and he managed not to crack under the pressure. The least Harry could do was bear up under the responsibilities that he had freely accepted. “When I’ve finished the Corybantes case, maybe. But don’t hold me to that.”

Kingsley eyed him, then shook his head. “All right. Let me know the instant you need any help, any potions from the supply stores, any backup—”

“I will. Now, go get some sleep,” Harry said, congratulating himself on his timing as Kingsley yawned.

Kingsley gave him a dirty look, but said good night and closed the Floo connection. Harry tucked his hands behind his neck and spent a moment watching the fire in peaceful contemplation, wondering whether he should go to bed himself, or spend some time looking over that list of pseudonyms Malfoy had given him.

In the end, he did neither. He looked into the fire instead, watching the sparks that leaped from ember to ember, listening as the wood popped and crackled, and let his mind drift back to the greatest puzzle of the night.

Malfoy.

The more distance Harry had from him, the more he wondered about him. The Malfoy he knew had been fanatically concerned about purity, and not just with blood. He’d wanted to escape from any taint of poverty, from having the wrong friends, from political failure. Some of that he had no choice but to endure, but he’d tried. Harry couldn’t imagine a person like that choosing a career like Corybantes.

Yes, he knew that people had changed. But not many people turned so hard against their former ideals.

Unless those were never really his ideals at all, and you just thought they were.

Harry nodded slowly. Yes, that was more likely. He had come to rely on his perceptions in the last few years; if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have survived. But that didn’t mean that his perceptions had been as good when he was a Hogwarts student.

Images of Malfoy flashed through his mind. Hard training in the field had improved his memory, and now speaking a single word or calling up an incantation or a person’s name could give him so much information it was ridiculous. Harry coped with the flood by sorting through it for the real gems, the images that would give him a solid grasp on Malfoy instead of on his own prejudices.

There was the way Malfoy had looked when Voldemort forced him to torture people. Revolted, fainting with terror, but knowing that something worse would happen if he tried to run away. That might have given him a disgust with and distrust for reality, Harry supposed. He wouldn’t want to inflict real pain on people. Fantasies, though, might be all right.

And they would give him control of the situation, especially if the spell-nets were set up the way he had told Harry, so that no one who came to the club and who might look for blackmail material ever saw the images that thronged Malfoy’s subconscious.

There was the way he had looked, or felt, when he clasped his arms around Harry’s stomach and buried his face in his neck as they fled from the Fiendfyre. He had been fully human in that moment, and Harry couldn’t think of him with quite as much hatred as he had before.

And there was the way he had tried so hard to solve the puzzle of the Vanishing Cabinet, putting more effort into that than into his attempts to kill Dumbledore.

How much would it please him to work out ways to please people, and answer wishes that must have seemed unanswerable at first?

Harry smiled. Yes, he could see some continuity between the present and the past Malfoy if he was thinking it out correctly, and on that revelation, he would go to bed.

He hadn’t yet figured out why he was so interested, but he reckoned that he had to save some revelations for tomorrow.

Chapter Three.

Comments

[franalan.livejournal.com]

And the plot thickens...

I wonder what we'll find out next...

[ravenqueen55.livejournal.com]

I really love this story.

[theshadowpanther]

And slowly, slowly Harry comes out of his shell . . .

Looking forward to more.

[helenadax.livejournal.com]

I'm glad to see that Harry understands Draco a little better, but I'm sorry to hear that his relationship with Hermione and Ron is not as good as it should be. I can understand why, though. His life seems pretty hard.

The fic's great!

[xelloss-poo.livejournal.com]

Hmmm. Interesting. I wonder what happened. But I guess in enough time all will be revealed. :D

[hogwartshoney.livejournal.com]

Harry had tried to explain that he didn’t want to disturb their innocence with his stories. Ron and Hermione still didn’t know much about what Dark magic could do; their experiences in the war were the limits of their knowledge. Harry didn’t want to see horror in their eyes that was associated with him, either because he had suffered that horror or because he’d told them about it. He didn’t want them to start out of nightmares the way he did, or see a mention of a spell in a book and know exactly how it felt.

Ohhhhhhhhh, my poor boy. This is so perfectly descriptive of both Harry's love for his friends and of the damage he himself has suffered. I think it's both tragic and so beautifully heroic. *pets him*

I must admit that Harry's memories of Rosier's torture reeeeeally made me shudder. I like that you're able to evoke that sort of reaction without spelling things out in infinite detail.

Although infinite detail can also be really good ;)




Moar.

[(Anonymous)]

Sometimes the simplist of solutions are the most appropriate; learning Occlumency as the result of an experience on a case makes a lot of sense. And Harry managing to make connections between Draco's past and present is accurate and eye-opening, but it als makes me wonder if he's grasping at straws a little. The power of suggestion is just that--powerful.
I'm still curious as to why Draco would allow the clean-up of a room where a murder happened, just for the sake of keeping one client happy versus the possibility of being shut down. That implies having something to hide. Well, Harry'll figure it out.
Can't wait to see what Draco recommends when he finds out Harry never has a holiday. And now I'm stuck trying to remember if it's one of your stories or another author's that focuses on a Draco trying to get over-worked-Auror!Harry to loosen up.
Can't wait for the next chapter.
-Jolene

[allycat-aria.livejournal.com]

Very intriguing. I can't wait to see how this unfolds. I love your mysteries because I can never figure out -everything- until the end. <3

[la-mariane.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the update.
I'm so very curious about what Shadow was about to tell Harry before Malfoy interrupted her.

[neji-chan.livejournal.com]

It's so intriguing and the single POV, while frustrating, is effective for this story. Seriously? The murderer doesn't matter to me, I want to see how Harry comes out of his self-imposed isolation. Sure, he talks with his friends, but he doesn't talk and that's not an easy job he has. Occlumency may be the cause his desires don't appear (if it's effective against Draco's spells) but he's obviously very repressed.
I'm also curious about Draco. Harry knows he's changed, but there's the feeling he changed in ways Harry can't know based on his memories of Draco. I'm interested about him, as is Harry. I doubt the answer for that interest is a revelation Harry'll have soon, not entirely.

I can't wait for next update.

[natane.livejournal.com]

i'm drooling over this fic.

[daftfear.livejournal.com]

Oooo this is exciting! Draco's mysterious behaviour and the whole murder bit. It's ALL so fascinating.

Also, poor Harry. Even the little details about his case with Rosier were disconcerting. I can't imagine what that must have been like.

I still really want to know what his fantasies really are. As well as Draco. :D I am impatiently awaiting more, lol. *hops up and down*

[jtsbbsps-dk.livejournal.com]

Oh my, Harry hasn't had it easy! *pets him* It's so sad to hear of the gap between him and RonandHermione!

Yes Harry, why are you so interested *grins*

Damn, it sounds indeed like some trying murder case. I can't wait to know the plot XD

Absolutely brilliant chapter!

[nightshadow-t2.livejournal.com]

I wonder what Shadow was going to say and how much Draco knows about Harry. It almost seems as if he knows more than Harry thinks he could. Especially with that line about how for some their fantasy is simply to be held. It was almost as if he was trying to hint at the possibility of something. I'm so looking forward to the next chapter.

[groolover.livejournal.com]

He did have to wonder if Corybantes had trained its employees in a special wrist-grasping program.

This is my favourite line :-)

[(Anonymous)]

I really like the way you're building Harry's character and showing logical reason's that he's developed the way he has. While we can't really know what's IC and OC in fics written about the post-DH period, it makes things smoother when the author takes the time to show why some major changes occur.

C Dumbledore

[njphelps.livejournal.com]

this story just sucks u n. luving it.

[invincible-sum.livejournal.com]

Very good chapter! I quite like the scale-snatching spell, Harry's musings about the decadence and employees at Corybantes, and Draco's *seeming* recognition of the things that Harry has sacrificed for his job and his seeming desire to cuddle H. ;) I also like the wrist-holding line, the carpet derision, the additional info. on Harry's bad experience with Rozier and his distance from Ron & Hermione, his relationship with Kingsley, and this line:

Harry did get to relax occasionally, but only when most of the criminals in Britain decided to take a simultaneous nap.

(I'm sure that there was more....)

[nonajf.livejournal.com]

This Harry is much harder, as Hermione says. To survive and thrive at his job, he's locked away parts of himself. It's very interesting that Draco sees that, and seems to have seen that even before Harry came to the club.

Love a good murder mystery!

[enchanted-jae.livejournal.com]

This is so intriguing!

[ura-hd.livejournal.com]

This gets better and better! cannot wait for more!

[youko-slytherin.livejournal.com]

oh, this fic looks absolutely and promisingly hot =D while I was reading I could see Draco trapping Harry against the wall of one of those rooms and just... well, you know what 'just' XDD is it hot in here or is it me??? XD

[yanagi-wa.livejournal.com]

Well, the plot thickens and I think Harry is realizing that he really didn't know Draco at all.