Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, frowning pensively at the blank parchment before him.  Lily and her younger sons had only just left his office, all of them upset by Harry's declaration and departure.  Lily had been disconsolate, certain she had forever alienated Harry, and more anxious than ever regarding the possibility of Voldemort's renewed interest in him.  Albus understood those fears only too well.  Their own Harry's death was at least in part the result of his own inadequate measures, and the thought of Harry being completely unprotected save for Hogwarts' standard defenses left him decidedly uneasy.  He was half-inclined to ignore Harry's wishes and simply place the spells upon him unknowing; yet Harry's manner led him to believe that this would be a futile - if not disastrous - gesture.

"And what is your assessment of young Harry's accusations against me?" the Headmaster asked wearily of the last remaining visitor in his office.  The shadows seemed to shiver as Severus Snape floated out of the corner towards Albus' desk.

"They are based on an Albus Dumbledore I have no knowledge of," said the ghost.  "Nevertheless, they hold a certain measure of truth."

The old man bowed his head, closing his eyes.

"You are neither omniscient nor omnipotent, Albus, yet you are in a position where you must constantly make decisions and take actions that seriously affect numerous lives.  You cannot possibly satisfy the concerns of everyone on all occasions.  Sacrifices must be made, and losses are inevitable."

"Indeed," the old wizard nodded gravely.  "Thus I am ultimately responsible for the losses that occur as a result of my machinations.  Including yours."

The deceased Slytherin folded his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed.

"This is not a game of chess," he stated, glaring darkly at the older man.  "The pieces have their own minds, and a degree of ability to move as they will.  You manipulate them to some extent, true, but to claim total culpability is simply wallowing in self-pity."

"You absolve me, then, even though I have wronged you greatly?"

"Hardly.  My fate is sealed.  There is no cure for death, and I have my own penance to keep me occupied rather than cater to your bruised conscience.  Attend to the boy, before you lose him completely."

"I cannot force my protection on him, Severus."

"It isn't your protection that he needs."

The grey brow furrowed momentarily, before the Headmaster once again turned his attention to the parchment before him.

"Albus, for all our sakes - don't attempt to toy with this one's strings."

He glanced up again to meet the ghost's implacable glare, and inclined his head solemnly.
 
 

Draco loathed Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially since they'd had to share the class with the Gryffindors.  Professor Longbottom insisted on twisting each and every lesson to preach on his favourite topic: namely the irredeemable nature of Slytherin House in general, and Draco in particular.  Seven years of such treatment might have driven him to desperate measures, if not for the spirited efforts of Severus Snape.

The ghost had been an excellent source of advice for dealing with the prejudiced professor, even though he was never seen near the Defense classroom.  Indeed, was rarely seen outside the dank corridors of the dungeons, making his presence known only if he felt there was pressing need of some sort.  As far as Draco was aware, the dead Potions master had appeared elsewhere only two times in the seven years Draco had been at Hogwarts: once to rescue him from an irate Professor Longbottom, and once from his own Slytherin brethren.

Today Draco found himself craving being saved again, this time from a green eyed Gryffindor with murder on his mind.

They circled one another slowly around the classroom, wands at the ready.  Draco could feel his pulse racing beyond his ability to calm himself.  He was almost certain that Potter could hear every beat.  The Gryffindor himself betrayed little emotion; only the slight tension in his posture and the occasional flicker in his eyes hinted that Potter was anything but calm.  The anger he had displayed in the Great Hall had been hidden almost completely from sight behind an inhumanly blank mask - which disturbed Draco far more than the naked rage had.

"Get on with it!"

Draco barely managed to keep from jumping at the professor's sharp order, and only just avoided the stupefying curse Potter flung at him.  His eyes widened at the scorch mark it left on the floor behind him, and absently noted his classmates sidling further towards Potter's end of the room even as he sent a confundus spell back towards his opponent.

Potter literally shrugged it off, without even raising his wand.

A chill swept through Draco's body, and he fought against the instinct to flee the room.  A twisted half-smile transformed Potter's face into something demonic, and the Slytherin's sense of self-preservation took over.

"I yield," he said, and stepped back out of the duelling circle to the murmurs of his classmates.  Potter lowered his wand, but Draco was not reassured.

"You do realise, Sinclair, that you will be perilously close to failing this year if you do not complete the required elements of this task," Longbottom stated rather than asked, his tone laced with ill-concealed glee.  Draco gritted his teeth, and stalked slowly up to the Defense professor until he could feel the man's breath against his face, and glared up at him with steely eyes.

"I'm sure the School Board would be very interested to know why the Head Boy failed one subject when he topped all of his others," Draco whispered furiously, so that only the professor could hear his threat.

"You're not topping them all," Professor Longbottom snarled - but he, too, kept his voice too soft for the other students to hear.

"Close enough," the Slytherin flashed him a patently false smile, and walked over to Pansy's side at a leisurely pace.  She quirked one eyebrow at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Just say the word," she informed him quietly.

"Not yet," he replied, and turned his attention back to the circle.

"Neville!" the professor growled.  "Show Sinclair how it's done!"

The younger Longbottom moved into the circle as directed, his expression a curious blend of pride and anxiety - as well it should be.  Being the son of a professor was no blessing, particularly when the professor in question was Frank Longbottom.  If anything, it ensured that the younger Longbottom was marked far more harshly than anyone else, save Draco himself.  It would have been worth a small amount of compassion had Longbottom not received extensive tutorials for Defense outside of class - extra training he would very likely need in this confrontation.

Draco surveyed the two combatants carefully.  Longbottom was good, but Potter's entire posture still screamed 'Would you care to surrender now, or would you prefer me to utterly humiliate  - or perhaps even kill - you first?'

"Why didn't you want to duel with him?" Pansy asked him quietly, her eyes still trained on Longbottom as he flicked a magical lasso at Potter.  "He can't do anything too bad in front of the entire class."

"Because, my dear," he murmured in reply, "I know better than to play with fire."

The lasso whipped back around Longbottom's legs, tripping him up.  He scrambled to dispel the rope and get to his feet - a goal made quite difficult when he started sinking into the floor.

"Forget how to conjure water?" she queried in arched tones.

He stiffened as Longbottom finally heaved himself onto solid ground and shouted "Maxime lumos!"  The resulting flash of light left him blinking away afterimages, and almost certainly temporarily blinded everyone on the opposite side of the room, including Potter.

Draco froze for a bare instant, then ducked frantically, shielding his face with his arms.  Halfway to a crouch, he was still bowled over by the physical force of Potter's freezing spell, with Pansy screaming shrilly beside him.  Opening his eyes, he discovered she had good reason for being so vocal: several shards of ice were embedded in the wall behind where they had been standing, more than a few of which were stained with blood.  Pansy had collapsed in a heap, clutching at her thigh and shoulder, more blood streaming from a slice on her cheek.  Draco rushed to check her wounds, holding pressure against further blood loss.

"Someone get Madam Pomfrey!" Granger shrieked from behind him.  He turned his attention towards her long enough to discern Neville Longbottom flat against the wall, bearing a strong resemblance to a pincushion.  Or perhaps a voodoo doll.

"Extraxi taleas!  Fascias!" the deeper voice of Professor Longbottom intoned, and for once Draco was glad to hear it.

"Fascias," he repeated, pointing his wand at Pansy's shoulder, then once again for her thigh.  The temporary bandages would hold until Madam Pomfrey could tend them.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck prickled, and he turned his head just enough to watch Potter approach the Longbottoms out of the corner of his eye, moving like an automaton.  The Gryffindor had once again retreated behind his mask, and this time Draco could not detect any emotion at all in his countenance or bearing.

"You  - " Professor Longbottom began, only to freeze unnaturally as Potter knelt beside his son, touching his shoulder ever so lightly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, so softly that Draco had to strain his ears to catch the words.  He repeated the process with Pansy, who was even less receptive to his apology than the unconscious Gryffindor.

"You're 'sorry'?" Pansy screeched, and made an abortive attempt to lunge at him, falling back into Draco's half-embrace with pain clouding her face and lacing through her words.  "You almost killed me!"

Potter blinked empty green eyes.  "If I'd been trying to kill you, you'd be dead."  He stood, and turned to walk away.

"And now he's threatening me!" she exclaimed, looking pointedly around the room to make sure everyone knew it.  The Slytherins nodded, backing her up; the Gryffindors were in a collective state of dismayed disarray.  Potter continued walking towards the door.

"And here I thought Simon was an aberration," Professor Longbottom interjected, apparently freed from his immobilisation at last.  He left his son to Granger's care and loomed menacingly over Potter with a vicious scowl.  "Yet it seems your abysmal failures of parents have once again produced a malicious demon of a creature!"  Potter slowed to a halt as the professor spat out his bitter words.  "What else could be expected of that red-headed bitch and that worthless, blind - "

Potter spun around, his eyes glinting dangerously.  Professor Longbottom flew backwards in the air, slamming into the wall of the classroom hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

"Don't ever talk about my parents like that," Potter ordered with a blazingly furious expression as the professor clutched desperately at the invisible hands that blocked his airway.  Draco's own throat twinged sympathetically in recollection of the night before.  Longbottom's face was as purple as a plum when he was finally released, sliding down the wall to collapse in a heap on the floor beside his son.

Draco ignored the fallen professor in favor of watching Potter - and was thus able to observe the brief flicker of dawning horror that chased the anger from Potter's visage before he closed himself off again, and strode out of the classroom leaving professor and students aghast in his wake.

"Okaay," Finnigan said shakily, his eyes fixed on the doorway.  "I think I can confidently say that Harry has Issues."

Draco rolled his eyes.  Gryffindors.

Fortunately Granger took control of the situation, conjuring a couple of stretchers to bear the Longbottoms to the infirmary.  Draco assessed Pansy critically, and decided to forego the stretcher in her case.

"Zabini, take Pansy to the hospital wing," Draco ordered, passing her over to his fellow Slytherin.  Pansy darted a suspicious look at him before swooning into Zabini's arms.  Draco moved over to the Head Girl, leaning close to murmur in her ear, "I'm going after Potter."

"Are you sure - ?" Granger caught his arm, her eyes dark with anxiety.  Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as unobtrusively as he could manage.

"I'm sure," he lied, and scooped up his bag before hurrying out into the corridor.

There were no visible signs of Potter's passage, which left Draco both relieved and frustrated.  It was nice to know that Potter had yet to leave any more victims lying in his wake, but it would be a challenge for Draco to find him in the maze of Hogwarts' corridors.  Questioning the portraits put him on Potter's trail, but he couldn't help but feel he was falling further behind with each turn - until he rounded a corner and found himself eyeball to eyeball with the subject of his search.

"You're following me," Potter said in level monotones while Draco dredged his mind for something to say.  "Don't."

"Why not?"  The words were pure reflex, and Draco could have kicked himself for them as soon as they were uttered.  Potter's eyes darkened, his fingers twitching as though he were playing with an invisible wand.

"I've killed you before," he said softly, in frightful tones.  "Don't tempt me to do it again."

His eyes were desperate, Draco realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach.  The words were a warning rather than a threat, and Potter was deadly serious, in a very literal sense.  His control was crumbling, and he knew it.

The Slytherin thought swiftly, evaluating his options.  Potter was on the edge, and he didn't fancy leaving him alone while he hunted down someone whom he could talk to without exploding.  If such a person even existed in this world.  No, he decided, the short-term solution would have to do for now.

"Come with me," he said, keeping his voice steady, and started to move down the corridor.  He paused after a few paces and turned to look at Potter, who was still standing motionless.  "Please."

There was a flicker of emotion that Draco couldn't read before Potter finally began to follow him into a nearby abandoned classroom.  Closing the door behind them, he cleared an area adjacent to the sturdiest-looking wall.

"Here," he said, pulling a glass globe out of his bag and proffered it to his companion.  It sat snugly in the palm of his hand, emitting a dim orange glow.  Potter stared at it blankly.

"Take it."  Draco thrust it into his hands.  "Now throw it.  Against the wall," he clarified hastily.  The dark haired boy looked at him as if he were speaking in parseltongue.  Draco sighed.  "Just throw it already."

The globe arced slowly through the air, cracking as it hit the wall near the floor.  Both boys stared at the broken globe for several moments.

"Well," the blond said eventually.  "That was a truly pathetic effort."

Green eyes glared at him as he pulled his wand out and repaired the sphere, levitating it back to Potter.

"Put your arm into it this time."

Potter cast him yet another look that said wordlessly that he was a loony; but he threw the globe once more.  It smashed in a tinkle of glass, with fragments scattering across the floor.

"Much better," Draco informed him, restoring the globe again.  This time Potter needed no prompting to send it hurtling towards the wall, and reached for his own wand to repair the damage.

"No," the Slytherin caught his arm.  "Leave the magic to me until you calm down."  Potter frowned, his hand still in his pocket.  "Have you ever boiled a cauldron too long with a lid on?  The lid shoots up and the potion splatters everywhere - unless you let off some steam occasionally."

Green eyes blinked, startled realisation taking hold.  He left his wand in his pocket, and waited for Draco to return the sphere to him.  They continued in this manner for some time, the physical exertion slowly wearing away Potter's emotional turbulence.

"You carry this around all the time?" Potter asked during a brief pause in momentum, hurling the globe at a particular crack in the wall.  His aim was quite remarkable.

"Mostly just for Defense, " Draco answered as he repaired the globe and handed it over again.  There was another lull in the rhythm as Potter raised an eyebrow at him.  "Longbottom hates me."  Potter blinked once, then turned his attention back to the globes and the wall.

"Ah," he said.

"I used to throw mugs and plates," Draco added, "but the globes are better.  They shatter nicely."

"Where'd you get the idea?"

"A friend of mine."  Potter didn't question him further on the subject, instead returning the globe to its owner.

"I trust you feel a little less like killing someone now?" Draco asked as he rolled the glass in his hands.  Potter tilted his head to one side before nodding slowly.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me with... this?"

Draco tried to keep his incredulity out of his expression.  "There are two students and a professor lying in the infirmary because of you.  I'd rather there not be any more."

"But why you?" Potter pressed, his brow furrowing lightly.  A small smile touched the blond's lips.

"Because according to this little badge I'm wearing, I'm Head Boy.  As such, I do have a few responsibilities regarding the safety of the other students in this school."  He paused for a moment, observing Potter's expression as understanding sank in.  "That currently includes you."

Surprise flashed across the other boy's face, then was swallowed by growing solemnity.

"I almost killed you last night."

Draco inclined his head in agreement.

"But you didn't."
 

*** *** ***

Addendum 28/10/02: The globe-throwing scene is partially inspired by AT Jackson's The Weakest Link, a fantastic seaQuest fic.
 

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